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  1. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

    Face Claim A Thematic Melody //>>Receiving File Transfer Request //... //... //>>Handshake Protocol Recognized //>>Transfer Request Accepted //>>Downloading File... //... //... //... //>>Download Complete //>>File [Dossier_ElswoodDorian112th.etf] Added To Downloads Directory //>>Would You Like To Open This File Now? [Y/N] //>>Y //>>Processing... //>>Opening File In Default Editor For File Type: [.etf] //>>[File Begin] 112th M.I. Command, Attached is the full background workup for Rct. Dorian Tyler Elswood including the notes from his assigned psychologist, Doctor Ryan Edbauer. This is all pretty standard dossier material, and changes to the service record should propagate automatically when your personnel database syncs up with FedNet. In addition to this dossier, I've attached additional informative modules for use by division medical and intelligence staff. I trust that the information will get to the right people. Please send your confirmation of receipt and update your personnel roster. Thank You, Lieutenant Silvia DuCrois Mobile Infantry Personnel Serives //>>[Attachment-1 [DTE_112Dossier.dbe] {Identifying Information}>> --[Given Name(s)]: Dorian Tyler --[Surname]: Elswood --[D.O.B.]: 10-October-2270 --[Age]: 28 --[Height]: 180.34 cm --[Weight]: 78.02 kg --[Ethnicity]: Caucasian --[Hair]: Brown --[Eyes]: Green {Background Profile}>> --[Place of Origin]: Armadi; Sigma Octavius II; Sigma Octavius System --[Next of Kin]: -----------------------> Samuel Arthur Elswood; Father; Citizen; Mobile Infantry [24 Years of Service]; DECEASED -----------------------> Victoria Marie Elswood; Mother; Citizen; Mobile Infantry [2 Years of Service]; DECEASED -----------------------> Lisette Evelyn Elswood; Sister; Civilian; Suffers Cystic Fibrosis, unfit for service; LISTED BENEFICIARY -----------------------> Audrey Juliana Chock; Maternal Aunt; Citizen; Fleet [4 Years of Service]; DECEASED --[Education]: -----------------------> Hyde Central High School; 4.0 GPA; 90%+ Aptitudes: Math, Science, Social Studies; GRADUATED -----------------------> Armadi University of Science and Engineering; Medical Sciences Major; 4.0 GPA; Years Completed: 1; DROPPED OUT -----------------------> District 21 Trade Academy; Electrical Repairs; Years Completed: 2; GRADUATED --[Federation Training Program]: Fort Riberson --[Promotion Record]: {Up to date as of 9-August-2298} -----------------------> Pvt. [Date Unknown; Clerical Error] -----------------------> Pfc. [Date Unknown; Clerical Error] -----------------------> 3Spc. [Date Unknown; Clerical Error] -----------------------> 2Spc. [Date Unknown, Clerical Error] -----------------------> Spc. [Date Unknown, Clerical Error] --[Biographical Summary]: -----------------------> Grew up in middle-class suburban lifestyle on Sigma Octavius II's primary colony, Armadi. Groomed by father [MSgt. Samuel Elswood] from early age to take Citizenship seriously and instilled interest in Mobile Infantry service. Took part is Junior Federal Service program throughout middle school and high school. Father's declining health prompted retirement and return of mother [SSpc. Victoria Elswood] to work, making Dorian Elswood primary caregiver for younger sister [Lisette Elswood] who suffers cystic fibrosis. Dorian Elswood attempted university studies while caring for his sister, but found the workload split to be too much when sister's health began to decline. He dropped out of AUSE after one year and enrolled in trade school to study electrical repair during twice weekly night sessions. Upon graduation he took a part-time position as an electrical consultant for a Federal construction company. Dorian Elswood was caught in the Armadi Blitz at the start of the Civil War when Separatist forces moved to seize the industrial center. Samuel Elswood and Victoria Elswood were killed by artillery bombardment. Dorian Elswood evacuated with his younger sister after a failed attempt to reach his parents. After months circumventing combat zones, the refugee ships arrived in safe Federation space. Dorian Elswood promptly applied to serve in the Federation Armed Forces. Initially slated to be inducted as light infantry, examination of his personal situation and consideration toward the service of his family saw him inducted as proper infantry. Rct. Elswood excelled in training exercises making squad leader until a training incident rendered him unable to continue with command [IR-0558426: Broken spine resulting from recruit failing to properly hoist as top anchor in rappelling exercise]. After spinal repair Rct. Elswood's unit had already graduate, and he was instead placed into an in-progress unit to finish out his training. He was deployed to the 3rd Mobile Infantry Division, 29th Morita Regiment, 212th Morita Rifle Battalion ["Sabro's Sentinels"] which, at the time, were posted in a holding action on a Federation-loyal planet. Rct. Elswood was later transferred to the 4th Mobile Infantry Division, 31st Morita Regiment, 112th Morita Rifles Battalion as part of an initiative siphoning personnel from over-staffed units to reinforce units suffering attrition. {Psychological Profile}>> --[Overview]: Dorian Elswood is an extremely goal-oriented individual, and he maintains a strong sense of personal responsibility. If something is wrong, he takes it upon himself to correct it. Self-reliance leads to a need to be learning at all times, and his habits challenge the notion that a "jack of all trades is a master of none." Elswood seeks mastery in anything he sets his sights on, and his unending desire to be useful tends to put him in opportune positions to feed this education addiction. --[Key Personality Traits]: Inquisitive, motivated, multi-faceted, responsible, emotional --[Psychological Strengths]: Despite his tendency to refrain from compartmentalization, he shows astounding emotional resistance to matters in the field. His ability to stay on-task and keep a level head is likely what earned him a squad leadership position in training. His natural desire to