NationStates Jolt Archive

Message from Samuel Ferrene, Resquiden Diplomatic Corps, to Russkia:

We would like to thank you for this wonderful opportunity to explore uncharted land (and distract attention from government spending). Team has been assembled as per request, although if any latecomers wish to join please inform them that we are short a scientist or two.

Team Leader: John Berrek, Resquiden Captain fresh from Command School, with five-man defensive squad.

Doctor Luke Garden, Fellow of the Theo-Scientific College of Tol Matthew
Tall, pale brown hair, average build. Skilled at most firearms and unarmed combat. Also talented at his particular field of science.
Equipment:
Geiger counters and other measuring devices
Several strange objects that are used in his science
Two pistols hidden in his gear
Communications devices.

Jiggadian scientist (information has not yet arrived)

Western Australia: Miscellaneous scientists (information has not yet arrived)

Armandian Cheese:
Professor Stein
Age: Refuses to comment
Skills: General Scientific Knowledge, specialized in cryptozoology
Description: An eccentric, short, wispy haired man with a devilish grin and large, black spectactles that seem to cover his entire face. (Resembles old dude from Six Flags Ads.) He is a scientific genius, known for his discoveries in many fields. He is also trained in use of fire arms, but usually cannot be trusted with them, due to his extreme paranoia.
Quote: "They're coming. Soon...AGAHAGA!!"

Jiggadian Explorer: Wallace Greenfield
age: 44
specs: 6'2, 194lbs, black hair brown eyes
powerfull upper body, though getting less fit as he gets up in age. Has a reputation as an exploiter of riches, and a grave robber. Most noted in Jiggady for his discovery, and looting, of several sunken ships, charting the dense jungles of what is now Rouge Jiggady.

Follower: Jonas
age:35
specs:5'8 168lbs brown hair and eyes

Robert Fortier, former Marine, ICI and INSA operative, First Speaker of Imitora, and now just a thrill seeker.

Jack the Rabbit: mercenary out of the Federation of Hellspawned Angels. Initial training comes from his compulsory service period in Angels' military, and five additional years on contract. Six years out of military.
Weaponry: customised Razor Angel (rl Galil ARM assault rifle), a Spitfire Angels (rl Micro UZI), a grenade belt, and a pack of specialty explosives, and several progressive knives hidden on his person. Computer armband and HUD goggles

kevin carter: 32 year old ex-infantryman, now works primarily as a bodyguard for notable dignitaries within the Random Goldfish. Intelligent but quiet, proficient in the use of several forms of conventional weaponry but dislikes unnesecary violence. Has contacts in the random goldfish government from being a bodyguard to a high level politician

Resquiden Dr. Hannah Veddele, former army doctor, and her student Michael Setrenne.

Georgiana Blaze: Euroslavia. treatment for small wounds, such as broken bones, minor sicknesses, etc, specialty: radiation treatment and diseases and viruses

All of these will be arriving in your country shortly. We have been informed that you are providing the following:

Name: George Whittleton (second in command)
Age: 49
Specs: 5'2, 173lbs, dark grey hair brown eyes plus glasses
Notes: Foremost explorer and cartographer of the Ruskkie Empire. A seasoned traveller. Writes the Serlingrad Chronicles.
Weapons: Pistol,

Name: Sergeant Jack Bundie (guide from the Southern Wastes Auxiliaries)
Age: 'mid-30s'
Specs: 5'6 brown hair dark eyes
Notes: Somewhat laid back. Knows the area like the back of his hand.
Weapons: Modified rifle.

Looking forward to working with you.

http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=370621&page=3

^ooc thread. Please keep IC in here.

Message from Regent Edmund Vermillion of the Ruskkie Empire:

We would like to thank you for taking this opportunity to learn what lies beyond our southern borders and a chance to settle land to support our 1.833 billion (and growing) population now and in the future.

We suggest that you use Port Rye (see map) as a possible starting place. George Whittleton will be there waiting for you and as we understand Sergeant Jack Bundie is in the town of Keep Out, we'll supply free travel on the rail line to Keep Out.

We wish you luck.

