NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: A meeting place for various mercenaries from around the globe to discuss tactics, recommend weapons, relate tales of past exploits, and browse for contracts. I DON'T want you to create a character for this RP, that defeats the purpose, since the character won't have any convincing backstory.

IC:

Dekker Bray watched as the preparations neared completion. He and his three companions were representing the RDMA, an army of mercenaries based in the Badlands, where they trained under the harshest of conditions. The building itself overlooked the RDMA camp. It was like any other building, a shabby prefab structure caked with red dust. Inside, various tables were set up to allow fellow mercs to sit down and relax, tell stories, discuss weaponry, that kind of thing. Armed RDMA MP's made sure things stayed civil. There was an open bar, serving everything from water to expensive wine. Next to it was a snack bar, loaded with various snack foods, nothing too fancy. Dekker and his companions sat back and waited for some guests to arrive.

OOC: I'm pissed because I have to BUMP this bitch...

a timid appearing "suit", with a slightly oversize breifcase and an open trenchcoat, walks up to the door. a breeze catches the coat and swirls it around his legs in a small cloud of red dust. he pushes his glasses back up his nose.

he opens the door and steps through. two rather large and unimaginative appearing gentlemen step forward and block the path.

"ahh, yes. i assume there is a coat check. which way is it?" asks the suit.

one of the large gentleman looked towards the coat check, without really taking his eyes off the suit.

"thank-you," says the suit, as he moves towards the coat-check.

inside the coat-check area, there is a sign that says "please check all weapons. thank-you for your co-operation." the suit moves to the weapons counter.

from under the overcoat he pulls a pair of 9mm semi-automatic pistols from cross draw hostlers, 1-cm copper plasma pistol from a hip hostler on his right, he reaches under his coat, and behind his back. he pulls out a 2-cm copper plasma rifle, its barrel has been shortened to half. he reaches in to the pockets of the trenchcoat. he pulls out a small selection of brass knuckles, and a pair of gloves that hit the counter heavier than a pair of gloves shoud. he reaches inside the overcoat again, and pulls out nearly thirty magazines, and six extra barrels for the copper plasma weaponry. he reaches down and places the briefcase on the counter. he opens it up. he places a roll of black fabric on the counter, upon inspection it contains eight smallish, but well balanced knives. he places a rather utilitarian hunting knife on the counter, followed by a swiss army knife. he closes the breifcase and places it back on the floor. he takes off the over coat and folds it over the breifcase. he subtlely shugs each shoulder. he places a pair of modified 9mm on the counter. he reaches inside his coat to the right inside pocket and pulls out a second 1-cm copper plasma pistol. he removes the two hostlers that are now visible over his coat. he reaches into a pants pocket and pulls out a small toy kitchen sink.

he takes the claim ticket from the clerk and walks over the coat check and places his coat on the counter, and takes a second ticket.

the suit walks up to the two large gentlemen, once again. they pause, and part. it is not apparent if it is because the suit had checked his weapons and coat, or it was because they were not sure which man of the three, standing there, would be left if it came to cases.

he walks in to the body of the hall.

"now, let's get to business," he says to himself.

Hans Taeng, the recruiting representative for Daistaillian Military Options, arrives. After checking his weapons, he heads for the bar.

Torres laughs.

"It's not that's he's paranoid, he just think's everyone's out to get him, eh?"

Dekker watches from his table. 'A .45 and a few clips always worked for me, but I guess people always have to carry a small arsenal with them these days...'

OOC: You can bring in unloaded weapons for 'show and tell'. The table Dekker's at has a large collection of weaponry that he and his team prefer. Sorry I didn't mention that earlier.

Torres laughs.

"It's not that's he's paranoid, he just think's everyone's out to get him, eh?"

Dekker watches from his table. 'A .45 and a few clips always worked for me, but I guess people always have to carry a small arsenal with them these days...'

OOC: You can bring in unloaded weapons for 'show and tell'. The table Dekker's at has a large collection of weaponry that he and his team prefer. Sorry I didn't mention that earlier.

the suit smiles.

"not really. a display of excessive force early on sometimes prevents the continous usage of lesser force. but i do admit that it makes for a better display when there are more people in the room. i'm jochaim stueben, i represent various ... interests from both the feifdom of industrized serfs and the other nations of the smoke ring.

"predominant among them, the f.i.s. wishes to field a mercenary force. i've been sent to gauge the competion, nature of the field, etc. basically advanced scout work.

"but, if i can generate business for the other interests, fisaw cheif among them, all the better."

Hans steps over and discreetly hands the suit a corporate overview for DMO.
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=97042&highlight=

*What are you looking for?*

OOC: Is this modern, future, or past?

