Joint Special Operations Command OOC[Closed Tiandi]

[United Formosa]

孤掌難鳴
(You cannot clap with just one hand)

Aim: The Joint Special Operations Command will be a organization comprised of specialists taken from the member nations tasked with peace keeping, counter-terrorist, anti-drug and human trafficking operations. The force itself will be a frame work that allows for players to take part in the mentioned operations across different nations in Tiandi that have given us permission to work there.

Framework: Squads will be comprised of 4-6 people. Each person will be given a rank within the organization that supersedes their home nation rank for our purposes. Each squad’s mission will function as a different RP. This helps ensure that if someone has to become inactive for whatever reason he can be voted ‘wounded’ by the other team members and the mission can continue. It also allows multiple missions to take place concurrently, allowing us to explore more of our member nations and give players some variety in mission objective.

Missions: Missions will be created under the supervision of the council of core nations. Associate nations can suggest mission ideas and create scenarios, but the final approval comes from the council. Anyone in Tiandi can suggest a mission, but the JSOC is only allowed to operate inside member nations or with explicit permission. So, if you want to host a mission you have to give us that permission. When a nation hosts a mission they can choose to be a CO-OP in that RP, either as a villain, support staff, or just watchful eye to make sure we are treating their canon with respect.

The Council: The council will oversee the general operation of the RP’s. It will be divided into two parts, the core council and the expanded council. Being a member of the core council is for players who want to help with the administration of the over world. They vote on missions, solve player disputes, and play villains when needed. The expanded council will consist of all nations who have send a soldier and are willing to host JSOC facilities in their nation. They will having voting rights on big in game decisions and have a big role in the overarching story, but it leaves out the administrative duties if they just want to play.

Associate Nations: For people who like the idea and want to support the organization, but maybe are not interesting in playing or hosting JSOC facilities in their nation the associate nation status is available. In exchange for funding you allow the JSOC to operate inside your nation. You can suggest mission ideas and interact with characters from the story, but you are effectively an allied nation of the JSOC, and not a member. Associate nations do not get representation on the council.

Ranking structure: Every nation has its own ideas about military ranks even though most of it is standardized so the ranking system of the JSOC will be as follows:

Enlisted:
Recruit
Operator
Lance-Operator
Senior Operator
NCO:
Sergeant
Sergeant grade II
Command Sergeant
Senior Command Sergeant
Master Sergeant

Officer:
Lieutenant
Lieutenant grade II
Captain
Staff Captain
Major
Lieutenant Colonel
Colonel

General Officer:
Brigadier General
Regional Commandant
__________________________________________________________________________

Base Commander: especially during times of expansion there may not be enough officers of suitable rank to lead different regional bases so therefore the effective command of a JSOC base is a council bestowed rank that can be given out or taken away depending on the circumstances. This rank is given in addition to any other rank and is not limited to officers.

Receiving rank: When the JSOC comes into existence it will hand out Enlisted, NCO, and Officer ranks to the founding members. Everyone who joins after starts at the bottom. Getting promoted comes from ones actions IC. If you see someone doing a good job, link the post to council members. Promotions can also be suggested and reviewed on a case by case basis. They can also be earned through extreme feats of bravery or writing skill, but just like in real life don’t expect to be promoted twice a week.

Wounded vote: If someone does not adhere to the minimum post per X agreement that players make before they start a mission then the other players can call for a wounded vote and, with a ¾ majority, treat that player as if they received a non-fatal wound and need to be extracted. You agree for this to happen to you when you take the ‘I will post at least x per x’ pledge at the beginning of each mission.

Permadeath: Before running off on your own to kill the entire enemy army by yourself remember that we employ a permenant death system here. If you get yourself into an unrecoverable situation. You will die and you will have to make a new character. Such a situation will be up to the council to decide. Of course you can choose to die if the story calls for it. Lets just try not to get Thanos snapped in the first month.

Accepted applications:

Strike Team 1 (Diamond)
- Choe Saetbyeol (Diamond 1)
- Kulilay Amit (Diamond 2)
- Takura Takatafare (Diamond 3)
- Nguyen Quang Anh (Diamond 4)

Code: Select all

Application
Nation name:
Region of Tiandi:
GDP:
Annual monitary commitment: (either in USD or % of GDP)
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: (Number and description):(vehicles, weapons, armor, facilities, etc)
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation:
Character name:
Appearance:
Height:
Age:
Sex:
Bio: (Everyone in the JSOC has been recruited because they are the most badass of the bad asses. Try to give your character some depth. If you need some help on how to do this. Obamacain wrote a great guide for squad-based roleplays. You can find it under the application
Area of expertise:(demolitions, recon, mountain fighting, aquatic landing. You cannot be a master of everything. I wont limit the list now, but I will if people abuse it)
Misc details:
Special Equipment: (Although your main loadout and weapons will be JSOC standard you will be allowed to bring in special equipment if you can justify it)
RP sample: (Please write an IC sample using your character. This writing sample will be used to assign the initial ranks. If you are shooting for a higher rank you might want to spend a little more time making something really enticing.)


Guide to JSF and squad based roleplaying
Credits: The idea that this RP is based on was called the Joint Strike Force and it was created and operated by Italian Mafias. Although everything above was written by me it would be irresponsible not to acknowledge them.

