Post by tkieron on Jul 16, 2009 8:38:39 GMT -6
ID Photo: 
Name: Captain Nigel "Falcon" Falconi
Age: 30
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 180lbs.
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Light Brown
Gender: Male
Date of Birth: Jan. 31st 1894
Place of Birth: London, England
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Kin: Merideth (mother), Giani (Father)
Physical Description: A slender young man with handsome features except for slightly large ears. Sort of a downturned smile. His lean body is trim from a lifetime of doing non-physical labor such as helping his father do bookkeeping. His skin has a very slight olive tint to it. Showing his father's Italian heritage
Personality: Nigel is a friendly and likable gent. Always willing to help his fellow man in any way he can. He enjoys a good laugh and will gladly share jokes with friends.
Medical History: No major inuries. Clean bill of health.
Classification: Air Corps
Sub-Class: British
Money: $60 -39 -$8.10 = $12.90
Occupation: Pilot
Personal History: Nigel Falconi is known to his friends and flying buddies as "Falcon". Partly because his last name sounds like 'Falcon-ee' and partly because of his flying tactics. During the Great War he flew higher then the Central Powers pilots and often dived towards them. Unleashing his guns at their tail ends to send them into the sea. A technique that the Central Powers pilots could never get a handle on.
Nigel began dreaming of flying when as a teenage he'd help his father with the family bookkeeping business in North London. He'd daydream and see the birds, often wondering how they flew. Wishing he could fly too. Then one day he saw his first plane. A wonderous thing. A bi-plane they called it. It's wings didn't flap yet it stayed alof. The marval!
He knew that all he wanted to do was fly one of those great wooden creatures. Handle the controls, soar, dive, climb, land and takeoff. As soon as he was able he join the Royal Air corps and began learning how to fix aeroplanes. soon a pilot named Reginald Henkins befriended him. Reginald taught Nigel the ins and outs of how planes worked. Nigel had flying fever and begged him to take him flying. After Reginald snuck him abord his two-seater Nigel was hooked for life.
Soon WWI broke out when he was 20 years old. Reginald went to battle one morning and never returned. That broke Nigel's heart, but not his spirit. He was determined to fly better then any pilot ever and to return home alive. He studied from other pilots, practiced on every plane he could and eventually chose the Sopwith Camel, and later the Sopwith Snipe as the war ended.
After the war ended he continued to fly for the Royal Air Corps. In 1920 he fell in love with the The Martinsyde F.4, the "Buzzard" as it was affectionately known. To this day he chooses the Buzzard whenever the choice is his. His personal plane carries the initials "R.H." painted on the inside in memory of Reginald Henkins. His mentor and friend.
Since the infection Nigel has been flying missions around England to support troops, land supplies and even to shuttle troops to various areas. Although petrol is in short supply he makes enough money to afford it when he can find it.
Currently Squadron-Leader Falcon is stationed at the Green Zone Airfield. The largest and most operational air base in England.
>Skills:
Classification Skill: Wingman
Mastered Skills: Grease Monkey
Superior Skills: Medic
Minor Skills: Firearms
>Abilities:
Classification Ability: Observation
Mastered Abilities: Courage
Superior Abilities: Ambition
Minor Abilities: Speed
>Equipment on Person:
- British Royal Air Corps flight uniform
- 1 Webley Revolver in leather holster
- 1 8" combat knife in thigh scabbard
- 1 Brown leather flight jacket
>In Pack:
- (2x) Boxes .455 Webley - $4.05 per 50 ($8.10)
- (5x) Military rations
- (2x) 1 liter canteen
>In Storage:
- None
>Primary Weapon:
Weapon: Webley Mk VI(Revolver)
Caliber: .455 Webley
Location on Body: Right-side belt holster
Modifications: None
>Secondary Weapon (Military or Mercenary only):
Weapon:
Caliber:
Location on Body:
Modifications:
>Melee Weapon:
Weapon: 8" Combat Knife
Location on Body: Thigh scabbard
>Vehicle:
Vehicle: Martinsyde F.4 "Buzzard"
www.militaryfactory.com/aircraft/imgs/martinsyde-f4-buzzard.jpg
(I chose to link to an image rather then post because there is no precedent for vehicles so no idea if it's wanted or not.)
