<center>A Caunion and Elegost Production</center>


In the year 2012, a radical conservative was elected to office of the President of the United States. The year following the election can only be described as the systematic state adoption of Randian principles. Under the influence of a conglomeration of transnational corporations, the President signed a bill that would eliminate all existing government oversight over private business. Soon after, welfare and government aid was officially dissolved in all of its shapes and forms. In 2013, an alliance formed by the leading American companies, the Ryan Business Associates, officially took over the United States federal government. Gradually private companies replaced the roles of what were once government functions. The police became private security companies, schools were replaced by private institutions fostering minds that suited the corporate interest, the law of the town was the law of the corporations.

In the international arena, U.S. relations with foreign countries soured as the corporations sought resources and capital from Europe and East Asia. While some were tempted, demands by the public sectors in European and Asian nations took hold and the governments refused to deal with the United States. Spurned, the government launched invasions over neighbouring countries, annexing the states in both North and South America before retreating to a state of isolationism and severing all ties to the world. For the people trapped in the appropriately named “the United States of America”, life had taken a turn for the worst. Never has the economic gap between the rich and the poor been greater, with only 0.5% of the population possessing 98% of the wealth. Democracy became a meaningless word to the people.

For the few wealthy known as the Ealis, life was a utopia for them. Vast expanses of land were converted into private luxury residences for the cream of society. Only the best products, built from the blood and sweat of the working class, was reserved for the people to appreciate and enjoy. Outside their gates, droves of people trampled and clamoured over others simply for a chance to enter this paradise. Millions of working class or the Morgas were forced into cities or corporate housing projects where crime and disease ran rampant. Many of the population were illiterate, for there was no point in learning how to read when your daily bread was provided only by complying orders of simple tasks. Workplace accidents occurred in an alarmingly frequent rate while day by day, thousands of workers limped home from factories and fields with missing arms and feet, given scraps to feed their children. Damages to the environment from reckless industrial and corporate practices only worsened. The Gulf of Mexico has been devoid of aquatic life after a second oil spill was left unsupervised and un-maintained until the oil was ignited by a chance spark, gaining the nickname the “Gulf of Fire”. Thousands of plants and animals have been considered extinct as the destruction of their habitats ran unchecked. Natural disaster relief is unheard of, as demonstrated by the catastrophic earthquakes of 2015 that ripped the West Coast apart or the equally destructive cyclones that destroyed the northern coast of South America in 2018.

In 2016, a new hope came to the poor and the improvished. A religious organisation called the Artillian Group of Unity arose in the slums and the ghettos, offering food and shelter to those who had neither. Slowly the group gained money and power in the cities and began to empower the working class. The leader of the Artillian Group was a young man by the name of Frank Wikens, who presented himself as a champion of the workers, a saviour of the hopeless, an incorruptible symbol that could fight for equality. The corporations’ response was divisive. Some wanted to ignore the group, saying that it mattered little to the long run. Others saw the Artillian Group as a threat to their security and their children’s future and wanted to take action against Wikens and his followers immediately. An assassination attempt on Wikens proved to only succeed in rallying support for the man as were the daily purges for “Artillians” as they were now called. By 2022, through a combination of daring raids and clandestine foreign support, Wikens possessed enough resources to begin a massive campaign against the rich. The breaking point started in Mexico City on April 16th, 2024 when Artillian terrorists broke through the quarantine that separated rich and poor and utterly destroyed the wealthy sector. The Second American Civil War has begun.

Social Classes in the United States of America
The Ealis
The highest possible position in the United States, they are the elite in society. They own the corporations and companies that run and supply the nation. Although it is popular conception that the Ealis are motivated by greed, and indeed most of the people have monetary motivations, some of them simply want to build a better future for their children.

The Dracas
The Dracas are what was left of the middle class, those that managed to float above financial debt and atrociously high interests. They supply the organisers and managers in the companies that the Ealis rule for a fraction of the owners’ earning. They regularly fight amongst each other for positions and invest heavily in the market, thus establishing a volatile economical equilibrium that stems complete economic collapse.

The Morgas
The largest social class in the United States as well as the poorest, a lot of them end up in city ghettos or corporate housing projects where they work for the corporations. Crime and disease are high among areas populated by Morgas.