[Kechuajog]

Application
Nation name: Kechuajog
Region of Tiandi: Cheongju
GDP: $130,543,845,762 (nominal)
Annual monitary commitment: $2,610,900,000 (~2% of GDP)
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal:
25x SEONG (Standard-issue Kechuajuan Army Rifles)
10x "Myeong Industries" 36 (Utility Military Helicopter)
1x Anchisu National Airbase (mountainous aerodrome available on demand for operations within and from Cheongju)
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes
Character name: Choe Saetbyeol
Appearance: Black medium-long hair, oval face with narrow nose, narrow lips and hazel eyes. Flat-chested with a somewhat muscular build. Outside of service, she often wears tank tops that expose a tattoo in Jeongmian on her right shoulder, which says "Excellence and patriotism" (탁월과 애국심; tagwolgwa aeguksim). Has a few minor scars along her right hand's thenar.
Height: 1.63m (5' 4")
Age: 26
Sex: Female
Bio: Saetbyeol comes from a rich background and showed early fascination in the military and defense of Kechuajog. At school, she was popular for her tomboyism and a tendency to deal with arguments through physical violence, both of these features also characterizing her today. She has four years of military experience and is generally praised for her performance and ability to follow orders. She can be humble and polite in asking for help, however she is also quite short-tempered, and overly confident in herself when she has the upper ground. Her patriotism also comes with a bit of casual xenophobia and arrogance.
Area of expertise: Retrieval operations necessitating stealth
Misc details: None
Special Equipment: A sickleknife (낫칼; natkal) bought from a market in Kealakekua, and adored ever since. Saetbyeol still hasn't learned to handle it flawlessly and has cut herself numerous times playing around with it.
RP sample:

Saetbyeol was walking at a normal pace through the narrow streets of Cheollaqta town. The smell of ethnic Quechuan food being cooked emanated from the open windows. It disgusted her, despite it being repulsed by occasional breezes. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket. She looked around, saw that there were no people nearby and quickly adjusted her wireless earbuds. It was the message from command.

"Annyeonghaseyo Choe Saetbyeol. If you just continue westward, you will soon see your target. He is a Qichwan man around his twenties wearing a school uniform and carrying a brown briefcase. Keep your distance, and eyes on the briefcase. We don't want to alert anyone. There's probably some cash and specific details to the insurgency in planning there. To reiterate, the task is simple. Get in their meeting place, gather as much intel as you can, and get out."

As soon as the transmission ended, she patted herself around the waistline to ensure all her equipment were intact under her cloak, and continued forth. Verily, she caught a glimpse of the man and began trailing him down, leading her into a surprisingly crowded town square. Whenever she felt she began losing track of him, she would just squeeze herself through the crowd and mutter a "Pampachaway", the word for "excuse me" in the native tongue Q'ispisimi. When in Hapcheon, do as the Hapcheonians do, she thought to herself and smirked, except this was no Hapcheon and these were no Hapcheonians.

Shortly after, the young man had entered a warehouse just around the corner. The warehouse itself was, according to the neon signs, property of Caangho, a Meisaani e-commerce company. It was guarded by two partisans that made little effort to hide their pistols tucked under their pants. Saetbyeol had to improvise to get inside. Luckily for her, the door to the apartment on the left was just being opened by a departing tenant. That was her chance.

She pretended to look for her keys, watched as the tenant left, and rushed inside as the door was about to close. It can't be that bad, she thought. There's definitely Kechuajuans in poverty that live alongside Quechuans, right? ...Right? She dismissed the thought and concentrated on getting up the stairs fast. Once she was on top of the roof, she only had to maneuver around the clothing racks and jump onto the opposite roof.

It was a success. She got out her smartphone and texted command that she was in position. Infiltration, however, was not yet complete and it would be too early to celebrate. That was because the way from the rooftop to the staircase was locked behind a utility room and Saetbyeol, she was standing outside in disbelief, knowing she had no device on her so small, as to be able to picklock the door...

[Mavinet]

Application
Nation name: Viet Quoc
Region of Tiandi: Southeast Jungju
GDP (nominal): $3,924,905,181,750
Annual monitary commitment: 0.1% GDP (about $4 billion)
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: TBD
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes

Character name: Nguyen Quang Anh
Appearance: Slim but well-built body. Diamond face with slightly hollow cheeks, slim nose, thin lips and double-lidded brown eyes. Tan skin with short crew cut black hair and stubble. Has a cut scar running from the glabella along the nose down to the right cheekbone. Quang Anh has a calm expression and weary-looking eyes of a veteran who have seen and survived many dangerous situations.
Height: 1m77
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Bio: The eldest son of a former soldier and a teacher in Lâm An Provice, Quang Anh grew up in the countryside town of Bình Lục. As a child, he used to help his father, who after his retirement from the military worked on their small family pepper plantation. He loved hearing the military stories his father told him, and had always wanted to follow his footsteps in the military when he grow up. He lost his father when he was 10 when his father tried to stop a mugger from escaping. Since then he developed a very strong sense of justice and was fixated on joining the military, especially the Special Force, as a way to protect the people from dangerous criminals. He enlisted with the Army after high school, got promoted to Corporal after 2 years of service and passed the selection process for Special Force. After another 2 years of training and induction into the Special Force, Quang Anh was assigned to the 4th Platoon of the 3rd Special Force Company, specialized in jungle operations and stationed in the mountainous Northwest. He has participated in raids of drug cartels' hideouts and terrorist cells operating in the mountain jungles near Viet Quoc - Minh Dai border. Although known by his fellow soldiers as an easy-going and kind person, Quang Anh is an agile and deadly hand-to-hand specialist.
Area of expertise: jungle operations, hand-to-hand combat
Misc details: Quang Anh can communicate with the native Katu people. He is also a good guitar player and likes to jam out with his fellow soldiers during their down time.
Special Equipment: mini crossbow with lethal poison bolts made from the sap of the Ch’pơơr tree, something Quang Anh learnt from the Katu people of the Northwest.
RP sample:

It was a breezy autumn day of 2008 in Bình Lục. It's the last day of Quang Anh's leave. After 2 long years of harsh training, he finally got to go home to see his mom and young brother. Life of a commando is a dangerous one, so any time spent with his family is time Quang Anh tries to cherish to its last seconds. After deciding that a hearty dinner for his last night home is the best parting gift, Quang Anh took his 12-year-old brother, Quang Minh, downtown to grab some beers and ice on his old bicycle. The countryside road winds downhill through a chrysanthemum field; the flowers sway lightly as if waving to an old friend. It's a scene Quang Anh has always liked to bask himself in since his childhood. His mind wandered off to when his dad would take him to the town market...

"Bro, what do you do in the army?" Quang Minh question pulled him back to the present.