Sample Post: Falcon enjoyed being up in the air. Days like this with just him, the sky, the clouds and the hum of his 300hp Hispano-Suiza V-type eight-piston engine were all he needed. His mind ever sharp for anything in the distance that was unusual, even on a day like today. He was carrying supplies from the Green Zone to a commander in Edinburgh. Much needed supplies from the sounds of it. Weapons, ammo, food, clean water, medical supplies and even lamps. All of it standard stuff during a seige. All of it needed very badly.
As he closed in on his approach he was reminded, as he always is, that down there is hordes of deadly creatures waiting to snatch him out of his plane and devour him. Zombies the leaders called them. Targets is what Falcon called them. Horrible rotting things that smelled even when he was taxiing down the strip.
Speaking of strips, he saw his grassy landing strip now and made his final approach. A man in a tartan kilt with white signal flags was waving him in. Lowering his flaps he softly touched down and came to a stop.
He immediately jumped out and opened up the flap on his holster, something he'd done ever since a zombie managed to get it's hands on a rifle and fire at him as he was landing near York. Anti aircraft zombies, he'd never believed it possible. The thought almost brought a smile to his face, until he reminded himself of how serious the situation was.
Opening up the cargo bay he helped the man unload supplies as a vehicle drove up. "I'm commander McDougle, ye' must be Falconi?" said the man who jumped out of the vehicle with a Commander's patch on his jacket. "Yes Sir, Captain Nigel Falconi of His Majesties Royal Air Corps reporting as ordered." said the ever professional Falcon. "Dispense with all ye' pagentry laddie. We have a war going on 'ere." said the Commander.
And as if to prove his point a small group of zombies came clambering out of the wooded area nearby. Everyone immediately grabbed their pistols and rifles. Using the plane as cover they took aim and opened fire. Emptying his Webley he managed to hit one in the face just above the left eye. Blowing out the back of it's skull and dropping it for good. The rest were dropped a few yards from the plane. Had these not been well trained and very ready military people things might have taken a bad turn. Falcon took that as his cue. "Good day Commander but now that your supplies are offloaded I must be off." he spoke. With that he pulled his can of petrol out and topped off the tanks as fast as possible. Tossing the empty canister back into the cargo hold securely he shook the Commander's hand quickly and jumped back into the cockpit. "I'll return on the 14th as requested Commander." Falcon spoke and the Commander nodded. His men were loading the supplies into the vehicle as he was doing his flight checklist. He had managed to break it down to a very thorough but very quick list. Within a minute he was done and powering up the engine. The kick-hum of the blades began and he secured the cockpick and himself inside it. With a wave he began rolling down the grassy strip.
Just then a horde of zombies came rushing out of the trees. Nearly two dozen by the looks of it. No time to wait he pushed the throttles down and took off down the runway as two zombies manged to grab his wing before being knocked the the ground. He hopped the Commander and his men got in the vehicle and took off rather then try and fight that large of a group with only 3 men. But he didn't have time to think about them. He had to get airborne before they could damage his plane or even fire a gun at him.
Reaching the end of the grassy strip he pulled hard on the yoke and the plane leapt up into the sky. Circling around to make his way back to London, Falcon saw the men in the vehicle shooting and clubbing the zombies as the were trying to get the vehicle off before being overrun. He hoped they made it. But wouldn't know until the 14th when he arrived back. All he knew was he had to make it back to London once again.
Quickly his mind settled down and he enjoyed flying once again. 'There's nothing quite like being aloft and alone', he thought. In one instant he was glad that the zombies minds were destroyed. The idea of a zombie flying a fighter plane brought a cold chill to his back. Although he was confident his skill could defeat them if that ever happened, he also knew that even the greatest pilots could find themselves on the end of some bad luck. And you don't get second chances up here.
Name: Captain Nigel "Falcon" Falconi
Age: 30
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 180lbs.