Factions of the War
Falkenwood Services
The largest security company in the United States of America, Falkenwood has over a thousand contracts to various corporations and individuals, including Ryan Business Associates. The company boasts at least fifty million employees, over 75% armed personnel. Falkenwood possesses three units: Security, Intelligence, and Research and Development. The Security unit primarily focuses on armed services, providing highly trained and professional bodyguards and soldiers to high profile families and businessmen. They are often called for jobs of questionable legality and morality in the poor sectors or otherwise. Intelligence gathers information of interest for their clients through various means of espionage and interrogation. Research and Development employs graduates of private universities to design and create more efficient equipments to be used by members of the Security and Intelligence units. One of their most recent developments is the Flakenwood High-Energy Focus Individual Weapon, or the Flaken laser. It comes in two forms: a standard firearm which is the approximate size of a sniper rifle and a compact version which is similar to a pistol. Both weapons are highly unreliable and known to jam, malfunction, or otherwise simply not work but they are incredibly strong and accurate. In recent years, the Falkenwood Services, among other private security companies, has been called upon to engage the Artillian Group of Unity. The main strengths of Falkenwood are the skill, training, and equipment wielded by its soldiers.


Artillian Group of Unity
Founded by the charismatic leader, Frank Wikens, the Artillian Group professes to represent the working class through their daily struggles. Inspired by the ideals of Christianity, the group was initially created under the guise of a charity organisation in Bogota, Colombia, providing food and shelter to women and children. As the Artillian Group expanded through South America, more and more people joined the group in hopes of gaining a fairer wage than from the corporations and assisting others trapped in similar plights. How the Artillian Group was financed has been a matter of considerable debate, some saying Wikens started with criminal activities, others suggesting he himself was a former Eali, and other still believing he was supported by foreign countries in hopes of disrupting the American order. Soon enough, Wikens and his followers was deemed a significant threat to warrant an assassination attempt. Not only did Wikens survive the attempt but the number of Morgas that flocked to his ranks multiply. Soon the Artillian Group provided a new society that the people could follow under, a society built on the Old Testament laws. Numerous wings of the Artillian Group were formed for the purpose of fighting against private security forces and enforcing the laws of Frank Wikens, such as the Cherubim Enforcers, the Knights of Charity, and the People’s Army of the Lord. The Artillian Group of Unity holds numerical superiority as well as local support over the private security companies.


Where We Stand
We will be a band of soldiers who had either fought for the corporations or the Artillian Group before deserting them. Our objective is to end this senseless conflict by assassinating key leaders of both sides.

Rules of Engagement
*No godmodding or auto-hitting allowed. Should go without saying.
*Realism is greatly appreciated. So if your character does not have the proper strength, he is not going to move that car around like a toy. And if you get shot in the shoulder, I doubt you’ll be able to fire as accurately as you were five minutes before.
**Make your characters wisely. If I see a female character who decides to tramp around the forest in a fluffy pink dress, I swear by my pretty bonnet, I will end you. Likewise very very few individuals survive slavery conditions with near-poverty wages without any hatred, anger, frustration, or desperation. But don’t make him brood all the darn time.
*You may play only one character and you better stick to it. Or we just might give you a little something you can’t take off.
*When you make your profile, please wait for us to review it.
*This is a rather dark RPG, with the player characters and both factions of the war committing atrocities. If this isn’t your taste, we understand completely.
*No posts less than two paragraphs. We understand if you can’t make it once or twice but if it’s a constant problem, this should be the least of your concerns.
*Remember. We ain’t in the prisoner-takin’ business. We’re in the killin’-Artie/Corpie business. It’s up to you to keep business a-BOOMIN’!

The Team
Black Widow - Clara Klinson - Caunion vi Britannia
Night Hawk - Theresa - Elegost Eruaphadion
Ice - Gregor MacDonnel - Turwaithion
Macx - David Long - Will
Doc - Liam O'Reilly - Nauriel Rochnur
Fuse - Daeron Smith - Pandora

_________________

I was cured all right.

Name: Captain Gregor MacDonnel
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Personality: Gregor is a practical man, whose wishes are few and needs are even less so. He carries a brtual dislike of America after the desolation of his country and regiment. Gregor made his mark on his troops be being a level-headed and disciplined commander, but also one who would go into the trenches with the men and fight like a devil. MacDonnel oftimes appears aloof, but those who know him well realize that his detatchment is all that keeps him going at times, as the atrocities that he has seen spread from his sleep to his waking hours with every day.
History: Born in rural Ontario in 1985, MacDonnel was a 27-year-old officer in the Royal Canadian Dragoons when the Unites States launched thier invasion of Canada. For years after the fall of Parliament, the young 2Lt fought in a local resistance cell after his regiment was nearly obliterated, his former camaradierie with American troops lost as they burned his former home and obliterated many of his friends when an armoured column overran thier base an machine-gunned all who fled. Left for dead in the massacre, MacDonnel fled south with the clothes on his back, where he was promptly picked up by a patrol and detained.