"Ah, I do all kinds of cool stuffs. I train, I protect the country, I fight the bad guys..."

"Do you? Do you get to do it like we see in the movies?" Quang Minh was visibly excited at the mention of cool fighting.

"Of course! Your brother is kicking asses, see. But I can't tell you the details. Confidential matters."

"Aww. Not even one?"

"Not even one. Maybe in the future when I retire I can tell you a little bit. But not now, buddy."

"I will join the army when I'm old enough. Then I won't need you to tell me. I'll do it myself." Quang Minh said with determination.

"Then you have to work on your fear of cockroaches, bro. They won't take scaredy pants in the army." Quang Anh jokingly tease Quang Minh as the little brother punches him in the back.

They continued to ride down the road, chatting and laughing; Bình Lục town appeared on the horizon.

The pair arrived at the convenient store as the sun started to set. "I'll be right back," Quang Minh jumped off the bike and run into the store. Quang Anh nodded lightly and took a glance inside the store. "Ah, Ms. Nam still runs the place, but she looks so much older." he thought, remembering the time he used to buy ice cream and toys here. It's been 4 years since he joined the Army and then got selected for the Special Force. 4 long years he was away from home, first stationed in the outskirt of the capital Dai Hoa, then in an mountainous region of An Hải Province. Being selected for the Special Force is an honor no soldier would decline, but they also know the notoriously arduous Special Force training would require them to sacrifice a lot to become the elite, including time with their loved ones. But he chose this path, he accepted the sacrifices, because...

"Help, help, robber!" a distress scream interrupted his train of thought.

Quang Anh immediately stood up from his bike seat. Across the street ahead of him, a big, tall man full of tattoos on the arms were trying to snatch a handbag from a middle-aged lady but she was holding on to it.

"Let go" the man growled. He suddenly pulled out a butterfly knife and pointed it threateningly at the lady. She seemed to panic at the sight of the blade, but she kept holding on to the handbag. He started swinging it widely as he made a hard pull. The lady couldn't hold it and fell forward into the swinging knife. One swing slashed her in the left arm... The robber ran away.

"Bastard! Dad..." In a flash, Quang Anh saw the image of his dad falling down after a robber stabbed him twice in the stomach. He was 10 when it happened...

"Minh, tell Ms. Nam to call the ambulance and police, right now. Get the adults to help the lady, hurry." Quang Anh turned to his brother who got out of the store just as the robbery happened. He looked pale and shaken... "Minh, look at me. Do as I say, save her. I'm gonna stop him. You can do it." Quang Anh looked his brother in the eyes.

Quang Minh snapped out of his fear, nodded and ran back to the store. Quang Anh jumped on the bike and tried to pedal as fast as he could after the perpetrator. The robber sensed his chaser and turned into a small alley. Quang Anh jumped off quickly and continue to pursue on foot. "Stop right now" Quang Anh shouted. The robber pulled the empty crates and parking motorbikes on the side into the way to stop Quang Anh, but he took no time to overcome the obstacles. Alley after alley, the robber tried to lose his chaser, but Quang Anh's speed and stamina finally cornered the robber into a dead end.

"Where to run now? Give up" Quang Anh carefully approached the robber, still panting from the running.

"Brat, you want to die? I'll f*cking kill you" the robber pulled out the knife from his pocket. He threw the handbag to one side and get into stance.

Before Quang Anh can say anything, the robber charged. He tried a stab, Quang Anh dodged out of the way. A flurry of knife attacks followed. Quang Anh grabbed the robber's arm but fail to disarm him as the robber twisted his body forcefully out of the grab. In that chaotic sequence, Quang Anh didn't notice an upswing of the knife from behind the robber's back. His stepping back was a bit too late, and the knife cut into his face from the right cheek up to his forehead, dangerously close to the eye. Quang Anh felt blood on his face as he kicked the robber in the chest.

He spat the blood out and return to his fighting stance. At that moment, he didn't feel any pain. He was determined to stop the robber.

The robber charged again. As the attacker swing his knife horizontally, Quang Anh very quickly moved to grab his wrist and pulling him into the ground with the momentum. He then took the knife and pressed his knee down the criminal's shoulder joint as he snapped the arm backward. The robber screamed in agony.

Pressing the robber face down with his whole body, Quang Anh put the knife next to the criminal's neck and said: "You're lucky you're only getting a broken arm today. Next time this knife will be slashing your neck." Quang Anh threw the knife far away and proceeded to handcuff the robber with his belt. "Good thing my pants can hold themselves. Ah shit, gotta do something about the wound." Quang Anh stood up as the police siren sounded closer and footsteps were heard running down the alley.

[United Formosa]

Application
Nation name: Kechuajog
Region of Tiandi: Cheongju
GDP: $130,543,845,762 (nominal)
Annual monitary commitment: $2,610,900,000 (~2% of GDP)
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal:
25x SEONG (Standard-issue Kechuajuan Army Rifles)
10x "Myeong Industries" 36 (Utility Military Helicopter)
1x Anchisu National Airbase (mountainous aerodrome available on demand for operations within and from Cheongju)
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes
Character name: Choe Saetbyeol
Appearance: Black medium-long hair, oval face with narrow nose, narrow lips and hazel eyes. Flat-chested with a somewhat muscular build. Outside of service, she often wears tank tops that expose a tattoo in Jeongmian on her right shoulder, which says "Excellence and patriotism" (탁월과 애국심; tagwolgwa aeguksim). Has a few minor scars along her right hand's thenar.
Height: 1.63m (5' 4")
Age: 26
Sex: Female
Bio: Saetbyeol comes from a rich background and showed early fascination in the military and defense of Kechuajog. At school, she was popular for her tomboyism and a tendency to deal with arguments through physical violence, both of these features also characterizing her today. She has four years of military experience and is generally praised for her performance and ability to follow orders. She can be humble and polite in asking for help, however she is also quite short-tempered, and overly confident in herself when she has the upper ground. Her patriotism also comes with a bit of casual xenophobia and arrogance.
Area of expertise: Retrieval operations necessitating stealth
Misc details: None
Special Equipment: A sickleknife (낫칼; natkal) bought from a market in Kealakekua, and adored ever since. Saetbyeol still hasn't learned to handle it flawlessly and has cut herself numerous times playing around with it.
RP sample:

Saetbyeol was walking at a normal pace through the narrow streets of Cheollaqta town. The smell of ethnic Quechuan food being cooked emanated from the open windows. It disgusted her, despite it being repulsed by occasional breezes. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket. She looked around, saw that there were no people nearby and quickly adjusted her wireless earbuds. It was the message from command.

