The Vast and Empty Sky (OOC/FT/Sci-Fi/Open)

[Esternial]

Name: Jacob Wash
Age: 29
Gender: M
Species: Human
Nationality/Allegiance: Jacob Wash
Physical appearance:
Identifying Marks: That million-dollar smile.

---

Skills: Jacob is a capable pilot. Getting involved in several illicit cargo runs, he's developed rather unorthodox skills which - while sometimes frowned upon by his straight edge colleagues - have made him a sought-after helmsman for jobs that most average pilots aren't quite cut out for - or they just have too much common sense.
Personality: Despite regularly throwing himself in stressful situations, Jacob managed to be mostly light-hearted about most situations, even those involving near-insurmountable odds. His laid-back attitude and thrill-seeking behaviour often gets him labelled as a suicidal maniac willing to accept just any job, but he simply loves to push the limits of both his own abilites and whichever ship he's piloting.
Weaknesses: As mentioned, Jacob is a fan of thrills, both on the job and during his leisure time. He can be exceedingly reckless, possibly putting himself into completely unavoidable danger. It also doesn't help him make a lot of permanent friends.
Likes/dislikes: Anything that excites and stimulates is something that Jacob may possibly like, whether it's a new and exotic drink on the cocktail menu or illegal cargo smuggling. It stands to reason he's no fan of sticking to boring routine, and he absolutely dreads living the life of a pilot running the same route over and over in the same old freighter.
Interests: (Optional)
Fears: Losing his freedom to enjoy his life as a pilot-for-fire and being bound to a dull and unsatisfying existence as so many others.

---

Bio: Little can be said about the formative years of Jacob Wash as they're so utterly drab they'd serve no purpose in describe the man he is today. Imagine just any average youth's life and you'd come close to whatever life Jacob until ending his training as a run-of-the-mill pilot. His parents put him through the finest flight school they could afford, which was very fine but obviously did not top the charts. His training would have landed him a comfortable job as a freighter pilot with little effort, accompanied with - of course - a fair pay which would have sustained him and possibly a family until he died peacefully in his sofa watching a re-run of Masterchef Alpha Centauri.

At least that is the fate Jacob imagined for himself as he walked out the hallowed halls of his flight school, and decided against that path. He took on jobs on a contractual bases, as a freelancer of sorts, which eventually got him involved in some illicit operations from time-to-time. Jacob welcomed the thrill of illegal cargo transportation - or whatever else landed on his path - and experienced life as a pilot unbound by 'proper flight etiquette'. It was utterly amazing. Sex, drugs and hardcore Cyanian Psytrance. Jacob lived (and still does) the life of a fucking superstar - on somewhat of a budget. He got paid well but not that well. His lifestyle did make him very poor at handling his finances, but as he got better at his thing, more contractors started actively looking for him and it just worked out. Even though most official institutions wouldn't have him on their official payroll, even they would occasionally request him by name for anything they couldn't put their own people on. Certainly there was and still is competition on his slice of the market, but Jacob never felt like he had to fight for elbow space, so he was doing just fine.
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Job-related activities
RP Sample: I'm sure you know a few.
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Rupudska]

(Image)

Name: Jacob Wash
Age: 29
Gender: M
Species: Human
Nationality/Allegiance: Jacob Wash
Physical appearance:
Identifying Marks: That million-dollar smile.

---

Skills: Jacob is a capable pilot. Getting involved in several illicit cargo runs, he's developed rather unorthodox skills which - while sometimes frowned upon by his straight edge colleagues - have made him a sought-after helmsman for jobs that most average pilots aren't quite cut out for - or they just have too much common sense.
Personality: Despite regularly throwing himself in stressful situations, Jacob managed to be mostly light-hearted about most situations, even those involving near-insurmountable odds. His laid-back attitude and thrill-seeking behaviour often gets him labelled as a suicidal maniac willing to accept just any job, but he simply loves to push the limits of both his own abilites and whichever ship he's piloting.
Weaknesses: As mentioned, Jacob is a fan of thrills, both on the job and during his leisure time. He can be exceedingly reckless, possibly putting himself into completely unavoidable danger. It also doesn't help him make a lot of permanent friends.
Likes/dislikes: Anything that excites and stimulates is something that Jacob may possibly like, whether it's a new and exotic drink on the cocktail menu or illegal cargo smuggling. It stands to reason he's no fan of sticking to boring routine, and he absolutely dreads living the life of a pilot running the same route over and over in the same old freighter.
Interests: (Optional)
Fears: Losing his freedom to enjoy his life as a pilot-for-fire and being bound to a dull and unsatisfying existence as so many others.

---

Bio: Little can be said about the formative years of Jacob Wash as they're so utterly drab they'd serve no purpose in describe the man he is today. Imagine just any average youth's life and you'd come close to whatever life Jacob until ending his training as a run-of-the-mill pilot. His parents put him through the finest flight school they could afford, which was very fine but obviously did not top the charts. His training would have landed him a comfortable job as a freighter pilot with little effort, accompanied with - of course - a fair pay which would have sustained him and possibly a family until he died peacefully in his sofa watching a re-run of Masterchef Alpha Centauri.

At least that is the fate Jacob imagined for himself as he walked out the hallowed halls of his flight school, and decided against that path. He took on jobs on a contractual bases, as a freelancer of sorts, which eventually got him involved in some illicit operations from time-to-time. Jacob welcomed the thrill of illegal cargo transportation - or whatever else landed on his path - and experienced life as a pilot unbound by 'proper flight etiquette'. It was utterly amazing. Sex, drugs and hardcore Cyanian Psytrance. Jacob lived (and still does) the life of a fucking superstar - on somewhat of a budget. He got paid well but not that well. His lifestyle did make him very poor at handling his finances, but as he got better at his thing, more contractors started actively looking for him and it just worked out. Even though most official institutions wouldn't have him on their official payroll, even they would occasionally request him by name for anything they couldn't put their own people on. Certainly there was and still is competition on his slice of the market, but Jacob never felt like he had to fight for elbow space, so he was doing just fine.
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Job-related activities
RP Sample: I'm sure you know a few.
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

Accepted.

[Pimps Inc]

I Wonder, is there an analog to the internet in this universe

[Rupudska]

I Wonder, is there an analog to the internet in this universe

Sorta. Most planets that aren't stuck in the Industrial Age or earlier (of which there are many, many such planets) have something along the lines of the internet for that planet. The Empire maintains an interplanetary 'extranet' system which it treats as a utility. Unfortunately it's infamously temperamental and prone to blackouts for no reason whatsoever, to the point that some systems only use the interstellar connections for military and governmental purposes.

The ones surrounding the Sol system are all very well connected however, mostly because that's where the nobles live and they'd bitch and whine if it ever went down. But nobody in the Imperial's higher echelons gives a flying fuck if the extranet were to go down in the boonies like on Thrawn B7.

[Pax Nerdvana]

Are there cybernetics?

[Esternial]

Are there cybernetics?

Someone got accepted whose character is all cybernetics so I think I can safely say "yes".

[Pimps Inc]

Here
Artists depiction, reconstructed from surveillance probes, external photography, and salvaged maps

Planet Name: HMS Freudian Nightmare
Atmosphere: Mostly breathable, though there are some sections of the ship that are depressurized, or have chemical and otherwise harmful leaks that make breathing and living fatal.
Size and Mass: Length: 514 Standard Kilometers
Width: 280 Standard Kilometers
Zenith/Nadir Depth: 208 Standard Kilometers
Axial Tilt, Orbital Distance, and Number 3 degrees, 778,600,627 kilometers, and 5th planet
Geography and Climate: The HMS Freudian Nightmare(so-nicknamed by pirates and scavengers and formalized by the scientific community) is an orbiting wreck of a gargantuan star ship of incalculable size and dating back millennia. It’s shaped like an uncommon, dagger-shaped battleship of the stars but measures hundreds of kilometers in length and width. The hull is badly tattered after years of decay in abandonment and scavenging in the modern day. The entirety of the insides have never been truly charted, with the science community estimating to have only mapped 8% of the entire ship, and made safe to travel and inhabit only .7%. The climate varies from ship section to ship section, with some being depressurized and exposed to open space, others having lost access to the ship’s life support that regulated temperature, others in similar condition but with thriving ecosystems of flora and fauna that have created hospitable conditions (for primitive societies that likely descend from the original crew of the ship) due to access to sunlight through massive windows that are part of the original design of some areas of the ship.
Culture and History: The following message was recovered by archeologists in the seventh week of discovery and exploration. The shipwreck has been dated between 7,000-23,000 standard years old. The origins of the construction of the ship and the long-gone civilization that built it are unknown, knowledge being limited to the so called “Maiden Flight Report” listed below and what little contact has been achieved with the incredibly diverse but hostile and primitive natives(crew?) living in the massive, maze-like corridors, decks, and ship sections.
Archived Transmission, File Document #5230, Datadump OMEGA

Code: Select all

Maiden Flight, $9$?] Freudian Nightmare
ImCORRUperial10+€{9PTEDons_£[1947CORRUPment[=~%CenTED, [REDACTED]

To Whom it May Concern:

Gentlemen, let me start by saying that I am greatly honored to be chosen for command of such a magnificent vessel. That said, our insystem shakedown cruise has turned up a few minor issues that I would like to see remedied as soon as possible.