After several months, MacDonnel was forced into the fields, where he excelles as per his farm raising. However, he was always looking for a way out, and he and his fellows secretly smuggled implements away to use as weapons in an uprising. The orchestration for such an effort fell to Gregor, who was the only trained military operative in the compound. However, the plan was launched prematurely when Artillian operatives liberated his camp. Joining them, MacDonnel worked as a top operative for years, until his atheism led to a conflict with his CO and his desertion from the Artillian Group. Since then, he has made plans of heading home to orchestrate a rebellion in Ottawa and reclaim Canada as its own country.
Other: MacDonnell carries two H&K USP Experts in .40 Smith and Wesson, along with a Steyr AUG assault rifle, though he keeps a kukhri strapped to his right thigh for close-quarters work. Speaks decent Quebecois French, though he finds more use for the profanities than the more civil language.
Callsign: Ice
Looks/Attire: MacDonnel wears CADPAT gear stolen from various bases, and still wears his black beret from his old regiment. MacDonnel is a powerfully built man, capable of benchpressing 220 lbs, and has various tattoos on his arms and back, ranging from regimental badges to the Canadian Maple leaf, which dominates his back in a scarlet ink.
---

Strength: 12
Agility: 7
Endurance :8
Intelligence: 8
Perception: 10
---
Skill One: Small Guns
Skill Two: Big Guns
Skill Three: Melee Combat

_________________


Son of Bellatrix

Banner by Pandora

Wow guys, this looks very interesting. I think I'll be joining, though I have to admit that I have zero knowledge of guns and such.. I came up with this charrie, which I thought to be challenging to play, if his inability to walk is a problem with the action in this RPG, let me know and I'll change it.


Name: David Long
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Personality: To be revealed (in other words, I'm not sure yet.. )
History: David Long was born as only child in considerable rich family in 1993. David became quite independant from a young age on as his mother died of a stroke when he was still young. His father was banker who'd already made a large fortune on the stock exchange. Therefore David got the best education possible, and being a bright kid he was able to study computer engineering at one of the best Universities in the USA. He had only been at University for two years when the elections of 2012 changed everything. Not for David though, as his father only seemed to earn more and more and David was able to finish his study. Shortly after his graduation David was recruited by the Falkenwood Services, mainly because of his knowledge of computers, mainframes and other electronics. First he worked only backstage for Intelligence but only a few years later he was also required to accompany troops in the field. After a long period of training, David had learnt combat skills although it was not his first and foremost task to use those.
He'd never been much interested in politics and living in his privileged life first at University and later on at the Falkenwood Services, David had not been aware of the actual situation in which the majority of the people lived. This realisation hit him when he assisted the fieldmissions against the Artillian Group; David found that he did not disagree with the ideology of Frank Wikens, but he was too much entangled in the webs of the Falkenwood Services, to get away.
On a december morning in 2024 David was told that his father was assasinated after a raid of the Artillian Group, and had consequently left him large sums of money. His conscious plagued him more and more and he was not able to keep all the money, so he gave some of it away.
On a warm day in April, 2025, David got shot during an encounter between the Falkenwood Services and the Artillian Services. The bullet hit his spinal cord, which resulted in temporary paraplegia. After months of revalidation David finally regained feelings in his legs again, but he had enough of everything. He left his house and disappeared, only to join the ranks of Captain Klinson.
Other: David always carries his laptop with him plus a shotgun.
Callsign: Macx
Looks/Attire: http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b9/williemijnie/mcMahon19.jpg

Strength: 8
Agility: 10
Endurance : 7
Intelligence: 12
Perception: 9


Skill One: Engineering
Skill Two: Medicine
Skill Three: Small Guns


Hmm I hope this is okay. I still don't understand quite a few things, like what the Medicine and is Enhanced Perception Training Skill exactly is..

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Hehe, I'm not sure if I consider myself as an seasoned RPGer, because I have not played this genre RPGs that often, but yay for more diverse plots!

Alrighty, I changed a few things in the bio and he's full mobile now..