The grizzled mercenary Londo Bell arrived. Before entering the building, he looked it over. Satisfied, he sauntered into the building. At the coat check, he pulled out his two beam pistols and unshouldered his pulse rifle and handed it to the valet. Receiving his slip, Londo Bell walked into the meeting room, sat down, propped his feet on the table, and promptly went to sleep...

stueben looks at daistallia.

"working in a more active role, as your over view states it. fielding equiped, trained, and supplied infantry, heavy and light armour, for a reasonable cost. in broad strokes we know what we have to do, but there are a few details that are unknown to us.

"but, your overview does bring up an interesting point. in the rl year that there have been mercenary forces, no visible regulating body has been established. one of the issues that has concerned some of the people that i represent, is the issue of payment. there appears to be little to prevent fraud on either side of the issue. the rumor mill prevents second offences, but it is the first offence that is the concern."

We do not have the man power to start fielding units of the size you likely require. Organizing, supplying, and training what extra-territorial forces you can recruit is more along our lines right now.

And yes, a mercenary bonding authority would be a good idea.

OOC: scurries off to plan....

An adjunct to this thread: all private military companies are hearby invited to discuss a regulatrory body to ensure that contractual obligations by both PMCs and clients are met.
http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=97072&highlight=

OOC: This was ment to be more of a gathering of individuals.
This is whatever-tech. I don't care.

ooc: sorry, i meant that the f.i.s. is looking to start a mercenary regiment.

OOC: Good luck, unless more people show up. The RDMA (The name of the army that owns the base that this building is overlooking) hires out squads of mercs. Oh yeah, and italics are thoughts, not verbalized words.

The guards at the door to the building are slightly suprised at the character they see heading towards them.

He is a huge ork, easily 7 feet tall. The ork wears cobat boots, loose pants, a three-strap belt with metal studs, and no shirt. His head is bald except for a black ponytail at the rear of his head. He wears a leather ammo belt over one shoulder and across his chest, and his left shoulder and chest are covered by a plate of steel. His right arm is replaced with a crude prosthetic made of steel and hydraulics with a wicked looking powered pincer claw for a hand. He has a large rifle of somekind across his back and an equally large pistol in a holster at his side. Finally, he has numerous battle scars, including one cut that obviously took out his right eye. a glowing red mechanical eye sits in his socket in it's place. He is also daubed with yellow warpaint.

"Me name be Grogdak Magork, Der be a meetin' fer me 'ere?" the ork says to the guards.

"Yes, but you must frst check your weaponry."

"Shur. Watevuh u sez."

Grogdak proceeds to store his rifle, pistol, explosives, and something that can only be described as a sabre with a chainsaw blade (chainsword).

He goes into the building where the others are already meeting.

The guards at the door to the building are slightly suprised at the character they see heading towards them.

He is a huge ork, easily 7 feet tall. The ork wears cobat boots, loose pants, a three-strap belt with metal studs, and no shirt. His head is bald except for a black ponytail at the rear of his head. He wears a leather ammo belt over one shoulder and across his chest, and his left shoulder and chest are covered by a plate of steel. His right arm is replaced with a crude prosthetic made of steel and hydraulics with a wicked looking powered pincer claw for a hand. He has a large rifle of somekind across his back and an equally large pistol in a holster at his side. Finally, he has numerous battle scars, including one cut that obviously took out his right eye. a glowing red mechanical eye sits in his socket in it's place. He is also daubed with yellow warpaint.

"Me name be Grogdak Magork, Der be a meetin' fer me 'ere?" the ork says to the guards.

"Yes, but you must frst check your weaponry."

"Shur. Watevuh u sez."

Grogdak proceeds to store his rifle, pistol, explosives, and something that can only be described as a sabre with a chainsaw blade (chainsword).

He goes into the building where the others are already meeting.

The guards at the door to the building are slightly suprised at the character they see heading towards them.

He is a huge ork, easily 7 feet tall. The ork wears combat boots, loose pants, a three-strap belt with metal studs, and no shirt. His head is bald except for a black ponytail at the rear of his head. He wears a leather ammo belt over one shoulder and across his chest, and his left shoulder and chest are covered by a plate of steel. His right arm is replaced with a crude prosthetic made of steel and hydraulics with a wicked looking powered pincer claw for a hand. He has a large rifle of somekind across his back and an equally large pistol in a holster at his side. Finally, he has numerous battle scars, including one cut that obviously took out his right eye. a glowing red mechanical eye sits in his socket in it's place. He is also daubed with yellow warpaint.

"Me name be Grogdak Magork, Der be a meetin' fer me 'ere?" the ork says to the guards.

"Yes, but you must frst check your weaponry."

"Shur. Watevuh u sez."

Grogdak proceeds to store his rifle, pistol, explosives, and something that can only be described as a sabre with a chainsaw blade (chainsword).

He goes into the building where the others are already meeting.