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[Comrade P.]

New Age Mercenaries II
No heroes, no generals, no soldiers. Only expendables.

Ancient nations of dwarves, elves, Dragonborn, orcs and a lot of other respected creatures dwelling all over the world were in balance with men for a long. Too long. That made them think things are going to be the same all the time, that the true balance of the world was finally achieved. That was not true.
First, men invented gunpowder. Dwarves followed the current of modern technology. Elves disregarded that as an obvious waste of time and resources. Then came working specialization, food-canning technology, pasteurization, steamworks, trains, railroads, mechanized mining and many more, all in less than a century. From individual production and barter to factories and banking systems, from disorganized and ill-connected communities and villages to completely urbanized society. From handwritten letters to telegraph. From sword and shield to rifles. From feudalism to imperialism. From moralism to almost complete atheism. Dwarves were hardly able to follow locomotive of men's science, for they always preferred to make their current technology perfect before starting working on new one, but still made good. Elves, Dragonborn and other nations now had a very serious choice to make - follow men's way, partially losing their own, or be completely suppressed. Elves and Dragonborn chose to follow, others perished.
But technical progress was followed by a huge wave of new ideas, all dragged by men's feel of complete superiority - they beated dwarves in technology, beated elves in prestige and equaled dragonborn in power. First, the monarchy fell. The revolution exploded the society of men from inside, making everyone think that the threat is now neutralized. If the only knew how wrong they were. The Empire stayed the Empire, but under the strongest military control. The Supreme Commander named himself the head of the Empire, avoiding the Emperor’s title. The Parliament was established. However, the average literacy grew, and peasants and workers finally began to gain education. Process of urbanistion went full steam ahead. Idea of man’s superiority grew into a radical racial movement, which followers formed a political party with rhetoric based on technical progress success. The party got the dominant number of deputy’s mandates via very doubtful methods. As the time passed, the party gathered strengths. It proved itself to be effective in managing everyday life of every citizen - finally legalized trade unions, ordered generous subsidies to really hard-working factories, increased the wealth and prosperity of men. So the party’s doubtful origin was quickly forgotten. Racial hatred was fueled by wise use of propaganda, and people were lynching “xenos” all by themselves. Separately went the Secret Police’s arrests. Men hang halflings who were thiefs, they killed dwarves and tieflings who were making dirty money in financial affairs, they were tearing the elves apart for their horrible selfishness and obviously treasonous and cowardly nature. At least that’s what men believed in.
Next, remarkable party motto was "No kings, no wizards, no clerks." They already did well with the first part. They were hunting down any church as an organization that fooled the naive people and got their money for priests’ personal needs, which was often true, in fact. The priests and most faithful fled to Wildlands seeking for a new home. Along with racial cleanses, mages were repressed very hard - some just disappeared, some were executed in public. Any child born with magic abilities in territory under men's reign now must be immediately reported and is treated with special care by a personal tutor, who usually inspires him to serve his country and mankind, and then disappears with the child. Nobody likes that, but parents are always dealt somehow. Sometimes, it is money. Sometimes, it is false diagnosis given to them that assures them their child will soon die. Sometimes parents are never seen again as well.
Finally, Men's Empire has grown so much above the others, that it openly declared a whole world as their realm. Which meant war, of course. Great War, where no one stood aside.
Officialy, dwarves were involved, too, but actual military actions on the border were almost absent, except several local conflicts - dwarves knew that the siege will last eternally once began, so did the men. Some kind of non-attacking pact was unofficially set. In fact, dwarves agreed to feed men's war machine in exchange for peace. That created a whole bunch of inner problems and caused a lot of discussions.
Elves were smashed - nearly third part of their territory was occupied by the end of First Great War. They could not withstand an organized machine with their archaic methods. Concentration camps were formed on the occupied territories. Almost nobody knows what is happening there. But some of the soldiers who were sent there to guard the camps and then returned home came back in apathy, with their tongues removed and their hair snow-white in age 27.
Dragonborn once more proved their superiority by holding the men’s charge, and driving men back with the might of their force and courage. They reconquered lands once belonged to them and unrightfully declared Men's.

The world is set anew. Era of Men, long-ago foretold, has begun.

After the War, some of the politicians among men were whispering about how the military expansion is impossible for now, and everyone, in every country understood that this is true.
And then the decision was made. Due to huge number of fine militia produced after war and a lot of men who returned from war to find out there is no job for them, the government started a campaign of taming the Wildlands. Huge territories lied to the east, and nobody needed them. Until now. So, the Auxiliary Force was created – Military Command promised 10 Imperials to everyone who signs as in advance and 90 Imperials more to anyone who will serve the Empire until the Wildlands will be successfully colonized. Such an opportunity is not the one you are to miss, moreover, even if you are not human, you can show yourself and acquire the citizenship as a token for your courage and loyalty.

And now I want you to Auxiliary Force!