seek out intellectual pursuits affords him an expansive library of general knowledge which, in turn, allows him to operate in most roles should the need arise. Elswood typically demonstrates strong empathetic tendencies, which if allowed to grow will likely provide a durable relationship to lean on. --[Psychological Weaknesses]: Elswood's inability to compartmentalize means that rapid, subsequent emotional blows will impact him greatly. Due to his strong sense of personal responsibility, he shoulders the weight of any failure as his own--even when it is not the case. He is highly critical of himself, and does not view himself in a positive light. The only value he finds in himself is that which he can derive through interpersonal relationships with others. This causes him to gauge his worth based on what he can do for friends and allies, making him feel helpless when he is isolated. Dorian needs to be in control of his circumstances, even if to a degree he understands that some things are beyond his control. For example: Elswood would much rather be the anchor for a rappelling action as he knows he will not drop the rope on his troopers. This behavior borders on compulsion, though psychoanalysis indicates it is not an issue of trust in others. Finally, Elswood is paradoxically desperate for emotional connection and terrified of it. This may lead to his behavior appearing manic to those on the opposite end. To his credit, through CBT he has managed to recognize when these behaviors become problematic, and takes steps to correct them. --[Known Psychological Conditions]: -----------------------> ADHD -- Dorian exhibits many of the common symptoms of ADHD, though medicating him for it has proven to be detrimental to his mental well-being. It is the suggestion of [Doctor Ryan Edbauer] that Rct. Elswood not be medicated. Coping mechanisms taught through CBT appear to manage the issue without compromising his mental fortitude. -----------------------> Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder -- [Update: 6-August-2298] The events during the 112th assault on Pluto have led to symptoms consistent with PTSD. Elswood has reported intrusive thoughts and memories during unrelated trains of thought, night terrors, night sweats, sleepwalking, and occasional auditory hallucinations. He is undergoing therapy to treat the issue. //>>[Attachment-2 [DTE_112MedRec.dbe] {112th Morita Rifle Battalion Medical Record: Dorian Tyler Elswood} --[Physical Injury] ----->Injury: Gunshot [Full-Through]; Rear L. Shoulder [Enter]; Front L. Upper Pectoral [Exit] ----->Medivac: Yes ----->Cause: Patient thrown into line of friendly fire by explosion, DMR operator took shot on target as patient passed in front of weapon. ----->Treatment: Exit wound packed with hemostat dressing and covered with occlusive dressing [Field Care]. X-Stat injected into entrance wound and covered with occlusive dressing [Field Care]. Lavequin antibiotic injection and Ketamine painkiller injection administered [Field Care]. Removal of wound packing and application of ligature to minor blood vessel [Medbay]. Puncture sutured closed and treated with biogel [Medbay]. Placement in recovery tank [Medbay]. ----->Recovery Period: Two days ----->Status: Healed; Mild Scarification on Rear L. Shoulder; Moderate Scarification on Front L. Upper Pectoral --[Physical Injury] ----->Injury: Laceration; Front R. Thigh [Vertical] ----->Medivac: No ----->Cause: Patient slashed by Arachnid Warrior talon while dragging wounded trooper ----->Treatment: Wound wrapped with elastic bandage for compression and covered in an occlusive dressing [Field Care]. Lavequin antibiotic injection administered [Field Care]. Removal of field dressing and cleansing of wound [Medbay]. Laceration sutured closed and treated with biogel [Medbay]. ----->Recovery Period: One day ----->Status: Healed; Mild Scarification on Front R. Thigh --[Physical Injury] ----->Injury: Laceration; R. Hand [Vertical; Full-Through] ----->Medivac: No ----->Cause: Patient slashed by Arachnid Warrior talon while in the process of performing field care on another trooper. ----->Treatment: Celox ointment applied to interior of wound, hand taped together with medical tape and occlusive dressing [Field Care]. Lavequin antibiotic injection and mobic painkiller injection administered [Field Care]. Removal of field dressing and cleansing of wound [Medbay]. Laceration stapled closed and treated with biogel [Medbay]. ----->Recovery Period: N/A ----->Status: Wound re-opened in combat --[Physical Injury] ----->Injury: Laceration; R. Hand [Vertical] ----->Medivac: No ----->Cause: The staples sealing a previous wound together were broken due to recoil of sustained fire while manning mounted twin-fifty caliber machine gun. ----->Treatment: Celox ointment applied to interior of wound, hand taped together with medical tape and occlusive dressing [Field Care]. Lavequin antibiotic injection and mobic painkiller injection administered [Field Care]. Removal of field dressing and cleansing of wound [Medbay]. Old staples removed and laceration re-stapled closed and treated with biogel [Medbay]. ----->Recovery Period: Two Days ----->Status: Healed; Moderate Scarification on Back of R. Hand; Mild Scarification on Palm of R. Hand --[Mental Health Concern] ----->Symptoms: Invasive Thoughts/Memories; Night Terrors; Night Sweats; Sleepwalking; Infrequent Auditory Hallucinations ----->Diagnosis: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder ----->Cause: Graphic death of trooper Lyndsey Carter and his inability to help her; Death of friend Jason Marsh despite administering optimal field treatment; Graphic death by primitive dismemberment of Marauder Johnathan Skye while working with rescue team to retrieve him; Death of William Hedgeworth directly in front of him--close enough to be covered in resultant viscera; Vaporization of Ji Park at the edge of OB blast radius; all deaths closely packed together and in conjunction with other personal struggles with next of kin. ----->Treatment: Therapy sessions once weekly, and as needed when in PTSD crisis ----->Recovery Period: TBD ----->Status: Treatment ongoing //>>[Attachment-3 [DTE_112PersonalRelations.dbe] {Personal Relationships}>> --[Relations Key]: ----->Love ----->Admiration ----->Familial/Brotherly/Sisterly ----->Good Friend ----->Friend ----->Acquaintance ----->Neutral ----->Mixed Opinions ----->Dislike ----->Hate ----->Fears --[Known Relations]: ----->Charles Scott: Closest friend and confidant. Elswood respects Scott above all others and would not hesitate to do anything for the man if asked. Despite their moderate age gap, Dorian views Scott as he might an older brother. He wants nothing more than for Scott to be happy and healthy. Dorian feels deeply indebted to Scott, and he strives to pay him back in any way he can--including, but not limited to, fielding as many responsibilities as possible to alleviate some of Scott's administrative strain. Few people seem to understand Elswood as well as Scott does, and where Scott does not understand Dorian, he does not pretend to; few make as honest an effort to fill the gaps in their know-how on Elswood, either. On more than one occasion, Scott has kept Dorian grounded and assisted in his coping. Charles's willingness to share uncomfortable or difficult experiences with Dorian makes the strongest impact on the younger medic because of Elswood's strong admiration. If Charles Scott can overcome such hardship to be the man Dorian knows him as, then maybe--just maybe--Elswood can do the same. He is afraid, however, that he will never live up to Scott's expectations or his reputation. Few, if any, aboard the Grant do not hold some sort of respect for Scott. Dorian does not know if he will ever achieve the same level of competency, confidence, and rapport. ----->Troy Hughes: Elswood considers Hughes a friend, though distinctly feels that the scales of their relationship is unbalanced. Specifically, Dorian does not think Hughes considered him so much a friend as a positive acquaintance. As tends to be the case with Elswood, he tends to feel more closely connected with those who he has had a hand in treating--especially on the battlefield. Having tended to Hughes multiple times in the past, he feels a decent rapport with the man. Of all the NCO's, Elswood tends to favor Hughes due to his deference to Elswood's medical judgement. Since the death of Marsh, Dorian is particularly concerned with timely medivacs and will go out of his way to fight for them; Hughes has never made Elswood struggle to get the support he needs to do his job. Dorian is concerned for Troy's mental well-being, but does not feel comfortable pushing the issue. Instead, he directs Troy to Charles Scott--a much closer friend to Hughes--for such matters. ----->William Saint-Claire: Getting a read on Saint-Claire proves challenging to Elswood. While Dorian would like to consider Saint-Claire a friend, he is wary of the man's seemingly chameleon-like behavior. He did not notice the change until Saint-Claire's promotion and induction into the Military Intelligence unit. On occasion, Elswood felt like he was on the wrong side of Saint-Claire throwing his newfound clout around. On other occasions, Dorian might forgotten Saint-Claire was ever even promoted. On average, Elswood gives Saint-Claire the benefit of the doubt. That is to say, he often gives most people the benefit of the doubt due to his deep-seated desire to be liked--or rather, not to be disliked. In the particular case of William Saint-Claire, however, Elswood can admit that he feels fairly safe in his bet. ----->Ylva Hilmarsdottir: Previously skeptical of Hilmarsdottir on a personal level, Elswood had always been encouraged by Scott's positive relationship with Ylva to give her the benefit of the doubt. Thankfully, he held on to this optimistic notion long enough for Ylva to share a bit of herself with him. She always seems to know when something is nagging at Elswood, and the attention she pays him and his well-being make him feel valued as a friend. Her willingness to open up to him has only solidified their friendship and cemented Elswood's place as a steadfast supporter. The common ground they share has sparked a sort of protectiveness of Ylva. His desire to see Hilmarsdottir and Scott together used to be the primary source of protectiveness toward Ylva--more a protectiveness by proxy for the sake of his best friend. It has by now evolved into a standalone feeling. Some measure of guilt nags at him for having been so one-sided about his so-called "shipping crusade", though he intends to make it up to Hilmarsdottir by being the best friend he can. ----->Cait Donovan: Elswood views Cait as a surrogate little sister, though it may be a bit selfish of him to pigeonhole her into that position. Cait is the same age as his real little sister Lisette, and in a way Dorian imagines that Cait is similar to how Lisette would be if not for her cystic fibrosis. Where others see a punk ass little hothead, he sees beyond the facade to the compassionate, fun-loving young woman beneath. He takes personal responsibility for her well-being both on the field and aboard the Grant, though will let her make the mistakes she needs to in order to grow as an individual. Initially disappointed by her single-minded desire for combat kills, he worried about her transition to the medic role. After her first growing pains as a medical professional, however, his reservations were put to rest and his confidence in her restored. Dorian would do just about anything to help her become more confident as a medic, and takes pride when she does good work in the field. Elswood believes Donovan has a lot of potential, and he intends to help her realize it. ----->Sebastian Bently: Interactions with Bently have been rare, but none of them unpleasant. Elswood respects Bently's straightforward attitude and his "get it done" disposition over the politics usually associated with an officer's commission. Dorian believes that Bently tends to seek out the best person for any given task first and foremost, but has never hesitated to turn to another suitable candidate should his first choice not be available. For example, Bently often seeks out Scott for