1) We understand your desire to continue the classical stylized lines of the first star destroying class vessels, and we appreciate your asthetic sense in that regard. However, strictly speaking, was it absolutely necessary to scale up the bridge tower directly? I must confess the foreward bridge window is a great distraction. Militarily, we feel that as is, the three kilometer tall window pane may provide too tempting a target for enemy forces we may engage. We've lost four helmsmen so far to vertigo as well, and we don't think this is in the best interests of the vessel's well-being.

2) The sheer size of our vessel, while a glorious symbol of the mighty Emperor, which we all appreciate completely, has become apparent to us all. My initial briefing tour of the vessel took three weeks to complete, and the travel tubes were based on the design in use aboard slightly smaller star destroyer vessels. Travel time being prohibitive, we were forced to camp out in the corridors of the major sectors when we stopped for rest and sleep. Furthermore, since our crew quarters sections are located entirely within the aft dorsal sectors, both our Engineering crew and ground forces complements have built tent cities within their own sections, and are living there. Fire hazard has become nearly intolerable and the hydroponics department has sent me six hundred messages insisting that the smoke from the camp-fires is ruining their crop, and that we have enough food left aboard for only another four weeks.

2) Our vessel's own gravity is not being handled as well as could be done, with some minor problematical consequences. Our plumbing derpartment called my attention to the fact that the sewage from our 6 million-man crew backwashed through the air vents in Sections 42 to 78, decks 258 through 532. Malaria and dysentary broke out in those sections, and we were forced to cordon it off to prevent an epidemic. Our first Chief Medical Officer unfortunately was killed when he requested the paperwork on those affected, and upon receiving e-mailed reports from all 739 of his senior doctors, the computer screen in his quarters exploded, propelling shrapnel throughout his quarters. All droids who enter the area have failed to return, and a remote camera probe sent in recorded images of the survivors in the affected area. They were flinging their own feces at each other, warring with sharpened durasteel pipes, and attempting to eat the dismembered limbs of the aforementioned droids.

3) On a similar note, regarding the unfortunate loss of our last CMO, we have finally decided that the staff requirements of this vessel are creating further problems. For instance, our Chief Engineer has begun the habit of signing his reports, "Chief Marshal, Sovereign Nation of Ree'Ak'tor." He has since sealed off those decks, and started a war. The war in question is against his apparent rival, the commander of our ground forces near the main flightdeck, who has taken to calling himself "Bringer of the Twilight of Gods." Surveillance records indicate that they have since stopped wearing their uniforms, and have begun smearing their bodies with industrial cleaning fluid, lubricants, and paint before launching raids upon the Engineering Department. We believe that they have begun ritualistically sacrificing one of our starfighter pilots before each attack to bring them luck.

Aside from a minor note that some of our turbolaser turret gunners may have starved to death when their food shipments were cut off by the warzone, there is little else to remark on, save that in our first tactical drill, during the course of a two-hour right turn, we failed to halt our rotation with the result of the subsequent and very unfortunate destruction of the entire 4th Home Defense Fleet. I've made a note to send out letters of regret the moment we reacquire contact with our communications room at the bow of the vessel. That of course is the reason why this message had to be sent to your offices via pen, paper, and one of our probe droids. I beg forgivness for the clerical difficulties that may cause but will do my best to ensure a copy of this message is logged onto the main computer hard drive, as per protocol.

Signe[blocktext]d, Corr$20€~%[upted
Gra[color=#FFFFFF]nd[/color] ACORRUiral
PTED[/blocktext] Freudian Nightmare

BIG OL’ BALL (DO NO REMOVE)

Name: Sixtus Talonel Nedzweski VI
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Nationality/Allegiance: Oneself
Physical appearance:
Mugshot by Sonda-1 constabulary
Identifying Marks: Glasses he insists don’t look that bad but can’t be bothered to replace.

---

Skills: If his hunch is correct, he should know this “Class-G freighter” like the back of his hand. Though during his time as an apprentice, and later his time in temporary detention, he studied and became well versed in most starship designs, particularly those designed by Krenim Driveyards for government and private contracts. Has talked his way out of getting shot in the face by pirates before. Though once the Imperials came a-kicking-in-doors, he couldn’t keep up.
Personality: Quick-witted on insults or fun facts about the history of activity of sentient species from the 23rd century up to the current 37th with a slight lapse in the second half of the 25th and first half of the 26th. Sometimes his jokes and insults can be a bit too rooted in obscure history for people to understand, and therefore have no effect.
Weaknesses: He is lanky as a pen. Is missing part of his right index finger, has to fire awkwardly with the middle one. Though he’s only picked up a firearm twice, and only fired it once. He is near-sighted and wears glasses, having been arrested before getting surgery and his contacts dried up while he was being held in the detention facility and has not received a new prescription.
Likes/dislikes: +Reading up on history whenever the extranet isn’t down or from the files and articles he downloads on the rare days the extranet connection is strong enough +Playing multiplayer battle royals first person shooters +callgirls when they’re exotic -people with annoying voices -people who aren’t capable of keeping quiet while they work
Interests: Astronomy, Archeoastronomy, History of sentient species behavior, practicing the violin although he’s never been able to get enough time set aside for it, and vacationing on “paradise/tropical” planets
Fears: Getting stranded in space. Getting shot with a blaster through the gut and dying slowly of organ failure. Also, rejection.

---

Bio: Sixtus was born on the Vanguard science research vessel to a professor of anthropological studies named Sixtus T. A. Nedzweski V and his wife Captain Liason, a military attaché. A few months after his birth, the ship reached the newly built Sonda-1 permanent research station on the Freudian Nightmare. Sixtus’s father, already a renowned intellectual, was one of the first members of the anthropology community to arrive at the site, becoming a pioneer in establishing contact with the native tribes onboard.

Sixtus Jr. grew up in the Sonda-1 research station, established in the former site of the command bridge of the ship that had been cratered long before by space debri collisions. He received private tuition through his elementary years courtesy of a friend of the family and eventually from his father, who expected his son to become an anthropologist as well.

When Sixtus was twelve years old, his father and mother were killed after being caught in the crossfire between three warring native tribes in the Twentieth Ten Days’ War of the Hundred Sections and Thousand Decks. Professor Sixtus Sr. had been trying to mediate a peace between two of the belligerents but only succeeded in antagonizing the third tribe, who led a raid that killed both the Professor, his wife Captain Liason who was acting as military attaché, and dozens of tribesmen.

After that, little Sixtus the orphan was raised by the rest of the station, friends of the family, and the few other children in Sonda-1. He finished his studies in archeology to study his father’s wishes. He went on to receive a Doctorate in archeology recognized by the Imperial University and became an apprentice of the local branch of Krenim Driveyards. As he became older, he wandered farther from Sonda-1 during exploration missions, the idea of revenge against the native tribes an inescapable sentiment. It was on one of these missions that he encountered pirates from the Black Fleet of Wendell making deals with some of the research station administrators, allowing looting in sections that had been declared “hostile”.

After pondering the idea of turning them all in to authorities, he decided to wait and spy on them from afar, for weeks. Eventually, the administrators caught him spying during a transaction and had him captured and brought to them. After being threatened with expulsion from the station, removal of his doctoral title and apprenticeship, Sixtus killed them through depressurization of a a subsection of the base, himself only surviving through quick and lucky access to a space suit.

He convinced the Black Fleet to secretly supporting him in becoming administrator of the station, on the condition the previous arrangements on off-the-books looting would remain in place. Within a few short years, Sixtus had accumulated a small fortune from his bribes and slice of the looted artifacts’ sales, a fortune he kept completely secret.

