[hider=Organization CS]
The bar was mostly empty when Nadene walked in. A Krogan at a nearby table turned one hazy eye her way before sinking back into his ryncol, his head hitting the tabletop with a solid [i]thump[/i] that could barely be heard over the blaring music from the nightclub just one floor below. At the bar, the bartender glanced at her over the head of the bar's only other patron and appraised her with a shrewd glare for several seconds before returning to his duties, apparently satisfied that she wasn't here to cause trouble. [i]No trouble,[/i] Nadene conceded quietly as she moved to take a seat at a table in the farthest, darkest corner of the seedy little bar, [i]or at least not yet. I haven't started drinking.[/i]

The barstool creaked dangerously as the Asari settled into it, and she swore she saw some sort of large, hairy insect scuttle away from beneath the table as she sat down. [i] Of all the places we've met, this one is probably the worst.[/i] Nadene thought, glancing inconspicuously around the dingy room. [i]...Which means it's also probably one of the best, considering our business. Not likely to be many prying eyes or eager ears in this dump.[/i] The Krogan near the door slumped farther out of his seat as she watched, finally collapsing into a snoring, drooling mess on the floor, his spilled drink dripping off of the table above onto his back. The corner of Nadene's mouth curled in disgust. [i] Just pitiful. I wasn't expecting this place to be as fancy as fucking UltraCred, but this is...pathetic. I hope their booze is better than their atmosphere.[/i]

If there was a server in this dismal place, Nadene never saw them. It was the bartender that finally deigned to wander over and ask her what she wanted to drink. "Three riptides, and make one a dextro." The bartender just looked at her blankly, dark Salarian eyes unyielding. Nadene sighed, already exasperated. "Do you not know the mix? It's fairly simple: two parts-"

He cut her off with a sharp hand gesture. "No, I know it. Just...don't think I've ever had somebody actually order one. Let alone three." He continued staring at her, as if expecting her to change her mind. She just stared back, a scowl fixed upon her face, until the bartender shrugged and moved back to his post. He returned with three shot glasses filled with a brackish, amber liquid that caught the dirty neon of the surrounding dive bar and cast it across the tabletop in diffracted bands of speckled light. "Three riptides," the Salarian affirmed with an incredulous shake of his head, "Just don't go puking it all up here in the bar. I'm on cleanup duty tonight."

As the bartender beat a hasty retreat out of vomiting-range, Nadene picked up one of the shots and inspected it. The liquor sloshed around inside in a way that didn't seem quite right, as if the liquid was denser (or was it less dense?) than it had any right to be. She caught a slight whiff, managing not to wince as the fumes burned the inside of her nose. [i]Yep, that's riptide. Smells like memories and ammonia.[/i] Satisfied, she put the shot down and leaned back against a nearby wall, arms crossed as she waited.

She didn't have to wait long. It was only a few minutes before a Batarian entered the bar, stepping gingerly over the unconscious Krogan as he made his way to her table. "Nadene." He greeted her simply as he took a seat opposite her, gruff as ever. 

"Tonner." She answered back, just as curt. She pushed one of the shots in his direction. He hardly glanced at it: all four of his eyes were scanning the surrounding room, always on the alert. She considered telling him to loosen up; if he expected trouble in this dead-end shithole, then there really was no hope for him. She didn't tell him though. Considering their history, he might take it the wrong way, and besides, they'd be drinking soon enough anyway. If there was anything that could loosen up Tonner, it was booze. 

"You hear about that business on Kahje? They're saying Luek's dead." Tonner finally turned his eyes back to his partner in crime. "Went down on his own goddamned inflatable raft. Idiot."

Nadene snorted derisively, arms still crossed. "Maybe, but he was an idiot I could profit off of. Kahje's been like a personal goldmine for the last year, and now it's all torn apart."

Tonner shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Apparently all of the old Hanar's trade info is still floating around out there somehow; I've managed to snag several contracts already, and I'm expecting more in the next few weeks. Everyone wants a piece of that Kahjean pie, and now that Luek isn't there to monopolize the whole venture, I'm actually getting a few reasonable deals."

"Oh, is that so?" Nadene's face transformed almost immediately, scowl changing into a coy smile. "I don't suppose you'd help hook me up...?"

Tonner smiled back as he fiddled with his shot glass. "Maybe..but you're going to have to try a hell of a lot harder than [i]that[/i]."

Their conversation was interrupted as a young Turian slid into the table's third seat. As always, Vik was the last one to arrive, and as always, he seemed oblivious to any inconvenience he'd caused his partners. "I'm surprised to find the two of you smiling," he said, turning on a charming smile of his own. "Don't tell me you've already started boozing up."

"And break tradition? I wouldn't think of it." Tonner responded, in a voice that made it clear he'd thought about it often. 