medical matters, but given Scott's busy schedule Dorian has offered to help Bently with whatever he needs. Unlike many others, Bently has not hesitated to take Elswood up on his offer and has allowed him to perform what is needed in place of Scott. Elswood is not sure if this is because Bently finds him capable in particular, or because he is often the next most qualified for the job. Dorian tends to lean towards the belief that Bently finds him capable, as he did allow Elswood to do one of his medical workups. On the battlefield it does not go unnoticed by Elswood that Bently prioritizes his troopers over himself--or at minimum does not put himself above his troopers. On multiple occasions he has been wounded and opted to hold the line beside his troops rather than fall back and be treated. Bently is a "lead from the front" type, and Dorian admires that greatly. It causes him a great deal of stress, however, when trying to perform his medic duties. Treating a patient who refuses to sit still and stop shooting makes for a tough job. Unlike other troopers, though, Dorian cannot just make Bently sit still! Update 1: Elswood has spent a lot more time with Bently as of late, and the medic feels as if there might be some level of friendship building despite the rank desparity. There is a lot more to the officer than many might believe and Dorian finds himself always willing to make time for Bently. The man himself is still as difficult to read as ever, so Dorian keeps his disposition toward the psuedo-friendship to himself--at least for now. ----->Mikhail Kuznetsov: Only recently has Dorian's relationship with Kuznetsov begun to evolve beyond acquaintance into friendship. The pair had shared a few drinks together on more than one occasion, and Dorian served in a squad with Kuznetsov on more than one occasion--one or more with Mikhail as squad second (or perhaps even as lead, if memory servers correctly). Elswood finds Kuznetsov to be a fairly even-keeled individual for the most part, having never seen too much beyond the superficial interactions they shared. On a recent mission, Kuznetsov had been gravely wounded. A different, newer medic--who shall remain nameless--had attempted to earn his field treatment proficiency for promotion to 2Spc, but nearly botched the treatment. Halfway through the treatment, Dorian ordered the other medic to stand down and took it upon himself to treat Kuznetsov. In a situation painfully similar to that experienced with Jason Marsh, a timely medivac separated Kuznetsov from death. Arguing for his patient's medivac and shouldering the responsibility of mobile field IV, he managed to get the man out alive. Perhaps it was the feeling of righting a past wrong, but Dorian felt vindicated--and though his vindication a sort of budding friendship with Kuznetsov. Perhaps the most impacting moment for Dorian had been Kuznetsov's change in attitude when Dorian took over treatment, going from hopelessness to fighting to live. The small gesture of confidence did wonders for Elswood and his recently battered self-esteem. ----->Alicia White: Elswood finds White to be a very busy person, and thus it is difficult to establish a friendship beyond the bounds of casual conversation and the occasional deeper conversation. He doesn't know a great deal about her as a person save for what he has managed to ascertain by observation. Dorian finds White to be a good-humored, yet sensitive individual as evidenced by her response to the loss of Carter. In a manner of speaking, Elswood is thankful that she had been there with him for Carter's loss. It gave him someone to take care of and keep his mind off of it; allowing him to treat and reassure White kept him together for the ensuing shitstorm. Initially attracted to White, he diverted course immediately upon discovering the relationship White and Bently share. In truth, Elswood finds the couple to be an absolutely adorable pair having listed to them talk about it in a one-on-one setting from their respective perspectives. The symbiosis of their relationship gives him something to smile at, and perhaps a bit of hope--though exactly why that may be true is difficult for him to put into words. Overall, Dorian respects White and feels an established--albeit fledgling--friendship with her. ----->Sylase Freeman: Of all the medical staff, Freeman is one of the few Elswood feels reservations about. He finds Freeman to be a good enough person--good company, anyway. However, having witnessed the near-botched treatment Freeman applied in the field, he is skeptical of his skills and tenacity. Freeman does not actively seek out training to learn new skills or practice his old ones--not even after the incident with Kuznetsov. Dorian is concerned that Freeman does not have what it takes to be a medic, and that he may get someone killed though poor medical care in the future. Like Dumont, Freeman seems to disappear when it comes time to put boots to dirt. Elswood is friendly enough with the man, but not particularly interested in getting friendly with him until Freeman gets his shit sorted out. He cannot afford to put friendship above the quality of his junior medics. Dorian is expected to shape Freeman into a viable medic, and he in turn expects Freeman to put in the effort. Thus far, he's not seen much effort. ----->Tallie Vega: Elswood is not terribly familiar with Vega. He has met her in passing a few times, though she spends a lot of time being a conversational attache rather than an active participant. From what he can tell--which isn't much--she's fairly self-suficient and interested in little beyond her point of view. He can guess that she likes books and that she doesn't appreciate stupiity. Her penchant to throw spanish around is mildly amusing. All in all, she doesn't seem terribly interested in interraction when she is around, so Dorian leaves her be. //>>[Attachment-4 [DTE_112Addendum.dbe] {Additional Resources}>> [Below Is A List of Unconfirmed Resources Related to Dorian Tyler Elswood]: ----->"The Truth About A Liar"; Biographical Record; [Link]
  2. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