Spoiler: TL;DR (click to show/hide)

Imagine yourself a DnD setting (let's say it's not the hardcore 3,5 setting, just a mere 4). Dragonborn, dwarves, elves, halflings, tieflings, half-bloods, etc - all that fairy-tale stuff. Magical artifacts are hidden deep in forgotten citadels filled with undead, liches and demons are lurking deep and making their plans, beasts rushing cities, just a normal life.

Now make a pause, take a minute to think  about the DnD setting.

Now Imagine quite another situation: imagine a picture of Europe in the early 20th century - industry spreading everywhere, new ideas and ideologies flying in the air, emperors greedily looking at their neighboring "friends" lands, colonies spreading, integral railroads all over the continents, smoking chimneys so numerous that their smoke covers the skies completely. Steampunk, steampunk everywhere.

Once again, think of it for a minute somehow.

Now try to merge those two in equal portions.

I guess now we understand each other.

Spoiler: Races - worth of reading even if you are familiar to DnD (click to show/hide)

Here I'll list the nations that are considered "civilized" - that means, they're all able to interact under common rules of politics.

Humans
They're running the show. Their population has increased so badly that they're now seeking for expansion to other nations' core territory. They failed to conquer the whole world, achieving only minor expansion. They also earned hate of everybody except Dwarves, who remained neutral, and Tieflings, who didn't care about human conflicts. However, they learned to get best from interactions with other nations - multinational companies are the most effective business running since slave-trading.  On the edge where cultures merge there discoveries are spitted like if it was a fountain in all the spheres of life - from industry to philosophy.
You can find at least one human almost everywhere.
Men are considered differently by other cultures - some think of them as of oppressors, some consider them as business partners.
Most humans tolerate other cultures, but that doesn't preserve you from meeting a group of nazis in a dark narrow street.

Dwarves
They found a common language with men very quick, so they escaped the War. Mostly, they live in their fortress-like cities, but still lots of dwarves live in cities of men and vice versa.
Dwarves are considered as the main industry-runners of the world, besides being short sturdy creatures fond of drink.
Dwarves also tolerate almost all the races, except elves.

Elves
They were not able to defend themselves during the great War, lost a lot of their borderlands and lots of their territories are still occupied by armies of Men.
Elves are considered now not as exalted aristocrats as they used to be, but as a free nation suffering from oppression.
They tolerate all the cultures except Men.

Halflings
Their whole country was conquered by men and turned to a colony. Now, with their homelands taken away, they're scattered all around the world.

Dragonborn
Those proud heirs of ancient Empire of Arcosia are the only ones who were able not only to withstand the war machine of Men's Empire, but to regain control of lands they once owned long ago. They prefer to live in their homelands and you're lucky to see one outside of it.
They tolerate anyone who fits their image of honor. Though most of living don't know exactly how to do this.

Tieflings
They're scattered around the world since their empire broken long ago. Tieflings all seem to end up aristocrats of Men or elves somehow.
They make no preferences in races, but they seem to sympathize with each other more than any other nation.

Other races are uncivilized, considered as dangerous outcasts and hardly speak Common. (Don't you think I'm trying to prohibit using them )

A few words about half-bloods. You can be a pureblood, what means that all your ancestors were the same race; then, you can say that your ancestors merged with men in some proportion - for example, if most of your ancestors are men, but you have some elves among them, you may suffer from nazis, but elves will recognize elf-blood in your veins and change their attitude, and vice versa - if you're an elf  with a man among his ancestors, you may suffer some alienation among your own kind, but still will be treated good, and some humans change their attitude to you if they know you have some blood of their kind in their veins. However, not all the races are able to recognize their kind. And all of them treat half-bloods differently.

Spoiler: How things are rolled here (click to show/hide)

 Parameter roll is successful if [d20] is rolled under or equal to your parameter. With each level you will gain 4 more points. Levels are given after specific plot points are passed.
Action roll includes one or more parameter rolls.
Shooting – [conc] (may also need [str] for specific weaponry)
Close-quarter fighting – [str] (or [agi], depending on weapon; may include [sta] for certain weaponry)
Persuasion – [will]
Repair – [edu] + various parameters, depends on object
Etc. Questions may be asked.

Spoiler: Character creation guidelines (click to show/hide)

Here is a charlist. You know it, you love it.
Race: well, choose any
Age
Gender
Bio: here should be your backstory and your appearance
Reason to join Auxiliary Force:
Inventory
Magic abilities: Yes/No

If you want to give your character magical abilities, think twice. Mages have no education because of their significantly decreased population, so they just can’t meet each other.
No, making a dragonborn mage doesn't mean you will be running a mighty archmage. Maximum level is an ever-failing apprentice. Otherwise, you wouldn't end up like a mercenary.