"So glad you could finally join us, Vik. Did you have some other, more pressing matters to attend to?" Nadene's response was excruciatingly overly-saccharine, but honesty she was glad to see the foolhardy Turian. There was something about that goofy smile of his that always helped put her at ease. 

Vik just shrugged. "I woke up like half an hour ago, give me a break. I spent all night at this really shitty bar, got completely hammered..." He trailed off as he looked around, as if seeing the place for the first time. "...actually, this place seems kind of familiar..." His eyes caught on the sleeping Krogan near the doorway. "Oh, yep, that's my buddy Brishnar over there. Real hoot to have around, but man, he really cannot handle his Ryncol."

Tonner's head was in his hands, but Nadene had to work to suppress a laugh. "Either way, now that you're here we can finally get down to important matters. We have a lot to discuss-"

"Hey, hey, wait!" Vik cut her off, looking genuinely hurt. He raised his shot-glass to the center of the table. "Don't tell me you've forgotten our number one rule, Nadi." 

Nadene sighed tiredly, playing at boredom. "Well, rules are rules." She raised her shot-glass as well, and was quickly followed by Tonner. The three glasses bounced off one another with a short [i]clink[/i], and then all of them threw back their heads and downed the contents. 

Vik grimaced as he slammed his glass back down onto the table. "God, I swear that stuff tastes worse every single time." Already though, he was gesturing at the bartender to bring them three more. 

Tonner wiped at one corner of his mouth, apparently unfazed. "You didn't seem to mind it the first time we drank together."

"Well yeah, but back then I wasn't sure if I was ever going to taste good booze again. Prison does all sorts of weird things to a man's senses."

Nadene felt her eyes watering as she turned over her glass. Riptide: so called because it feels like it goes clawing down your throat, tearing and ripping. [i]Still, traditions are traditions.[/i] She turned to her two partners. "Well then, let's get down to business, shall we?"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Organization Name: Riptide

Organization Leaders: 
Co-Owner – Nadene Rilana
Co-Owner – Tonner Krineah
Co-Owner – Viktarion Arctus

Organization Specialization: Smuggling of both highly illegal substances (drugs, weapons, tech) and of semi-legal products (food, booze, and medicine) which are typically restricted by trade or market sanctions. 

Organisation Type: Smuggling Coalition

Organization Income Source: A portion of income for the individual members of the three bosses is freelance work, but a large majority comes from specific jobs given by a healthy client base. Each member has projects and jobs on the side, but any job, operation, or market that requires more than one ship has all funds split between the members of Riptide.

Legality: Riptide does occasionally turn its attention to perfectly legal shipping contracts, as long as the pay is good. These jobs are never done under the Riptide name, however, and the majority of work done by Riptide as a whole is highly illegal. 

Organization Base: Because of the very “loose” nature of Riptide, there is little to no communication between individual ships and crews. The three bosses are the only ones privy to the actual scope of Riptide, and much of their communication is done via standard galactic comms. When the three bosses do meet in person every few weeks to discuss how to manage their assets, they traditionally do so in a randomly chosen bar, in a randomly chosen city, on a randomly chosen planet.

Riptide does have one safehouse on Omega, hidden within one of the station’s many slums. The “base” is actually several repurposed tenement housing complexes, along with a few attached space hangars. The entire bulk of ships and crews involved with Riptide cannot be housed here, but it is often used as a safehouse or pit stop by individual ships for brief periods of time, and sees regular activity. 

Between the three bosses, Riptide also has ownership of several refueling stations and maintenance waypoints within the Terminus systems, the most significant of which is Madeira, an old extra-planetary research station in the Attican Beta cluster. Madeira contains several dozen docking ports, as well as ample stores of food and fuel to fulfill the needs of any passing member of Riptide. It also has an interior (one that is slightly cramped, as much of the station is damaged and inaccessible) which can be used by crews as a resting area in the event that a ship has been damaged. Madeira does not show up on any galactic maps, and therefore is also a fairly useful hideout for any Riptide smugglers that need to lose heat.

Each of the three bosses also has personal housing on various planets. Nadene has apartments on both Illium and the Citadel, Tonner has an apartment on Omega, and Vik has “apartments” (usually just friends willing to put him up for a night) on Omega, the Citadel, Illium, Palaven, and Bekenstein, among others. 

Organisation Assets: Riptide owns the aforementioned Safehouse within the Omega slums, 3 different “independently-owned” refueling stations (in the Hourglass Nebula, the Eagle Nebula, and the Shadow Sea), and the “Madeira” station in the Attican Beta cluster as well as a total of 86 functional starships: 5 repurposed and highly modified frigates (2 Salarian, 2 Turian, 1 Asari), 22 Small freighters, 13 Medium freighters, 5 Large freighters, 17 repurposed Interceptors and 24 repurposed fighters of various manufacturing origin, and 18 shuttles. Riptide informally helps fund a score of minor drug labs on Omega, and has controlling share in several bars on Omega and the Citadel. Informants within these bars contribute some of Riptide’s information stream, but most info is gleaned from contacts within Eclipse, Blood Pack, the Blue Suns, C-sec, Citadel political spheres and more localized law enforcement agencies. The coalition also has insider contacts with several larger corporations, including several weapons manufacturers and defense contracters. Riptide has a relatively robust client base that continues to grow, as does its network of contacts within the underground world of galactic criminal trading through both Nadene and Vik. 