"Annyeonghaseyo Choe Saetbyeol. If you just continue westward, you will soon see your target. He is a Qichwan man around his twenties wearing a school uniform and carrying a brown briefcase. Keep your distance, and eyes on the briefcase. We don't want to alert anyone. There's probably some cash and specific details to the insurgency in planning there. To reiterate, the task is simple. Get in their meeting place, gather as much intel as you can, and get out."

As soon as the transmission ended, she patted herself around the waistline to ensure all her equipment were intact under her cloak, and continued forth. Verily, she caught a glimpse of the man and began trailing him down, leading her into a surprisingly crowded town square. Whenever she felt she began losing track of him, she would just squeeze herself through the crowd and mutter a "Pampachaway", the word for "excuse me" in the native tongue Q'ispisimi. When in Hapcheon, do as the Hapcheonians do, she thought to herself and smirked, except this was no Hapcheon and these were no Hapcheonians.

Shortly after, the young man had entered a warehouse just around the corner. The warehouse itself was, according to the neon signs, property of Caangho, a Meisaani e-commerce company. It was guarded by two partisans that made little effort to hide their pistols tucked under their pants. Saetbyeol had to improvise to get inside. Luckily for her, the door to the apartment on the left was just being opened by a departing tenant. That was her chance.

She pretended to look for her keys, watched as the tenant left, and rushed inside as the door was about to close. It can't be that bad, she thought. There's definitely Kechuajuans in poverty that live alongside Quechuans, right? ...Right? She dismissed the thought and concentrated on getting up the stairs fast. Once she was on top of the roof, she only had to maneuver around the clothing racks and jump onto the opposite roof.

It was a success. She got out her smartphone and texted command that she was in position. Infiltration, however, was not yet complete and it would be too early to celebrate. That was because the way from the rooftop to the staircase was locked behind a utility room and Saetbyeol, she was standing outside in disbelief, knowing she had no device on her so small, as to be able to picklock the door...

Everything looks good to me. I'm getting some Sun Bak from Sense8 vibes. I enjoyed reading your app.
ACCEPTED

[United Formosa]

Application
Nation name: Taifalong Confederation
Region of Tiandi: South Jungju
GDP: $34,232,571,800 (nominal)
Annual monitary commitment: 2% which equals $684,651,436
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: TBD
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes
Character name: Kulilay Amis-ok Amit
Appearance:Dark skin with very short black hair, sharp features, piercing eyes, but a kind smile. Athletic build, but not muscular. She is a bit under weight for her height from a lack of prolonged sleep or steady meals.
Height:1.8 Meters (5ft11). Pretty tall for national average.
Age:36
Sex: Female
Bio: Kulilay grew up in the Amis caste, fairly privaledged, in the high rent district of the capital city, Pahng-Cai. Her father was Brigadier General Palawauy Amis-ak Amit; a successful commander and avid disciplinarian. Really what he wanted was a son, but he would have to settle for a soldier, a fact that he never let Kulilay forget as she attended the most prestigious private military schools money and influence could buy. Despite her father’s lackluster enthusiasm for her, and general benign neglect she was a happy and gregarious child with a passion for science and biology. As she grew older her father and her fought bitterly over the direction her life would take. In his ideal world she would prove herself in the Chhimsan Kun-jîn, Tafalong’s most elite mountain infantry fighting force.

When the time came to specialize she opted to attend medical school and become a full military physician. General Palawauy in practice disowned his daughter for delaying her acceptance into the Chhimsan Kun-jîn, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to stop interfering. She chose to be a doctor because if her destiny was going to be one of war, violence, and death; she wanted to be a light in the darkness so to speak. Help everyone she could.
The war in Geu-leuk Long would change everything. A civil war erupted 10 months into her first year in Chhimsan Kun-jîn Medical Company A. She was sent to a tiny island far out into the ocean that served as a staging point for island hopping operations throughout the area. As the war dragged on the enemy came closer and closer until they were attacking the island directly. The 10 man team and 30 guards swelled to several hundred bordering on a thousand. Even when the enemy pushed them out of their base and into the mountains the Tafalongese refused to surrender, but months of intense warfare had taken their toll and their march through hell was far from over.

Crowded almost shoulder to shoulder in a damp, disgusting cave, the Confederate soldiers fought on. The medical team dropped one by one from exhaustion and enemy shelling until only Kulilay was left. Alone she struggled to care for hundred of men, but it was a drop of water in the ocean. Even working for days at a time with no sleep and amphetamines she couldn't save everyone. Many bled to death on the floor waiting for treatment. 6 months into the siege reinforcements finally pushed the rebels off the island, but all they found in the cave was broken men and husks.
Everyone who was still living had been shaken to their cores. When the war was won, the Confederate government paraded them around like heroes. ‘Remember Bau-San. Stand strong like Bau-san’ became national rallying cries. Kulilay spent the next year in a constant cycle of PR stunts and therapy. Eventually she was deemed fit for service again, but her personality was never the same. Her eyes permanently held this Icey, unsettling focus.