He finished his apprenticeship and bought himself an expensive starship while he waited for papers to finalize on his hiring by Krenim Driveyards, who wanted him to help the designing of a cargo freighter class for a contract put out by the Imperial government. He had been in constant communication with Krenim Driveyards on the details of the ship design when Imperial security services arrived in Sonda-1 and carried out a sting operation on the pirates, arresting dozens. After “alternative interrogation techniques” on the pirates by the security services, his name came up and involvement fully detailed out to them. Sixtus was then arrested while in the middle of a video conference with Krenim Driveyards executives.

He was taken to a detention facility on Thrawn B7 while awaiting long range transport to the capital. After a few weeks, the security services offered him deffered prosecution deal. Help safely escort a Class-G freighter, pay a hefty fine, and the charges would be dropped. Arguably an improvement over sitting in the dry armpit of this hellhole of a planet. Sixtus agreed after being allowed to use his previously seized personal starship for the mission and learning he would be escorting a Class-G freighter whose description closely matched the design he had been working with Krenim Driveyards on. Those god-damn intellectual property thieves...
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Held in a temporary detention facility by Imperial security services.
RP Sample:
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

Name: Liason
Make and model: A one-of-a-kind vessel, designed to Sixtus’s personal specifications by himself and a privately hired team and hand-crafted on Thessia by Krenim Driveyards.
Appearance:
The Liason on Freyr’s Geode Sea
Length, Width, Height:
L: 80 meters
W: 8 meters
H: 6 meters
Weapons and Shielding: Given the vessel's limited high-speed performance and the wealthy nature of her owner, she carries small ion cannons and high-speed relay-capable shuttle against the possibility of pirate encounters.
Propulsion: Her drive systems employ revolutionary grav-stabilization techniques, reducing the perceptible effects of even such manoeuvres as orbit-surface transits to effectively nil for her passengers, although this comes at the expense of energy efficiency and performance.
Cargo capacity: 34 passengers
Seats:
Special Features: While capable of platform or port landing, the vessel's hull is optimized for landing in water, and she includes a complete marine/submarine propulsion system.
ALL I ASK IS A TALL SHIP

[Pax Nerdvana]

Are there cybernetics?

Someone got accepted whose character is all cybernetics so I think I can safely say "yes".

Great. I have some ideas for a character....

[Drakmah]

It's spelled 'Cyanian' but you're good.

Went on autopilot there, I'll fix it up.

[Pax Nerdvana]

It's not letting me copy and paste the app.

[Rupudska]

It's not letting me copy and paste the app.

Must be on your end.

[Esternial]

It's not letting me copy and paste the app.

Just press "Select All" above the white box containing the app and Ctrl + C

[Pax Nerdvana]

It's not letting me copy and paste the app.

Just press "Select All" above the white box containing the app and Ctrl + C

I'm doing this on mobile.

[Pimps Inc]

Just press "Select All" above the white box containing the app and Ctrl + C

I'm doing this on mobile.

If on iOS, just hold down any word in the application until it highlights, then click “Select All” while still highlighted, then hit copy.

[Backatri]

Name: "Gerald Remus Gurthie, Anthusian Intelligence Service. Are you sure you want all of this on tape?"

Age: "Twenty-Seven"

Gender: "Male"

Species: "Human"

Nationality/Allegiance: "Officially my allegiance lies to myself, and my 'native' home of Freyer. Unofficially, I serve you, Commandant, and the Anthusian Government, as a sleeper Agent. You really want an audio recording of this?"

Physical appearance: (see image)

Identifying Marks: "I've got my signet ring. As part of my character, I won it gambling at one of those SPACE RESORTS. Speaking freely as a citizen, it's a worthless hunk of steel given to me to solidify my cover. It's pretty hefty. I've used it as a brass knuckle before."

---

Skills: "You trained me in the cloak-and-dagger business, Commandant. You were the one who trained me in a valuable skill of using a handgun, and of hand-to-hand combat. It was you who personally guided me in the art of seduction and persuasion, and made damn sure I buried my moral code about lying. Your dirty money funded my education in Political Science at a small university in Freyer. I'm not even sure this interview is necessary. You want to know my skill-set? I'M A SLEEPER AGENT. I HAVE THE SKILLS OF A SPY, COMMANDANT."

Personality: "I have the natural paranoia of anyone involved in espionage. I plot, plot, and plot for escape routes. I listen, and wait for information to come to me, rather than pressure the target and risk becoming exposed. Like many in my position, Commandant, I am exactly the curious mind that our government's revolutionary ideology so readily seduced."

Weaknesses: "While I would love to say that I am a clean cut 'James Bond', like those pulp fiction novelas on your wall, Commandant, I am really a very flawed man. So flawed, in fact, that it plays to my advantage. No perfect man would work on a freighter for money. I am perhaps to ready to execute a very simple plan, rather than a complicated plan, and then expect the scruples and issues to sort themselves out, leading nowhere to me. I've never really been good at espionage when I've been taken into custody. This unfortunate flaw has led to many a desperate shoot-out, and has pushed me to err on the side of caution as I conduct surveillance and gather information."

Likes/dislikes: "What do I like, Commandant? I love our nation, our Ideology, and, every so-often, a bowl of ice-cream. I occasionally enjoy my job of spying, when I feel like a protagonist, rather than a villain. I intensely dislike killing. Nothing ever feels so terrible as the robbery of life, and murder I have ever committed gnaws at my soul."
Interests:(Optional)
Fears: "Capture. Execution. Words that fly through the mind of all spies as we conduct our unholy trade. My largest fear is truly bonding with the enemy though, as in the moment of having mercy on them for their kindness, they shall have none, and will kill me."

---

Bio: "What of my life do you not know that I know, Commandant? I was but five when you rescued me from the slums. You saved me, like so many others, from a lifetime of poverty and desperation, although I know that your rescue was not one of kindness, but necessity."

"Unlike the native orphans of Anthusia, who receive happy families and new homes, orphans from other planets, the foreign ones, such as my own, are saved by the brave agents of Anthusia and inducted into espionage programs. I don't know why we have so many sleeper agents for such a comparatively small nation, but it must serve some purpose. Anyway, to a small child, the romantic life of a gentleman-spy was far more enticing than serving in the battered organization that is our army. Despite my apprehensions about our military, I received their training, albeit at an earlier age, and with far less emphasis on blindly following orders. I was crafted from a starving, scrawny child into a weapon. Then, I was trained to become a handsome, suave gentleman. My training has been so thorough that I believe I can convince anyone that I am anything, period."

"Then, at the tender age of 17, I was sent off to establish a cover. I went to school on Freyer, adapted its customs, and passed myself off as one of them. Officially, I was the only child of a loving and wealthy couple, who generously funded my education. Unofficially, they were my handlers, and still are, affectionately known as 'mom' and 'dad', despite my lack of blood relation or resemblance to them. They are, I believe, still my handlers, whatever evidence I gather shall be sent 'home' in a communication to them, and from there to Anthusia."

"My education was typical, but I used my powers of learning to learn the language of our Cipaqoaltus friends, to gain yet more opportunities to find a suitable place to gather intelligence. From 17 to now I've been a ordinary galactic citizen, vacationing in SPACE RESORTS, working various jobs, and generally being unassuming. As you have read from my file, Commandant, I have participated in several covert missions, assassinating and stealing our nation the twin treasures of power and knowledge. However, this will be my first long-term, independent operation without close contact with handlers. However, you have said that I am competent enough for this mission, so I am competent for this mission."

"When the Cyanian Government contacted me, I was one of a pool of 30,000 candidates for 'language liaison' on what was called a 'official government cargo run'. Of course, half of the candidates saw a boring cargo run, and so abandoned the trip. The rest were vicious, fighting for the riches at the end of the mission. Only I saw the mystery in such a cargo run, and the potential to collect valuable snippets of information for our Government. When the Cyanian bureaucrats saw my expertise with the handgun, my skill with the reptilian language, and the size of my bribe, I was a shoo-in, not only covering the duty of Language Liaison, but also the duty of a standard Mercenary."
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: "Truly, Commandant? You want me to commit this to an undying audio format? If you say so. I Gerald R. Gurthie, am a double agent working for the Anthusian Government with the goal of uncovering whatever cargo is onboard the Cyanian Ship, posing as a Language Liason and gun-for-hire."
RP Sample: I led the worldbuilding charge on the OG thread
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

And that's an app. I'll make a worldbuilding post expanding on Anthusia and why it has a sleeper agent attached to this mission

[Rupudska]

Very nice. Accepted, and will update the list soon.