Each charsheet will be rated according to following criteria (each parameter varies from 0 to 10):
Integrity: how much your character is bound to the world around him. If he is an orphan without any relatives and friends, you are very likely to get 0 on this criteria, unless you use your…
Creativity: pretty obvious, isn’t it? How interesting is your story is rated here. But don’t forget about…
Sense: Of course your character might be one-of-a-kind, but maaaaaan. I hate munchkins. So please, try to balance on the edge of uniqueness and conformity.
Five characters with best ratings will be partied, others waitlisted.

Your parameters:
Strength
Stamina
Agility
Concentration
Will
Education
You have 30 points to spend. Maximum for each parameter is 20.

If you want to have a party of NPCs with you, think thrice. They are GM-controlled. Nuff said. From now on, NPCs are prohibited to create. Fucked up with those.

If you want a personal transport, go on. I will welcome a biker, or a horse rider, or a panzer hijacker.

Just sign up here.
______________

[Comrade P.]

Current party:

Spoiler: Kraka-Tarr - Harry Baldman (click to show/hide)

Race: Dragonborn

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Bio: Among his kinsmen, Kraka-Tarr (though he had a different name in those times) distinguished himself at an early age, for he was more than unusually gifted in the arts of cowardice, perjury, pettiness, honorless idiocy and more, while possessing no talent whatsoever at the more positively regarded arts of writing, reading, unarmed combat, dancing and sodomy. As such, he was not very well-liked, and often thought of how he could spite his 'friends' and 'family' at every turn, for he found them immensely distasteful in their wanton dismissal of an entire perfectly reasonable spectrum of dragonborn behavior. Often, they proved able to spite him more than adequately in return, and during one such exchange Kraka-Tarr found himself in dragonborn prison, which is very similar to human prisons, when he thinks back on it now, except the food is slightly better, though you must hang upside down as a tradeoff (the official rationale behind this was, apparently, to let the prisoner use the increased amount of blood in their head to do some serious thinking).

It was here, in his vertically challenged state, with his scaly head swollen and disoriented, that he met Braka-Skreek, the God of Flight, mortal enemy of Bammu-Biff, the God of Fight, for the very first time - Kraka-Tarr was elated by the encounter, for Braka-Skreek, in his infinite wisdom, knew where Kraka-Tarr was coming from, and where he was going to end up, which was a very fine amount of certainty right there. Kraka-Tarr was impressed by the God of Flight, and flattered him as much as politeness allowed and then some - the God of Flight, easily taken in by Kraka-Tarr's charm, blessed him on the condition that, upon his release, Kraka-Tarr would leave this land, flee like the God of Flight himself, and find new places to hide, away from his terrible family and stupendously awful friends - Kraka-Tarr did not need to be told the conditions twice, for he found them agreeable enough, and was afraid he would not be able to contain his excitement were he to hear them again!

A week later, Kraka-Tarr was released from custody, and did not look back since - carried by the wind behind him, he obeyed the instinct of the God of Flight, running through the lands of the dragonborn and into the lands of the elves, telling any who he met that it was time to flee, flee like their lives depended on it, for they most often did! Oh, how they did! But they did not listen! And look what happened to the fools, Kraka-Tarr would say to any of the many people he told this to later! His travels took him all the way to human lands, and it was almost peculiar how, in a land this gifted in the ways of prejudice, he did not encounter any persecution whatsoever, presumably because he was too busy heeding the call of the God of Flight to properly preach or, indeed, let people take too long of a look at him. He fled and he fled, he fled high and fled low, fled so fast he outran his fame, and his fame was lost! His coat of rags waxed and it waned, as did his skinny and small form, but never did he waver in his steadfast commitment to flee all things that came after him!

While practicing his trade, Kraka-Tarr once saw a poster - a most glorious poster, one for an Auxiliary Force - the 'force' part made him want to flee, but the 'auxiliary' - that was a fine word. A fine word indeed - like the military, but not really! And they were paying well! Paying for fleeing human lands, for fleeing off the face of the civilized world! His amazement, it was maximum. To be paid for fleeing - it was as if the God of Flight himself had run past him at lightning speed, tripping him up to confuse pursuers on the way! And so Kraka-Tarr showed up at the recruitment office, wary like an ancient trout, and signed a set of documents, ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble, but none came! Instead he was sorted out right good and set on his path of escape, just as the will of Braka-Skreek had ordained! He knew this would start paying off nicely one day!

Reason to join Auxiliary Force: to be paid very good money for fleeing the country is to know happiness like no other, Kraka-Tarr thought!

Inventory: a set of assorted rags! An elf-bone shiv he found on the side of the road once! A set of boots he had made out of his own dragonborn scale sheddings! A chest plate that is basically a stove door secured by a whole lot of twine to his body! All this and more (though not really much more - the rest of his possessions are mostly lint and found buttons, plus some hardtack he got somewhere and a traveling ration of green cheese, and rather stale water in a poorly-sealed tin can) Kraka-Tarr has got! And he probably won't share any of it with you!