Thanks for the explanation Elegost! I already thought that it had to be something supernatural, but I didn't know for sure..

I'm really excited for this! I consider my charrie to be a nerd, but since I'm not so technical, this will be fun to play.

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Name: Princess Filks
Age: 45
Gender: F
Personality: Menopausal. Won't take your sh**.
History: She worked for the FBI on criminal investigation, then quit to raise a family. She married a wealthy man, was scammed by him, and divorced him, losing everything. Consequently, one of her grown sons works for Falkenwood while the other for the Artillian Group. When she heard about Clara, she took off with some of her family's generational wealth and went to join her.
Other: Martial artist, Soo Bahk Do, 8th Dan. Other weapons may vary.
Callsign: Smiley

Looks/Attire:


Strength: 8
Agility: 12
Endurance : 5
Intelligence: 10
Perception: 10

Melee combat
Infiltration
Enhanced Perception Training

_________________

((Wee! I'm glad this is started))

Name: Liam O'Reilly
Age: 37
Gender: male
Personality: Mostly quiet but at times bitingly sarcastic, Liam has an odd, dark sense of humor. His silent nature is not to be confused with meekness, however. Liam stands stands his ground, preferring persistence and patience over aggression.
History: Liam is an only child. His father slowly succumbed to alcoholism, becoming first verbally abusive and then physically. Since both his parents worked, he spent most of his day either at day care or under the watchful eye of his uncle, a priest. It was his uncle who realized Liam was being abused, and tried to stop it. However, there wasn't enough evidence so nothing could be proven. It was only after his father, in a drunken rage, pushed his wife down the stairs and gave Liam a black eye. His father was arrested, and Liam went to live with his uncle.
Liam studied to be a doctor, earning his degree when he was 30 years old. He was practiced medicine ever since. A devout Christian, Liam joined the Artillian Group in hopes of helping the less fortunate. He worked as a doctor for the group, tending to the poor and needy as well as the Artillian members. Although the job was demanding, both physically and mentally, he enjoyed the feeling of being able to help those that needed it. However, he began to realize the true nature of the Artillian group. Enraged that the Artillian group was corrupt and falsely calling themselves Christian, and ashamed that he was a part of them, Liam deserted. He joined this group shortly after, quickly picking up skills in using hand guns. He feels betrayed by the Artillian group and is determined to bring an end to its existence.
Other: (Includes weapons): Carries with him a Glock 30, a small derringer, and a pocket bible. Wears a small wooden cross necklace and a silver rosary ring.
Callsign: Doc
Looks/Attire:img]http://cdn.sheknows.com/realitytvmagazine/2009/08/american-idol-neil-patrick-harris.jpg[/img]

Strength:8
Agility: 8
Endurance :9
Intelligence:10
Perception: 10
---
Skill One: Medicine
Skill Two: Small guns
Skill Three: Enhanced perception training

Name: Daeron Smith

Age: 32

Gender: Male

Personality: Arrogant and reckless. He talks big but usually has the skills to back it up.

History: Daeron spent most of his life under his father's wings. He learned early on that his mother had left their family for reasons he never was told. All his father said that it for religious purposes that were beyond any of their control.
It didn't take long for Daeron to come to his own conclusions why his mother left but by that time he could care less about it.
Daeron followed heavily in his father's footsteps which involved hacking in the mainframes of the two widespread groups of the Artillian and Falkenwood Services. His father had no leader and his underground ways quickly caught up with him and was murdered one night by a fascist Artillian.
By then Daeron had already gained substantial training in the art of hacking and other technological advances as well as learning the dangerous art of explosives. Having no true educational training he was a bit of a spit fire and lacking in certain ways of thought but he made up for it with brute force.
It was these skills and his past that led him to joining the ranks of others under the tutelage of Captain Klinson.

Other: Carries a 9 mm pistol along with various sized fuses and a lighter.

Callsign: Fuse
---

Looks/Attire:

---

Strength: 9
Agility: 8
Endurance : 8
Intelligence: 11
Perception: 5
---

Skill One: Melee combat
Skill Two: Explosives
Skill Three: Engineering

[[Rough bio, may end up adding and being tweaked over time]]

_________________

The waves that C R A S H E D upon
The R O C K S that you were trying to step along

And in my head I heard them play a S O N G

Really glad you guys are interested in this. Soon as we get the green light from Ellie here, we'll be ready to go.