Organisation Relations: 
-The Lonely Spacer- Riptide does regular business with those that manage [i]The Lonely Spacer[/i], providing drugs along with rare booze and food, typically in exchange for juicy bits of information. Nadene occasionally meets clients here, and Vik is a regular customer. 

Organization History: 

A large and fairly amorphous coalition dedicated to profit through organized smuggling, Riptide was first dreamed up when all of its creators met for the first time in 2168 in a high-security prison on Illium. One such creator, Viktarion Arctus, was there on minor charges of smuggling, and though he was a relatively new arrival to the prison system, he was putting his skills to good use. After only a few months, he’d established a respectable trade of smuggled contraband through the prison, typically cigarettes and other light drugs. His actions were fairly low-key, but they attracted the attention of another convict, Nadene Rilana. 

Nadene had been convicted of several financial and political manipulations, and had already served several years of her lengthy sentence. She convinced Viktarion (or “Vik,” as he preferred) that with her skills in subterfuge, her knowledge of the prison and her access to contacts on the outside, she would be a valuable partner. Vik agreed, and after roping in a third accomplice in the form of Tonner Krineah, the small group soon established an extensive smuggling network within the prison, of which they were lords. It wasn’t easy, but it eventually paid off: on the first night they finally managed to bring a steady stream of booze into the prison, they celebrated over shots of “riptide,” an infamous alcoholic mixture that traced its origins to the backroom stills of the galactic prison system.

The three of them lived like kings for a while, but neither Nadene nor Vik were satisfied. Nadene had big plans that could never come to fruition while she languished in prison, and Vik, still young and in his prime, had quickly become frustrated with his (relatively much shorter) sentence. Though they talked of what they would do once they got out, it eventually came to be that they decided they just couldn’t wait. 

Breaking out of prison is not an easy thing, but if anyone could pull it off, it was them. Nadene had several contacts still remaining on the outside from her previous attempts at a political career: once out, she promised, she’d be able to erase their records from the system. It’d be like they were never there, and they’d be free and clear. 

The actual breakout was a matter of deception: after Tonner instigated a riot among inmates through strategic withholding of contraband items that most of their fellow prisoners had come to take for granted, Vik was able to make a break for the exit. He didn’t make it ten feet from his planned escape route before being tackled to the ground. As he was escorted to a maximum-security isolation cell, however, no one noticed as Nadene slipped to freedom through an unsecured exhaust vent. 

Once out, Nadene kept her promise: by pulling several hundred strings and laying down as many credits, she was able to get Vik out and erase both of their profiles from the system, ensuring that there would be no follow-up investigations done. Tonner, of course, was free to leave anytime; he was one of the prison’s guards, not a convict. 

After all was said and done, the three didn’t see each other again for over a year. Despite all the fanciful plans they’d discussed within the stifling confines of the prison, one exposed to the great vast expanse of the galaxy again they scattered like seeds on the wind, falling back into all of their old patterns again without a second thought. It was Tonner that finally called them back together by offering to buy the two of them drinks at a rundown bar on a lower Citadel Ward. When Vik and Nadene arrived, they were surprised to find Tonner offering them riptide, in memory of their former days as royalty among the convicted. 

Because riptide is unequivocally known for imparting wisdom, and because they drank [i] a lot [/i]of riptide, they eventually rekindled their old friendship, and became determined to use their skills to once again become lords of the underground; only this time, their sights were upon the galaxy itself rather than a measly little prison. 

Five years have passed, and after liberal use of networking (courtesy of Nadene), discipline (courtesy of Tonner), flat-out skill (Vik), and a whole lot of luck, their operation has expanded into a wide and sprawling “organization” that spans the galaxy. Named after the drink that inspired its creation, Riptide is a loose coalition of smugglers and criminals, typically independent but occasionally directed towards one goal by the three bosses, the only ones that truly know the full scope of Riptide’s operations. The bosses themselves still meet every few weeks, always in some shitty bar, to discuss their plans…and, of course, have a few shots of riptide. 
[/hider]

[hider=Leader Character Sheets]

Name: Nadene Rilana.

Race: Asari

Age: 386

Position: Co-owner

Appearance: Though usually appearing a bit stern, Nadene is just as beautiful as any other member of her species. With a deep blue skin tone, vibrant and extensive violet face markings, and a lithe body (always held with perfect posture), she cuts quite the striking figure. Choice in clothes varies greatly depending on the situation, and is always chosen with meticulous care. Typically wears fashionably cut semi-formal suits, though she prefers more practical gear when not on “official” business. 