Magic abilities: None whatsoever!

Parameters:
Strength: 3
Stamina: 10
Agility: 10
Concentration: 3
Will: 0
Education: 4

Spoiler: Borkum - Helgoland (click to show/hide)

Race: Tiefling
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Bio: Coming from a wealthy family of bankers, Borkum left it behind for a life of adventure - the idea of spending his life administrating a pile of money was abhorrent to him. He never thought himself valuable, depression being his constant companion; but he has always had great respect for those with great skill or knowledge.
Reason to join Auxiliary Force: Naïveté and mental health issues, really. He'd phrase it differently.
Inventory: A dagger, a pencil, and a box of snuff tobacco. His rifle he left at home, counting on being issued one.
Magic abilities: No

Your parameters:
Strength:3
Stamina: 6
Agility:3
Concentration: 5
Will:5
Education: 8

Spoiler: Oscar - Pancaek (click to show/hide)

Race: Human
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Bio: Oscar did not like this life, he didn't like it one bit. Everything about civilian life rubbed him the wrong way. The way his coworkers complained about the most trivial things. How the overweight boss turns red as a tomato and starts screaming when you point out his mistake. How he has to work in the factory, doing the same motion over and over...

He didn't like the war. Forced to join the militia because he was the oldest of three, it was his duty to forego his education and earn money for the rest of the family. And so he joined the militia, put on his uniform and marched on other races that had done him nothing wrong. Marched right into hell. Every militiaman remembers their first orc charge and their first time having to fight elves in the forest. Those tense melees and horrid hit and run attacks. Well, everyone except those we were dead. But Oscar did not die. Oscar lived by fighting, running, crawling through the dirt. Struggling to get the upper hand, getting thrown to the ground by an elf and using every dirty trick to keep that knife from your throat. After a while, he wasn't even afraid any more. Much too quickly for his tastes, he became used to the violence, the killing. But he also became used to the good parts, the cameraderie, the occasional shows of gallantry and compassion by both sides. The men in his platoon had become more than friends, more than comrades in arms. They were like brothers, joking and laughing in even the grimmest surroundings. Casualty rates dropped as they all got better, becoming a cohesive group. Combar become less frightening, the feeling of having trustworthy folk at your back at all times. And just as his hands stopped shaking before every fight, the war was over and he was shipped back home. It was not a happy homecoming.

Father had died, a freak factory accident. His two brothers had gone on to study, one had became a teacher of some sort and the other had taken over the family clothing store. Mother still helped in the store, it reminded her of her husband. And so OScar, with no education, started working in the factory. It seemed all right, on the outside. The work was easy and relatively well paid. He sat at the table with the other people working his line during lunchtime, laughing at their bad jokes. But it wasn't the same. The friendships, untested by battle, felt shallow and meaningless. The work, too, felt empty.

It was on a dusky evening as he walked home that he saw the poster. Join the auxilery force, it said. Explore and claim the savage lands for the oh so glorious empire. He cracked a smile, he would be going home tonight. First to the meaningless one in this town, to pick up his old militia gear. Then to his real one, back to militia.

Oscar Henze was coming home. A dog of war must come when his master calls, after all.

Reason to join Auxiliary Force: Civilian life did not suit him anymore.
Inventory:-Milita uniform
-Rifle with bayonet
-Entrenching tool
-Picture of his old company, the group posing around their company's tank
-wristwatch, used to belong to his father
-canteen, filled with water, obvious patch job to close hole made by elven shiv.

Magic abilities: NO


Your parameters:
Strength:6
Stamina:6
Agility:4
Concentration:8
Will:6
Education:0

Spoiler: Amade "Houndborn" Troahlen - IcyTea31 (click to show/hide)

Name: Amade "Houndborn" Troahlen
Race: Elf
Age: 76
Gender: Male

Bio: Your stereotypical pureblood elf, tall with blonde, long hair tied to a ponytail. He has grey eyes. He has a stylized hound tattooed on his right shoulderblade, the symbol of the Troahlen family.
Despite being born to a once-powerful family, Amade lived his early life with difficulties. His mother was unemployed and couldn't find a job, so his father struggled to provide for his family, which also consisted of his sister, Simalda. On top of this, the local mob arisen in the chaos of the War extorted money from the family. Somehow, the family could find a way to survive, even if it took sacrifices, until one fateful night. It was the night of "collection", but no amount of scrounging could have brought the sum required together. Knowing this, Father took the family's heirloom sword and ambushed the mobster. In a short and bloody moment, it was over. By the next morning, another knock on the door. The mob was there, with firearms. Father and Mother were gone in a moment. Amade and Simalda took off befot they even knew it, Amade with the sword passed along the centuries and Simalda with a silver pendant depicting a hound. After getting away, Amade swore to find his sister; to this day he hasn't given up hope and recently joined the Auxiliary Force for the chance of getting citizenship.
Reason to join Auxiliary Force: To stay under the radar for a while, then to reunite with his sister for a new beginning in the lands of Men.