Now unless anyone has objections to it, we'll begin with everyone meeting up. As mentioned, Theresa and Clara will already be together at the start and the rest can either join them at various points. If you want, the others can meet up beforehand, that way we won't have to run into everyone.

_________________

I was cured all right.

And it begins!

The road goes on and on indeed as Clara Klinson found out; reclined in the passenger seat of the jeep they had stolen earlier. Her rifle was set leaning against the glove compartment that had been ransacked for maps. Sadly they had given up trying to figure where to go and decided to stick with this road until something better came up. As she looked out the window with tired eyes, she recounted the hellish events of the previous hours.

...The security officer raised his arm in a futile effort to discourage Clara from shooting him in the head. A bang later and he crumpled on the ground with his two dozen comrades. She holstered her pistol as she got out her cell phone. While most of the service for cellular communications was provided by the mega corps, more than a few engineers and technicians managed to pirate them, using them for the Artillian Group. As she waited for the lines to connect, she looked around the “village” they had just liberated. The inhabitants hovered near the threshold of their residences, hesitating to emerge outside. An electronic voice through her phone asked for the password. Clara obliged and calmly waited until someone picked up.

“Report.” The voice simply commanded.

“The village has been liberated. We’ve kill the corporate presence here, with five dead on our side and another four wounded.”

“Good work, Captain. Your next order is to terminate the village.”

She couldn’t have heard the voice right. “I’m sorry, could you repeat your orders?”

“Clean out the village of its inhabitants. Report when you have finished.” And the voice hung up.

Clara simply stared at her phone in horrified shock. She had no reservation in killing. In fact she loved it. But they were always either holding a gun or just held a gun before she killed them. But to slaughter these civilians.

A loud cry near the borders of the village distracted her from her ruminations. She rushed towards the source, her hands grasping the rifle tightly. She ended up in a group of five Artillian soldiers, all of them male. One of them, a captain just like her, was leering over a cowering woman, crawling on the damp ground below him.

“Captain!” she cried as she stood between him and his prey, successfully transferring his attention from the woman to her. “Explain yourself!”

“Orders from Command and our Lord, miss. They refuse to do what the Lord commands of them. It is our job to have them know the wrath of our Lord.”

“That’s outrageous, Captain. Command would never ask...”

“Oh but they did, or did you miss that command? Defy me again and my men will put you down.” Four clicks sharply reminded her that she was badly outnumbered. The captain pushed her out of the way from carnal violation and it was then when Clara made her decision. She grabbed the captain and flung him forward. While not strong by any measure, surprise loaned her some strength, long enough to kick him, propelling him even further. Then she quickly dived to the side, rolling as she withdrew her pistol, and pulled the trigger five times. Four bodies collapsed to the ground dead, the fifth one still lying on the ground. She got up and with a bright look on her face, fired her pistol at his groin. A small bubble of delight went through her as she went about with her cleaning.

However, she didn’t go far until another crowd of Artillian soldiers, this time those under her command, ran into her. Obviously attracted by the gunshots. “What’s going on?” Heather asked, noting their dead allies and the pistol in Clara’s hand. Can I change this to my advantage...she thought. Yes. “Sergeant, gather our troops and evacuate these people into the woods. Then assist them in constructing a new village for them.” Hopefully their sense of morality was more important than their sense of duty. It was and soon her soldiers unwillingly committed insubordination for the cause of what Clara deemed was a greater good. She had just left them behind before she heard a ring of sniper shots. Theresa must have received the same command and decided to disobey.d This was as good as a time to abandon the Artillian Group as now. Before Command can be alerted to her treachery. She went to search for her sniper and proposed an idea to her...

The psychological change from identifying the Artillian Group as friend to foe didn’t seem to be a drastic one by any means. It was quite amazing to her, considering the years she gave to their service. As she receded from her ruminations, a movement on the road caught her eye. “Theresa, stop for a minute,” she instructed, grasping her binoculars and peering through them. It was human, definitely. The person didn’t appear to be with a group and there weren’t any markers that she could use identify with. “Get into position, I want to see who this is,” she said before she grabbed her rifle. She got out of the jeep and called out, “Halt! Identify yourself!”

_________________

I was cured all right.

Gregor MacDonnel was a Captain. Not of the new Artillian groups that had sprung up, nor of Falkenwood. He still clung to his rank, which was Captain in the Royal Canadian Dragoons, Canadian Forces. Of course, with the country of his birth annexed and the Forces dissolved, the rank meant nothing. But, just like the tattoos that covered his torso, the rank was ingrained into his skin, his very being.