Area of expertise: Battlefield medicine.
Misc details: She is also a skilled artist. During therapy her doctor suggested sketching as a way of meditation and to keep her finesse trained.
Special Equipment: Drawing notebook, tactical pen,
RP sample:
‘’Commander Amit’’ ‘’Commander Amit’’. The voice repeated several times before Kulilay’s day dream was broken. She rubbed her eyes and turned to look at the uneasy looking coreman waiting in front of her. ‘’Yes coreman, what do you need’’, the sudden need for coffee hitting her harder than it should have.
‘General Amit is here to see you.’
Her eyes widened, but her voice was equally rough and emotionless.
‘Unless the General has been shot he doesn’t need to see me. Tell him that this is a hospital, not a playground for bored politicians.’
‘Ma’am, he says you are being reassigned’
Indifference turned to anger, but she wouldn’t shoot the messenger for this thing. This was above his pay grade fuckery. ‘He’s smoking in the doctor’s lounge isn’t he?’, she more stated as a fact than asked.
‘Ye-‘
‘Thank you coreman’, she interrupted and started walking toward the door, ‘be on standby, just because he hasn’t been shot yet doesn’t mean I won’t do it’
Horror was the only emotion the 19 year old medic could muster.
Kulilay made her way up the stairs to the second floor and scanned her id to open the doctors lounge. Thick pungent smoke jumped to escape when she did. ‘Bananas and ass. At least some things don’t change’
‘You can’t smoke in here’. She approached the table in the center and propped herself up on one arm. He was a tall dark skinned man of 62 with years of stress and cigar smoke carved in his face. His teeth were yellowed, but his tired brown eyes carried a glimmer of cunning.
He turned, disappointment flashed briefly across his eyes, ‘is this really how you greet your father?’
‘My father or not, its still true. If you wanted to play family reunion you would have brought auntie and grandma. What do you want?’
He dropped a manilla envelope down on the table labelled ‘JSOC’ with a loud smack. ‘We have a lot to talk about’.

[Ebatica]

Application
Nation Name: Matobo
[b]Region of Tiandi: Miju
GDP: $1.835 trillion
Annual monetary commitment: 1.3% of GDP
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: TBD
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes
Character name: Takura Takatafare
Appearance: Broad-shouldered, muscular, and built like a refrigerator. Has square features and a prominent nose. Keeps his hair--which has prematurely started graying--cut into a short, curly crew cut. His thin, neatly-trimmed beard follows the angles of his jaw and is only broken by a short scar on the right side of his chin. Takura looks perpetually tired, and his eyes are often beady and bloodshot.
Height: 1.9 meters (6'3")
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Bio: Takura grew up in an upper-middle class family in Debanwe, the capital of Matobo. The youngest son of a community college philosophy professor and a nurse, Takura was pressured to succeed. Instead, he spent most of his childhood skateboarding, going to concerts, and getting into trouble. He was able to coast through school with his easy smile, sarcastic wit, and general intelligence, and after graduation he moved on to an expensive university on the coast with an undecided major. Two semesters in, he dropped out. With no real prospects, he signed on with the Matobo Defense Force. Takura was thrust into a combat engineer role in an urban combat zone in central Miju, and was forced to learn his role on the fly in a fight against a terrorist cell. By the end of the conflict, he had become competent at building combat installations, bomb disposal, and general demolitions work. After his tour, he returned to university to achieve his bachelors in chemistry, and reenlisted for service as a demolitions specialist.
Area of expertise: Combat engineer/demolitions
Misc details: Takura is a competent drummer and spends most of his downtime practicing fills by drumming against the wall of his room (much to the annoyance of his neighbors, probably). He also enjoys using his knowledge of chemistry to concoct ideas for new explosives, which are totally just hypothetical concepts and which he definitely has never actually built before, thanks for asking.
Special Equipment: Carries a knobkerrie club, a traditional weapon of his country.
RP sample:

The two men had a civilian car, but in a last second change of heart, parked on the outskirts of Okaba Square, they had decided to abandon it and make the rest of the trip on foot. It was nearing midnight and the only witnesses were prostitutes and their potential clients, but Takura had figured even two Matobwe soldiers carrying backpacks was less conspicuous than those same two soldiers driving a beat up coupe down an empty street. So far his guess had been right, as nobody had paid them any attention—or, if they had, they hadn’t shown it. Now Takura was knelt down in an alley behind an abandoned grocery store, rigging it to blow with C-4. Standing next to him, leaned against the wall, his partner Nagumbe was smoking a cigarette, the red firefly of the smoldering end lighting up his face with its dance. The wind picked up, barreling down the alley and mixing desert sand with smoke. The concoction caught in Takura’s throat and nearly made him choke.
“Would it kill you not to smoke for five minutes?”
Nagumbe lifted his boot and mashed the cigarette against the rubber. He took his time doing it. Once the theatrics were over, Takura grunted a thanks and got back to work. His fingers stripped the wires with the grace of a ballerina on a ballroom floor.
“You really think the terrorists are meeting in this place?” Nagumbe asked.
“You want my actual opinion?”
“I want whatever you want to give me.”
“Honestly? No. Intel saw a couple guys going in and out over the past few days. Could be insurgents. Could be homeless people. Could be the old owners coming in here to reminisce about the good old days before all this crap happened.”
“So we’re just bombing an old grocery for no reason?”
Takura snipped the end of a wire and inserted it into the detonator. He spat onto the ground, watching the sand turn to mud. “It’s not for no reason. It shows them we’re still here. That we’re still in the fight.”
“That’s what you tell yourself, huh?”
“Gotta tell yourself something,” Takura said, closing his toolbox. “All right, we’re set.”
Nagumbe took that as permission to fish another cigarette out of his pocket and light it. He wiped his brow with his lighter still in hand.
“Takura, let me ask you something else.”
“Fine.”
“Be honest with me.”
Takura shrugged. “Spit it out.”
“You sure none of this is some—you know—gratification kind of thing? You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.
“Some guys—not saying you, but some guys—get off on this kind of thing, you know? This destruction.”
Takura stared at him, hard. Nagumbe held his gaze for a few seconds before looking away and flicking absent-mindedly flicking the ash from his cigarette. Finally, Takura held up his right hand. Nagumbe flinched.
“How many fingers do I have?”
“What? Five.”
He held up his left. “And here?”
“Five.”
Takura picked up his backpack and started leaving the alley. Nagumbe scrambled to follow. Once they had cleared the square, Takura kept talking.
“I haven’t blown myself to bits yet because I’m not an idiot. You know how long I’ve been doing demolitions? Ten years. You don’t make it this long doing this if all you’re in it for is blowing people up because it gives you a hard on.”
Nagumbe didn’t ask him to go on. Takura didn’t offer him anything else. When they reached their car, they loaded up, turned on the radio, and waited for further orders. To anyone watching, they might as well have been friends discussing fine art or Jeongmian cuisine.