Inventory:
-Troahlen Blade: A slightly curved hand-and-a-half steel sword with a silvered hilt and pommel shaped as a hound's head, a wood-and-leather scabbard gilded in a diamond pattern.
-A cheap semi-automatic pistol with holster and some ammo.
-Mundane clothing, includes a cloak
-Tiny amount of money
Magic abilities: Nil

Strength:4
Stamina: 5
Agility:5
Concentration: 3
Will: 10
Education: 3

Spoiler: Alexis "Kitty" Wagner - Alexandria (click to show/hide)

Name : Alexis "Kitty" Wagner
Race : Dragonborn.
Age : 159
Gender : Female
Description : Alexis is tall and slim for with saphire blue scales covering her body. She has high cheekbones and a delicate but strong face giving her the appearance of nobility despite being from a relatively pore family
Biography : Alexis is a middle aged woman born to a family hoping for strong sons to feed into the war machine. Her parents considered it to be a minor miracle when they discovered she had an affinity for magic which she practiced with in every spare moment spending her time focussing more on how to use it to manipulate people's minds both to make them easier to talk into things or less subtle ways like causing them to see monsters that weren't real.
She hired herself out as a mercenary as soon as she was able to get away from home and through a succession of largely minor jobs was able to earn the respect of several more of her people who joint her.

Knowing that amongst her own people she would always be a second class citizen because of her gender she began moving into other nations to find work where she would be granted the respect she deserved and quickly found that she was able to wrap most men and women around her finger through a combination of charisma and superior intelligence.

Jobs came more easily to her once she began working in other nations both because she was able intelligent and charismatic and through her magical gifts to convince people to work with her very easily and to pay her a significantly increased rate.
She never selected a name for her company but it came to be known informally as The Gunslingers due to the fact that her and her companions all carried a pair of revolvers which they wielded at the same time and with great accuracy through many years of practice and experience.
Though not as well known as the great legends her company was still sought after far and wide both for it's skill and for the influence granted through hiring Dragonborn.

Though she would never admit it to herself let alone another living being she sought to prove to her people that a female could be every bit as deadly as a male to find herself a mate who would treat her as an equal.


Stats.
Strength: 6
Stamina: 6
Agility:10
Concentration: 4
Will: 4
Education: 0

Waitlist:
Th4DwArfY1
Varee
blazing glory
darkpaladin109
Patrick Hunt

[IcyTea31]

Spoiler: Character Sheet (click to show/hide)

Name: Amade "Houndborn" Troahlen
Race: Elf
Age: 76
Gender: Male

Bio: Your stereotypical pureblood elf, tall with blonde, long hair tied to a ponytail. He has grey eyes. He has a stylized hound tattooed on his right shoulderblade, the symbol of the Troahlen family.
Despite being born to a once-powerful family, Amade lived his early life with difficulties. His mother was unemployed and couldn't find a job, so his father struggled to provide for his family, which also consisted of his sister, Simalda. On top of this, the local mob arisen in the chaos of the War extorted money from the family. Somehow, the family could find a way to survive, even if it took sacrifices, until one fateful night. It was the night of "collection", but no amount of scrounging could have brought the sum required together. Knowing this, Father took the family's heirloom sword and ambushed the mobster. In a short and bloody moment, it was over. By the next morning, another knock on the door. The mob was there, with firearms. Father and Mother were gone in a moment. Amade and Simalda took off befot they even knew it, Amade with the sword passed along the centuries and Simalda with a silver pendant depicting a hound. After getting away, Amade swore to find his sister; to this day he hasn't given up hope and recently joined the Auxiliary Force for the chance of getting citizenship.
Reason to join Auxiliary Force: To stay under the radar for a while, then to reunite with his sister for a new beginning in the lands of Men.

Inventory:
-Troahlen Blade: A slightly curved hand-and-a-half steel sword with a silvered hilt and pommel shaped as a hound's head, a wood-and-leather scabbard gilded in a diamond pattern.
-A cheap semi-automatic pistol with holster and some ammo.
-Mundane clothing, includes a cloak
-Tiny amount of money
Magic abilities: Nil

Strength:4
Stamina: 5
Agility:5
Concentration: 3
Will: 10
Education: 3

[TD1]

Reserved

Race: Elf
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Bio: His name is Thundral. As a child (Though he is still thought of as such among his own people) he had heard of the outreaching of humans, their cruel tactics, and their violent policies. He learned of how they had been crushed, their noble race brought low. Wealth became naught. The rich became the hungry. And so, his race was nearly conquered. But Thundral, of wiry build and with piercing, blue eyes which lurk beneath hanging locks, was never one of those poor, never one to starve. One of the few families to do well in the war, his father had been a sword maker. Much in demand for the archaic Elves, and much scorned by the humans-but Thundral wielded his blades, made by his father, with great skill, even for his own kind. No human has ever stood against him and won, even in his short life. His family had once lived in the conquered third of Elvish territory, but had moved from the conflict with their wealth and with their trade, setting up again in more peaceful areas. But still Thundral holds his hate of humans close, if often disguised out of necessity. He remembers his home before it was blasted by the accursed machines of war. He remembers, and he plans.