Regent Edmund Vermillion

Fortier sat in the crew chief's seat in the cockpit of the rented out C-130. His eyes were closed, but he was awake, listening to the droning of the powerful engines. The C-130 had been modified from the original by Shinseki Aerospace, and one of the modifications had been the use of very powerful truboprops. Fortier loved the sound of a turboprop.

He was traveling to a random shithole in the side of the planet that is registered as a nuclear wasteland. The best kind of wasteland, if you asked him. Nothing like a glow in the dark tree, or a four eyed fish. F*ck. What had he gotten himself into?

He was really up for it, though, afterall, there wasn't much for him to do in Imitora, so he might as well have fun elsewhere. Its easy to get lost in the crowd when you live in a nation with over 3billion people spread out over several colonies and planets. He decided to check out his gear. It would kill time.

He left for the back of the aircraft, and walked up to the black BMW X5 sitting in the belly of the C-130. He had promised transport, and transport he would bring. There were two of the modified BMWs, he had done the work to both of them himself. He opened the trunk of one of the SUVs, and pulled out a large case, which he popped open easily. He removed its contents, two pieces which, when put together, obviously formed a gun.

The armorer at the Northampton ICMC armory had convinced him to take the BR55 rifle. A large magazine, single and three round burst fire modes, sub MOA accuracy, 2.5x scope, and a decent caliber made the rifle a nice addition. He was going to borrow an older rifle, one of the CheyTac sniper weapons, but was convinced against it. Also in the box was his chosen sidearm, a UMAC made Sig P226 chamberd in .40S&W. He pulled the gun out, and slid it into his hip mounted holster. It fit well.

As he placed the tumb break over the gun, a head stuck out from the cockpit. "Yo Rob, were gonna be landing soon!" he shouted over the roar of the engines. Fortier smirked, and gave him a thumbs up.

He decided that it would be best to suit up now. He was already partially dressed, wearing older style ICMC cammo (since the adoption of Combat Armor, which Fortier had used many a time, camo became unnesacery) pants, and a black tshirt fitted tightly over a kevlar vest. The cammo was similar to Vietnam Style Tigerstripe, and the pants were hung over a pair of plain black combat boots.

Fortier removed a tactical vest, and pulled it on, zipping it, then clipping the two clips, then pulling a velcro slap over the zip. He made sure all the ammo pockets were loaded, and secured. He pulled on a hat over his short trimmed hair, a black BMW logo baseball style flexifit hat that looked well used. He then pulled off his belt, and replacedit with a web belt that held the holster for the Sig, plus a few more pistol ammo pouches, a flashligh pouch with flashlight, and three large canteens. Finally, he grabbed the rifle, assemebled it, loaded it, checked the safty, and attacthed a sling. He pulled the sling over his head, and walked back up to the cockpit. He peered through the window, the C-130 was on final approach.

The plane landed perfectly, and rolled to a stop, shutting down its engines. The rear cargo door opened, and a load crew unloaded the two BMW SUVs. Fortier strode off the back, wearing a pair of black framed, Blue Lensed Oaklys, the BR55 slung across his chest. He looked around, a noticed the man who had to have been Whittleton. He walked over, hand extended.

"Robert Fortier, from Imitora. Pleased to meet ya. So, where are we going from here?"

OOC: Fortier-http://www.bmwworld.com/pics/lifestyle/8959_1024.jpg

tagg so i can find this again reply tomorrow when I am more sober

Captain Berrek surveyed his team with one brow raised. The half-remembered phrase "a motley bunch" floated through his head. And this was just the Russkians and the early arrivals. He sighed and ordered a bagel from one of the servants before leaning back to read through his notes and wait for the rest of the party. How they were going to fare in the Russkian Wilderness, he hadn't a clue.

Jack the Rabbit, a skilled mercenary hailing from a nation that was famous for its mercenaries, stood quiverring on legs that had turned to jelly. He had made the mistake of trying to read the manual for a recent HUD control update on the carriage ride between the port and the meeting, and now he was dearly paying for it.

