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Steam Name: pewe, raspberry
Steam ID:
# 147 "pewe" STEAM_0:0:17659870 2:02:05 111 0 active
# 144 "Raspberry" STEAM_0:0:55891507 2:17:27 160 0 active
How long have you been roleplaying?:
Pew: Since 2011.
Raspberry: Since 2013.
Any experience having this auth before?
I couldn't say on this community, no. But on TnB, yes. I had to get four admin auths for my mercenary character on SRP before he could even become an IC character. So essentially, yes.
What are you applying for?:
We are applying for a base group that has branches with starting black-market and securities. I'm applying specifically, I being Pew, for a PKM for Tim. That's it. Just low-grade black-market for Raspberry, and a weapon for me.
Why should you have this?:
The reason we should have this in general is to eliminate all these confrontational, expensive gear wearing characters. I understand that people have been complaining about the economy and with people walking around with big guns and kevlar, sitting back and shooting others without repercussions. So, in light of that situation. We'll be hosting hit service. The service for that character who got threatened, beaten or otherwise left in a confrontational state-- can hire services to 'deal' with that person. We'll have some petty thugs to shake up stores and stuff like that. Get the police unit on their toes.
Backstory:
"It's awful hot in this shit hole dude, fuck me," Tim said to Austin with an exhausting sigh, moving to toss his Russian LMG over his shoulder. It's a humid day in Iraq. Sun's constantly blaring its blasting heat onto the bare skins of both Tim and Aussie's forearms. Entirely with both the two sun-baked individuals-- they weren't alone. They're sitting within a woodland flavored Humvee, gunner on the top. But where were they at? Center of hell. Fallujah. The entire city is swamped with Taliban and most likely IS extremists. They weren't military in any fashion, just security for a company. Opium maybe? They didn't know, all they knew was that it was money and it was little work-- save the few sniper shots or deaths around them. Spooked they were, but what the hell could they do? They're already in the shit-pile anyways.
The Humvee, continuing its path down a dusty, soot ridden road. Ahead was a small village with a delicate, subtle pile-up of garbage. Out from the back of the garbage pile was a long string of cords that lead into a building. Burning rubber with an MRAP trailing the carrier, the fifty coaxial mounted on-top ever vigilant, they steam rolled down the road. Teek! An improvised-explosive-device detonated next to the side of the MRAP. It's wheels skidded and twisted, the vehicle doing a complete one-eighty. And within the signal that consisted of shrapnel, rock and force, a small number of Taliban militants stormed out. Each toted a different weapon. Kalashnikov, PKM, M16A3. Whatever they got their hands on from the Iraqi Army was in their hands.
The HMMWV skidded to a halt, giving the entire crew a startling smack to their foreheads as each head slammed into the back of the padded seat. The top-gunner racked the bolt back of the fifty and started to lay waste to those who like to run across corridors. ZIP. A militant caught the tail-end of a fifty browning and spun immediately. His entire lower half almost ripped off like a seam. Tim and Aussie filed out from the back and took cover behind the HMMWV's thick-plated doors. Every so often a 'PA-TING' sounded off from the door as a 7.62 managed to lodge itself into the plate.
Tim and Aussie moved flank, Aussie being the rifle-man and the sorts. Tim propped down his bipod and started to fire on whatever lied beyond the enemy's line. Civilian or not, they were getting shot.
It was a long and drawn out fire-fight, but, with all fights- there's an ending. And, let's just say that the militants didn't get to go home crying to their mommy's.
Casualties on the mercenary's side was minimal, leaving only with heavy casualties. The ones that terminate contract and a trip home for comfort.
MRAP was maintained by a field engineer and they went on with their run. It's about an hour long drive, might I add. They pull up on a small, box formed FOB for the companies units. Tim and Aussie filed out from their HMMWV and dragged their heels to the barracks. They were exhausted, needless to say. Tendency to relief themselves, was with a cold shower. Those showers that run down your back and- it being so cold that it felt like that the hairs on your back were singed off. But, being as it may. It felt like a hot shower to them. Muscles relaxed, they went to their bunk and sat it out. Drank. Y'know, the typical 'badass' shit.
It's been a year now, and by the grace of god they weren't plucked off the Earth or used as tar for a road. Meaning dead for the dumb people. Their contract came to a close, and it was time for them to leave. But with a contract termination, all gear must be handed over. Well, Aussie was all right with that. Tim wasn't. He grew attached to his 7.62x54mmR spitting fire-arm. So what did he do? He dismantled it entirely. All to basics. Firing pins and the likes, strewn about and hidden within smaller compartments of luggage. It was a private air-line, so there wasn't any checking to be had.
Airport of Los-Angeles, 2014. Tim and Aussie step out of the private jet plane with among other strangers that they only knew from mere combat strategies. Tim completely walking around with an illegal fire-arm lest he had the license. Even then he'd need a military license, at least he thought so. Now, be that it sounds corny that they magically said "Hey, let's make a totally illegal business that distributes weaponry for a set price." It's exactly what they did. Clearly they didn't have any connections at all, aside from their PMC backgrounds. Private Military Company, for those that don't know the acronym. Tim, being a unit who had to know how to service their rifle, went to set it back up. Only problem though? No ammo. What good is a gun without any ammo?
So they went about, starting up from scratch.
This is where they start off. Finally within the bubble of un-certainty. Fables.
Do you agree that you will use these responsibly, and understand these can be taken away at any time?
Of course! What would be an auth without the chance for redacting?