However, he has little funds after he left his family in search of vengeance, and so:
Reason to join Auxiliary Force: Money. A home, and a base from which to operate. Citizenship in order to get further amongst the humans.
Inventory: Two Bastard swords, Cloth shirt, trousers, socks and shoes, food supplies and a canteen of water. He also has some snares, etc, from his time in the country. He also has a horse, brought with him from his family's stable.
Magic abilities: None.

Strength:10
Stamina:5
Agility:10
Concentration:0
Will:3
Education:2

((Essentially, a ranger.))

[Comrade P.]

Just a clarification. Everyone realizes that the weapons used in Great War of men and everyone else were something like:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[TD1]

Sure. But I thought the elves were archaic? It's why I picked swords. If the elves did use guns, then I suppose Thundral had better.

[Comrade P.]

Sure. But I thought the elves were archaic? It's why I picked swords. If the elves did use guns, then I suppose Thoradin had better.

Everything is fine. Once again, that was just a clarification.

[Harry Baldman]

Spoiler: Kraka-Tarr (click to show/hide)

Race: Dragonborn

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Bio: Among his kinsmen, Kraka-Tarr (though he had a different name in those times) distinguished himself at an early age, for he was more than unusually gifted in the arts of cowardice, perjury, pettiness, honorless idiocy and more, while possessing no talent whatsoever at the more positively regarded arts of writing, reading, unarmed combat, dancing and sodomy. As such, he was not very well-liked, and often thought of how he could spite his 'friends' and 'family' at every turn, for he found them immensely distasteful in their wanton dismissal of an entire perfectly reasonable spectrum of dragonborn behavior. Often, they proved able to spite him more than adequately in return, and during one such exchange Kraka-Tarr found himself in dragonborn prison, which is very similar to human prisons, when he thinks back on it now, except the food is slightly better, though you must hang upside down as a tradeoff (the official rationale behind this was, apparently, to let the prisoner use the increased amount of blood in their head to do some serious thinking).

It was here, in his vertically challenged state, with his scaly head swollen and disoriented, that he met Braka-Skreek, the God of Flight, mortal enemy of Bammu-Biff, the God of Fight, for the very first time - Kraka-Tarr was elated by the encounter, for Braka-Skreek, in his infinite wisdom, knew where Kraka-Tarr was coming from, and where he was going to end up, which was a very fine amount of certainty right there. Kraka-Tarr was impressed by the God of Flight, and flattered him as much as politeness allowed and then some - the God of Flight, easily taken in by Kraka-Tarr's charm, blessed him on the condition that, upon his release, Kraka-Tarr would leave this land, flee like the God of Flight himself, and find new places to hide, away from his terrible family and stupendously awful friends - Kraka-Tarr did not need to be told the conditions twice, for he found them agreeable enough, and was afraid he would not be able to contain his excitement were he to hear them again!

A week later, Kraka-Tarr was released from custody, and did not look back since - carried by the wind behind him, he obeyed the instinct of the God of Flight, running through the lands of the dragonborn and into the lands of the elves, telling any who he met that it was time to flee, flee like their lives depended on it, for they most often did! Oh, how they did! But they did not listen! And look what happened to the fools, Kraka-Tarr would say to any of the many people he told this to later! His travels took him all the way to human lands, and it was almost peculiar how, in a land this gifted in the ways of prejudice, he did not encounter any persecution whatsoever, presumably because he was too busy heeding the call of the God of Flight to properly preach or, indeed, let people take too long of a look at him. He fled and he fled, he fled high and fled low, fled so fast he outran his fame, and his fame was lost! His coat of rags waxed and it waned, as did his skinny and small form, but never did he waver in his steadfast commitment to flee all things that came after him!

While practicing his trade, Kraka-Tarr once saw a poster - a most glorious poster, one for an Auxiliary Force - the 'force' part made him want to flee, but the 'auxiliary' - that was a fine word. A fine word indeed - like the military, but not really! And they were paying well! Paying for fleeing human lands, for fleeing off the face of the civilized world! His amazement, it was maximum. To be paid for fleeing - it was as if the God of Flight himself had run past him at lightning speed, tripping him up to confuse pursuers on the way! And so Kraka-Tarr showed up at the recruitment office, wary like an ancient trout, and signed a set of documents, ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble, but none came! Instead he was sorted out right good and set on his path of escape, just as the will of Braka-Skreek had ordained! He knew this would start paying off nicely one day!