  3. The_Harmacist

    Troy Hughes

    Fine, Dorian Elswood.
  4. The_Harmacist

    Troy Hughes

  5. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

    Updated as per your request.
  6. The_Harmacist

    Alicia 'Snow' White

  7. The_Harmacist

    TAC - Applications [Open]

    ULYSSES S. GRANT FLIGHT WING APPLICATION OOC Portion: Steam user name: Harmacist [The Doctor is Win] How active are you on server: On [almost] every day for 3-6 hours. When are you most active with your timezone: EST 6:00PM-11:00PM (Weekdays); EST 11:00AM-11:00PM (Weekends) Do you have a Microphone and Teamspeak: Yes, and Yes (just re-installed) Have you had any previous experience with Fleet rp: Argus Parrow flew TAC for a mission when no Fleet characters were available Provide an RP example of how a TAC fighter would react during space combat and or during ground combat: Ground Combat Scenario [Hardened position firing upon advancing allied forces] Pilot Action: "Killbox-One to Bandicoot, I have eyes on indicated target. Over" The pilot flicks the switch arming his UBG-Paveway unguided bombs and corrects his course to make a run on the target. "Adjusting attack vector, entering approach corridor." The pilot avoids known AA sites and guides his TAC into the bombing approach. "Target acquired, and... ordinance away!" Dropping his paylad on the dortified position, the pilot pulls up and away from his original vector and moves to resume support pattern. "Killbox-One to Bandicoot, confirm effect on target? Over." The pilot then waits for the response, prepared to make a second run if necessary. Space Combat Scenario [Engaged in dogfight with hostile space fighter] Pilot Action: "This is Killbox-One, I've got a hostile fighter on my six! Taking evasive action, over!" The pilot bobs and weaves with his craft in an attempt to be as unpredictable as possible. Juking hard to avoid a purst of cannon fire, he veers towards the Grant in the hopes of picking up a wingman to get the bogey off his tail. The targeting computer blares a lock warning and the pilot is forced to yank hard on the stick and deploy decoy flares. Veering hard to port, he cranks down the engine to get better drift and allow the flares to paint a larger target than the signature of his thurusters. The missile sails past and explodes upon contact with a decoy. Ramming the throttle forward again, the Pilot zips past the grant kills the engine and rotates his craft to face backwards before the hostile craft can also round the Grant's hull. When the bogey zips around the Grant in pirsuit, the pilot slams on the thrusters to shoot past the target before engaging adjustment jets to turn him around. Now on the hostile's tail, the pilot pushes for a cannon lock. "Killbox-One, I got bogey zeroed. Guns, guns, guns!" Squeezing the trigger, the pilot fires his ship's cannons. A few tracers stitch the emptiness of space while he searches for the sweet spot, then the cannon fire finds its mark and the hostile craft's right rear thruster erupts into a fireball which is snuffed quickly by the lack of atmosphere. Catastrophic systems failures cascade through the hostile craft's structure until the munitions storage catches and the whole craft detonates in a massive blast. "Killbox-One, splash one fighter! Someone confrimt that kill! Over!" Provide an RP example of a dropship pilot, on ship or during a deployment: Dropship Pilot During Deployment Scenario [Dropship is on approach to extraction LZ] Pilot Action: "This is Soapbox-One to Bandicoot, on approach to LZ. It looks like you've got arachnids on the move toward your position, Bandicoot. Be ready for a hot extraction, over!" The pilot approaches nice and easy to the landing zone, allowing time for the troopers to clear the area for a safe touchdown. Once landed, the pilot waits for the troopers to board but keeps the engines running. Upon the order to dust-off, the pilot cranks power to the thrusters and takes back to the sky with his bay full of troopers. Assuming there are wounded, the pilot makes haste back to the Grant. Do you acknowledge that extended lack of activity without notice will result in your removal: I undererstand Do you acknowledge the negative stigma of Flight Wing, and my efforts to break said stigma: I understand Do you acknowledge that failing to assist in these efforts will result in your removal: I understand IC Portion: Name: :: Please provide all medical and or physical records below:: I;E -- Age, Weight, BMI, Build, wounds sustained, medical conditions, so on. :: :: Medical :: Medical disorders: None Known allergies: Cefzil (type of antibiotic) Diseases: None Extra info you’d wish to tell us: Argus is the picture of health, taking great pains to maintain peak physical condition. Diabetes runs in his family, and he does not intend to be a victim of genetics. :: Physical :: Age: 24 Height: 5'10" Weight: 160 lbs Build: Athletic leaning towards muscular BMI: 20 Extra info you’d wish to tell us: Argus maintains as low a BMI as possible for his weight to maximize musculature. He has always been concerned about needing to fight on the ground should he ever be shot down, and intends fully to be in a physical condition to fight for his life. :: Note, all your physical test scores from basic will be accounted into selection process :: Current Rank: Ensign :: Must be below the rank of SCpo. and must not go below CM. :: Previous/Current Vessel (For Transfers): Ulysses S. Grant Brief history of your character: Parrow was born to civillian parents, but always found the idea of soaring through air and space to be fascinating. Not long after graduating high school, Argus Parrow enrolled himself in the Federation Armed Forces and was placed in Fleet Academy as per his aptitudes--particular note paid to reflexes and situational awareness. Agter a fairly run-of-the-mill experience, Argus graduated from Fleet Academy qualified to pilot an array of small craft, but not to helm a full-sized service vessel. Showing promise as a TAC pilot from aptitudes and simulations, Argus was transfered to the Ulysses S. Grant to learn at the feed of experienced combat pilots. Directly after his transfer, Parrow was called into action without even enough time to drop his bags. The 112th mounted an offensive on a bug-held planet to establish a mining outpost required to supply desperatly needed resources. A lack of available TAC pilots forced Brass to make the executive decision to put Parrow in the cockpit and hope he worked it out. Brief History of military service: Much to the fortune of the Mobile Infantry, Parrow lived up to expectation and demand. Over the course of the mission, Parrow provided close air-support and non-stop bombing runs to drop "Paveway" unguided ordinance and napalm on arachnid forces. Of particular note, Parrow managed to score a direct hit on an adult Royal with two napalm canisters flying a trench run between two mountains to avoid arachnid air response. The royal was killed almost instantly, and the retreating troopers were given the time they needed to set up their FOB. Commendations given: Nothing official other than a recommendation for permanant TAC post Notable remarks from your higher ups: Recommendation of permanant TAC post. (Xalaphos) Why do you wish to become a pilot? To support my fellow soldiers from the skies. I was born with a particular set of skills that provided me strong reflexes and strong awareness of my surroundings. I believe they would best be employed in the cockpit of a TAC. What qualifications do you have that would make you suitable for this position? Graduated from Fleet with 90% and above aptitudes and scored perfect on my TAC pilot quilifications. If you were to sign up, which position would you like to start your training in? TAC or DROPSHIPS? And provide a reason why. TAC would be my preference given that I have already been behind the stick of the newest TAC model. I know how she handles, how she bites, and how she barks. If necessary, I would accept the opportunity to prove it. ::Note:: TAC is usually reserved for people who’ve shown that they are capable pilots, both on and off ship ::
  8. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

  9. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

  10. The_Harmacist

    William Saint-Claire

    Where de Elswood at!?
  11. The_Harmacist

    Sebastian Bently

    I would like to see some Elswood up in this neighborhood!
  12. The_Harmacist

    Troy Hughes

    I would like to see some Elswood in your life, broski.
  13. The_Harmacist

    Kyril Layland

    Show me some o'dat Elswood.
  14. The_Harmacist

    Quinn Caffrey -- Degenerate Psychic

    Where dat Elswood at?!
  15. The_Harmacist

    Wallpapers and the like

    Holy hell that is one sexy wallpaper! Here, all these in 1920x1080
  16. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

