Editing Tales of the Jade Mantis/Jarrow

== Christopher Jarrow ==
Picture [http://i27.photobucket.com/albums/c171/ValSilv/fc362063.png]


'''Introduction'''

"Used to be I was a true believer in Unification.

I had it all, playboy lifestye, educated in the bests schools on Osiris, career mapped out as heir apparent to the JayCee Combine. Would've still been their today, living high in a cocoon of wealth and priviledge...

But then the War happened.

Like a good little citizen, I believed when they told us that the Independance movement were little more than tools. Created by a few influential men on the rim since they feared the prosperity of the Alliance would weaken their powerbase.

I was 19. I joined up, convinced of my patriotic duty.

Heh.

...'course, my families influence garanteed a command position, which suited me fine.

........

You understand, we didn't want a fight, but to bring the shining light of civilisation to the rim, we first had to defeat those poor, misguided 'Browncoats'...

Yeah, funny, huh. Ruttin' hi-larious we were, self satisfied, convinced our shiny tech, spit n' polish uniforms and our oh so holier than thou intentions offered us total superiority over the 'rabble on the rim'.

The Jone Yee's sure taught us a thing or two, had to admire 'em even as you hated 'em. Stubborn as hell, we paid a price in blood for every yard of their ground. In a straight up fight we just couldn't shift 'em. Mostly we just relied on overwhelming firepower to wipe 'em out.

That's where my command came in. Our GA skimmer squadrons were in the fight twenty-four seven, softening up targets, clearing out hardpoints and blowing seven heaps o' Mi Tian Gohn out of their supply lines. Lots of memories I don't like to recall from that time, stuff that keeps you awake at nights.

The more we fought 'em, sacrificed our peace of mind for 'the cause' the more uneasy we grew. We had to accept that the Browncoats weren't just pawns, that we weren't welcome out here on the Rim. As casualties mounted, 'came more and more obvious that Command didn't give a Feh Feh Pi Gu* about the civilians we thought we were there to help.

Shadow....aptly named planet. Doubt anyone who served there'll ever forget, free themselves from the darkness that name casts over our lives. Showed us the full folly of the 'grand plan'. That in order to bring our enlightenment to the rim, we'd have to slaughter the people we were supposedly there to 'save'. Command clearly accepted that as a price they were willing to pay. Payed by me and mine, required to tarnish our souls with innocent blood. It's my greatest shame, that I held my silence and followed orders as we set about murdering an entire world.

By the time we were shipped on to Athens the entire squadron was falling apart.

Athens had declared for unification back at the start of the war. The planet had suffered invasion and counter invasion by the Independants and the Alliance a couple of times already, it's cities were mostly rubble.

Orders came down, we were to clean out a large independant concentration in the north quarter of the city of Heraklia. For the first time, our orders specified a biological payload - virus bombs. Apparently the high ups thought it 'neater' than blowing the rubble into ever smaller bits with a conventional payload. Worse, Intel made it clear that a large number of civilians were sheltering in that same area. They'd been written off.

So we were being told to murder these people, some of the few people who actually wanted us out here on the rim, and they were just another statistic.

It was too much.

We refused to fly the mission, almost to the man. Defiant of a war gone mad.

To a man we were arrested, charged with mutiny.

Three-niner squadron flew the mission later that day, a minor disruption to the timetable.



The trials were short, perfunctory and quickly brushed under the carpet. Most of the enlisted personnel got away with reorientation and reassignment. All the officers and non-coms were sentenced to death, shot dawn the next day as an example.

Except me.

Family influence saved my life, got me shipped off home with a dishonourable discharge and the contempt of my military peers.

Now, I'd had all the fancy schoolin' but that didn't make me a bit less stupid. When I got back I started campaigning ('gainst my family's protests), convinced Parliment couldn't realise how the war was being fought. I went to dinners, TriD talkshows, on the wave, the works. The name and my notorious past got me in, and I raised a ruckus for a time. Then came the summons from my father.

Told me he'd been given an ultimatum, I didn't stop my embarrassing displays, then the family and our company stood in jeopardy. Gave me a golden handshake and held the door for me. Told me to disappear for my own good, the family wouldn't protect me anymore, didn't want me around tarnishing their reputation. No chance to say goodbye to my mother, brother or sister. A quick drive to the local spaceport, escort to a tramp bound for Persephone and goodbye to my old life.

''*snap*'' everything gone.

The War ended a year or so later, I've lived another seven since then on the spaceways, building my contacts, reforging relations with old friends, saving my reserve 'til the right opportunity comes along. This seems like the one.

I used to believe in Unification - bringing prosperity and hope to the frontier. Deep down, I still do.

Guess I'm still stupid..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

''*''Baboon's arse crack


== Other notes ==

'''Demeanor'''

Calm and self-contained with a quietly quirky sense of humour. Gives an impression equal parts worldliness and world-wearyness. Look him in the eye and you might get an inkling of the old pain and guilt that he holds inside.

'''Appearance'''

Around 30 years old.
Keeps himself in trim, fighting the middle age spread.
Strong, attractive face (quite heavily lined these days)
Dresses well in hardwearing, neat and understated clothing. Typically 'jeans', a deep blue shirt of heavy fabric and pilot style bomber jacket. Pistol in an underarm rig.
Vocabulary has been well salted with the contractions and slang of the Rim after seven odd years, accent still identifies him as originating in the core worlds however. Can turn on the upper crust speech and mannerisms of a 'gentleman' when needed and keeps a small up- to-date wardrobe for that role.

Feels he owes the rim worlds for his actions in the war, more than willing to put life on the line for a cause that makes life better out there. 




== HQ2 STATS ==


'''Knowledge'''
*war memories keep me awake nights 13
*years on the space-ways 13
'''Fighting'''
*bomber jacket (combat pilot - particularly small craft) 2W
*pistol in an underarm rig 15
'''Skills'''
*can turn on the upper crust 15
*raised a ruckus 18 (negotiation/public speaking/'handling' social interactions etc)
'''Social'''
*used to be a true believer 13
*refused a mission 13
*mutiny charges over slaughter 13
*relations with old friends 16 (less on the underworld than fact that he went to school with a lot of high ups in the corporate world plus rim world humanitarian activists/antiwar folks and old military acquaintances that don't hate his guts)
*quirky sense of humour 13
*look me in the eye 13
*pain and guilt inside 13
*accent pegs me as from the core 13
*I owe the rim worlds 13
*my life on the line for a cause 13
'''Resources'''
*Family influence saved me 13
*got a golden handshake 16 ('on the quiet' investment portfolio)
'''Flaws'''
*dishonorable discharge 13 (on Alliance security undesirables list)