Reason to join Auxiliary Force: to be paid very good money for fleeing the country is to know happiness like no other, Kraka-Tarr thought!

Inventory: a set of assorted rags! An elf-bone shiv he found on the side of the road once! A set of boots he had made out of his own dragonborn scale sheddings! A chest plate that is basically a stove door secured by a whole lot of twine to his body! All this and more (though not really much more - the rest of his possessions are mostly lint and found buttons, plus some hardtack he got somewhere and a traveling ration of green cheese, and rather stale water in a poorly-sealed tin can) Kraka-Tarr has got! And he probably won't share any of it with you!

Magic abilities: None whatsoever!

Parameters:
Strength: 3
Stamina: 10
Agility: 10
Concentration: 3
Will: 0
Education: 4

[darkpaladin109]

Reserved. Is the 2 characters per person rule still in effect?

[Comrade P.]

Reserved. Is the 2 characters per person rule still in effect?

Preliminary answer is yes. We'll see.

EDIT:
People out there: keep posting charsheets, it is not first come - first served.

[Helgoland]

Spoiler: Char sheet (click to show/hide)

Here is a charlist. You know it, you love it.
Race: Tiefling
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Bio: Coming from a wealthy family of bankers, Borkum left it behind for a life of adventure - the idea of spending his life administrating a pile of money was abhorrent to him. He never thought himself valuable, depression being his constant companion; but he has always had great respect for those with great skill or knowledge.
Reason to join Auxiliary Force: Naïveté and mental health issues, really. He'd phrase it differently.
Inventory: A dagger, a pencil, and a box of snuff tobacco. His rifle he left at home, counting on being issued one.
Magic abilities: No

Each charsheet will be rated according to following criteria (each parameter varies from 0 to 10):
Integrity: how much your character is bound to the world around him. If he is an orphan without any relatives and friends, you are very likely to get 0 on this criteria, unless you use your…
Creativity: pretty obvious, isn’t it? How interesting is your story is rated here. But don’t forget about…
Sense: Of course your character might be one-of-a-kind, but maaaaaan. I hate munchkins. So please, try to balance on the edge of uniqueness and conformity.
Five characters with best ratings will be partied, others waitlisted.

Your parameters:
Strength:3
Stamina: 6
Agility:3
Concentration: 5
Will:5
Education: 8

[Harry Baldman]

Right, sheet is up! It's a dragonborn! Hooray!

[Comrade P.]

Spoiler: Kraka-Tarr (click to show/hide)

Race: Dragonborn

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Bio: Among his kinsmen, Kraka-Tarr (though he had a different name in those times) distinguished himself at an early age, for he was more than unusually gifted in the arts of cowardice, perjury, pettiness, honorless idiocy and more, while possessing no talent whatsoever at the more positively regarded arts of writing, reading, unarmed combat, dancing and sodomy. As such, he was not very well-liked, and often thought of how he could spite his 'friends' and 'family' at every turn, for he found them immensely distasteful in their wanton dismissal of an entire perfectly reasonable spectrum of dragonborn behavior. Often, they proved able to spite him more than adequately in return, and during one such exchange Kraka-Tarr found himself in dragonborn prison, which is very similar to human prisons, when he thinks back on it now, except the food is slightly better, though you must hang upside down as a tradeoff (the official rationale behind this was, apparently, to let the prisoner use the increased amount of blood in their head to do some serious thinking).

It was here, in his vertically challenged state, with his scaly head swollen and disoriented, that he met Braka-Skreek, the God of Flight, mortal enemy of Bammu-Biff, the God of Fight, for the very first time - Kraka-Tarr was elated by the encounter, for Braka-Skreek, in his infinite wisdom, knew where Kraka-Tarr was coming from, and where he was going to end up, which was a very fine amount of certainty right there. Kraka-Tarr was impressed by the God of Flight, and flattered him as much as politeness allowed and then some - the God of Flight, easily taken in by Kraka-Tarr's charm, blessed him on the condition that, upon his release, Kraka-Tarr would leave this land, flee like the God of Flight himself, and find new places to hide, away from his terrible family and stupendously awful friends - Kraka-Tarr did not need to be told the conditions twice, for he found them agreeable enough, and was afraid he would not be able to contain his excitement were he to hear them again!

A week later, Kraka-Tarr was released from custody, and did not look back since - carried by the wind behind him, he obeyed the instinct of the God of Flight, running through the lands of the dragonborn and into the lands of the elves, telling any who he met that it was time to flee, flee like their lives depended on it, for they most often did! Oh, how they did! But they did not listen! And look what happened to the fools, Kraka-Tarr would say to any of the many people he told this to later! His travels took him all the way to human lands, and it was almost peculiar how, in a land this gifted in the ways of prejudice, he did not encounter any persecution whatsoever, presumably because he was too busy heeding the call of the God of Flight to properly preach or, indeed, let people take too long of a look at him. He fled and he fled, he fled high and fled low, fled so fast he outran his fame, and his fame was lost! His coat of rags waxed and it waned, as did his skinny and small form, but never did he waver in his steadfast commitment to flee all things that came after him!