    Added, boi. Added to list. Добавлено, товарищ!
  17. The_Harmacist

    Dossier: Dorian Elswood

    Added. Added.
  18. The_Harmacist

    The Truth About a Liar

    An Excerpt From the Mind of Dorian Elswood Part I: An Honest Liar I lie. I lie a lot, and I tell my lies for any number of reasons. I don’t mean to say that I am disingenuous, or that I am strictly dishonest. I know it seems counter to my opening statement, but it is true--that much is true, anyway. Here, maybe if I explain a little you’ll catch the gist of what I mean. What people see, and what goes on inside my head are two very different things. In fact, it might be accurate to say that “Outer Dorian” and “Inner Dorian” are two different people. Both of them are Dorian, but they don’t quite match up. Outer Dorian is confident, self-assured, sarcastic, and witty. I like Outer Dorian, he’s who I want to be--a colorful, spirited, extroverted kind of guy. Inner Dorian is who I’m afraid to be. He’s unsure, scared, and scatterbrained. Inner Dorian is terrified of any situation out of his hands, and he strives to always keep a hand on the steering wheel. These two facets of the so-called “Complete Dorian” are usually at odds. So, I lie. Wait, roll it back a little bit. It’s probably not as clear as I want it to be, so maybe I should start a bit further back. Perhaps I should start with where my whole journey began? Or is that too boring? I’ll risk it, let’s take a look. *** Sigma Octavius is a small system you’ve probably never heard of. It consists of a star, two planets, and assorted small moons. Sigma Octavius II, a “garden world” as they called it, played host to Armadi, a fledgling industrial colony dedicated to the manufacture of weapons and military equipment. Why post such an important startup in such a small, insignificant system? Due to its proximity to Sanctuary, of course. It proved more logistically sound to manufacture weapons in an adjacent system than to ship them in to the resource-hungry Sanctuary system. Maybe you can already see where this is going, but on a Saturday morning like any other, I was completely unaware of what waited just around the metaphorical corner. “Dorian? That you rummagin’ around in the kitchen?” A long career in the Mobile Infantry conditioned my father into mode of speech that consisted in large part of barks and growls. Combined with a deep, raspy voice that one would only expect from a man who gargled with gravel after brushing his teeth, my dad sounded angry at all time. I knew better, of course, but most everyone else found him intimidating. “Yeah,” I called, bent over at the waist the scour the refrigerator for worthwhile leftovers to eat. “Just woke up.” “You gotta stop sleepin’ in so late, kiddo,” my dad grumped. “I get that it’s summer and all, but Soleil, Tatiana, and Cadence all vid-called this mornin’ to say ya didn’t answer your PDA. An old man gets tired of fieldin’ calls from young girls lookin’ for his son.” I had ever been a “girlfriend” sort of guy. The security of a relationship appealed to me for as long as I could remember. I wanted to be part of something that shared mutual care and support--maybe because I spent so much energy taking care of my chronically ill little sister. Not to say I was some sort of user or serial-dater. It just so happened that I made friends easily with women, and if (and, more often than not, when) things did not develop into a romantic involvement, I still managed to stay close friends with them. My dad had always been ignorant of my romantic adventures, though I always suspected he chose to keep it that way. “Shit,” I sighed. “I was supposed to meet’em at the park like an hour ago.” My mind has always been keen when it came to technical matters and theory. I knew more about the M.I., their weapons, their tactics, and general matters of science than veteran soldiers thanks to my dad. However, with a skull so packed full of information, I tended to be eternally scatterbrained. “Well, I need ya to pick up your sister from the clinic,” dad said, or rather, instructed. “I know your mother was supposed to pick’er up, but she got word from Mrs. Dobier that Mr. Dobier passed away last night. She went to the store to get some groceries to make a sympathy dish.” I sighed again; it was a tired sort of sigh, not the frustrated kind. I will always be grateful that my father knew the difference between the two, as we might have argued a lot more. Taking care of my sister was a full-time job with my mother working and my father too decrepit to do anything but sit and collect his Federation benefits. It fell to me to take care of Lisette, and ended up as the primary reason I had yet to join the M.I. like my father. With my head so filled with the wisdom imparted upon me by dad, it felt like a waste to play nanny all the time. “Yeah, alright, I got ya,” I said, closing the fridge. Food could wait, and maybe Soleil would want to get food--if she wasn’t mad at me, that was. I went to slip on my shoes before heading towards the door, but my father stopped me before I reached the knob. “Dorian, before ya go, could ya grab my PDA off the end table there? Thanks.” I looked back and saw my father pointing with his biotech left hand at the end table beside the couch. Dad lost the same leg and had it reattached twice, so in his old age it gave him real hell. Stepping back into the living room, I scooped the PDA off the table and handed it to my dad before making my way back to the front door. Those were the last words I ever head from my father, and I feel somewhat robbed. We shared no final words of affirmation, no lasting kernel of wisdom to live by. We didn’t even leave off on a sour note with which I could have been bitter. Just a simple, everyday request--the last thing my father said to me. “I’ll be back with Lisette, then I’m goin’ out with Soleil and the gang!” I called back through the door as it closed behind me. No sooner had the latch caught did I have my PDA in hand. My fingers punched up my contacts and brought Soleil’s information up. Tapping the vid-call button, it rang once before the feed picked up. An adorable redhead with enchanting green eyes and the most endearing freckles appeared on my PDA. Despite her pouting face, I could not help but smile at her. “Dorian Tyler Elswood, you are so late right now!” The soft curves of her face, framed by her long and fiery mane, made it near impossible for Soleil to appear intimidating. “We’ve been waiting here forever!” She turned her PDA to face a pair of other girls, both sporting short brown hair and hazel eyes. Tatiana, however, stood six inches taller than Cadence and sported an athletic frame in contrast to Cadence’s petite build. Both girls crossed their arms at the camera, eyes narrowed with artificially inflated frustration. Sure, they were probably annoyed at him, but none of the little cadre stayed mad very long. “I know, I know,” I said, offering my most sheepish smile. “I forgot to set an alarm. Forgive me, oh Mighty Maiden of the Flamin’ Mane!” My smile crept into a grin, and Soleil couldn’t help but smile as she rolled her eyes at me. Of all the girls that I ever tried to forge a relationship with, none of them had proven too difficult for me to make an attempt. Something about Soleil, however, made it impossible for me to take that final step. In retrospect, I think I was actually afraid of her saying no. More than afraid--more like terrified. She might have been my first experience with so-called "true love." “So, you’re coming now, then?” She arched a brow at me, trying her best not to sound hopeful. I felt a strong suspicion in that moment that if I were to work up the gumption to ask her out, she would have said yes. The feeling disappeared in a heartbeat, shouted down by the little voices in my head begging the question “what if you’re wrong, idiot?” “Uh, well,” I looked away from the screen; I could feel my cheeks reddening as warmth spread across my face. “I gotta be a little bit later. Lisette is at the clinic for her treatment, and I need to take her home.” “Oh, of course! That’s ok, we can wait for that, obviously!” Soleil’s expression softened. A lot of my friends seemed to find it endearing that I took care of my sister, but Soleil seemed to adore