Specific Assets/Company Role: Like her partners, Nadene is ostensibly an independent agent involved in intragalactic smuggling, though in reality she is a leader of Riptide and therefore helps direct the actions of an operation far larger than her own. Compared to her partners, Nadene is the most experienced with finance and the world of corporate business: she is often the one that meets clients, uncovers and plans contracts, and generally navigates the murky realm of galactic politics to perpetually move Riptide into a more favorable position. She is also a fairly competent leader, and commands much of the smaller actions of the organizations freighters and shipments personally. 

She personally controls two frigates: The [i]Abbadon[/i], and the [i]Sublime[/i]. The [i]Abbadon[/i] is an Asari frigate, and is used as a Nadene’s personal craft. Relatively unmodified, it maintains a balance between stealth, agility and firepower, and houses a very lavish and comfortable interior. The [i]Abbadon[/i] has a standing crew, as well as several personal bodyguards and a revolving contingent of various smugglers, mercenaries and clients. Though occasionally used for actual smuggling purposes, the [i]Abbadon[/i] is primarily used as a home, office and transport, useful for secret meetings and less than legal transactions. The [i]Sublime[/i], a Salarian craft, is also personally directed by Nadene (though often from afar), and is used more as an advanced smuggling vehicle for that jobs that a normal freighter can’t do. 

Background: Born on the idyllic world of Nevos, Nadene was never a stranger to money. From an early age, her mother (and to some extent her father, a Salarian) groomed her for the inheritance of the huge chain of resorts and associated tourist traps they developed and ran on the tropical garden planet. Raised in the lap of luxury, among one of the shadiest corporate environments in the galaxy outside of Noveria, Nadene showed great promise, much like her sisters. She was quick-witted, clever, infinitely charming when needed, and she had an innate understanding for the ebb and flow credits through semi-legal business practices and backroom deals. 

That being said, she also proved to be quite a wild child. Things began going downhill when her mother put her in charge, at the relatively young age of 98, of one of the family’s resorts. Though business tended to run smoothly, and Nadene was charming and open-handed as always, it was hard to ignore her constant use of the resort to host gigantic, destructive parties. Coupled with the persistent rumors that the young heiress had developed an insatiable thirst for anything alcoholic, and those that claimed she was deliberately advertising to crime lords and drug dealers as a way to drum up business, it was all too clear to Nadene’s mother that something had to be done.

The answer seemed fairly obvious at the time: send her away. It is traditional for young Maidens to wander the galaxy, to observe and learn with open minds, and Nadene had waited around on her homeplanet for long enough. Her mother assumed that once she had been truly introduced to real freedom among the entire scope of the galaxy, her wistful spirit would be quelled somewhat. Unfortunately, the opposite seemed to occur. 

Nadene traveled long and far, first through Citadel space, than onwards into the Terminus systems. The small sum of money she’d taken from home dwindled quickly…and then it started to grow…and grow…until she had more than she’d left with. Nadene was quite pleased to find that a woman with a sharp business sense and the willingness to get her hands dirty was never short of work among the lawless reaches of the galaxy. 

To list all of her escapades here would be impossible: she worked as a consort, she worked as a bouncer, rumors say she tried her hand at piracy, then at mercenary work, then at drug dealing. No task was beyond her, and she sampled everything the Terminus systems had to offer, collecting valuable experience and contacts as she went. When her mother died in a tragic “accident” and her eldest sister took control of the family business, Nadene didn’t even consider returning to Nevos. She simply took the small portion of the inheritance she’d been allotted and put it towards her latest endeavor. 

Politics are a tricky business, but Nadene figured she had all the right skills and all the right friends to go far. Arriving on Illium with determined eyes and a pocket full of marketable skills (and a bunch of credits), she had a comfy position as a shipping manager for one of the larger docking stations within a few years. That position developed further, and after a few more years she was privy to all the comings and goings of Nos Astra. Lax as legal measures are on Illium, there is a basic government in place there; one that just so happens to be unofficially at the whims of the Illium Financial Board. Nadene had designs on a spot on that board, and she was willing to cut all the deals she needed to get there. 

Her mistake, unsurprisingly, was one of ambition. Her overreaching business practices caught the attention of Citadel authorities. Though many of her more “unsavory” tactics were strictly Lassiez –Faire on Illium, most of her operations were heavily involved with businesses and persons residing within the laws of traditional Council Space. Nadene could only watch as all of her plans unraveled within the space of a few months, all because of her own mistakes.

She heard the verdict and went willingly to her fate, eager to save what she could of her crumbling empire, and ironically wound up imprisoned within a high-security facility on the same planet she’d one day dreamed of running. Her verdict was long, well over a hundred years, but a majority of her assets were well hidden enough that she was sure she could rebuild…if only she could get out. However, it was 15 long years before that opportunity presented itself, in the form of a fellow inmate and one of the more “corruptible” guards. 