[Pimps Inc]

Here
Artists depiction, reconstructed from surveillance probes, external photography, and salvaged maps

Planet Name: HMS Freudian Nightmare
Atmosphere: Mostly breathable, though there are some sections of the ship that are depressurized, or have chemical and otherwise harmful leaks that make breathing and living fatal.
Size and Mass: Length: 514 Standard Kilometers
Width: 280 Standard Kilometers
Zenith/Nadir Depth: 208 Standard Kilometers
Axial Tilt, Orbital Distance, and Number 3 degrees, 778,600,627 kilometers, and 5th planet
Geography and Climate: The HMS Freudian Nightmare(so-nicknamed by pirates and scavengers and formalized by the scientific community) is an orbiting wreck of a gargantuan star ship of incalculable size and dating back millennia. It’s shaped like a UN common, dagger-shaped battleship of the stars but measures hundreds of kilometers in length and width. The hull is badly tattered after years of decay in abandonment and scavenging in the modern day. The entirety of the insides have never been truly charted, with the science community estimating to have only mapped 8% of the entire ship, and made safe to travel and inhabit only .7%. The climate varies from ship section to ship section, with some being depressurized and exposed to open space, others having lost access to the ship’s life support that regulated temperature, others in similar condition but with thriving ecosystems of flora and fauna that have created hospitable conditions (for primitive societies that likely descend from the original crew of the ship) due to access to sunlight through massive windows that are part of the original design of some areas of the ship.
Culture and History: The following message was recovered by archeologists in the seventh week of discovery and exploration. The shipwreck has been dated between 7,000-23,000 standard years old. The origins of the construction of the ship and the long-gone civilization that built it are unknown, knowledge being limited to the so called “Maiden Flight Report” listed below and what little contact has been achieved with the incredibly diverse but hostile and primitive natives(crew?) living in the massive, maze-like corridors, decks, and ship sections.
Archived Transmission, File Document #5230, Datadump OMEGA

Code: Select all

Maiden Flight, $9$?] Freudian Nightmare
ImCORRUperial10+€{9PTEDons_£[1947CORRUPment[=~%CenTED, [REDACTED]

To Whom it May Concern:

Gentlemen, let me start by saying that I am greatly honored to be chosen for command of such a magnificent vessel. That said, our insystem shakedown cruise has turned up a few minor issues that I would like to see remedied as soon as possible.

1) We understand your desire to continue the classical stylized lines of the first star destroying class vessels, and we appreciate your asthetic sense in that regard. However, strictly speaking, was it absolutely necessary to scale up the bridge tower directly? I must confess the foreward bridge window is a great distraction. Militarily, we feel that as is, the three kilometer tall window pane may provide too tempting a target for enemy forces we may engage. We've lost four helmsmen so far to vertigo as well, and we don't think this is in the best interests of the vessel's well-being.

2) The sheer size of our vessel, while a glorious symbol of the mighty Emperor, which we all appreciate completely, has become apparent to us all. My initial briefing tour of the vessel took three weeks to complete, and the travel tubes were based on the design in use aboard slightly smaller star destroyer vessels. Travel time being prohibitive, we were forced to camp out in the corridors of the major sectors when we stopped for rest and sleep. Furthermore, since our crew quarters sections are located entirely within the aft dorsal sectors, both our Engineering crew and ground forces complements have built tent cities within their own sections, and are living there. Fire hazard has become nearly intolerable and the hydroponics department has sent me six hundred messages insisting that the smoke from the camp-fires is ruining their crop, and that we have enough food left aboard for only another four weeks.

2) Our vessel's own gravity is not being handled as well as could be done, with some minor problematical consequences. Our plumbing derpartment called my attention to the fact that the sewage from our 6 million-man crew backwashed through the air vents in Sections 42 to 78, decks 258 through 532. Malaria and dysentary broke out in those sections, and we were forced to cordon it off to prevent an epidemic. Our first Chief Medical Officer unfortunately was killed when he requested the paperwork on those affected, and upon receiving e-mailed reports from all 739 of his senior doctors, the computer screen in his quarters exploded, propelling shrapnel throughout his quarters. All droids who enter the area have failed to return, and a remote camera probe sent in recorded images of the survivors in the affected area. They were flinging their own feces at each other, warring with sharpened durasteel pipes, and attempting to eat the dismembered limbs of the aforementioned droids.

3) On a similar note, regarding the unfortunate loss of our last CMO, we have finally decided that the staff requirements of this vessel are creating further problems. For instance, our Chief Engineer has begun the habit of signing his reports, "Chief Marshal, Sovereign Nation of Ree'Ak'tor." He has since sealed off those decks, and started a war. The war in question is against his apparent rival, the commander of our ground forces near the main flightdeck, who has taken to calling himself "Bringer of the Twilight of Gods." Surveillance records indicate that they have since stopped wearing their uniforms, and have begun smearing their bodies with industrial cleaning fluid, lubricants, and paint before launching raids upon the Engineering Department. We believe that they have begun ritualistically sacrificing one of our starfighter pilots before each attack to bring them luck.

Aside from a minor note that some of our turbolaser turret gunners may have starved to death when their food shipments were cut off by the warzone, there is little else to remark on, save that in our first tactical drill, during the course of a two-hour right turn, we failed to halt our rotation with the result of the subsequent and very unfortunate destruction of the entire 4th Home Defense Fleet. I've made a note to send out letters of regret the moment we reacquire contact with our communications room at the bow of the vessel. That of course is the reason why this message had to be sent to your offices via pen, paper, and one of our probe droids. I beg forgivness for the clerical difficulties that may cause but will do my best to ensure a copy of this message is logged onto the main computer hard drive, as per protocol.

Signe[blocktext]d, Corr$20€~%[upted
Gra[color=#FFFFFF]nd[/color] ACORRUiral
PTED[/blocktext] Freudian Nightmare

BIG OL’ BALL (DO NO REMOVE)

Name: Sixtus Talonel Nedzweski VI
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Nationality/Allegiance: Oneself
Physical appearance: (Image)
Mugshot by Sonda-1 constabulary
Identifying Marks: Glasses he insists don’t look that bad but can’t be bothered to replace.

---

Skills: If his hunch is correct, he should know this “Class-G freighter” like the back of his hand. Though during his time as an apprentice, and later his time in temporary detention, he studied and became well versed in most starship designs, particularly those designed by Krenim Driveyards for government and private contracts. Has talked his way out of getting shot in the face by pirates before. Though once the Imperials came a-kicking-in-doors, he couldn’t keep up.
Personality: Quick-witted on insults or fun facts about the history of activity of sentient species from the 23rd century up to the current 37th with a slight lapse in the second half of the 25th and first half of the 26th. Sometimes his jokes and insults can be a bit too rooted in obscure history for people to understand, and therefore have no effect.
Weaknesses: He is lanky as a pen. Is missing part of his right index finger, has to fire awkwardly with the middle one. Though he’s only picked up a firearm twice, and only fired it once. He is near-sighted and wears glasses, having been arrested before getting surgery and his contacts dried up while he was being held in the detention facility and has not received a new prescription.
Likes/dislikes: +Reading up on history whenever the extranet isn’t down or from the files and articles he downloads on the rare days the extranet connection is strong enough +Playing multiplayer battle royals first person shooters +callgirls when they’re exotic -people with annoying voices -people who aren’t capable of keeping quiet while they work
Interests: Astronomy, Archeoastronomy, History of sentient species behavior, practicing the violin although he’s never been able to get enough time set aside for it, and vacationing on “paradise/tropical” planets
Fears: Getting stranded in space. Getting shot with a blaster through the gut and dying slowly of organ failure. Also, rejection.

---

Bio: Sixtus was born on the Vanguard science research vessel to a professor of anthropological studies named Sixtus T. A. Nedzweski V and his wife Captain Liason, a military attaché. A few months after his birth, the ship reached the newly built Sonda-1 permanent research station on the Freudian Nightmare. Sixtus’s father, already a renowned intellectual, was one of the first members of the anthropology community to arrive at the site, becoming a pioneer in establishing contact with the native tribes onboard.

Sixtus Jr. grew up in the Sonda-1 research station, established in the former site of the command bridge of the ship that had been cratered long before by space debri collisions. He received private tuition through his elementary years courtesy of a friend of the family and eventually from his father, who expected his son to become an anthropologist as well.