While practicing his trade, Kraka-Tarr once saw a poster - a most glorious poster, one for an Auxiliary Force - the 'force' part made him want to flee, but the 'auxiliary' - that was a fine word. A fine word indeed - like the military, but not really! And they were paying well! Paying for fleeing human lands, for fleeing off the face of the civilized world! His amazement, it was maximum. To be paid for fleeing - it was as if the God of Flight himself had run past him at lightning speed, tripping him up to confuse pursuers on the way! And so Kraka-Tarr showed up at the recruitment office, wary like an ancient trout, and signed a set of documents, ready to flee at the slightest sign of trouble, but none came! Instead he was sorted out right good and set on his path of escape, just as the will of Braka-Skreek had ordained! He knew this would start paying off nicely one day!

Reason to join Auxiliary Force: to be paid very good money for fleeing the country is to know happiness like no other, Kraka-Tarr thought!

Inventory: a set of assorted rags! An elf-bone shiv he found on the side of the road once! A set of boots he had made out of his own dragonborn scale sheddings! A chest plate that is basically a stove door secured by a whole lot of twine to his body! All this and more (though not really much more - the rest of his possessions are mostly lint and found buttons, plus some hardtack he got somewhere and a traveling ration of green cheese, and rather stale water in a poorly-sealed tin can) Kraka-Tarr has got! And he probably won't share any of it with you!

Magic abilities: None whatsoever! Unless he actually has dragon breath - in that case, it would presumably be appropriate for him to breathe smoke rather than anything else, if the option is available.

Parameters:
Strength: 3
Stamina: 10
Agility: 10
Concentration: 3
Will: 0
Education: 4

That. Was. AWESOME!
The Dragon Breath is counted as a complicated magic here even for dragonborn, so... no Dragon Breath, OK?

[Pancaek]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Race: Human
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Bio: Oscar did not like this life, he didn't like it one bit. Everything about civilian life rubbed him the wrong way. The way his coworkers complained about the most trivial things. How the overweight boss turns red as a tomato and starts screaming when you point out his mistake. How he has to work in the factory, doing the same motion over and over...

He didn't like the war. Forced to join the militia because he was the oldest of three, it was his duty to forego his education and earn money for the rest of the family. And so he joined the militia, put on his uniform and marched on other races that had done him nothing wrong. Marched right into hell. Every militiaman remembers their first orc charge and their first time having to fight elves in the forest. Those tense melees and horrid hit and run attacks. Well, everyone except those we were dead. But Oscar did not die. Oscar lived by fighting, running, crawling through the dirt. Struggling to get the upper hand, getting thrown to the ground by an elf and using every dirty trick to keep that knife from your throat. After a while, he wasn't even afraid any more. Much too quickly for his tastes, he became used to the violence, the killing. But he also became used to the good parts, the cameraderie, the occasional shows of gallantry and compassion by both sides. The men in his platoon had become more than friends, more than comrades in arms. They were like brothers, joking and laughing in even the grimmest surroundings. Casualty rates dropped as they all got better, becoming a cohesive group. Combar become less frightening, the feeling of having trustworthy folk at your back at all times. And just as his hands stopped shaking before every fight, the war was over and he was shipped back home. It was not a happy homecoming.

Father had died, a freak factory accident. His two brothers had gone on to study, one had became a teacher of some sort and the other had taken over the family clothing store. Mother still helped in the store, it reminded her of her husband. And so OScar, with no education, started working in the factory. It seemed all right, on the outside. The work was easy and relatively well paid. He sat at the table with the other people working his line during lunchtime, laughing at their bad jokes. But it wasn't the same. The friendships, untested by battle, felt shallow and meaningless. The work, too, felt empty.

It was on a dusky evening as he walked home that he saw the poster. Join the auxilery force, it said. Explore and claim the savage lands for the oh so glorious empire. He cracked a smile, he would be going home tonight. First to the meaningless one in this town, to pick up his old militia gear. Then to his real one, back to militia.

Oscar Henze was coming home. A dog of war must come when his master calls, after all.

Reason to join Auxiliary Force: Civilian life did not suit him anymore.
Inventory:-Milita uniform
-Rifle with bayonet
-Entrenching tool
-Picture of his old company, the group posing around their company's tank
-wristwatch, used to belong to his father
-canteen, filled with water, obvious patch job to close hole made by elven shiv.

Magic abilities: NO


Your parameters:
Strength:6
Stamina:6
Agility:4
Concentration:8
Will:6
Education:0
You have 30 points to spend. Maximum for each parameter is 20.

question, will the will stat be used for will checks as well? Like to withstand traumatic shock or such?

[Helgoland]

Well sh*t, I probably should expand my sheet... Nah