Lisette, too. “Shouldn’t be long I promise!” Again that unconscious grin played across my face, and I felt a bit foolish for smiling so wide. Thankfully, she beamed back at me, putting that bit of embarrassment to rest. When we hung up, I jogged the rest of the way to the clinic and right up into the main lobby. Lisette, the spitting image of my mother, waited in her wheelchair. Her long, chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail--an unusual choice for her, I recall. She stared down at her PDA, not seeing me enter the building. “Hey, Liss,” I said, coming up beside her chair. “How’d it go?” “It’s too hot,” she complained. “The process already feels like suffocatin’, with this heat it’s unbearable!” My sister looked up at me, deep bags of fatigue beneath her eyes. It took a lot of effort not to frown. Cystic Fibrosis is a messy disease, and it makes it difficult to breathe in the best circumstances. Sweltering heat and humidity were rough on her, and I could see in her face that she underplayed how bad she felt. “Well, the sooner we get ya home, the better,” I said, smiling at her. “We get goin’ before the midday heat catches up, and then we get ya settled in to your nice, climate-controlled room.” I stepped behind her wheelchair and started pushing before I even finished speaking. At the time, I admit, I just wanted to get her home so I could go hang out with my friends. Being older than college age while living at home made me itch for a taste of any freedom I could get my hands on. A few minutes of silence passed us before Lisette glanced back over her shoulder at me, an inquisitive look in her eye. “You’re movin’ awfully quick,” she accused, an almost amused tone coloring her words. “Got a hot date or somethin’?” Lisette smiled impishly at me. My little sister liked to tease me about all my female friends--especially Soleil due to my mistake in confiding in her how I felt about the redheaded spitfire. “I’m meetin’ up with Soleil, Tatiana, and Cadence after I get you settled at home.” I told her the truth, no point in lying at that point. Note, we are still at the point in which I spoke more truths than lies. Lisette laughed, shaking her head at me. “Doesn’t it get awkward hangin’ out with two of your ex-girlfriends and the girl you wish was your girlfriend at the same time?” Like my father, she did not seem to understand my penchant for friendships with the opposite sex. “No, not really.” Lisette had been about to respond when warning klaxons began to blare. Little red lights started flashing atop the light posts, and I distinctly remember thinking to myself “well, isn’t this disruptive.” My first, stupid thought had been to consider how these warning sirens would impact my plans. “Attention! All residents are to report to their local evacuation sites immediately.” An automated voice played from speakers I could not spot from where I stood. “Your local evacuation site is: Hyde Square. Do not return to your homes. Do not pack any bags. I repeat: all residents are to report to their local evacuation centers immediately.” The hand of panic squeezed my lungs shut, I struggled to pull in any air at all. Then, I caught sight of my little sister’s face. Wide-eyed and fearful, she looked to her big brother for guidance. For the first time I could remember, I shoved my concerns deep inside and pulled a veneer of calm confidence across my face. Lisette needed me to get her to safety. “Alright, let’s go,” I said, and my voice sounded foreign to my own ears; the bottle panic in my head could not reconcile the demeanor I wore with what I felt. “But, what about mom and dad?” She sounded as frightened as she looked, and I could see the uncertainty of it all taking its toll on her already strained respiration. “Don’t worry, just focus on keeping calm and breathing normal,” I said, pushing her wheelchair along at a jogging pace. “I will get you to the evac site and go back to check on mom and dad.” She seemed satisfied with the answer, or if she wasn’t, she didn’t say anything else. Overhead, Federation aircraft zipped overhead, screaming off in the opposite direction from us. At first I thought I heard thunder, but the more educated part of my brain interjected. Explosions; those were definitely explosions. I started jogging faster, and more people began to flood the street moving towards the evacuation site. Everything blurred together in the mess of bodies streaming towards the evac site. Thankfully, everyone on the move fit into the designated zone. At the time I thought it was because the city planners did a good job of dividing up the residential districts with a reasonable number of evac zones. Looking back, however, I now believe it was due to the tireless work of the M.I. organizers and Fleet pilots that kept the evacuation running. It was a stroke of luck in my favor when I arrived at the evac site and recognized one of the M.I. troopers assisting the residents. Sergeant Buckol was a friend of my father’s, and I met him on multiple occasions. “Sergeant! Sergeant Buckol!” I called to him, and to the man’s credit he heard me over the clamor. Recognition flashed in his eyes, and he fought the throng of panicked civilians to get over to us. “You’re Elswood’s kid! Dorian and Lisette, right?” Buckol needed to shout for us to hear him. “Where’s your parents?” “I don’t know!” I said, shouting above the roaring crowd. “I need to go make sure Dad gets out of the house, Mom wasn’t home when I left! Can you make sure Lisette gets out?” I felt my heart racing--thudding against my ribs-- but the practiced expression of control had already started getting easier. “Absolutely, I owe your dad my life!” Buckol came around to the back of the wheelchair and took the grips from me. “I wouldn’t go back out though, it’s about to get bad!" “You know I have to!” I shot back, shaking my head at the man. “You really are your father’s son, you know that?” “What?” Lisette exclaimed. “You’re just going to leave me here?” That fear on her face tightened, contorting into outright horror. She did not like crowds, and being alone with a crowd on the verge of panic felt like a nightmare come to life. “I told you I had to check on mom and dad, I’ll be right back, ok?” I offered her an apologetic smile, one I hoped also appeared reassuring on some level. Before she could retort, I turned and jogged back against the flow of incoming evacuees. By the time I broke free from the thickest part of the mob my PDA started to ring. Thinking it was my parents, I answered the call without checking who it was. “Dorian!” Soleil’s voice sounded over the speakers, and I could hear the sounds of panic in the background. “Where are you?” “Soleil? I’m goin' to check on my parents,” I explained. “I just dropped Liss off at the evac. I didn’t see you there! Where are you?” “I’m at Youngs Park, remember? It’s in a different residential district from home!” I nearly slapped myself for being stupid. The girls had been waiting for me at the park, of course they would be out of zone. “Where is your evac site, then?” I asked through heavy breaths, my lungs starting to burn as I tried to run and talk. “It’s the park, luckily! We’ll be first away when the ship arrives.” Relief spilled into my mind like ice water over a sore muscle. My friends were safe, and that meant one less thing I had to worry about. “Dorian? Dorian!” I must have spaced out for a moment, it didn’t feel like very long has passed. “Yeah, sorry! I’m here!” “Be safe, ok? Please be careful!” I wanted to tease her for pleading with me. Despite her adorable appearance, Soleil could kick the shit out of me with an arm tied behind her back. A real spitfire, that one, and I loved that about her. I couldn’t muster up the wit, though--not with the situation being what it was. “I will. You too, ok?” It was all I could manage. I never heard the response. The storefront across the street from me exploded as what I can only assume to be an artillery shell pierced the roof and detonated inside. The concussive force sent me sprawling across the pavement, and bits of glass and gravel bit into my bare arms. My PDA flew free from my fingers and clattered, screen-down, on the pavement. Struggling to my feet, my whole body throbbed as if I were a cartoon character