AndrewTech

MC Name: AndrewTech Your Full Name: Pandora Langua Your Age: 320 Years Your Gender: Female Are you moving in alone or with family/friends? (Specify if second option): I am moving in alone; I have no other family than my sister, who is currently missing. Are you of full Mali blood?: Yes. Of which subrace(s) are you?: Mali'ame (Wood Elvish) What skills do you have?: I possess a knowledge of Pyromancy and Domestic magics (Although I won't use them if specified not to do so), as well as a liking and love of the sciences. However, many of my memories are fragmented and scattered, so I am still trying to reconstruct many of the last 320 years of my life.

Mandru VonSchlichten looks onwards over the former lands of Vallendar, from the Clerical Shrine in Alras. He remembers the days when Gallmore flourished... how his cousins and he had flown the flag of the tricolor of the Republic. And that was gone. And now Daenes, his wife, had run off with a man whom was near the top of his hatelist. Rosie, Alex the Elder and Younger, soon Cheza, and himself were the last VonSchlichtens still with the House. Saul the II and Shia had been taken from him... the nerve. If they become evil or are raised wrongly- --- Now was not the time to think about this; perhaps more VonSchlichtens shall show up and return to the ancient house once more... "If the Creator and Tahariae wills it," he mutters softly. Finally, he goes to meditate before getting on with the day's tasks.

Mandru VonSchlichten, the former Proconsul of the Republic of Gallmore, smirks. "It's good to see that someone decided to build upon my system of Republic! This DeNurem kid has good tastes it seems... Maybe this time it shall last longer than a decade..." With that, the white cloaked cleric finishes talking to himself, and wanders away.

OOC Somewhere, an unemployed Gallmorian artillery specialist sees the notice. The man in the tattered, cyan cloak grumbles, reading it over. "Ah... Ja... Zis does indeed sound like an interesting guild. Perhaps et is time to resume my career..." He writes a reply in neat handwriting. MC name: AndrewTech Skype name: You already have it. RP Name: Francis Amirault Gender: Male Experience: Training in artillery weapons such as catapults, trebuchets, and ballistas. Also some trench warfare experience and bare-basic field medic skills. Oath: I, Francis Amirault, do claim a promise of loyalty, to protect and stand for the lands of Herendul, and to always value the Creator’s, and your will, … Kommandant of the Winterguard, and to all your offspring, according to the obligations of the Guard. My sword, my shield, my strength, mine life will serve Herendul, and all it’s kin till the day I claim the deathbed.

...AND now ts.lotc.co isn't working. Help I beg.

The great Master Cleric, Mandru VonSchlichten, sighs, looking upon the corpse of Harrison Geminine. "Rest in peace, old friend. And... Tell my sister hello for me." Mandru would struggle to drag Harrison's body off in order to bury his next to Rosella's under Von Hill, assuming Harry had no different request before his death. He inscribed on his gravestone, "Harrison Geminine, One of the Three Original Proconsuls of the Old Gallmorian Republic Lies here. Pax Gallmorium." The cleric administers final rites, then leaves.

I get the same. Help techies, please... I'm begging you.

Mandru awakens from his first vision, having been sent it in the middle of the Cloud Temple Tavern. "The child... I should have known... She seemed innocent, but I spared her. She seemed alright, but she isn't... ​He now receives Hosper's letter. He frowns. "Must then we kill her...? If need be... Tahariae's will... be done. I trust him, and if this terrible deed must come to pass to save our world... so be it. But if a non lethal way can be found... then that, we must attempt to do." Mandru gets up, dusts off his cloak, and walks out of the tavern towards Leanniel.

Somewhere, a (suprisingly bored) cleric and inventor reads the poster. The white cloaked man mutters to himself, "Yes... This could hold the secrets of every question we have on the scourge, as well as the population of Anthos before we came here. Not to mention the artifacts and devices that lie within..." Mandru frowns, however. He sensed danger... Grave danger. The inhabitants of the city must have died for some reason. Or perhaps they were alive, self-sustaining within. Either way, he was a man of science and a man of faith. He HAD to go to solve this mystery: one he'd wondered since the attack by the Northmen on Hanseti so many years ago. He picks up his golden staff, sheaths his steel battlesabere, and heads to search for the camp mentioned in the poster.