Steam ID:
# 147 "pewe" STEAM_0:0:17659870 2:02:05 111 0 active
# 144 "Raspberry" STEAM_0:0:55891507 2:17:27 160 0 active
How long have you been roleplaying?:
Pew: Since 2011.
Raspberry: Since 2013.
Any experience having this auth before?
I couldn't say on this community, no. But on TnB, yes. I had to get four admin auths for my mercenary character on SRP before he could even become an IC character. So essentially, yes.
What are you applying for?:
We are applying for a base group that has branches with starting black-market and securities. I'm applying specifically, I being Pew, for a PKM for Tim. That's it. Just low-grade black-market for Raspberry, and a weapon for me.
Why should you have this?:
The reason we should have this in general is to eliminate all these confrontational, expensive gear wearing characters. I understand that people have been complaining about the economy and with people walking around with big guns and kevlar, sitting back and shooting others without repercussions. So, in light of that situation. We'll be hosting hit service. The service for that character who got threatened, beaten or otherwise left in a confrontational state-- can hire services to 'deal' with that person. We'll have some petty thugs to shake up stores and stuff like that. Get the police unit on their toes.
Backstory:
"It's awful hot in this shit hole dude, fuck me," Tim said to Austin with an exhausting sigh, moving to toss his Russian LMG over his shoulder. It's a humid day in Iraq. Sun's constantly blaring its blasting heat onto the bare skins of both Tim and Aussie's forearms. Entirely with both the two sun-baked individuals-- they weren't alone. They're sitting within a woodland flavored Humvee, gunner on the top. But where were they at? Center of hell. Fallujah. The entire city is swamped with Taliban and most likely IS extremists. They weren't military in any fashion, just security for a company. Opium maybe? They didn't know, all they knew was that it was money and it was little work-- save the few sniper shots or deaths around them. Spooked they were, but what the hell could they do? They're already in the shit-pile anyways.
The Humvee, continuing its path down a dusty, soot ridden road. Ahead was a small village with a delicate, subtle pile-up of garbage. Out from the back of the garbage pile was a long string of cords that lead into a building. Burning rubber with an MRAP trailing the carrier, the fifty coaxial mounted on-top ever vigilant, they steam rolled down the road. Teek! An improvised-explosive-device detonated next to the side of the MRAP. It's wheels skidded and twisted, the vehicle doing a complete one-eighty. And within the signal that consisted of shrapnel, rock and force, a small number of Taliban militants stormed out. Each toted a different weapon. Kalashnikov, PKM, M16A3. Whatever they got their hands on from the Iraqi Army was in their hands.
The HMMWV skidded to a halt, giving the entire crew a startling smack to their foreheads as each head slammed into the back of the padded seat. The top-gunner racked the bolt back of the fifty and started to lay waste to those who like to run across corridors. ZIP. A militant caught the tail-end of a fifty browning and spun immediately. His entire lower half almost ripped off like a seam. Tim and Aussie filed out from the back and took cover behind the HMMWV's thick-plated doors. Every so often a 'PA-TING' sounded off from the door as a 7.62 managed to lodge itself into the plate.
Tim and Aussie moved flank, Aussie being the rifle-man and the sorts. Tim propped down his bipod and started to fire on whatever lied beyond the enemy's line. Civilian or not, they were getting shot.
It was a long and drawn out fire-fight, but, with all fights- there's an ending. And, let's just say that the militants didn't get to go home crying to their mommy's.
Casualties on the mercenary's side was minimal, leaving only with heavy casualties. The ones that terminate contract and a trip home for comfort.
MRAP was maintained by a field engineer and they went on with their run. It's about an hour long drive, might I add. They pull up on a small, box formed FOB for the companies units. Tim and Aussie filed out from their HMMWV and dragged their heels to the barracks. They were exhausted, needless to say. Tendency to relief themselves, was with a cold shower. Those showers that run down your back and- it being so cold that it felt like that the hairs on your back were singed off. But, being as it may. It felt like a hot shower to them. Muscles relaxed, they went to their bunk and sat it out. Drank. Y'know, the typical 'badass' shit.
It's been a year now, and by the grace of god they weren't plucked off the Earth or used as tar for a road. Meaning dead for the dumb people. Their contract came to a close, and it was time for them to leave. But with a contract termination, all gear must be handed over. Well, Aussie was all right with that. Tim wasn't. He grew attached to his 7.62x54mmR spitting fire-arm. So what did he do? He dismantled it entirely. All to basics. Firing pins and the likes, strewn about and hidden within smaller compartments of luggage. It was a private air-line, so there wasn't any checking to be had.
Airport of Los-Angeles, 2014. Tim and Aussie step out of the private jet plane with among other strangers that they only knew from mere combat strategies. Tim completely walking around with an illegal fire-arm lest he had the license. Even then he'd need a military license, at least he thought so. Now, be that it sounds corny that they magically said "Hey, let's make a totally illegal business that distributes weaponry for a set price." It's exactly what they did. Clearly they didn't have any connections at all, aside from their PMC backgrounds. Private Military Company, for those that don't know the acronym. Tim, being a unit who had to know how to service their rifle, went to set it back up. Only problem though? No ammo. What good is a gun without any ammo?
So they went about, starting up from scratch.
This is where they start off. Finally within the bubble of un-certainty. Fables.
Do you agree that you will use these responsibly, and understand these can be taken away at any time?
Of course! What would be an auth without the chance for redacting?
