[big][color=gray]Sergals[/color][/big][hr]
[color=white]       The trio of small tents circled a dim fire, standing defiant against the surrounding miles of flat, frozen white. Each dome-shaped dwelling was covered in a patchwork of shaggy ivory fur that flapped with the shrieking wind, beating an erratic drum of hide-on-fabric while sparse wooden crates rattled in protest. The air smelled only of clinging frost that stung the nose, and all that could be felt was the glassy cut of billowing cold, biting through skin and leaving a blistering numbness. What could possibly survive here? I watched, concealed, from a great distance bridged only by the lens of my spyglass, and soon found my answer. A tall, slender form emerged from one of the tents, and at first I believed it was clad in the same hide coating as its dwelling: Mostly a polar white, with a cloak of grey clinging tightly to what I surmised was its back and shoulders. However, on studying further, I found no trace of seam; it was to my shock that I realized the fur covering the creature was its own- Meaning in the midst of this heart-stopping cold it was stark naked!

       What’s more, it had none of the bulk one would expect from an arctic beast. It had to be seven feet tall, but scarcely thicker than a man; a goodly amount of this height was made up of its legs, which were of a digitigrade type balanced on long toes. It remained upright with the help of a furred tail projecting three or four feet behind it, and the manner in which it balanced itself with this appendage gave it a stalking gait reminiscent of a velociraptor. Its head was similarly bestial, shaped into an angular snout that turned to survey the emptiness around it with slitted yellow eyes and long, swept-back ears. When it snarled against the wind, I caught a glimpse of frighteningly sharp, shark-like teeth.

       I was elated. 'This culture,' I thought, 'must be a primitive one, still in the throes of nomadic life.' My head was still swimming with excitement at the prospect of charting their development, extrapolating their eventual rise into an agricultural society, when two more figures exited the same tent, and I was gripped by both amazement and dread: This pair of ‘primitives’ were clad in metal armor! And not the rough-hewn metal of a people new to forging. Each limb was covered with interlocking plates of sharply angled metal that gave the impression of silvery teeth, gapped only at the joints. Even the breast and abdomen of the armor seemed to fit together from similar segments, layered horizontally; such a design would afford ample freedom of movement, showing a consideration for maneuverability that could only have come through martial experience. But most telling was the eye-like emblem emblazoned on the left shoulders of both suits: A common symbol meant a common forge and a common cause, and armor of such uniform appearance could only belong to an army. These were not tribesmen, they were soldiers, and this was not a village- It was an outpost.[/color]

-Hardwicke, Sir Frances J., Esq. [i]"Worlds Beyond Wonder: Lesser-known Branches of the Nexus Hub."[/i] Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society C: Extraplanar Sciences 24 (1889)

[collapse=Archetypes]While the soldiers are essentially nameless, there are a few that roles that tend to crop up regardless of squad. These are some familiar niches you're likely to see:

[b]The Leader:[/b] Typically distinguished by a red mark on the right shoulder pauldron in basic squads, up to ornate capes and gold flourishes for even higher ranks, every band of soldiers needs a leader. You can count on this individual being more experienced and zealous than his subordinates, but not necessarily stronger- Even in the intensely physical Sergalic military, a leader's defining trait is not his performance in one-on-one combat.

[b]The Brothers:[/b] The rank-and-file tend to form strong bonds: With young sergals separated from their biological parents while still infants, they're raised to consider the military their family. It's often the case that individuals will pair off from a young age to support each other in group activities and, if placed in the same squad, will become inseparable. You will never find one of these blood-brothers without his compatriot, and they fight viciously shoulder-to-shoulder. Should one fall, the other will be pushed into a state of rage and grief that can only be satisfied with blood.

[b]The Recruit:[/b] Younger, lankier, and altogether meeker, the recruit is typically a fresh-out-of-training sergal that's been placed as a scout or hunter with an established squad, ensuring they gain experience without exceeding their abilities. Contrary to popular belief, sergals do not come out of the womb rife with monstrous impulses or devoid of fear. The one sergal in a squad that seems reluctant to murder and unready to die, the recruit is the one most likely to turn to begging, running, or even surrender should things go awry.[/collapse]
[collapse=What I Am]Sergals are a race created by (and copyright to) Trancy Mick, hailing from a distant world called Vilous. Specifically, this profile represents a group of them belonging to a militant Northern society. Most commonly I play a small scouting party of 6-10 individuals, but depending on the context there may be reinforcements or a larger organized group ranging up to a detachment or company.

Technology level can vary, depending on partner preference; the drawing provided in the image section shows them as they might look in a near-future setting, with ballistic armor and firearms showing visible lineage to their tradition of platemail and polearms.

I am most familiar and comfortable with playing males, so the group encountered will usually be all or mostly men in circumstances where gender is an issue. I can change this if requested, but vanilla guy-on-girl sex isn't my thing (see the 'What I Do' category for more information). [/collapse]
[collapse=What I Do]

What does any army do? It fights, and it dies.

This profile exists to provide disposable fodder for anyone who enjoys violence and death, wants their character to show off their martial prowess, or just plain wants to murder some sergals. The scene can be open battle, an intimately gory encounter between a former PoW and their once-captor, a skillfully lethal infiltration of a camp, or anything of the sort. While I do favor scenarios where the aggressor has a particularly intimate hatred of or disregard for the victim, the only true requirement I have is violence.

Speaking of which... As the violence is the key attraction to me, it's what I put the most detail into. Slow, sadistic torture or quick and bloody gunshot to the head; burning, beating, rape, biting, clawing... Heinous acts, lethal weapons, and their stomach-turning consequences are what draw me in. If something is shot in the stomach, they're not just shot in the stomach- The bullet will fragment inside, rupture the gastric lining, and possibly spill bile and acid into their body. There will be screaming, begging, crying, and agony. Death is ugly, and it's the ugliness I like- And if it's something you like too, carry on to the next dropdown! [/collapse]
[collapse=What I'm Looking For]In short? Someone that can provide the above. More specifically: Someone with the desire to cause grievous harm and, just as importantly, the ability to describe it with some authenticity. You don't have to be a bio major (because God knows I'm not), but basic knowledge of anatomy is important.[/collapse]
Sergals and art featured here are copyright Trancy Mick aka Mick39.

So, that's about everything for now. If you're interested, curious, want to play, or want to exchange scene ideas, hit me up- Note, PM, I'm not picky. And now, on to the kinks!