Positive Traits: 

-Ambitious
-Clever, quick to access a situation and determine the best course of action
-Abundance of experience in finance and trading
-Charismatic
-Unafraid to do things personally (“get her hands dirty”)
-Snappy dresser

Negative Traits: 

-Arrogant
-Ruthless
-Often manipulative
-Problems with restraint (“overly ambitious”)
-Hates puppies

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Name: Tonner Krineah

Race: Batarian

Gender: Male

Age: 49

Position: Co-owner

Appearance: Standing well over 6 and a half feet tall, Tonner is a large and imposing figure in any setting, a feature that has served him well both in delicate business transactions and on the battlefield. His skin is pale, with rust-red accents that help add to his already intimidating appearance. Is rarely seen without his favorite suit of heavy body armor, though when he needs to be less conspicuous he slims down to a simple set of light armor. 

Specific Assets/Company Role: Like his partners, Tonner is an independent smuggler when not working on Riptide business. Unlike his partners, smuggling does not come naturally to him: he has neither the business and personal skills of Nadene nor the raw talent and intuition of Vik. In fact, most of his smuggling operations were initially set up by Nadene, and are typically handled on a personal level by a few of Tonner’s most trusted subordinates. Tonner is more concerned with military matters: He has personally trained and organized 5 separate mercenary squadrons, each compact but highly skilled. His squadrons respect him, and follow him loyally, carrying out all the operations that are deemed to be too “bloody” or “obtuse” by the other more subtle members of Riptide.

 Tonner has personal command of two frigates: Turian vessels [i]Domitius[/i] and [i]Regula[/i]. Both are highly remodeled, with advanced weapon and armor systems installed. A combat-ready crew is active on each ship at all times, typically on a rotating schedule shared by the 5 combat squads under Tonner’s leadership. Both vessels are used for leverage in operations where upfront space-combat seems inevitable, and as dropships for personnel insertion into tense situations. Tonner himself does not reside long-time on either vessel, as spaceflight often makes him uneasy. When other matters require his attention, trusted lieutenants and pilots carry out his orders from afar. Tonner is a natural leader, and as such a majority of Riptide personnel (and absolutely all of their standing combat force) reside under his jurisdiction. He also typically controls the goings-on at the Omega Safehouse, and can usually be found there. 

Background: 

Born a slave on the hellish Batarian colony world of Adek, Tonner Krineah spent the majority of his childhood just trying to survive. As one of more than a thousand slave workers on a single, sprawling lichen plantation, Tonner knew his days were likely numbered. Those unlucky enough to draw cultivation or harvest duty often found their deaths among the fields of moss and lichen, tormented by a wide variety of horrific diseases. Some of them were caused by untreated wounds, others were carried by huge blood-sucking insects, and still others were simply a brutal yet inevitable aspect of the planet’s humid air. 

Regardless, the results were nearly always the same: infection, suffering, death. Disease prevention was scarce, medical aid was practically non-existent. Once a worker progressed to the point where they vomited blood, or lost feeling in their fingers, or woke to find themselves blind to the world around, they would know they were doomed. Shunned by their fellow workers, the damned would typically crawl away into some hidden place and die alone. Each body was treated and fed back to the lichens before another able-bodied Batarian would be selected or bought to take the place of the dead. 

Like all the others, Tonner was determined to avoid this fate. As a child, he had some time before being selected for a field crew, time in which he could prove himself to be useful to his owners in some other capacity. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he soon found he had neither the disposition for personal attendance nor the raw intuition for mechanical work. Genetic analysis made it clear to his owners that they’d maximize their potential profit off of him if they sent him straight to work rather than keeping him in reserve for breeding stock. When he came of age, he was placed on work detail and sent into the fields.

He didn’t stay there for long, however. After only a few hellish months (which rightfully felt like years), Tonner caught the attention of a few of his overseers when he murdered one of his fellow workers. Little investigation was done on the incident: other slaves claimed Tonner’s “victim” was half-mad with fever and had instigated the attack, and the overseers were much too busy with other matters to involve themselves with the death of what was already considered to be a disposable asset. It was when Tonner killed a second man just a few days later that they finally started to look his way. 

Apparently the brother of the sick man Tonner had killed wanted revenge, and was prepared to exact it himself. After a brief and intense struggle, Tonner, still young and untrained, overpowered his attacker and killed him with his bare hands, strangling him and leaving his body to rot beneath the hot Adekian sun. When Tonner returned to the plantation grounds, clothes torn and covered in blood, he was immediately put on a list. The next day when he rose from his filthy cot to start the work day, he was instead chained hand and foot and quickly escorted into a spaceship and off of the planet. 