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Light Brown
Gender: Male
Date of Birth: Jan. 31st 1894
Place of Birth: London, England
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Kin: Merideth (mother), Giani (Father)
Physical Description: A slender young man with handsome features except for slightly large ears. Sort of a downturned smile. His lean body is trim from a lifetime of doing non-physical labor such as helping his father do bookkeeping. His skin has a very slight olive tint to it. Showing his father's Italian heritage
Personality: Nigel is a friendly and likable gent. Always willing to help his fellow man in any way he can. He enjoys a good laugh and will gladly share jokes with friends.
Medical History: No major inuries. Clean bill of health.
Classification: Air Corps
Sub-Class: British
Money: $60 -39 -$8.10 = $12.90
Occupation: Pilot
Personal History: Nigel Falconi is known to his friends and flying buddies as "Falcon". Partly because his last name sounds like 'Falcon-ee' and partly because of his flying tactics. During the Great War he flew higher then the Central Powers pilots and often dived towards them. Unleashing his guns at their tail ends to send them into the sea. A technique that the Central Powers pilots could never get a handle on.
Nigel began dreaming of flying when as a teenage he'd help his father with the family bookkeeping business in North London. He'd daydream and see the birds, often wondering how they flew. Wishing he could fly too. Then one day he saw his first plane. A wonderous thing. A bi-plane they called it. It's wings didn't flap yet it stayed alof. The marval!
He knew that all he wanted to do was fly one of those great wooden creatures. Handle the controls, soar, dive, climb, land and takeoff. As soon as he was able he join the Royal Air corps and began learning how to fix aeroplanes. soon a pilot named Reginald Henkins befriended him. Reginald taught Nigel the ins and outs of how planes worked. Nigel had flying fever and begged him to take him flying. After Reginald snuck him abord his two-seater Nigel was hooked for life.
Soon WWI broke out when he was 20 years old. Reginald went to battle one morning and never returned. That broke Nigel's heart, but not his spirit. He was determined to fly better then any pilot ever and to return home alive. He studied from other pilots, practiced on every plane he could and eventually chose the Sopwith Camel, and later the Sopwith Snipe as the war ended.
After the war ended he continued to fly for the Royal Air Corps. In 1920 he fell in love with the The Martinsyde F.4, the "Buzzard" as it was affectionately known. To this day he chooses the Buzzard whenever the choice is his. His personal plane carries the initials "R.H." painted on the inside in memory of Reginald Henkins. His mentor and friend.
Since the infection Nigel has been flying missions around England to support troops, land supplies and even to shuttle troops to various areas. Although petrol is in short supply he makes enough money to afford it when he can find it.
Currently Squadron-Leader Falcon is stationed at the Green Zone Airfield. The largest and most operational air base in England.
>Skills:
Classification Skill: Wingman
Mastered Skills: Grease Monkey
Superior Skills: Medic
Minor Skills: Firearms
>Abilities:
Classification Ability: Observation
Mastered Abilities: Courage
Superior Abilities: Ambition
Minor Abilities: Speed
>Equipment on Person:
- British Royal Air Corps flight uniform
- 1 Webley Revolver in leather holster
- 1 8" combat knife in thigh scabbard
- 1 Brown leather flight jacket
>In Pack:
- (2x) Boxes .455 Webley - $4.05 per 50 ($8.10)
- (5x) Military rations
- (2x) 1 liter canteen
>In Storage:
- None
>Primary Weapon:
Weapon: Webley Mk VI(Revolver)
Caliber: .455 Webley
Location on Body: Right-side belt holster
Modifications: None
>Secondary Weapon (Military or Mercenary only):
Weapon:
Caliber:
Location on Body:
Modifications:
>Melee Weapon:
Weapon: 8" Combat Knife
Location on Body: Thigh scabbard
>Vehicle:
Vehicle: Martinsyde F.4 "Buzzard"
www.militaryfactory.com/aircraft/imgs/martinsyde-f4-buzzard.jpg
(I chose to link to an image rather then post because there is no precedent for vehicles so no idea if it's wanted or not.)