So, much to his chagrin, the Canadian officer found himself driving a beaten-up blue GMC pickup through American soil, his bloody hands sticky on the wheel. It's previous owner had worn the Falkenwood insignia, so MacDonnel had drawn the kukhri from his thigh, leaned against the door as if asking for directions, and bisected the man's throat. Of course, that hardly meant anything anymore, but Greg did so regret getting his CADPAT stained with blood. It went against his drill. But then, so did travelling through enemy territory. Until he saw the smoke.

It took 15 minutes to get to the village, though he skirted the settlement as he usually did. He was about to continue on his way up the road, when he saw two women get out of a Jeep and draw weapons in front of him, not two hundred yards. Grimacing, MacDonnel stopped the truck, took his Steyr-AUG from the passenger seat, put in a clip and chambered a round. Then, he opened the door, raised the rifle, and advanced. Years of hunting back in Ontario had taught him how to step lightly, so quietly that even straining his ears, he could hardly hear his own footsteps. He put the women in his sights and advanced, ready to put a full clip into them if they showed agression after he identified himself.

"On your six!" He called to them from a hundred yards out. "Artillian or Falkenwood?" He asked, planning to shoot them with either response.

_________________


Son of Bellatrix

Banner by Pandora

This day had been long awaited but not necessarily foreseen. It had only been a matter of time before Daeron had come to his wits ends and finally decided his course of action. It hadn't been a pretty journey nor had it been easy but he was here now at the crossroads and making that first step towards his new life.

But first, he had to get rid of some obstacles. Not that that was going to take much time with his level of expertise in explosives. A few well placed fuses and just the right amount of nitroglycerin was all that he had needed to demolish his headquarters in the most beautiful array of debris he had ever seen.

It had almost brought a tear to his eye... almost.

Daeron Smith had been a hacker, well he still was but that was not his priority now. He had taken over for his father after the man's untimely death and worked seemingly underground in a semi-Switzerland state. He worked for both the Artillian and the Falkenwood groups, digging up dirt on either side and hacking through their mainbases to sustain whatever it was he needed.

It had been fun while it lasted, but the people he worked with began to feel pressure to join a side and once one of them converted many more began to convert and Daeron knew that he was no longer safe in his world. Not that he was ever truly safe, so that left one choice, he had to destroy everything.

And so he did, which left him with one thing left to do and that was to join the 'resistance' as he liked to call it for lack of a better word. Daeron wasn't very good with words anyways, he was more of a physical being.

The blond had gotten word of two woman by the names of Clara and Theresa and knew that was his course of action. With only an gray army bag full of equipment and his lucky 9mm pistol he was off in his well worn Jeep Wrangler.

It wasn't long before his radio picked up the signal that he had been searching for and with a sharp turn he headed southwest [I hope this would be the right direction] towards the car in the distance. It seemed like he wasn't the only one to have arrived.

Pulling his car to a stop near the truck he slipped out of his own vehicle with ease, a cigarette resting neatly between his lips, eyes hidden beneath dark shades and his hand spinning his pistol on the palm. "No need to sound so tense, they aren't going to shoot us." He said much too confidently, then again he was a bit arrogant and couldn't help himself sometimes.

_________________

The waves that C R A S H E D upon
The R O C K S that you were trying to step along

And in my head I heard them play a S O N G

Liam glanced warily at the open road from the cover of the abandoned barn. Two cars had passed down this road in the last ten minutes, one of them an Artillian jeep, the other a beat up pick up truck. Several things about this worried him. One was that this was pretty secluded territory. Seeing two vehicles in such a short amount of time was unusual. The second was that one of the vehicles was an Artillian jeep. Liam had had a rather…violent separation from them. And while he doubted that the Artillian group had put much effort into finding one rogue doctor, his ratty, vagabond appearance might be enough to attract their curiosity.

He spat a couple swears at the Artillians, but continued to follow the road. He didn’t pass up a chance to kill an Artillian when he met one, but whoever was in that jeep was long gone. He sighed, cursing his tired feet. But he had to keep going. Ten more miles, he figured, and then he would reach the next village on his route.

