Welcome to Gaia! ::

If you listened in school, you already know that the 'Verse is a huge planetary system with a whole heap of inhabited planets and moons. Much of the real estate has been terraformed-a long and hazardous process-to support human life. Spaceships of every size sail the black in between.

The central Core planets-them as formed the Alliance-decided to unite all the outer worlds under their rules. Some people didn't take kindly to that notion and fought thard to maintain their independence. The Unification War ended some seven years ago, after the Independents suffered a crashing defeat at Serenity Valley on the planet Hera. Since the war, many rebels drifted to the edges of the system. Here they take on work as they can find it, determined to live as free as they can in a 'Verse strictly controlled by the Alliance government. Memories of the war still claim a powerful hold on those who fought in it-on both sides.

On the central (or "Core") planets, life is good, flush with technology. The rich and prosperous have laser guns, holo-scanners, and flying cars. Food, shelter, and health care are readily available-which gives folk time to think on more than the basics.

On the outer worlds, known as the Rim, flks have to make do with the most basic technologies. Newly terraformed worlds are raw and primitive. Laking paved roads, people ride horses. Lacking lasers, they make do with bullets. Survival takes precdence over good manners and education, which is why some Core world folk considering those on the Rim to be a bunch of ignorant hicks. And while the Alliance rules over the Border planets in theory, enforcement is a mite spotty, so most folks go armed for their own security.

Strung between the Rim and Core is the Cortex-a system-wideinformation newtowkr that can be accessed on ships or groundside with a terminal or dedicated sourcebox. News, communication, law enforcement bulletins, and online shaopping are all available. Nodes are placed throughout the system, allowing for unrestricted information to be accesssed just about anywhere by just about anyone.

How our crew fits into the greater scheme is up to us. We aren't important military types off to discover strange new worlds, but rather working class folk who simply want to keep flyin'. We have a ship, but its an older, refurbished model that flies only with equal helpings of love and luck and a whole heap of duct tape. This ship is freedom-from our enemies and the ghosts of our past. The 'Verse is a harsh place, and if you aint workin', you ain't earnin'.

The 'Verse is big. There are plenty of places to find work and just as many places to hide if the Alliance gets wind of our doings. Keep true to our integrity, do right by people, and work may come find you.

Creating your character isn't much different from any other rpg, side from the fact that we're all regular human folk and while we may have a tallent or two, we're not perfect by any means and rely on one another to get through the day alive and still flyin'.

That being said, while you do not have to pick one of these roles for your character, they are ones that reflect the cannon Firefly crew and quite frankly, are useful to have for any mission. If you've watched the show and are considering being a Shephard or Companion, feel free to request it but keep in mind I'll only allow one of each in the rpg. There is no reason for more than one of each to be on the same boat!

Pilot: Most folk can ride a horse, but you want a professional jockey to ride the money-race. Likewise most space travelers can fly a ship, but when the Alliance is on your trail or you're skipping through a debris field or trying to hold it together after the primary buffer panel flies off the nose during re-entry, you want a capable pilot. It ain't enough to know which buttons to push and dials to turns, it's love that keeps a boat in the air.

Mechanic: High class folk like to call them "engineers." No matter what name he goes by, someone's gotta keep the engine turning. Whether he comes all educated or just has a knowing way with machines, a ship's mechanic should know the boat from stem to stern. Things never seem to go smooth out in the black, so the person doing the fixin' should be ready to improvise at a moment's notice. Ship might break down a long way from civilized parts, and wu de tyen ah help you if you can't make full burn when a Reaver ship shows up!

Medic: If you run a peaceful passenger boat, you might well think you can make do with a simple first aid kit. 'Course, even passenger liners can get hijacketed by scrappers or hit by Reavers. And then there's the inevitable gun fight that breaks out in the casino over a hand of poker. Best to have someone who can extract bullets, put a weave on cuts, and know which salve will best heal flash-burns. Experienced trauma surgeons are a rare find. Still, the war created plenty of trained combat medics who will sell their skills for the right price.

Security: Someone on the boat should be handy in a fight-be it with guns, bar stools, or fists. Hopefully things are peaceable enough aboard ship. It's the rest of the "Verse you have to worry about. Contract negotiations always seem to go better when the other side is looking at you and your big friend with the even bigger gun. Plenty of folk out there are ready for action, all for fair cut of the profits and a private bunk.

Socialite: Your boat will most likely not have a state official-or even a registered Companion-on board, but a smart crew will have a swai-a smooth talker. Such a respectable-appearing individual has a way with words that can secure invites to the right events, diffuse heated situations with dangerous enemies, or talk port control into releasing a land-lock when it's past time you left the world.

Now as for your gear, clothing style is really up to you but a quick google search of 'Firefly crew' or "Serenity crew" will certainly help you see the common series fashion. As for weapons, we're common folk living amongst the Rim, as such we have access to ammo based weapons and blades, nothing fanciful like in the core worlds but they'll certainly get the job done so long as you know which end to point at your enemy!