Sample Post: Falcon enjoyed being up in the air. Days like this with just him, the sky, the clouds and the hum of his 300hp Hispano-Suiza V-type eight-piston engine were all he needed. His mind ever sharp for anything in the distance that was unusual, even on a day like today. He was carrying supplies from the Green Zone to a commander in Edinburgh. Much needed supplies from the sounds of it. Weapons, ammo, food, clean water, medical supplies and even lamps. All of it standard stuff during a seige. All of it needed very badly.
As he closed in on his approach he was reminded, as he always is, that down there is hordes of deadly creatures waiting to snatch him out of his plane and devour him. Zombies the leaders called them. Targets is what Falcon called them. Horrible rotting things that smelled even when he was taxiing down the strip.
Speaking of strips, he saw his grassy landing strip now and made his final approach. A man in a tartan kilt with white signal flags was waving him in. Lowering his flaps he softly touched down and came to a stop.
He immediately jumped out and opened up the flap on his holster, something he'd done ever since a zombie managed to get it's hands on a rifle and fire at him as he was landing near York. Anti aircraft zombies, he'd never believed it possible. The thought almost brought a smile to his face, until he reminded himself of how serious the situation was.
Opening up the cargo bay he helped the man unload supplies as a vehicle drove up. "I'm commander McDougle, ye' must be Falconi?" said the man who jumped out of the vehicle with a Commander's patch on his jacket. "Yes Sir, Captain Nigel Falconi of His Majesties Royal Air Corps reporting as ordered." said the ever professional Falcon. "Dispense with all ye' pagentry laddie. We have a war going on 'ere." said the Commander.
And as if to prove his point a small group of zombies came clambering out of the wooded area nearby. Everyone immediately grabbed their pistols and rifles. Using the plane as cover they took aim and opened fire. Emptying his Webley he managed to hit one in the face just above the left eye. Blowing out the back of it's skull and dropping it for good. The rest were dropped a few yards from the plane. Had these not been well trained and very ready military people things might have taken a bad turn. Falcon took that as his cue. "Good day Commander but now that your supplies are offloaded I must be off." he spoke. With that he pulled his can of petrol out and topped off the tanks as fast as possible. Tossing the empty canister back into the cargo hold securely he shook the Commander's hand quickly and jumped back into the cockpit. "I'll return on the 14th as requested Commander." Falcon spoke and the Commander nodded. His men were loading the supplies into the vehicle as he was doing his flight checklist. He had managed to break it down to a very thorough but very quick list. Within a minute he was done and powering up the engine. The kick-hum of the blades began and he secured the cockpick and himself inside it. With a wave he began rolling down the grassy strip.
Just then a horde of zombies came rushing out of the trees. Nearly two dozen by the looks of it. No time to wait he pushed the throttles down and took off down the runway as two zombies manged to grab his wing before being knocked the the ground. He hopped the Commander and his men got in the vehicle and took off rather then try and fight that large of a group with only 3 men. But he didn't have time to think about them. He had to get airborne before they could damage his plane or even fire a gun at him.
Reaching the end of the grassy strip he pulled hard on the yoke and the plane leapt up into the sky. Circling around to make his way back to London, Falcon saw the men in the vehicle shooting and clubbing the zombies as the were trying to get the vehicle off before being overrun. He hoped they made it. But wouldn't know until the 14th when he arrived back. All he knew was he had to make it back to London once again.
Quickly his mind settled down and he enjoyed flying once again. 'There's nothing quite like being aloft and alone', he thought. In one instant he was glad that the zombies minds were destroyed. The idea of a zombie flying a fighter plane brought a cold chill to his back. Although he was confident his skill could defeat them if that ever happened, he also knew that even the greatest pilots could find themselves on the end of some bad luck. And you don't get second chances up here.
I'm going to nit-pick you again. He doesn't have Firearms anywhere in his skills. So him being able to hit the undead in the face with his pistol is pretty miraculous. Being able to get a couple shots into its torso would be more appropriate.