When Sixtus was twelve years old, his father and mother were killed after being caught in the crossfire between three warring native tribes in the Twentieth Ten Days’ War of the Hundred Sections and Thousand Decks. Professor Sixtus Sr. had been trying to mediate a peace between two of the belligerents but only succeeded in antagonizing the third tribe, who led a raid that killed both the Professor, his wife Captain Liason who was acting as military attaché, and dozens of tribesmen.

After that, little Sixtus the orphan was raised by the rest of the station, friends of the family, and the few other children in Sonda-1. He finished his studies in archeology to study his father’s wishes. He went on to receive a Doctorate in archeology recognized by the Imperial University and became an apprentice of the local branch of Krenim Driveyards. As he became older, he wandered farther from Sonda-1 during exploration missions, the idea of revenge against the native tribes an inescapable sentiment. It was on one of these missions that he encountered pirates from the Black Fleet of Wendell making deals with some of the research station administrators, allowing looting in sections that had been declared “hostile”.

After pondering the idea of turning them all in to authorities, he decided to wait and spy on them from afar, for weeks. Eventually, the administrators caught him spying during a transaction and had him captured and brought to them. After being threatened with expulsion from the station, removal of his doctoral title and apprenticeship, Sixtus killed them through depressurization of a a subsection of the base, himself only surviving through quick and lucky access to a space suit.

He convinced the Black Fleet to secretly supporting him in becoming administrator of the station, on the condition the previous arrangements on off-the-books looting would remain in place. Within a few short years, Sixtus had accumulated a small fortune from his bribes and slice of the looted artifacts’ sales, a fortune he kept completely secret.

He finished his apprenticeship and bought himself an expensive starship while he waited for papers to finalize on his hiring by Krenim Driveyards, who wanted him to help the designing of a cargo freighter class for a contract put out by the Imperial government. He had been in constant communication with Krenim Driveyards on the details of the ship design when Imperial security services arrived in Sonda-1 and carried out a sting operation on the pirates, arresting dozens. After “alternative interrogation techniques” on the pirates by the security services, his name came up and involvement fully detailed out to them. Sixtus was then arrested while in the middle of a video conference with Krenim Driveyards executives.

He was taken to a detention facility on Thrawn B7 while awaiting long range transport to the capital. After a few weeks, the security services offered him deffered prosecution deal. Help safely escort a Class-G freighter, pay a hefty fine, and the charges would be dropped. Arguably an improvement over sitting in the dry armpit of this hellhole of a planet. Sixtus agreed after being allowed to use his previously seized personal starship for the mission and learning he would be escorting a Class-G freighter whose description closely matched the design he had been working with Krenim Driveyards on. Those god-damn intellectual property thieves...
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Held in a temporary detention facility by Imperial security services.
RP Sample:
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

Name: Liason
Make and model: A one-of-a-kind vessel, designed to Sixtus’s personal specifications by himself and a privately hired team and hand-crafted on Thessia by Krenim Driveyards.
Appearance: (Image)
The Liason on Freyr’s Geode Sea
Length, Width, Height:
L: 80 meters
W: 8 meters
H: 6 meters
Weapons and Shielding: Given the vessel's limited high-speed performance and the wealthy nature of her owner, she carries small ion cannons and high-speed relay-capable shuttle against the possibility of pirate encounters.
Propulsion: Her drive systems employ revolutionary grav-stabilization techniques, reducing the perceptible effects of even such manoeuvres as orbit-surface transits to effectively nil for her passengers, although this comes at the expense of energy efficiency and performance.
Cargo capacity: 34 passengers
Seats:
Special Features: While capable of platform or port landing, the vessel's hull is optimized for landing in water, and she includes a complete marine/submarine propulsion system.
ALL I ASK IS A TALL SHIP

Hello, please?

[Rupudska]

Here
Artists depiction, reconstructed from surveillance probes, external photography, and salvaged maps

Planet Name: HMS Freudian Nightmare
Atmosphere: Mostly breathable, though there are some sections of the ship that are depressurized, or have chemical and otherwise harmful leaks that make breathing and living fatal.
Size and Mass: Length: 514 Standard Kilometers
Width: 280 Standard Kilometers
Zenith/Nadir Depth: 208 Standard Kilometers
Axial Tilt, Orbital Distance, and Number 3 degrees, 778,600,627 kilometers, and 5th planet
Geography and Climate: The HMS Freudian Nightmare(so-nicknamed by pirates and scavengers and formalized by the scientific community) is an orbiting wreck of a gargantuan star ship of incalculable size and dating back millennia. It’s shaped like a UN common, dagger-shaped battleship of the stars but measures hundreds of kilometers in length and width. The hull is badly tattered after years of decay in abandonment and scavenging in the modern day. The entirety of the insides have never been truly charted, with the science community estimating to have only mapped 8% of the entire ship, and made safe to travel and inhabit only .7%. The climate varies from ship section to ship section, with some being depressurized and exposed to open space, others having lost access to the ship’s life support that regulated temperature, others in similar condition but with thriving ecosystems of flora and fauna that have created hospitable conditions (for primitive societies that likely descend from the original crew of the ship) due to access to sunlight through massive windows that are part of the original design of some areas of the ship.
Culture and History: The following message was recovered by archeologists in the seventh week of discovery and exploration. The shipwreck has been dated between 7,000-23,000 standard years old. The origins of the construction of the ship and the long-gone civilization that built it are unknown, knowledge being limited to the so called “Maiden Flight Report” listed below and what little contact has been achieved with the incredibly diverse but hostile and primitive natives(crew?) living in the massive, maze-like corridors, decks, and ship sections.
Archived Transmission, File Document #5230, Datadump OMEGA

Code: Select all

Maiden Flight, $9$?] Freudian Nightmare
ImCORRUperial10+€{9PTEDons_£[1947CORRUPment[=~%CenTED, [REDACTED]

To Whom it May Concern:

Gentlemen, let me start by saying that I am greatly honored to be chosen for command of such a magnificent vessel. That said, our insystem shakedown cruise has turned up a few minor issues that I would like to see remedied as soon as possible.

1) We understand your desire to continue the classical stylized lines of the first star destroying class vessels, and we appreciate your asthetic sense in that regard. However, strictly speaking, was it absolutely necessary to scale up the bridge tower directly? I must confess the foreward bridge window is a great distraction. Militarily, we feel that as is, the three kilometer tall window pane may provide too tempting a target for enemy forces we may engage. We've lost four helmsmen so far to vertigo as well, and we don't think this is in the best interests of the vessel's well-being.

2) The sheer size of our vessel, while a glorious symbol of the mighty Emperor, which we all appreciate completely, has become apparent to us all. My initial briefing tour of the vessel took three weeks to complete, and the travel tubes were based on the design in use aboard slightly smaller star destroyer vessels. Travel time being prohibitive, we were forced to camp out in the corridors of the major sectors when we stopped for rest and sleep. Furthermore, since our crew quarters sections are located entirely within the aft dorsal sectors, both our Engineering crew and ground forces complements have built tent cities within their own sections, and are living there. Fire hazard has become nearly intolerable and the hydroponics department has sent me six hundred messages insisting that the smoke from the camp-fires is ruining their crop, and that we have enough food left aboard for only another four weeks.

2) Our vessel's own gravity is not being handled as well as could be done, with some minor problematical consequences. Our plumbing derpartment called my attention to the fact that the sewage from our 6 million-man crew backwashed through the air vents in Sections 42 to 78, decks 258 through 532. Malaria and dysentary broke out in those sections, and we were forced to cordon it off to prevent an epidemic. Our first Chief Medical Officer unfortunately was killed when he requested the paperwork on those affected, and upon receiving e-mailed reports from all 739 of his senior doctors, the computer screen in his quarters exploded, propelling shrapnel throughout his quarters. All droids who enter the area have failed to return, and a remote camera probe sent in recorded images of the survivors in the affected area. They were flinging their own feces at each other, warring with sharpened durasteel pipes, and attempting to eat the dismembered limbs of the aforementioned droids.

3) On a similar note, regarding the unfortunate loss of our last CMO, we have finally decided that the staff requirements of this vessel are creating further problems. For instance, our Chief Engineer has begun the habit of signing his reports, "Chief Marshal, Sovereign Nation of Ree'Ak'tor." He has since sealed off those decks, and started a war. The war in question is against his apparent rival, the commander of our ground forces near the main flightdeck, who has taken to calling himself "Bringer of the Twilight of Gods." Surveillance records indicate that they have since stopped wearing their uniforms, and have begun smearing their bodies with industrial cleaning fluid, lubricants, and paint before launching raids upon the Engineering Department. We believe that they have begun ritualistically sacrificing one of our starfighter pilots before each attack to bring them luck.