For the character template itself, I'm going to word things a little different than usual in keeping with the actual Firefly RPG book (which yes, much of what I've posted up to now has been based on it!) So here's the template and I'll explain each as it goes along in italics. Be sure to remove the italicized words when making your character.

Gaia Name:
Character Name:
Gender:
Age: The law of averages would suggest that most crew of a ship are in their late 20's to mid 40's... but that's negotiable.
Appearance: Most are use to just slapping a picture in here but for this rpg, I'd like an actual physical description with no pictures. Take the time to actually flush out how your character looks and stand by it.
Role On Ship: Chose from the ones above or think of your own!
Skills: Are you athletic? A marksman? A techno-whiz or performance artist? Are you a martial artist or first aid trained? What ever it is you are capable of, even in the slightest, feel free to note it down here.
Assets: Do you have friends in high or low places? Can you drink the average man under the table? Do you have a trust worthy gut or are you tough as nails in a bar fight? What ever it is that gives you a perk to makin' it out in the black, put it here even if it's as simple as you are just too gorram pretty!
Complications: Maybe you're an amorous type always chasing after short skirts or you've got a chip on your shoulder that starts fights in bars. Perhaps you think you don't have to talk pretty unless you're getting paid for it or that things just never seem to go smooth for you no matter how much you prep... what ever it is that makes your life harder to live, jot it down here!
Weapons: While some like a hunting knife in their boot, others prefer a trusty revolver at their side or a sod off shotgun in their grasp. Whatever your preferred weapon it, treat her/him well and hopefully they won't do you wrong.
Brief History: You really don't have to put your life story here but perhaps a reason as to why you found yourself a part of Tranquilities crew would be good?

The brunette had raised a brow at what the Captain had done. She observed the table walking around it with the cue in her hand. She had cleaned herself up for the evening still not really fully understanding why they were having such an outing that evening. Her hair was uncharacteristically left down and she was wearing a nice button up blouse and tan jeans. “Thanks Captain.. But I might have figured out what you were trying to pull.” She added as she tucked her hair behind her ear as she bent down after taking a swig of her drink. Her posture was more than enough cue action that the bar might have been used to. It didn’t take the mechanic too long to start getting into a free stroking pattern.. Until she slipped up sinking the white ball. “I was this close..” She said as she lowered her head in defeat. “I’m better off playin’ poker.”

Shell stuck near the captain and mechanic. He'd spent part of their visit knocking a few beers back (staying within reason, of course). He sat there, cross-legged on two chairs, watching those two with a smile and waiting for something to happen. As luck would have it, though, no one had tried toasting to the day. Was it the coats? Maybe these people were wary of folks who wore the brown and that's why they hadn't been brazen enough to try it. If that was the case then it was just a matter of time. One of these guys would go over the edge. They'd get just enough drink in them to feel invincible, and they'd do it out of spite. And then not a second later the captain would put them down.
That was something he admired about the captain. They were the same in that they wouldn't abide anyone raising a glass on this day. If any of the Alliance supporters knew just what that Alliance was really about, and if they had even one decent bone in their bodies, then they wouldn't either. As it was, it was just a matter of time now.
Shell began to busy himself hussling pool once he'd had all he wanted to drink. It was something he'd taken to fairly quickly in bars like these. Sometimes he couldn't see himself getting out using his fists, so rather than beating his message into them he took their money. Sometimes the really desperate gambling men would put up nicer things, like their pistols.
It was just as he was about to finish up a game that he spotted the captain staring down some drunk and he stopped to watch just in case it should be necessary to step in. To his relief the man walked off. When Shell turned his attention back to the table he noticed his opponent had moved his ball, giving him a much more difficult shot. Far from concerned, though, Shell shot the ball nice and hard, crushing the man's finger where he grasped the table before sinking the shot.
As the man nursed his bruised finger and his bruised ego, Shell collected his winnings and layed his pool cue aside. He wasn't likely to get any more takers now.

The captain caught sight of Carin's warning look and he shot back his own look that told her to just bite her lip and wait. He wasn't going to have a brawl started in this bar not without justification and he already stopped the drunk from touching his mechanic, so there was no reason yet. It was probably the most noble part about him, despite how pretty the female members of his crew were, they could trust him to guard their backs rather than watch it. It was unclear as to why but he always seemed to avoid intimacy, maybe it was from a past relationship gone terribly sour or maybe it was as simple as he felt intimacy clouded judgement and prevented him from doing what he did best; being the captain of his boat. What ever it was, he was there for his crew first, the job second and himself last.

As the next round of pool began, he lined up the first shot and broke it up, it didn't earn any balls sunk but it at least got enough spread that Carin would have her pick of solids or stripes easily enough. "Win this match Carin and that new stabilizer you've been hounding me about is yours." he said, giving her insentive to play her best even though he knew he didn't have to do that. The girl was top notch, gave 100% in all she did and played by his rules well enough which made her a favourite amongst the crew although he wouldn't openly say that.