Shackled in a cramped and dirty cargo bay, Tonner had time to worry about his fate. This wasn’t typical of the overseers: punishment from them tended to come quickly and without any fanfare. He’d never even been off of Adek, and could only assume that some pain awaited him that was so strange and unfamiliar that he could not grasp its nature. When the ship finally landed, however, he was escorted again by armed guards down a series of dark and twisting corridors until finally being thrown without ceremony into the center of a vaulted, circular room filled with dozens of curious onlookers, each appraising him with cold, professional eyes. 

Tonner had just enough time to realize that he was separated from the crowd by a transparent wall before another Batarian was thrown into the room besides him, and Tonner was ordered casually by one of the overseers to kill him. Knowing what would happen if he disobeyed, Tonner obliged. The other man put up a good fight, but for the third time in so many days Tonner won out. When the deed was done, the bidding began. 

Tonner hadn’t displayed many marketable skills as a child, but now he was a hot commodity among a certain circle of slave-owners for a different reason: he was deadly. He’d escaped the hell fields of Adek for a new trade as a pit slave, fighting others of his kind for the amusement of those slave-owners with affections for bloody entertainment. Sometimes the fights were to the death; sometimes they were only glorified wrestling matches. It didn’t matter to Tonner, who won the vast majority of them. 

He fought often, and was traded, bought and sold just as often. Life was a series of brutal fights, punctuated by long periods of travel and listless waiting. When he wasn’t in one of the galaxy’s many underground fighting pits, he was shelved away in premium apartments where all his needs were catered to: he was a valuable asset now, and his owners intended to keep him in prime fighting shape. His attendants, always fellow slaves, resented him as a traitor and a “pet.” Tonner didn’t mind. These were the best living conditions he’d ever had, and he was smart enough to realize he’d better maintain the status quo lest he risk being sent back to Adek. 

He lasted three years, which was two years longer than any of his owners expected. The life of a pit slave, while better than the “career” he’d been plucked from, was by nature short and cruel. Tonner was a good fighter, but even so, he knew his days were numbered, and as time went on each fight was more and more likely to be his last. Luckily, it seemed he still had some luck left.

While being transported to a new owner within the Omega system, the cargo ship he had been discretely shackled within was overtaken and boarded by a Blue Suns raiding party, under contract to secure some of the ships valuable goods. In the ensuing chaos, Tonner managed to wrestle a gun away from one of his handlers. He’d never fired a gun before, but apparently knowledge of the basics was enough: by the time the Blue Suns breached the cargo bay, Tonner stood to meet them as a free man, his handlers dead and his chains shot to pieces. 

After a brief standoff, the Blue Suns decided he wasn’t a threat, and, admiring his lack of hesitation when the shit hit the fan, brought him back to Omega to be inducted into their organization. As a mercenary for the Blue Suns, Tonner was a happy man. The work was rough, but easier by far than anything he’d done previously. He was called on often to fight, raid and kill, but he was very skilled at all three and quickly rose through the ranks. Above all else, however, he was free, and among companions that he felt he could honestly view as friends. 

He spent nearly 20 years in service to the Blue Suns, until a bit of shrapnel caught his arm during a mission on Illium that left him nearly crippled. Without use of his right arm, he couldn’t fight, and was no longer any use to the Blue Suns. It only took the higher-ups a few days to dismiss him, callously and without regret. 

Unemployed and bereft of any support, Tonner was forced to take the only job that he could find that might still utilize him: he began serving as a lowly prison guard for a secure facility on Illium. He used the last of his savings to hire the best doctors he could find, and over time he regained use of his arm, though it would never be quite as nimble or strong as before. Feeling old and useless, it seemed to Tonner that he would spend the last of his days in that prison, forgotten and alone. Of course, he was wrong. 

Positive Traits: 
-A skilled combatant, proficient in both close-quarters and ranged engagements
-Unquestionably loyal to those that earn his trust
-A natural leader that inspires courage and loyalty in his own “troops”
-Surprisingly compassionate
-Is a romantic at heart

Negative Traits: 
-Cares little for those he doesn’t know
-Can be overly cautious, paranoid
-Unequivocally vicious when dealing with those that have wronged him or his friends
-Grumpy in the morning 

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Name: Viktarion Arctus

Race: Turian

Gender: Male

Age: 27

Position: Co-owner

Appearance: With a lean body, a tanned carapace and striking features, Vik is considered to be quite a looker by Turian standards (and many other standards besides). While those good lucks have helped him climb into the beds of countless strangers, it’s his easy smiles and charismatic attitude that often helps him win the hearts of his peers. Though he was not raised within typical Turian society, he still bears facial tattoos. Most of his lower jaw and mandibles are emblazoned in white, with accompanying white stripes along his nose and around his eyes. Because these particular markings do not denote any actual colonial origin, they often confuse and embarrass other Turians who struggle to identify them. Vik, of course, got them because he thought they’d be funny. 