Somewhere, on an island between Anthos and the Wilds... "No... This cannot be." The cleric and inventor, Mandru VonSchlichten, Ph. D and M.D., was sure that he would die before Nienna. He never wanted to face this day. He colapses to his knees, beginning to pray to the aengul Tahariae. He begs his Patron, in tears, for this not to be true. His little, 6-year old daughter approaches him. "Daddy, what's wrong...?" She asks. "..." Mandru doesn't respond. He instead ignores Rosalyn, and enters his tower. Mandru opens the Tome of the Wizard Vanguard, shakily delivering the news to him. The Tome is silent for once in his lifetime. He slowly closes his cover, and locks himself without a word. Mandru simply continues to pray in grief. Nienna had saved him from a most terrible existence, rotting away on Von Hill. She'd been his friend in times of troubles, from Vaerhaven to the Conclave, and had never deserted him. Her knowledge of science overshadowed even his; The Matron would always be greater than he, The Doctor. No other viewed the world of Magic and Science as he did; Mandru feels a sence of loneliness as he reflects. Her death would be noticed around the entire world... Mandru finally decides to stop mediating. He grabs his cloak and staff, heading to the Conclave to pick up and safeguard the amulet left to him. He decides that whatever it does, he'll guard and treasure it the rest of his life. Lastly, while sailing to the mainland aboard the Endeavour, powered by the Fire Imp Nienna herself had loaned him, he decides to continue to do what she'd want him to do, to do his own part in the universe. To do what he always had been: be The Doctor.

Reg steps onto the Space Station, exiting the docking port both with his few possessions, including his share of the Federation Units from salvaging the old dropship (given to him by the captain in advance after the deal was sealed over subspace radio en-route to Cinatell), stuffed in a knapsack, and his now fully-charged plasma ejector concealed in one of his many pockets. He looks out the window of the docking ring towards the planet below. How it reminds me of olden Earth... He thinks to himself as he looks down upon the planet, almost breaking a tear. He soon snaps out of his daydream, however, and decides to get to business, dusting off his blue-and-grey jumpsuit. Reg seems to blend into the crowd of the station's travelers, with his goggles and travel-wear. Noticing this, he figures that it'll be easy to keep a low profile onboard the station. Before heading down towards the station's bar to search out both transportation and information, Reg bumps into an Ascardian man wearing a green labcoat. "S-sorry!" Reg stutters quickly; he'd wait a moment for the scientist to respond before continuing his journey to the social hub of the station (by default).

Reginald glances out the window towards the motionless stars. He begins to consider the possible options of what to do with his wrecked dropship. Even if he COULD repair it, the ship was only meant for carrying troops and supplies between Earth and the Pluto Monitoring Outpost at the edge of the Sol system. Its ion drive was both slow and old, unable to achieve long-range travel beyond Alpha Centari. Having considered this, Reg replies, “I think selling the ship for salvage would be wise, assuming I get 75% of the profits. It should be able to fetch a decent sum in most markets. Besides; I’ll need something less rickety and more long-ranged anyhow. I mean, it’s navigation and Federation database system still works, in addition to its ion drive and life support system. And I’d assume it’s getting harder to find working spare parts for Federation dropships, especially after 300 years since the Federation's fall... Also, your contacts on the surface… if you’ve any whom could help me acquire a new ship or help me locate my sister, I’d be most appreciative if you could direct me to them.” Reg waits for the captain’s response so that he can rest before reaching the Republic of Cenatell.

Reg looks at the captain, trying to judge if he holds a grudge against humans. Considering that he hadn't been left to die while his oxygen ran out or been mugged and killed yet, he figured he could trust him. Reg begins to tell him the story of his falling into cryostasis during the battle of Sol III, his leaving Earth after rigging the rusted and battered dropship to escape the mutants, scavengers, and man-eating cockroaches that haunted its surface, and his quest to find his sister. As he tells his story, the captain nods, listening intently. Finally, Reg begins to wrap his story up. "...and now I'm here. Without a working ship, nor any idea what to do. Perhaps I can accompany you and your crew on your journey to this Republic of Cinatell? It seems as good a place as any to begin my search, and perhaps aquire a... more usable ship. If need be, I may be able to bargain with you for my safe passage there."