Despite the radically different times, Liam fiercely clung onto his status as a doctor. It was his lone tie to the gentler life he knew, before everything went to hell. And so, despite what he called his ‘unemployment’, Liam traversed the area, caring for those who couldn’t afford medical care. Carrying all the supplies he could fit in a giant backpack, Liam had learned to improvise when he could and steal from local hospitals when he couldn’t. ‘A modern day Robin Hood’ some called him, although he was loathe to accept the title. It was true, he helped the poor with what was often stolen from the rich, but he killed far too many of those rich to be considered a Robin Hood. He was far too bent on revenge to even think for a second that his motives were just to help the poor.

Boy, did he want revenge.

And so, when he slipped out of the forest cover and saw the Artillian jeep stopped in front of the pick up, he unlatched the holster of his glock so he could draw quickly. A tall, thickly muscled man had slipped out of the pick up truck and was pointing a rifle at the two Artillian women who had exited their jeep.

Odd.

Another jeep—this one not Artillian—sped down the road and stopped near the pickup truck. Its occupant stepped out, playing with a handgun. He appeared to be talking, but from this distance Liam couldn’t hear.

Odd…very odd indeed.

If I’m lucky, he thought the two Artillians will be dead before I get to them, and I won’t have to do a thing . Another, more primal part of him wished they wouldn’t be. He strode over to the meeting, leather boots plodding on the hard pavement. The forest (if you could call a patch of trees that) had opened up into recently harvested fields. There was no cover, so he might as well make an entrance by the road.

[ I'll be gone for 2 weeks of holidays, but I will jump in as soon as I return! ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

(That's fine! We can run into your character later)

“Yeah, stay with the car and set up your rifle,” Clara called as she noted the man approach behind them from a rather worn truck. He was definitely a soldier, probably even before this mess began. She lifted her rifle at his direction, coiling her legs in case she had to dive aside to evade a hail of bullets. In the distant, she heard another car come to a stop behind the truck, the usual sounds of a door being opened and closed. This was definitely unusual. If they wanted to attack, they would have attacked by now without the pleasantries. Deciding that whatever she thought she saw earlier held a lower priority and assuming that both her and Theresa’s safety was not in immediate jeopardy, she walked towards them, answering the man’s question, “Neither. We don’t belong to the Artillian Groups or the corporations. And you, who do you work for? God or the dollar bill?”

She leaned her head a little to the side to see the man, clad in sunglasses and a cigarette, behind the former soldier and called out, “You as well. Tell me who you fight for.” And as if coincidences couldn’t be piled any higher. Another man, rather young, emerged from the woods. Fantastic. Well, she did need people to fight with, if she hoped to accomplish any of the goals she had in mind. “Well, then?” she asked impatiently. “If none of you have a flag to fight under, you could always fight with me. I can only offer you survival and plenty of people to kill if you’re looking for that.” If not, well, she could definitely work something out with these folks. And if that didn’t work. Her hand drifted casually near the safety of her rifle.

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I was cured all right.

Another man turned up and Daeron was quickly realizing that this whole meet up was a bit bigger than himself. So instead of saying anything else he let the others talk that way he could learn more about what was going on. The last thing he needed right now was some trap, Daeron really didn't feel like wasting his precious gunpowder and fuses at the moment.

When asked who he fought for, Daeron took the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground, using his brown boots to put out the smoke before finally answering with a slight grin.

"I work for no one but myself, although the promise of people to kill is quite tempting so I guess I work for you now." He bowed his head a bit so that his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose so that brown eyes could meet the woman. One more smile was given before he pushed the glasses back up and shifted the duffel bag back over his shoulder and made his way over to stand beside the girl.

Though instead of playing with the pistol in his hand he took a firm grip of it. He may have found a leader but the other two men had yet to say anything yet and the possibility of danger was still there. One should always be prepared.

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The waves that C R A S H E D upon
The R O C K S that you were trying to step along

And in my head I heard them play a S O N G

MacDonnel bristled. "I fight for my country, girl. Or what's left of it, since you Americans overran it and turned Parliament into a gravel quarry." He said, keeping his Steyr trained. The bullpup felt odd in his hands, it wasn't the C7 that he had trained with. But the rifle did its job.

At the offer of work, Gregor remained silent for a short while. Doing mercenary work wasn't what he was here to to. But if he could attempt to escelate the discord here in the United States, then perhaps the Canadian Resistance would have a better chance of getting back on thier feet. At worse, he could always eliminate the party and move on to do something worthwhile. "Count me in." He said. "Captain Gregor MacDonnel, Canadian Forces."

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Son of Bellatrix

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