Specific Assets/Company Role: Like his partners, Vik is ostensibly an independent smuggler. Unlike his partners, however, Vik prefers to do all of his smuggling personally: to him, there’s no greater thrill than carting a few tons of illegal eezo right past an oblivious security force. As such, Vik is largely unconcerned with the company management, a task he leaves almost entirely to his partners, with the exception of the group’s regular “drink riptide and plan shit out” meetings. That being said, both of his partners understand that Vik is undoubtedly the most skilled pilot/smuggler in their organization, and his checkered past means he’s got nearly as many contacts in the business as Nadene. He’s also got an uncanny intuition for smuggling operations: Nadene and Tonner turn to him whenever they need personal advice on the subject.

Vik personally commands only one frigate: the Salarian vessel [i]Wily Varren[/i], a lean and fast ship that Vik uses for all of his personal smuggling. Rescued long ago from a scrap heap, the ship’s interior (and much of its exterior) is a mess. Vik is constantly working to upgrade, modify and enhance the ship’s capabilities to create a perfect smuggling vehicle, which means that the [i]Wily Varren[/i] can change drastically over the course of a few weeks or even days. The majority of ship space is dedicated either to cargo or engine functions, leaving little enough room for Vik who spends a majority of his time aboard the vessel. Though the ship often carries a few friends or acquaintances, no one knows the ship like Vik, who is perfectly capable of “crewing” the vessel himself and is no stranger to solo missions. 

Background: Born in the cargo bay of a small trade vessel somewhere halfway between the Horsehead Nebula and Hawking Eta, Vik has always felt more at home on a moving ship than he ever has on solid ground. His mother’s history was as mysterious as the identity of his father: all Vik knows is that he was born to a vagabond, an engineer who traded passage on various ships for technical expertise. As a child, Vik would often hear rumors that she was a fugitive, an exile disgraced and on the run, but with no way to verify the truth (and no real desire to), his mother’s story remains a mystery to this day.

All that Vik [i]does[/i] know is that, for whatever reason, the vast majority of his childhood was spent traveling the stars, roaming from place to place in whatever ship would give them a ride. Honestly, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Vik was a rambunctious child: as soon as he took his first step he became a wanderer at heart, always exploring. When the hallways and cabins of each ship he traveled on became boring, he took to crawling into vents. When that lost its exploratory appeal, he wandered even farther. No matter what model of ship he was on, he was always determined to explore every inch of the interior. Drive cores, communication arrays, propulsion systems…he saw them all. He’d often fall asleep nestled among wires and tubing, with the steady hum of an engine to sing him lullabies. 

More than once, his mother was forced to go rooting after him, dragging him away from some dark and forbidden place while he kicked and screamed. More than once, his incessant curiosity got the two of them kicked off of whatever ship they were on, leaving them to live on the streets of some foreign slum until they could find another ride. If anything, Vik was a burden to his mother, but she only complained when she was drunk, and that only happened on the rare occasions she had enough leftover money at the end of the week to buy a little bit of cheap booze. Even as a kid, Vik knew there was some great sadness in her, something well beyond his comprehension, but he never found out the whole truth. She passed away from a sudden sickness when he was just seven years old. 

They’d been traveling on a rundown trading vessel when she died; left with a motherless child (and an annoying, potentially destructive one at that), the ship’s captain unceremoniously dumped Vik off with a C-sec officer on their next stop at the Citadel. The young Turian was promptly thrown into an orphanage, where he stayed for all of a week before he slipped away from his new caretakers, found his way to a docking bay, and stowed away on the first ship he could find. When the crew inevitably discovered him after departing, they dumped him out at their next stop, Thessia, where again he was placed into an orphanage. 

So began the next phase of Vik’s life: Get thrown onto a new and exciting planet (usually into the uneager hands of public workers), escape from whatever establishment was housing him, stow away on ship, get discovered, rinse and repeat ad infinitum. He traveled on countless ships, saw countless planets, and lived in more orphanages and public shelters than he cares to remember. Always, though, he found himself moving on, striving to once again fly among the stars. 

When he was nine, the cycle was finally broken. Stowed away among the auxiliary propulsion primers of a fairly small ship, he wasn’t surprised when the ship’s crew found him. More surprising was the fact that didn’t immediately boot him off at the next dock. Most of them seemed to find him amusing, calling him “ship rat” and “little stowaway.” The captain of the ship was the most amused out of all of them, laughing as he handed Vik a bucket of water and a squeegee and announcing that he would be the crew’s new cabin boy. 

Vik took to the job eagerly enough. Washing floors and fetching drinks was more than a fair price if it meant he got to travel aboard the ship as an “acting” member of the crew. His excitement only grew when he eventually learned that the crew that had taken him in was a band of pirates, raiding the Attican Traverse and the Terminus Systems in search of good fortune. The captain was quick enough to admit that he’d only allowed Vik to stay aboard because he figured the boy might be useful as leverage: if the authorities ever surrounded their small and nimble raider, a gun placed against the head of an innocent child would make for an incredibly useful bargaining chip. Again, Vik thought this was more than fair. He knew, in the way that children just [i]know[/i] things to be true, that he was now a part of a the galaxy’s roughest, toughest, most ruthless band of pirates, and they’d never get caught. 