OOC Username:AndrewTech Rules yes or no?:Yes. Character Name:Reginald Vertigrey Age:30 (Biologically) Race:Human Gender:Male Originating planet: (Please note, this is a very open part. You are free to describe it further. If many of you use the same planet for origin, it is more likely to be starting on that one! So check up other applicants!): Reg's origin planet was the capital of the Human Federation, Sol III (A.k.a: Earth). Before you deny me for lack of creativity, let me describe this futuristic Earth to you... At the time of our tale, Sol III is abandoned. The site of the final battle of the intergalactic war so long ago, Sol III is little more than an abandoned, radioactive pile of rubble. The remains of crashed spaceships, ancient buildings, and ruined stores litter the once happy and glamorous planet. Although no one dares approach Sol III, every human has heard the tales of their homeworld, and yearn to resurrect it one day. The only living things left on Sol III are giant cockroaches, illegal scavengers, and the occasional mutant whom dared to wander the planet without any protection. Looks: Reg has brown hair, and blue eyes. Of moderate build, he does not look threatening at first glance. By ethninticity, he is white. Traits: -Inteligent: Reg's mind was one of the most praised on Sol III before its obliteration. -Mechanical: Reg, being an engineer, loves machines. They're his life's work. -Nervous: Reg has a stuttering problem that will haunt him when in nerve-racking situations. -Level headed: Reg will often think before he acts. Background Story: Reginald Vertigrey's family had remained on Sol III as LNG as he could remember. In fact, for nearly a thousand years, they had lived in an ancient manor surrounded by modern buildings. They'd been offered trillions of Federation credits to give up their property and move into the London skydome, but they refused; they simply did not want to give up their home. Reg had attended one of the Federation's finest academies in order to learn the art of engineering. His professors considered him one of the most gifted minds they'd ever encountered, and he soon became a professor himself upon graduation. As he began his new job, he heard of the rumors of an approaching fleet of starships, come to invade Sol III. He began to become nervous, even more nervous than usual. In the nuclear-proof, led lined basement of Vertigrey Manor, he began to construct a bunker. And inside this bunker he built two cryosleep chambers and stored two Environmental Suits: one each for him, and one for the only other living member of his family whom lived in the manor: his sister. Finally, the inevital bombardment of Sol III began. Soldiers hurried through the streets while citizens panicked in the chaos. Reg knew that it was now time. He and his sister hurried to the basement of the old Manor, still miraculously spared from the bombardments from above. He sealed the door behind him. However, the two set their chambers hastily; they meant to freeze themselves for 29 years. Instead they set their timer to 290 years. They fell asleep, oblivious to their mistake. ***** Reg woke up 290 years later, at the time that our story takes place. He looked around the room, noticing that his beloved sister was missing. He hastily checked the dial on the machine; she had woken up a year early. Reg was terrified by this; for all he knew, his sister had left the planet WITHOUT him! He stepped, wearing the remaining Environmental suit, into the wreckage of Sol III. Seeing the obliteration of the London skydome and Vertigrey Manor, Reg fell to his knees. "What has become of the rest of the sector?" He murmurs aloud. "What shall become of me?". Reg sighs, entering the bunker to gather his few remaining possessions. He found there a note of hope, hanging on the exterior of the door. It read: "I have left the planet. Best wishes to you; find me, my dear brother. Find me." Reg smiled, at least for an instant. His sister too was alive. He would make it his mission to find her. He would make it his mission to leave Sol III. He would do it, or die in the attempt. Unfortunate possessions: (Decency.) -Gems of Aloxynate: From the cryostasis chambers. -Smith&Wesson Plasma Ejector Mk. IV: Even in the distant future, Smith&Wesson still existed on Earth! Woo! Unfortunentky the small hand weapon, due to being inactive for almost 300 years, only has enough power for one shot left in it... -Tool Kit: No engineer leaves home without it. -Goggles: useful for sandstorms and blizzards. -Environmental Suit: an ancient piece of earth technology, they are useful only for wandering radioactive wastelands. Going into space with one...? Not a good idea. -Engineering Jumpsuit w/ Federation Combat Boots: Reg's current (yet outdated)attire.

Consular Mandru VonSchlichten looks over the Edict. The middle-aged cleric knew that the Orenites would return one day. When William Horen had come to his island, he had greeted him with open arms. He was not pleased to be vassalized to Oren nevertheless. But, at least it was William Horen whom had annexed the Island. At least William was a wise lord; the one whom had tried to save Gallmore from being destroyed in the Great Cold War. And a generous one too. Autonomy was to be kept. FULL Autonomy. This was all the Republic ever wanted to begin with under Oren. And this they were granted. Mandru and the Proconsuls were still in control. Mandru is confident William the Wise shall hold true to his word, and has no fear of invasion. He can't help but to wonder what the future will hold, though. He just can't help but wonder.

Question, question... What should I ask...? Ah! Here it is. The most pressing question in the world that has tormented philosophers for decades. Witch is worse: Star Trek 1 or Star Trek 5?

Mandru "The War Doctor" VonSchlichten is hit in the head with several copies of The Writings of Blundermore as he examines the Rift of Jalrek on Gallmore Island. The middle-aged cleric picks up one of the books, scratching his grey hair. He begins to read the chapters, grinning and grinning ever deeper as he does so. He mutters to himself, "This man has it right... THIS is what everyone in Anthos should read. If only everyone thought like Blundermore, this war would go so much easier..." Mandru puts the copies of the book securely in his satchel, and wanders off to perform his daily endeavors.

*"The Doctor", better known as Mandru Scott, reads the poster happily. He makes no verbal remarks, but happily skips back to Gallmore Island after hearing the news, keeping his thoughts to himself.*