[United Formosa]

Application
Nation Name: Matobo
[b]Region of Tiandi: Miju
GDP: $1.835 trillion
Annual monetary commitment: 1.3% of GDP
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: TBD
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes
Character name: Takura Takatafare
Appearance: Broad-shouldered, muscular, and built like a refrigerator. Has square features and a prominent nose. Keeps his hair--which has prematurely started graying--cut into a short, curly crew cut. His thin, neatly-trimmed beard follows the angles of his jaw and is only broken by a short scar on the right side of his chin. Takura looks perpetually tired, and his eyes are often beady and bloodshot.
Height: 1.9 meters (6'3")
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Bio: Takura grew up in an upper-middle class family in Debanwe, the capital of Matobo. The youngest son of a community college philosophy professor and a nurse, Takura was pressured to succeed. Instead, he spent most of his childhood skateboarding, going to concerts, and getting into trouble. He was able to coast through school with his easy smile, sarcastic wit, and general intelligence, and after graduation he moved on to an expensive university on the coast with an undecided major. Two semesters in, he dropped out. With no real prospects, he signed on with the Matobo Defense Force. Takura was thrust into a combat engineer role in an urban combat zone in central Miju, and was forced to learn his role on the fly in a fight against a terrorist cell. By the end of the conflict, he had become competent at building combat installations, bomb disposal, and general demolitions work. After his tour, he returned to university to achieve his bachelors in chemistry, and reenlisted for service as a demolitions specialist.
Area of expertise: Combat engineer/demolitions
Misc details: Takura is a competent drummer and spends most of his downtime practicing fills by drumming against the wall of his room (much to the annoyance of his neighbors, probably). He also enjoys using his knowledge of chemistry to concoct ideas for new explosives, which are totally just hypothetical concepts and which he definitely has never actually built before, thanks for asking.
Special Equipment: Carries a knobkerrie club, a traditional weapon of his country.
RP sample:

The two men had a civilian car, but in a last second change of heart, parked on the outskirts of Okaba Square, they had decided to abandon it and make the rest of the trip on foot. It was nearing midnight and the only witnesses were prostitutes and their potential clients, but Takura had figured even two Matobwe soldiers carrying backpacks was less conspicuous than those same two soldiers driving a beat up coupe down an empty street. So far his guess had been right, as nobody had paid them any attention—or, if they had, they hadn’t shown it. Now Takura was knelt down in an alley behind an abandoned grocery store, rigging it to blow with C-4. Standing next to him, leaned against the wall, his partner Nagumbe was smoking a cigarette, the red firefly of the smoldering end lighting up his face with its dance. The wind picked up, barreling down the alley and mixing desert sand with smoke. The concoction caught in Takura’s throat and nearly made him choke.
“Would it kill you not to smoke for five minutes?”
Nagumbe lifted his boot and mashed the cigarette against the rubber. He took his time doing it. Once the theatrics were over, Takura grunted a thanks and got back to work. His fingers stripped the wires with the grace of a ballerina on a ballroom floor.
“You really think the terrorists are meeting in this place?” Nagumbe asked.
“You want my actual opinion?”
“I want whatever you want to give me.”
“Honestly? No. Intel saw a couple guys going in and out over the past few days. Could be insurgents. Could be homeless people. Could be the old owners coming in here to reminisce about the good old days before all this crap happened.”
“So we’re just bombing an old grocery for no reason?”
Takura snipped the end of a wire and inserted it into the detonator. He spat onto the ground, watching the sand turn to mud. “It’s not for no reason. It shows them we’re still here. That we’re still in the fight.”
“That’s what you tell yourself, huh?”
“Gotta tell yourself something,” Takura said, closing his toolbox. “All right, we’re set.”
Nagumbe took that as permission to fish another cigarette out of his pocket and light it. He wiped his brow with his lighter still in hand.
“Takura, let me ask you something else.”
“Fine.”
“Be honest with me.”
Takura shrugged. “Spit it out.”
“You sure none of this is some—you know—gratification kind of thing? You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.
“Some guys—not saying you, but some guys—get off on this kind of thing, you know? This destruction.”
Takura stared at him, hard. Nagumbe held his gaze for a few seconds before looking away and flicking absent-mindedly flicking the ash from his cigarette. Finally, Takura held up his right hand. Nagumbe flinched.
“How many fingers do I have?”
“What? Five.”
He held up his left. “And here?”
“Five.”
Takura picked up his backpack and started leaving the alley. Nagumbe scrambled to follow. Once they had cleared the square, Takura kept talking.
“I haven’t blown myself to bits yet because I’m not an idiot. You know how long I’ve been doing demolitions? Ten years. You don’t make it this long doing this if all you’re in it for is blowing people up because it gives you a hard on.”
Nagumbe didn’t ask him to go on. Takura didn’t offer him anything else. When they reached their car, they loaded up, turned on the radio, and waited for further orders. To anyone watching, they might as well have been friends discussing fine art or Jeongmian cuisine.

ACCEPTED. Good characterization. I can really picture this guy. Well, this small giant. Haha.