Aside from a minor note that some of our turbolaser turret gunners may have starved to death when their food shipments were cut off by the warzone, there is little else to remark on, save that in our first tactical drill, during the course of a two-hour right turn, we failed to halt our rotation with the result of the subsequent and very unfortunate destruction of the entire 4th Home Defense Fleet. I've made a note to send out letters of regret the moment we reacquire contact with our communications room at the bow of the vessel. That of course is the reason why this message had to be sent to your offices via pen, paper, and one of our probe droids. I beg forgivness for the clerical difficulties that may cause but will do my best to ensure a copy of this message is logged onto the main computer hard drive, as per protocol.

Signe[blocktext]d, Corr$20€~%[upted
Gra[color=#FFFFFF]nd[/color] ACORRUiral
PTED[/blocktext] Freudian Nightmare

BIG OL’ BALL (DO NO REMOVE)

Name: Sixtus Talonel Nedzweski VI
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Nationality/Allegiance: Oneself
Physical appearance: (Image)
Mugshot by Sonda-1 constabulary
Identifying Marks: Glasses he insists don’t look that bad but can’t be bothered to replace.

---

Skills: If his hunch is correct, he should know this “Class-G freighter” like the back of his hand. Though during his time as an apprentice, and later his time in temporary detention, he studied and became well versed in most starship designs, particularly those designed by Krenim Driveyards for government and private contracts. Has talked his way out of getting shot in the face by pirates before. Though once the Imperials came a-kicking-in-doors, he couldn’t keep up.
Personality: Quick-witted on insults or fun facts about the history of activity of sentient species from the 23rd century up to the current 37th with a slight lapse in the second half of the 25th and first half of the 26th. Sometimes his jokes and insults can be a bit too rooted in obscure history for people to understand, and therefore have no effect.
Weaknesses: He is lanky as a pen. Is missing part of his right index finger, has to fire awkwardly with the middle one. Though he’s only picked up a firearm twice, and only fired it once. He is near-sighted and wears glasses, having been arrested before getting surgery and his contacts dried up while he was being held in the detention facility and has not received a new prescription.
Likes/dislikes: +Reading up on history whenever the extranet isn’t down or from the files and articles he downloads on the rare days the extranet connection is strong enough +Playing multiplayer battle royals first person shooters +callgirls when they’re exotic -people with annoying voices -people who aren’t capable of keeping quiet while they work
Interests: Astronomy, Archeoastronomy, History of sentient species behavior, practicing the violin although he’s never been able to get enough time set aside for it, and vacationing on “paradise/tropical” planets
Fears: Getting stranded in space. Getting shot with a blaster through the gut and dying slowly of organ failure. Also, rejection.

---

Bio: Sixtus was born on the Vanguard science research vessel to a professor of anthropological studies named Sixtus T. A. Nedzweski V and his wife Captain Liason, a military attaché. A few months after his birth, the ship reached the newly built Sonda-1 permanent research station on the Freudian Nightmare. Sixtus’s father, already a renowned intellectual, was one of the first members of the anthropology community to arrive at the site, becoming a pioneer in establishing contact with the native tribes onboard.

Sixtus Jr. grew up in the Sonda-1 research station, established in the former site of the command bridge of the ship that had been cratered long before by space debri collisions. He received private tuition through his elementary years courtesy of a friend of the family and eventually from his father, who expected his son to become an anthropologist as well.

When Sixtus was twelve years old, his father and mother were killed after being caught in the crossfire between three warring native tribes in the Twentieth Ten Days’ War of the Hundred Sections and Thousand Decks. Professor Sixtus Sr. had been trying to mediate a peace between two of the belligerents but only succeeded in antagonizing the third tribe, who led a raid that killed both the Professor, his wife Captain Liason who was acting as military attaché, and dozens of tribesmen.

After that, little Sixtus the orphan was raised by the rest of the station, friends of the family, and the few other children in Sonda-1. He finished his studies in archeology to study his father’s wishes. He went on to receive a Doctorate in archeology recognized by the Imperial University and became an apprentice of the local branch of Krenim Driveyards. As he became older, he wandered farther from Sonda-1 during exploration missions, the idea of revenge against the native tribes an inescapable sentiment. It was on one of these missions that he encountered pirates from the Black Fleet of Wendell making deals with some of the research station administrators, allowing looting in sections that had been declared “hostile”.

After pondering the idea of turning them all in to authorities, he decided to wait and spy on them from afar, for weeks. Eventually, the administrators caught him spying during a transaction and had him captured and brought to them. After being threatened with expulsion from the station, removal of his doctoral title and apprenticeship, Sixtus killed them through depressurization of a a subsection of the base, himself only surviving through quick and lucky access to a space suit.

He convinced the Black Fleet to secretly supporting him in becoming administrator of the station, on the condition the previous arrangements on off-the-books looting would remain in place. Within a few short years, Sixtus had accumulated a small fortune from his bribes and slice of the looted artifacts’ sales, a fortune he kept completely secret.

He finished his apprenticeship and bought himself an expensive starship while he waited for papers to finalize on his hiring by Krenim Driveyards, who wanted him to help the designing of a cargo freighter class for a contract put out by the Imperial government. He had been in constant communication with Krenim Driveyards on the details of the ship design when Imperial security services arrived in Sonda-1 and carried out a sting operation on the pirates, arresting dozens. After “alternative interrogation techniques” on the pirates by the security services, his name came up and involvement fully detailed out to them. Sixtus was then arrested while in the middle of a video conference with Krenim Driveyards executives.

He was taken to a detention facility on Thrawn B7 while awaiting long range transport to the capital. After a few weeks, the security services offered him deffered prosecution deal. Help safely escort a Class-G freighter, pay a hefty fine, and the charges would be dropped. Arguably an improvement over sitting in the dry armpit of this hellhole of a planet. Sixtus agreed after being allowed to use his previously seized personal starship for the mission and learning he would be escorting a Class-G freighter whose description closely matched the design he had been working with Krenim Driveyards on. Those god-damn intellectual property thieves...
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Held in a temporary detention facility by Imperial security services.
RP Sample:
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

Name: Liason
Make and model: A one-of-a-kind vessel, designed to Sixtus’s personal specifications by himself and a privately hired team and hand-crafted on Thessia by Krenim Driveyards.
Appearance: (Image)
The Liason on Freyr’s Geode Sea
Length, Width, Height:
L: 80 meters
W: 8 meters
H: 6 meters
Weapons and Shielding: Given the vessel's limited high-speed performance and the wealthy nature of her owner, she carries small ion cannons and high-speed relay-capable shuttle against the possibility of pirate encounters.
Propulsion: Her drive systems employ revolutionary grav-stabilization techniques, reducing the perceptible effects of even such manoeuvres as orbit-surface transits to effectively nil for her passengers, although this comes at the expense of energy efficiency and performance.
Cargo capacity: 34 passengers
Seats:
Special Features: While capable of platform or port landing, the vessel's hull is optimized for landing in water, and she includes a complete marine/submarine propulsion system.
ALL I ASK IS A TALL SHIP

Hello, please?

You're good.

[Pimps Inc]

Ok, I just wasn’t sure if you’d seen it. thank you.

[The Knockout Gun Gals]

(Image)

Name: Jennifer Warden
Age: 37
Gender: Female
Species: Hooman.
Nationality/Allegiance: ('Oneself' is an allegiance)
Physical appearance:
Identifying Marks:

---

Skills: Technician, hacker, all-kinds of electronic warfare. Including electrically hacking mechs and control one. Talking to people, though mostly by using the "shy, adorkable, flirting type"
Personality: Shy, but not quiet. She is definitely can talk but not the most social person. But she is an able flirter and a bit greedy.
Weaknesses: Definitely not the combat version. She is awful at taking shots or throwing punches. Panicking under fire.
Likes/dislikes: Coffee, electronic stuffs, being wealthy, enjoying her lifestyle. Hates ancient and primitive techs with a passion. Also dislikes tea.
Interests:(Optional)
Fears: Not having a stable living conditions.

---

Bio:

Born in the realms of Cyanian's empire, Jennifer Warden's life was all but the worst. Her parents were definitely local traders, merchants of some kind. They sold goods, electronic, recycled, non-edible goods. Because they were so busy with their economy and life, they usually put Jennifer in the charge of her relatives, one of which was her uncle. Her uncle was a former technician for the Man's kingdom and used to be a smuggler as well. He assisted her on their free time together with hacking, technology, electronics. It was the passion that she found and she gradually enjoyed working with techs. Her parents also became richer with time, and put her with a good life.