smacked by a croquet mallet larger than me. I stumbled over to my PDA and found it to be nonfunctional. Another explosion rocked the street, a building on the far side of the block erupting in a pillar of fire and smoke. Adrenaline spiked my blood, and I took off full tilt towards my parent’s house. My ears rang and I could hear my own muffled breathing. All of my extremities tingled with warmth that bordered on discomfort. I had to get home, I had to get home. It was the thought that stuck foremost in my mind--above the pain, above the burning in my lungs, above the blood running down my arms. I. Had. To. Get. Home. Though when I arrived, it was not home anymore. I saw the smoke before I even came upon the scene, and some part of me already knew what happened. Where my family home once stood, little more than rubble remained. While explosions thundered around me, reducing other homes to ashes and dust, I gawked at the wreckage. My mother’s car sat in the driveway, relatively unscathed by the destruction of the house. Whatever cruel fate presided over the affairs of humanity decided that my mother should return home with the impeccable timing required to die. To salt the wound and add insult to my injury I spied a single familiar item in the wreckage--the scorched remains of my father’s biotech hand. Mom would not have left without him. I knew in my heart that she, too, rest somewhere amidst the ruin. An overwhelming sense of numbness came over me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to feel something--after all, my parents had just perished in an explosion. I felt nothing but confused and hollow. Who was attacking us? Why? Who cared about this shitty little colony in the middle of nowhere? Another explosion erupted too close for comfort and my instincts kicked back in. I needed to get back to Lisette, she needed me then more than ever. I wish I could tell you that my return to the evacuation site was heroic, that I dodged explosions and arrived just in time to catch the last evac shuttle. I wish I could say that I saved someone’s life, or that I witnessed some act of bravery. In truth, it had all been a blur. I don’t remember much about it at all. When I arrived at the evacuation site, I caught a shuttle and left my home behind. There were still plenty of people waiting for evac when I left, and I often wonder if they all made it. There is, however, an image seared into my mind--one I can’t forget no matter how hard I try. Looking out at the devastation below through the small window in the repurposed civilian shuttle, I got a bird’s-eye view of the destruction. Outside the city bullet tracers left angry yellow trails, and small dots scurried around other small dots. As I surveyed the devastation we passed by Youngs Park. The whole thing burned--the grass, the trees, the… corpses. Wreckage of what must have been a shuttle lay strewn about the park, smoldering. An impact crater similar to that which remained of my house took up the majority of the space. I remember an arm laying in the dirt and thinking how odd it was that I could make out that detail from so high up. Just a human arm laying in the dirt, no corpse nearby to speak of. The evac shuttle took us to a Federation ship on the far side of the planet, and they offloaded us like cattle into a hangar bay already packed wall-to-wall with people. Some time passed before the ship jumped out of system, though I’m not certain exactly how long. I do remember that not many shuttles came after my drop off. A few, but they slowed to a trickle very fast. Not until much later did I learn what actually happened that day. Civil War had been declared, and seizure of Sigma Octavius II happened to be one of the opening moves. The separatist faction based in Sanctuary would need weapons and equipment to fuel their war effort, and without supplies coming in from other Federation worlds, the industrial complexes of Armadi were imperative to their success. The small contingent of loyalist Federation forces present at the time of the attack managed to tie the separatists up long enough to mount an evacuation of the civilian population. With the exception of the ships carrying evacuees, all the remaining Federation forces remained behind. I’m told they fought to the last. At the time, though, I struggled through the haze of confusion and numbness that filled in my head like static. I searched for news on anyone I knew, and the vast majority of it was bad news. Tatiana Moskovi, Cadence Reese, and Soleil Masters all appeared on the list of those confirmed dead. Somehow, I managed to shove my way from the casualty board over to the portable latrines where I vomited hard enough to black out for a few seconds. The dam collapsed, and I finally let loose all those bottled up feelings. Selfishly, I sobbed in the latrine stall for an hour before cleaning my face off and venturing back into the chaos with red, puffy eyes. The ensuing few days were a jumbled mess of hour-naps, endless inquiries after my sister, and fighting for a bit of food. Shuttles hopped back and forth between the refugee ships, ferrying people to their congregated loved ones on a different ship. Four days after the evacuation the troopers in charge of logistics finally called me up to go meet up with my sister. A short shuttle trip later and we were reunited. We cried together as I told her what happened--to our parents, to our friends, to our home. Then, it happened. It happened as suddenly as one flicks a light switch. “Dorian? What are we going to do?” Liss asked, not a trace of her usual happiness to be found. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright,” I lied, and then doubled down. “I promise.” It would not be alright, how could it? Without dad we were just a couple civilian refugees--not even Citizens! How would we pay for her treatments? How would we live and eat? The responsibility to provide for my little sister fell on my shoulders, and what the fuck could I do? Helplessness and frustration bubbled in my gut like a witch’s cauldron while I hugged Lisette and repeated my reassuring lies. Not long after I enlisted in the Mobile Infantry. If it would be my responsibility to support Lisette, I would do it in the way I already had a leg up on. Then, should I die, at least she would receive my benefits. I told myself it was for Lisette, anyway--another lie. I did it for me, too. Revenge coursed through me as if the blood in my veins had been replaced with pure hatred. Those bastard separatists would pay for their betrayal--for jumping ship when the Federation needed them the most! It took far too long for the refugees to get sorted out and moved to new homes, the small group of Federation ships stuck on the wrong side of the battle lines. We needed to take the long way around each and every time while the war raged on without us. When finally we arrived in friendly space, I prepared to ship out right away. “You’re leavin’ me again?” Lisette played on my guilt, not wanting to be alone again. “I’m leavin’ for ya, Liss,” I replied, zipping up my bag of meager possessions. “We need the money for your treatments. You’re gonna stay with Aunt Melanie, she’s already got a place for you and she doesn’t have enough room for me, too.” I knew that what happened broke her spirit--I knew it from the moment we were reunited. The old Liss would have argued with me--would have rebuked my claim or sought some other way to keep us together. Instead, she remained silent for a long while. “You’re goin’ to be ok, right?” She broke the silence with a question spoken in little more than a whimper. I turned to face her and crouched beside her wheelchair. “Of course I will,” I said, painting on a fake smile. “And when this is all over, we’ll be together again. I won’t leave ya alone, I promise.” Standing back up, I grabbed my bag and planted a kiss on the top of my sister’s head. Then, I left; just like that I left my sister with a lie in her ears to subsist on--to cling to. I wish I’d told her I loved her before I went, but at the time it was far too difficult for me to lie and then speak the truth in the same breath. So, I shipped off to boot, the division between Inner and Outer Dorian having solidified with those final, dishonest words to my little sister.