Giving up, the mercenary emptied his last meal onto the ground. After taking a moment to recover, Jack stood up straight, spat, and walked over to the man who looked most likely as the expedition leader. A Resquiden, and an ugly one, too. The man did carry himself well, but he had a way of raising that eyebrow that just screamed out 'newbie'.

Fresh meat, always fun.

"You must be Berrek, then," Jack stated in his low, gravelly voice. Jack was a small man, and tended to deliberately fade into the background in a crowd. Standing next to Captain Berrek, who was tall and stood out like a rusty sword, one could almost accept that Jack didn't actually exist. "You're fresh out of school, and it shows. I hope this 'aint just a babysitting job, Captain. Remember that you've got mercs on this mission, and they're a little less liable to run off to their deaths than you'd expect, soldier."

Shrugging his shoulders to adjust him pack, Jack tossed a few coins to the carriage driver and sat down cross-legged beside the Captain.

They didn't tell me he was a freakin' kid! Bah, a merc can't be too picky. If anyone up there's smiling, he'll turn out to be a prod, or this job'll be a quick one.

George Whittleton was sitting at a table of a handy cafe, reading over some papers which he had been given prior to travelling down from Serlingrad by rail. The every day hsutle and bustle of Port Rye past him by, a group of Ruskkie Imperial Army soldiers on leave, a couple of RIG troopers on patrol in their sinister black uniforms and stern faces, and traders on carts no doubt travelling from the port to the distant wasteland town of Keep Out to conduict their businesses away from the praying eyes of the RIG and Imperial customs.

A voice sounded which made Whittleton look up. ""Robert Fortier, from Imitora. Pleased to meet ya. So, where are we going from here?"

The voice's owner was dressed in what appeared to be some sort of military uniform which Whittleton had never seen before, but clearly a non-Ruskkie. "Er...hello, for the Southern Wastes Exploration Team right?"

The stranger grunted a reply. "Guess so."

"Well you need to ask Captain Berrek when he-...Ah I think thats him over there!" Whittleton replies pointing in the direction of another stranger, this time a young looking military officer.

Doctor Garden sat in his cabin, checking through the devices again, making sure that everything was still functioning and that everything that should not be obvious was well hidden.

He was genuinely interested in this trip, as a scientist, and looked forward to the expedition with an almost giddy excitement that was only held in check by his training.

When the vessel eased into harbour he was first off, lugging a backpack on his shoulders and a bag in his left hand, looking around him for the others in the group he would be joining.

Fortier looked over, seeing Berrek. A young officer. Go figure. They always stuck him with the newbs. Ever since his first posting in the ICMC. Eh, what were ya gonna do? He walked over, hand extended as he approached again. "You Derrek? Robert Fortier, from Imitora. So whats the deal here?"

Captain Berrek looked down at the mercenary with a patronising expression. "I was rather hoping," he said, "That I could ensure there would be no need for anyone to 'rush to their death' Mr Rabbit. I'm afraid this *is* what you might call babysitting - we are here to ensure that the civillians on the mission are not harmed."

Without waiting for a reply he walked away, but was brought up short by a greeting, of sorts: "You Derrek? Robert Fortier, from Imitora. So whats the deal here?"

"That's Berrek, thank you, John Berrek. You may call me either of those or Captain. The 'deal' as you say, here, is that I am in charge of this mission and I intend to run it smoothly. Our Russkian guides will be arriving shortly, and we shall have a planning session to map out our intended path as far into the wasteland as we have definite information on."

Cough cough......huuuuahhhhhhhhh. Wallace Greenfield pitched forward over the toilet bowl and spewed forth a stream of what remained from his dinner last night. "God damned fish, every time." Wallace repeated this several more times as the rest of his dinner filled the bowl, along with the rum he had swilled last night.

Cleaning his mouth Wallace rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided against any other personal grooming, not that he was one to ever care about his appearance anyways; and pulled a greasy t-shirt over his head and exited the small washroom. Daylight was already streaming into the hotel room from the large windows and Wallace lazily pulled back the curtians to look at the city below. "Where the hell am I again?" He said aloud to the empty room. He really didnt remember much of the last three days only that his old diesel boat was redirected onto a new course for some expedition or another. I dont remember signing up for any expedition. His initial reaction was when hearing of this.