But all good things must come with an end. In her case, it was a bang. She went to the military service of the Man's kingdom, she was about to served on one of the Cyanian's station, a space laboratory station. Unfortunately the transport ship was attacked by mercenaries who thought that ship was just a normal civilian ship, not knowing it was part of the Cyanian's. In the ensuing battle, the ship crashed in a habitable planet, one that habituated by primitives, of past tech but a civilized one. She and other survivors survived well and able to returned to their way, but it was too much for her. Her days in the primitives planet proved to be an experience, where she lost the wealth of living.

She didn't last long in the service, and eventually joined the mercenary business, as their hacker, the ones that put in charge of making sure their service is secured and having access to the prying eyes of mercenaries who steal data. Unfortunately, one of those businesses put her in a dangerous situation due to prying too close and as a result she went to hiding and lay low.

Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: Lay low.
RP Sample: Yes.
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Rupudska]

KGG, you're good, but the app is a tad sparse.

Name: "I'm Emilia Jorgeir, nice t'meetcha."
Age: "I'm 43 standard years old by the Cyanian calendar. Ageslow is a wonderful thing."
Gender: "I'm a woman, if that wasn't apparent."
Species: "I know that there's quite the number of humanoids out there, but you shoulda taken a DNA scan of me when I came in, right? I'm human."
Nationality/Allegiance: "I was born n' raised in the Cyanian Empire - Gods save the King - but I don't serve in the Navy anymore. Happens when you piss off the wrong noble. Anyway, I was born on Freyr, but I work for money now. Still, I try to avoid working for species that either want humans dead or under mind control."
Physical appearance: "Take a picture, it'll last longer. 157 centimeters tall, caucasian human. Brown hair that I still keep short, lightly tanned skin. Cybernetic eye prosthetics that people tell me look like ancient welding goggles, only with green lenses - my eyes were green. There's nicer ones that look just like glass eyes, but you have to take 'em out every once in a while, and that's creepy. And they can't handle high-G turns that a fighter has to take, or the punchings a variable fighter has to make. My left arm and both legs are prosthetics, too. I used to wear glasses, and I keep 'em on me, but with these prosthetics I don't need 'em. I have some scars on my back and chest, and a few around my eyes - the prosthetics took longer than usual for my face to accept them, which almost put me out of service. Almost. I also have a lot of scars on my left shoulder area and left side - my legs were surgically removed, my arm? Not so much. I've got a tattoo of a pirate starship sailing through a burning cloud on my back - I think I got it when I was promoted to Captain, and one of a squadron of fighters on my right upper arm, flying above a green ocean."
Identifying Marks: "I keep a microwave pistol made out of an ancient Earth slugthrower - a Luger - on me at all times. Oh, and I have these big fuckin' welding goggle eye prosthetics. That's pretty obvious. I can make 'em glow, too, but it gives me a headache if I leave 'em on for too long."

---

Skills: "One doesn't last this long with a fighter without knowing how to handle it. And one doesn't get to be a leader of a whole squadron by merely being able to 'handle' it. I am good at flying a ship, especially smaller ones. I have great aim, and a great sense of when to shoot and when to keep your gods-damned fingers off the trigger. I don't fly pretty, but I fly pretty well. In walker and mechanical mode it's even uglier to look at - I don't 'fight like a heroine' as some people say. That's not the fucking point - I fight to win."

"Of course, I also know how to maintain the thing - mechanics aren't easy to come by in the outer fringes, and my Piggy's so souped up half the half of them that can tell between an exhaust port and a porta-potty wouldn't know what to do with it. So I've come to learn and know my way around machines. Don't expect me to know my way around a cruise liner, though. Not many of them on the fringes anyway. So I keep my Piggy in pristine shape, at least mechanically. Bharazas always have stains on the outside, and nothin' can fix that. Dirty birds."

"I've got skills unrelated to vehicular combat, too. I can fight well and fight hard, thanks to cybernetic implants, I can connect to most modern electronics thanks to my brain stem implant, I can jump four meters in the air, I've got strong muscles, strong bones, I can fish well enough to catch king sharks, I can sail a sailboat by myself, I can swim like a fish, that sort of thing. Speaking of fish, I opted out for the more expensive nanobots for electrosensory abilities. I'm no shark but they're pretty damn sensitive even out of water."
Personality: "I'm what the kids call 'cynical'. I have been called 'more classless than a Communist utopia' which may have caused my *ahem* dismissal from the Imperial Navy. I've been called rude, because I don't have much in the way of a mental or verbal filter. I've even been called crass, which I take offense to because crassness implies a lack of intelligence. I've also been told that I protect my squadron like a beast possessed, and that I have a good heart. Not sure about those, but that's what I've heard. Hey, why are you asking about this anyway? Shouldn't there be a psych eval in my résumé?"
Weaknesses: "You're asking me that, on this planet? You better be real damn good at keeping secrets, and have real damn good soundproofing."

"And shut the fucking door. Alright? Okay. I can take a punch, I can give a punch, fine. I'm not all that good with weapons. Sure, I can swing a sword, but any dumbass can do that, and I didn't pay much attention to swordsmanship in officer's training - I was under the firm impression that once I got into sword range I'd have either shot the bastard, kicked the bastard, or be dead. I may be wrong about that. And as strong as the prosthetics make me, I'm still not a hulk, so I'm not physically that strong. I can't sit still, I have to be moving - I think that's from training. And... I suppose I may not be good with any firearm bigger than a pistol or a PDW outside of mech weapons. And that's the computer doing the work, so it hardly counts."
Likes/dislikes: "I like beer, I like rum, I like flying, I like fighting, I like a warm meal and a bed with someone to share it with, noisily. I like working with my hands, I enjoy the use of holodecks and holonovels (and the regular ones, because you can't EMP a paperback). I root for the underdog. I like old music. I like fishing, I like sailing, I like the beach."

"I don't like the Cipa Navy, I don't like dealing with their ships, I don't much like the looking at 'em in general. I don't like being stuck in one place for long, I gotta keep on the move. I don't like bein' bored, though I'm good at keeping from bein' bored. I don't like to see innocent people getting hurt."
Interests: "Besides machining, I do a bit of woodworking as a hobby, and I like to use adventure holonovels. Oh, and fishing. And sailing. Nautical activities and the like."
Fears: "Spiders. I hate spiders, and spiders hate me, and that's okay because if I ever see a spider or something spider-like, I'll kill it, no hesitation. Spiders can fuck right off. There's also death by decompression. Sure, you're trained to handle it in the Imperial Navy, but it's the farthest thing from pleasant, feeling like an overfilled balloon. I also don't like the idea of being dead in the water or somehow being unable to maneuver due to damage to my ship - that fear may have also been trained into me, but I probably would've ended up being piss-myself terrified of it anyway. Same with being paralyzed."

---

Bio: "Pfft, what? You want my life story, too? Well... okay, I guess, but you're paying for all the Dark n' Stormies it'll take to share it all."

"Right then. I was born on Freyr on Bala Bala Island, a quiet little spit of land twice the size of Manhattan in the middle of the ocean whose most remarkable features are proximity to some of the better deep-water fishing on Freyr and a regional spaceport. My family had been there about as long as there had been humans on Freyr, some two hundred years, and we made a decent amount of cash catching elephant crabs and Freyan razorback marlins and selling the meat, shells, and beaks. Damn good meat, but I digress."

"Besides fishing and crabbing, my family had a history in the military, mostly in the Cyanian Navy. Pappy had even served in the Royal Naval Commandos in the campaign to take back Antediluvia from the lizards, and Grandma had served in a fighter squadron to provide him air cover - she got shot down, that was how they met. I guess their stories rubbed off on me, especially hers, and that's how I ended up in a fighter's cockpit."

"Training was interesting to say the least. So was getting there. Freyr is pretty far from Mars, but you still have to get to Mars to take flight officer's training for fighter school - officer schools are evenly spread out no less than three month's worth of travel apart from each other, and Freyr is two and a half months away from Mars. It was a long journey on a retired liner, and I was put in second-class with the rest of those that could afford it. I almost used Pappy's service to get myself into first with the nobles and upper crust and the like, but he had very plainly told me that I'd best save it for a situation that really needed it, like squeezing into higher ranks - knowing people and being related to heroes helped more than money or even social class ever could. So I did. Nearly got put in steerage a few times after I backed out of a meal or two, but I managed."