[Manaban]

Application
Nation name: Manaban
Region of Tiandi: Eastern and Southeastern Yoju
GDP: 37,420
Annual monitary commitment: (either in USD or % of GDP) : 33,899
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: Manaban is willing to donate 48,750 units, including 8 New Muduri class aircraft carriers, 42 Kirin class airplanes, and 48,700 troops including soldiers, marines and other personnel.
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Sure
Character name: Hashara (First name) Amuru (Last name)
Height: 1,82 m
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Bio: Hashara is part of one of the many ex-royal clans in Manaban after Nukigurun left. Even though they don't have as much power as in the Tas-ha dinasty, these clans still have a lot of influence in Mannese society.
From olympic athletes to politicians and all kinds of high-tier citizens are part of some sort of clan.
Hashara is not the exception, being raised in a traditional way on the Mannese countryside, he learned hunting and horse riding at an early age.
He was declared lost when he was 12 years old; last time seen in the western Mannese woods and returned to civilization 5 years later, wandering in the outskirts of Tangsha.
As soon as he turned 18, his family signed him up for the Mannese marine corps where he excelled in survivor training.
He graduated with honors as a private and ranked up throughout the years in his campaigns of foreign aid in Shojin and Kewhira.
After all those years in the wilderness and out in the ocean, he's not very cunning while interacting with other in his free time.


Area of expertise: Maritime ship boat combat, wilderness survivor techniques.
Special Equipment: Just a dagger, some rope and penicilin
RP sample:
''I just wonder how much more time left do we have untill our next mission'' Hashara asks to himself out loud while wandering the empty hall of the headquarters with his hands over his nape. He uncomfortably sits on one of the couches near the walls and rests his elbows on each leg, impatient and humble, knowing he is with people he can trust so as not to remain static waiting for orders.
''There's nobody here, I wonder if they left wuthout me...''

Sorry guys I don't have a lot of time to think of a sample RP since most of the day I'm at work :/

[United Formosa]

Application
Nation name: Manaban
Region of Tiandi: Eastern and Southeastern Yoju
GDP: 37,420
Annual monitary commitment: (either in USD or % of GDP) : 33,899
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: Manaban is willing to donate 48,750 units, including 8 New Muduri class aircraft carriers, 42 Kirin class airplanes, and 48,700 troops including soldiers, marines and other personnel.
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Sure
Character name: Hashara (First name) Amuru (Last name)
Height: 1,82 m
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Bio: Hashara is part of one of the many ex-royal clans in Manaban after Nukigurun left. Even though they don't have as much power as in the Tas-ha dinasty, these clans still have a lot of influence in Mannese society.
From olympic athletes to politicians and all kinds of high-tier citizens are part of some sort of clan.
Hashara is not the exception, being raised in a traditional way on the Mannese countryside, he learned hunting and horse riding at an early age.
He was declared lost when he was 12 years old; last time seen in the western Mannese woods and returned to civilization 5 years later, wandering in the outskirts of Tangsha.
As soon as he turned 18, his family signed him up for the Mannese marine corps where he excelled in survivor training.
He graduated with honors as a private and ranked up throughout the years in his campaigns of foreign aid in Shojin and Kewhira.
After all those years in the wilderness and out in the ocean, he's not very cunning while interacting with other in his free time.


Area of expertise: Maritime ship boat combat, wilderness survivor techniques.
Special Equipment: Just a dagger, some rope and penicilin
RP sample:
''I just wonder how much more time left do we have untill our next mission'' Hashara asks to himself out loud while wandering the empty hall of the headquarters with his hands over his nape. He uncomfortably sits on one of the couches near the walls and rests his elbows on each leg, impatient and humble, knowing he is with people he can trust so as not to remain static waiting for orders.
''There's nobody here, I wonder if they left wuthout me...''

Sorry guys I don't have a lot of time to think of a sample RP since most of the day I'm at work :/

There are a few things I would like to talk with you about. First, your GDP doesnt make since to me. This is supposed to be your entire nominal GDP, 37k seems much too low. And then you want to donate 33k of that to us. The second, we are more of a strike team operation than a full army. We dont really need thousands of soldiers and planes. A single state of the art air craft carrier would be more than generous. Or a squadran of attack helecopters, or special anti armor field artillary. We actually dont have that many boats at the moment so a carrier would be super. These are more in line with the kind of donations I had in mind. When we get a bit more set up having those people would be a great help in staffing multiple facilities across multiple nations,but for now we might leave that off. Finally, about your RP sample, I understand about having to work a lot and not a lot of time to write. It happens to all of us. I just want to remind you that the other people in the RP need enough substance to play off of and adapt into something complelling that pushes the story forward. So if you need more time in between posts to work something out, or need some help we would be glad to help you. Just want to be fair to everyone going forward and keep a decent minimum post size. I hope I haven't come across as too critical.


Edit: I also just realized that I never specified something about the equipment donations. I mean what equipment would you be willing to donate to get the organization going. You can always donate more and the organization expands.

[United Formosa]

Application
Nation name: Viet Quoc
Region of Tiandi: Southeast Jungju
GDP (nominal): $3,924,905,181,750
Annual monitary commitment: 0.1% GDP (about $4 billion)
What assets would your country be willing to donate to the JSOC arsenal: TBD
Would you be willing to host JSOC installations in your nation: Yes

Character name: Nguyen Quang Anh
Appearance: Slim but well-built body. Diamond face with slightly hollow cheeks, slim nose, thin lips and double-lidded brown eyes. Tan skin with short crew cut black hair and stubble. Has a cut scar running from the glabella along the nose down to the right cheekbone. Quang Anh has a calm expression and weary-looking eyes of a veteran who have seen and survived many dangerous situations.
Height: 1m77
Age: 34
Sex: Male
Bio: The eldest son of a former soldier and a teacher in Lâm An Provice, Quang Anh grew up in the countryside town of Bình Lục. As a child, he used to help his father, who after his retirement from the military worked on their small family pepper plantation. He loved hearing the military stories his father told him, and had always wanted to follow his footsteps in the military when he grow up. He lost his father when he was 10 when his father tried to stop a mugger from escaping. Since then he developed a very strong sense of justice and was fixated on joining the military, especially the Special Force, as a way to protect the people from dangerous criminals. He enlisted with the Army after high school, got promoted to Corporal after 2 years of service and passed the selection process for Special Force. After another 2 years of training and induction into the Special Force, Quang Anh was assigned to the 4th Platoon of the 3rd Special Force Company, specialized in jungle operations and stationed in the mountainous Northwest. He has participated in raids of drug cartels' hideouts and terrorist cells operating in the mountain jungles near Viet Quoc - Minh Dai border. Although known by his fellow soldiers as an easy-going and kind person, Quang Anh is an agile and deadly hand-to-hand specialist.
Area of expertise: jungle operations, hand-to-hand combat
Misc details: Quang Anh can communicate with the native Katu people. He is also a good guitar player and likes to jam out with his fellow soldiers during their down time.
Special Equipment: mini crossbow with lethal poison bolts made from the sap of the Ch’pơơr tree, something Quang Anh learnt from the Katu people of the Northwest.
RP sample:

It was a breezy autumn day of 2008 in Bình Lục. It's the last day of Quang Anh's leave. After 2 long years of harsh training, he finally got to go home to see his mom and young brother. Life of a commando is a dangerous one, so any time spent with his family is time Quang Anh tries to cherish to its last seconds. After deciding that a hearty dinner for his last night home is the best parting gift, Quang Anh took his 12-year-old brother, Quang Minh, downtown to grab some beers and ice on his old bicycle. The countryside road winds downhill through a chrysanthemum field; the flowers sway lightly as if waving to an old friend. It's a scene Quang Anh has always liked to bask himself in since his childhood. His mind wandered off to when his dad would take him to the town market...

"Bro, what do you do in the army?" Quang Minh question pulled him back to the present.

"Ah, I do all kinds of cool stuffs. I train, I protect the country, I fight the bad guys..."

"Do you? Do you get to do it like we see in the movies?" Quang Minh was visibly excited at the mention of cool fighting.

"Of course! Your brother is kicking asses, see. But I can't tell you the details. Confidential matters."

"Aww. Not even one?"

"Not even one. Maybe in the future when I retire I can tell you a little bit. But not now, buddy."

"I will join the army when I'm old enough. Then I won't need you to tell me. I'll do it myself." Quang Minh said with determination.

"Then you have to work on your fear of cockroaches, bro. They won't take scaredy pants in the army." Quang Anh jokingly tease Quang Minh as the little brother punches him in the back.

They continued to ride down the road, chatting and laughing; Bình Lục town appeared on the horizon.

The pair arrived at the convenient store as the sun started to set. "I'll be right back," Quang Minh jumped off the bike and run into the store. Quang Anh nodded lightly and took a glance inside the store. "Ah, Ms. Nam still runs the place, but she looks so much older." he thought, remembering the time he used to buy ice cream and toys here. It's been 4 years since he joined the Army and then got selected for the Special Force. 4 long years he was away from home, first stationed in the outskirt of the capital Dai Hoa, then in an mountainous region of An Hải Province. Being selected for the Special Force is an honor no soldier would decline, but they also know the notoriously arduous Special Force training would require them to sacrifice a lot to become the elite, including time with their loved ones. But he chose this path, he accepted the sacrifices, because...

"Help, help, robber!" a distress scream interrupted his train of thought.

Quang Anh immediately stood up from his bike seat. Across the street ahead of him, a big, tall man full of tattoos on the arms were trying to snatch a handbag from a middle-aged lady but she was holding on to it.

"Let go" the man growled. He suddenly pulled out a butterfly knife and pointed it threateningly at the lady. She seemed to panic at the sight of the blade, but she kept holding on to the handbag. He started swinging it widely as he made a hard pull. The lady couldn't hold it and fell forward into the swinging knife. One swing slashed her in the left arm... The robber ran away.

"Bastard! Dad..." In a flash, Quang Anh saw the image of his dad falling down after a robber stabbed him twice in the stomach. He was 10 when it happened...

"Minh, tell Ms. Nam to call the ambulance and police, right now. Get the adults to help the lady, hurry." Quang Anh turned to his brother who got out of the store just as the robbery happened. He looked pale and shaken... "Minh, look at me. Do as I say, save her. I'm gonna stop him. You can do it." Quang Anh looked his brother in the eyes.

Quang Minh snapped out of his fear, nodded and ran back to the store. Quang Anh jumped on the bike and tried to pedal as fast as he could after the perpetrator. The robber sensed his chaser and turned into a small alley. Quang Anh jumped off quickly and continue to pursue on foot. "Stop right now" Quang Anh shouted. The robber pulled the empty crates and parking motorbikes on the side into the way to stop Quang Anh, but he took no time to overcome the obstacles. Alley after alley, the robber tried to lose his chaser, but Quang Anh's speed and stamina finally cornered the robber into a dead end.

"Where to run now? Give up" Quang Anh carefully approached the robber, still panting from the running.

"Brat, you want to die? I'll f*cking kill you" the robber pulled out the knife from his pocket. He threw the handbag to one side and get into stance.

Before Quang Anh can say anything, the robber charged. He tried a stab, Quang Anh dodged out of the way. A flurry of knife attacks followed. Quang Anh grabbed the robber's arm but fail to disarm him as the robber twisted his body forcefully out of the grab. In that chaotic sequence, Quang Anh didn't notice an upswing of the knife from behind the robber's back. His stepping back was a bit too late, and the knife cut into his face from the right cheek up to his forehead, dangerously close to the eye. Quang Anh felt blood on his face as he kicked the robber in the chest.

He spat the blood out and return to his fighting stance. At that moment, he didn't feel any pain. He was determined to stop the robber.

The robber charged again. As the attacker swing his knife horizontally, Quang Anh very quickly moved to grab his wrist and pulling him into the ground with the momentum. He then took the knife and pressed his knee down the criminal's shoulder joint as he snapped the arm backward. The robber screamed in agony.

Pressing the robber face down with his whole body, Quang Anh put the knife next to the criminal's neck and said: "You're lucky you're only getting a broken arm today. Next time this knife will be slashing your neck." Quang Anh threw the knife far away and proceeded to handcuff the robber with his belt. "Good thing my pants can hold themselves. Ah shit, gotta do something about the wound." Quang Anh stood up as the police siren sounded closer and footsteps were heard running down the alley.

Accepted.