And yet here he was ready to go, with the ever faithful albiet argumentative, Jonas at his side.

Wallace staggered from the room and left the hotel, completely disregarding his physical state or appearance. His hair was half matted down, half sticking up every which way and his body eminated the usual odor of rum, old food, and vomit that he had grown accustomed to.

"I dont even know who the bloody hell I am supposed to be meeting...Where in the name of God are you Jonas!!!?"

Luke walked up to a pair of men, Fortier and Berrek as it happened, with a puzzled expression.

"Excuse me, sirs, I'm looking for a Captain...Berrek? About an expedition to the Southern Wastes?"

His expression is one of confused innocense, and it is hard to imagine him wanting to anyone any harm. While he moves confidantly and is in perfect shape, he somehow manages to look unthreatening and cheerfully oblivious.

Wallace staggared through the streets, whiping his forehead of sweat with his black, skull patterned bandana. He remembered meeting someone that was going on the expedition at a bar last night, but had no idea what the fellows name was or where he had said to meet in the morning. "Damnit!" Wallace said aloud as he pulled a flask from his hip and took a long swig of rum.


--------

Jonas lifted up another crate and tossed it with the others with a grunt. He flexed his muscles and continued the heavy work, he and Wallace had brought plenty of equipment and with the gear that everyone else was bringing it would seem that the expedition would need a legion of support vehicles to carry everything.

He stopped and looked about, "Where the hell are you Wallace?" They were told to meet here bright and early. Jonas took a break from the hard labor and sat down on a nearby bench, he saw Berrek and Whittleton a few dozen yards away talking with other members of the team that he had not yet met. He saw a few glances his way, questioning faces wondering where his boss was.

Captain Berrek looked the man up and down. "That would be me," he said, in a manner self-important, and you are?"

(OOC: Whittleton is already in Port Rye, whilst Sergeant Jack Bundie is in the town of Keep Out where the team will have to travel to in order to meet Jack Bundie.)

Whittleton spotted the Jiggadian unloading crates and went over to speak. "you must be Wallace Greenfield right?"

"No, his assistant." Came the reply.

"Ah...right. Look listen, don't bother yourself with these crates. These chaps over there will dealing with, since the crates kinda need to be loaded onto a train and be taken to keep Out where I have a man waiting with some vechicals i believe." Whittleton says pointing to some rail workers, litting up by some empty carts which had just arrived.

"Doctor Luke Garden, radiologist and theo-scientist, delighted to meet you Captain"

Luke tapped his hand to his heart and then his seat before offering his hand. Not a particularly tall man, Luke had to look slightly upwards at Berrek, but despite this seemed oblivious to the self-important attitude of the captain.

At the same time as he offered his hand he also spoke to Fortier.

"So I take it that you are Robert Fortier? Pleased to meet you as well!"

His hand wavers betwen Berrek and Fortier, as if uncertain who to offer it to. His expression is guilless and open, but his eyes just show something completely different, but it's only there if you look hard enough.

Fortier grabbed the man's hand for a shake first. The grip was firm, yet not to rough to be painfull, and Fortier offered a casual smile. "Thats me," he replied to the inquiry. "The man, the myth, the legend." He let go, and looked the man over. He picked something up with his look. He was definately an agent or operative. It was in the eyes. They always gave it away. "Pleasures all mine," he finished.

John Berrek shot an annoyed glance at Fortier for rudely shaking hands first, although the offer had been first to berrek. He frowned at the early signs of insubordination before dismissing it and shaking Dr Garden's hand as well.

"Pleased to meet you." He said, nodding curtly.

He reached back and picked up his clipboard. "Er... We are missing quite a few people, so you two may as well sit down and get to know each other - I'll radio in and see what's taking everyone so long."

Doctor Garden smiled and gestured toward a café.

"Since the good Captain seems set on us getting to know one another, care for a drink?"

The theo-scientist picked up his bag and started walking toward the café, apparently assuming that Fortier would follow.