"The Officer's Training Program, unlike most government services, gave no shits about how blue your metaphorical blood was. Officially. In reality, it was another matter, but at least they didn't sort you by social class. The commissioner was more than welcoming and willing to get me into officer training, though the way he looked at those of us from lower economic classes made me think he just considered himself a sugar daddy. I consider it a miracle I didn't kick him in the nuts."

"One part people don't often mention is the amount of modification they have to put into you to let you fly fighters. They cut off your legs so you don't have to worry about G-forces as much in atmo. Reinforced bones with carbon nanostructures. Increased blood/oxygen saturation to let you breathe in thinner air, plus heart implants to increase cardiac efficiency. Training via a combination of testing, practicum, and mental electrostimulation. Cochlear implants to protect hearing, biojel injected to the vestibular system to improve balance. A codec transceiver implanted into the larynx. Nanobotic injections to grant electrosensory abilities for control and detection, and lastly an implant at the base of the spine to connect to the fighter's control system directly in emergencies."

"From there I went to the Fighter Corps, which officers shared with conscripts and enlistees until after we got through advanced flight training. Some stout-looking guy in front of me got turned down after the medical exam - something about his eyes. I wore glasses, and I got in after they gave me laser eye surgery to fix my eyes to the basic flying level needed - kept the glasses though - so I think they just didn't like him. Or maybe some noble didn't like him. Who knows."

"Training was tough on us. Many dropped out; because they couldn't think in three dimensions, because they got scared, because they pissed off a noble, or because they pissed off a DI - and if you did the latter, not even being the Duke of Mars could save you. I know, because our DI said that the previous Duke of Mars had tried, and that's why he served his service flying cargo ships. We were taught to move and act as a group, but not be afraid to strike out on one's own if the need or opportunity arose. We were taught to never stop moving; even the toughest fighter can't take much punishment and even computers have more difficulty hitting a moving target."

"Training lasted a full year, and I was then put in the 237th Strike Fighter Squadron, the 'Orks'. We were assigned to the New Rhodesian sector, in the Scutum-Centaurus Arm no more than a thousand lightyears from the boundaries between Cyania, the Tarkellians, and the Cipas. It was dead center in a region of space that had changed hands between the three powers and more local ones almost nonstop for centuries, and New Rhodesia itself had frequently fallen victim to such changes in ownership - however it had originally been a human colony, founded before even the fall of Rheim, and so Cyania fought the hardest to keep the system."

"I won't bore you with war stories, but I will say I did damn well for myself. We sailed around on the HMS Uruk-hai escorting transports through dangerous regions most of the time, occasionally providing close-air support, engaging in counterinsurgency, and of course, bashing the Cipa's lizard faces in - attacking their transports, salting their fields, sinking their ships, sometimes even stealing them if we could get away with it. Strangely we didn't deal with the Tarkellians much - their main base world in the region had been blown up a few weeks before I was assigned to the squadron, and I guess they were licking their wounds."

"I rose through the ranks. Once I made Captain they took me down to New Rhdoesia's capital of Praetoria to get prosthetic eyes, all the better to see and aim with. It took a while to get used to them, though maybe it was because I had just lost my arm to a Cipa cruiser's laser lances and was getting used to the arm, too. Once I got used to them though, I got even better, ending up commanding my own flight of fighters on board the Uruk."

"I was two weeks from Major and command of second flight when it happened. We were transporting a noble VIP from New Rhodesia to Gavarkis, some three hundred lightyears away. It was a simple mission, with a simple problem - a pair of Cipa destroyers dropped out of warp to ruin everyone's day. We dealt with them quickly and efficiently in the 237th's own special, brutal way, while looking out for our own - I like to keep the safety of my crew a priority over the safety of the cargo for the most part, and this noble wasn't a big deal in my mind. The transport was damaged, but it was nothing serious - engine four had been taken out and the galley had been smashed by a Cipa fighter slamming into it."

"Had that been it, things would have been fine because the noble in question was a forgiving man, but after we dealt with the destroyers a trio of heavy cruisers appeared, and we weren't equipped to handle that much. The VIP ship was destroyed, and most of my squadron lost with it. I managed to just barely save the VIP, but the effort damaged my engines and I was left adrift in space while the Cipas decided whether or not to finish me off themselves or let the cold of space take me. They decided on the latter, but only after hanging around for three days and capturing as many escape pods as they could."

"For three more days the two of us sat in that cockpit, and the noble barely survived because he refused to eat until I had. We were rescued by a wrecking crew which took us back to Rhodesia, where the noble's family decided to be assholes and, much to his chagrin, play pin-the-blame-on-the-surviving officer. I was at least given an 'honorable discharge' and got to keep my Piggy thanks in part to me pulling my grandfather's service on them, but we both knew that I was being kicked out, and there wasn't dick I could do about it because, hero or granddaughter of a hero or no, I was just the daughter of some fisherman on a fringe planet."

"And thus was I set adrift in the wind, left to wander the fringes of Cyanian space, where I slowly made my way north to the edge of the galaxy and the edge of the Great Void. Honorable my discharge may have been, but noble gossip is a powerful force to reckon with, and getting a new job with the Empire legitimately is difficult. So here I am."
Reason for Being on Thrawn B7: "I need the money, what's it to ya?"
RP Sample: "No."
CAPTAIN TO ENTERPRISE (DO NOT REMOVE)

Name: Pig Sticker
Make and model: Bristil Br-233 Bharaza Mk III
Appearance: "You know what it is, bitch. She's bottle green with a white stripe down the back but markings are otherwise similar to this one."
Length, Width, Height: "14.23 meters long, 3.84 meters tall, and with a wingspan of 14.78 meters with them fully extended. Mech mode's 12.68 meters tall, walker's about 9 meters tall."
Weapons and Shielding: "6 positron cannons, four under and two over-wing pylons and two fuselage pylons. She's got military-grade ablative armor and a Kremaltek Type III shield generator. No I'm not telling you how thick the armor is."
Propulsion: "She's got a Rolls-Royce Severn axial sublight jet and a Sado-Wyy S302 SL drive for faster-than-light travel. Even the Mk V Bharazas don't pack that much in the trunk."
Cargo capacity: "Fuck, I mean... I could put a big duffle bag in the WSO seat, maybe a few beer cases? The Bharaza wasn't exactly designed to have much extraneous space. I got a fuel pod that can double as storage for up to 30k kilos, but even with the compartmentalization, that's less fuel for me, so I don't like using it for long."
Seats: "Two, technically."
Special Features: "She's been updated beyond what a Mk III should be capable, hell even the current Mk Vs are inferior to her in most ways. The WSO's role has been filled by my drone. And a whole lot of other... shall we say not fully licit mods."
ALL I ASK IS A TALL SHIP

[Pax Nerdvana]

I'm doing this on mobile.

If on iOS, just hold down any word in the application until it highlights, then click “Select All” while still highlighted, then hit copy.

I'll try it again.
E: I've started work on my app. It should be done fairly soon.

[Dragos Bee]

Damnit, won't have the time to sign up.

[Backatri]

Nation name: The Balkanized Republic of Anthusia
Homeworld: De Jure Capital: Palace of Governance, Anthusia. De Facto Capital: Flagship Federator
Government system: De Jure: Republic De Facto: Military Junta
Main ideology: Glorious Balkanism is a radical ideology that arose as the Rheim Empire fell. A few greater thinkers postulated that the only way to forever ensure peace was to 'Balkanize' the galaxy, keeping empires limited to at most 3 star systems. As the Cyanian Empire rose, they gathered their small vanguard and overthrew the government of Anthusia, forming a new nation and turning back on the Cyanian Empire. Since then, they've been engaged in an eternal war with the Cyanian Empire, and any attempt to negotiate a peace results in Anthusia picking another fight after a few months
Level of freedom: Low
Military description:

The Military of Anthusia is a desperate organization, in a state of constant warfare. The need for talent has erased any class division within the military as thousands live and die in mass conscription. Supplies are always short, and reinforcements are always late. Still, the ferocity with which they fight is enough to unsettle most commanders of Cyania.

The nation has an active intelligence program geared towards generating unrest in isolated regions of the Empire to erode the influence of Rheim and Cyania, gaining Balkanism steam, and prompting rebellion. There might even be a spy on this mission
Economy: Geared towards war, and raids by the navy provide a large amount of material for the war effort
GLORIOUS LAND (DO NOT REMOVE)

[Ormata]

Oh right. I'll tag this, then, if anything else to just watch.