He then stepped a side towards Shell and gave the man a smirk of a look "Nice shot." he said. Referring to the scream that came from the alliance friendly drunk whose hand was a solid shade of red after trying to cheat the game. Taking one final swig of his now emptying pint, he glanced down at the empty bottom a moment like anyone else looks at a watch and then set it down. There was that look in his eye like he was gearing up to say he was going to head over to the bar an order another drink, maybe chat up the locals and see who stepped on their tongue first.

((I didn't actually have him go over to the bar yet, he was just considering it... but I'll go through with this idea any ways. lol))

The captain just smiled at her remark "Surely do but I already bought the piece." He was so calm about it, as though this was his plan all along and he just wanted a clever way to present it to her. Before Shelly could reply in any fashion however that notion of another drink started to encourage itself plenty. Heading off to the bar, barely even hearing Carin take that amazing shot he pulled up and ordered another drink. As he did so, a portly man not far away with a rather rough look to his attire began demanding quiet as he announced "Everyone shut it! We all know that.. today is a.. a great day! Eight years to the DAY them Alliance sent the Independence packing... Unification Day! A proud day fer any... who supported the cause! So raise a glass!!!" There was a round of cheers as many of the folk did so in unison or as unified as drunks got.

Stephan's attitude began to change, he never liked those speechs, so few really knew what happened during the war. They hadn't served, watched as good folk gave their lives and as monsters murdered town folk for propaganda. He was dragged from his thoughts as that portly man came up next to the good captain and ordered another round for himself and as he made talk, glanced to him and said "Hey friend... how come you didn't toast with me?" Stephan glanced over with a false look of surprise "What? Oh sorry... must have been lost in thoughts." The answer didn't slide however, the man looked at him with little impress "About losing the war? Don't think I hadn't noticed yer coat's colour... I'm thinking you were one of them who wanted independence." Looking directly at him with as much calm as he could muster he replied "My coat? Nothing special 'bout it, just keeps the wind off my back." The man scoffed and turned away as he muttered "Good, 'cause the Indepence were a ruttin' cowardly lot of piss pots." That snapped the calm, in a very firm tone Stephan demanded "Say that again to my face!" With an arrogant smile the man spun around, knowing he got to him and said "I said you were a coward... and a piss pot. Now..." he chuckled "What are you going to do about it?" With narrowed eyes the captain's hand had already clutched into a fist "This." and with one swift motion gave the man n upper cut knocking the sense out of him and sent him crashing to the ground!

There was a brief pause of silence as the bar witness the action and the captain shook his hand muttering "Damn it..." as he always forgot how much a bare nuckled punch to a strong jaw could be and then as though the green light turned out, curses and challenges were vocalized as the bar broke into a fight! Dodging as a nearly empty bottle flew for his head, Stephan glanced around fast and as the first alliance friendly folk came barreling up to get a piece, he grabbed the bar stool nearest to him and shoved it side ways at his shins tripping the man flat on his face before he took a punch to the back of the head. Shaking it off fast he spun around and shoved the man back before breaking into a slug match with him!

Shell tucked his winnings away in the strange silence that followed while the drunken man raised his glass in toast to the day. He wore an expression that just barely concealed the contempt he felt. Though it was bound to happen, and though, despite the fact that it was never outright said that such was the case, it was the whole reason they were here, the whole thing put a bad taste in his mouth. He stole a pint from a nearby man and downed the whole thing just as the drunk who raised the toast struck up conversation with the captain, as if Shell were predicting that all hell would break loose at any second. He was right. Not a moment afterward, before the fellow Shell had pilfered the drink from could even react, a brawl had begun.
Shelley didn't say anything. He just let out a low but manic laugh. Obviously they knew he was part of his captain's crew as a fist flew his way, which he met it with an elbow before shoving that very elbow into the man's temple.
He was grabbed from behind and shoved into a pool table before he could stop it. Thrown off slightly, he moved his arms behind him to catch himself, leaving his torso exposed. Another guy tried to take advantage of this by hammering away, only for his fists to meet with hard body armor. He quickly tore open Shell's coat and, seeing the purple Alliance armor hidden beneath, he adopted a very confused expression and muttered only, "What the hell..." before Shell grabbed two pool balls from the table behind him and slammed them into either side of the guy's head.
With the initial shock of fighting an Alliance soldier quickly dissipating, likely rationalized as fighting a guy who killed an alliance soldier and stole his armor or something like that, more supporters quickly set upon him, while others still broke away and went after the captain or Carin. He threw his pool balls to deter them before turning his attentions back to his own little problems.
Everyone wanted a piece of the big guy. Someone broke a pool cue over his head and, while he was still seeing big white dots dance around in his view, another guy got in a good shot at his jaw. Determined not to let that happen again, Shell squinted and squared himself. When the guy readied for another punch, Shell brought his head down and allowed the man's fist to make contact with the top of his skull. It stung for a minute and gave him a hell of a headache, but the pain was dulled by the alcohol, and seeing the man's broken hand was worth it.