In actuality, that particular group of pirates was fairly shitty. It was a small operation, less than 10 people on a beat-up old ship that had more scars than functional weapons. They’d been raiding the wilder sections of the galaxy for years with little luck, usually snatching just enough to get by. When the novelty of using Vik as a janitor and an errand boy wore out, they were more than happy to throw him into a more useful job, staggeringly understaffed as they were. 

Since he already had proven himself capable of squirreling away through the ship’s various nooks and crannies, Vik was given over to the crew’s engineer to be trained as an apprentice of sorts. Mostly he was tasked with patching up old pipes and running cables though areas too cramped for the surly old Batarian engineer. Over time however, he learned more and more about the ship he “served” on. Vik was a sharp kid, and though no one expected much from him, after a few years he knew more about that ship than almost anyone else. 

As much as he liked working with the aging spacecraft, Vik could never quell his yearning for excitement and danger, even as he grew into adolescence. Eventually he began to travel and fight alongside his crewmates during their (increasingly rarer) raids and lootings. That quelled his eagerness for a while, but soon he only wanted to go bigger and better. He got his chance when one raid on a scrap ship yielded an unexpected prize: an old decommissioned Turian fighter craft, long ago abandoned and left to rust. Although the pirates originally believed the fighter could be a useful tool, they soon found that it was in desperate need of repairs, and would be worth more as scrap. 

It was Vik and his old Batarian mentor that convinced the rest of the crew to keep the old vehicle. It took them nearly two years, hundreds of bargain ship parts and countless sleepless nights, but finally they got the fighter into decent flying shape. With no one else on the crew willing to risk their lives in a spacecraft hobbled together primarily out of duct tape and knowledge gleaned off of the extranet, it fell to Vik to become the craft’s pilot.

He took to it like a fish to water. All his life he’d felt most at home while traveling aboard starships; in the cockpit of one, he felt like he was in heaven. What’s more, he quickly proved himself to be an exceptional pilot. There was something about him, some intuition that made the fighter an extension of his own body. He could out-maneuver or outrun anyone, and the pirates soon found their prey easier to catch with Vik hunting alongside the main ship. 

It couldn’t last, of course. Vik had been flying the fighter for all of a month when a raid in Salarian territory went bad and the crew found themselves surrounded and outgunned. Separate from the main ship in his fighter, Vik saw the incoming heat and made a run for it, barely evading the authorities and leaving his crewmates to be captured. He felt surprisingly little remorse after the fact; he’d become just as much a pirate as any of them during his time aboard their ship, and he knew any of the men and women he’d considered friends would have done the same if they were in his shoes. 

Only 15 years old and alone in the galaxy, Vik had only the clothes on his back and an old jerry-rigged fighter craft. He disappeared into the lawless reaches of the galaxy for a while, laying low and just looking for a way to survive. It would be impossible to describe his adventures from then on in any detail. Even at so young an age, Vik had combat experience, a sharp mind, and a ship that he could pilot as well as any grown man. More than anything though, he knew an opportunity when he saw it. The next few years were a blur, constant travels between every corner of the galaxy in his one-man craft, taking up odd jobs of questionable legality. More often than not, he lived off scraps and slept in his cockpit, or out beneath the stars if the weather was temperate enough. He argued with docking officials, he ran with pirates, he defended sensitive shipments and raced against gangs out in the far reaches of the Terminus Systems. He soon found his talents were best utilized in smuggling. Though his cargo was always small (due to his tiny ship), he flew like a demon and never failed a job. Those that sought his help would tell their friends that he was magic, able to conjure up any illicit substance, bringing it at any distance under the noses of countless authorities. 

It was the perfect life for Vik, one that he’d always wanted without really realizing. He had perfect freedom, an entire galaxy to explore, a ship of his own and to top it all off, he got paid doing what he loved. 

His luck finally ran out when he was 20 years old. Caught by Asari authorities after being fooled by some bad info, Vik was quickly trialed and thrown into prison on Illium. What should have been a real downer didn’t actually phase him all that much: he’d never let anything get in his way before, and this prison would be no different. Soon enough, he knew he’d be back in the cockpit where he belonged. And of course, he was right. He was in prison for 2 days before he met a certain guard named Tonner; 8 days before he met another inmate named Nadene. He left the prison behind on his 100th day, and never looked back. 

Positive Traits: 
-Friendly and charismatic, tends to put others at ease
-A naturally talented pilot
-Filled with childlike wonder and curiosity
-Makes, like, [i]the best[/i] fucking dextro grilled cheese. Like holy damn. 

Negative Traits: 
-Cocky
-Has absolutely no business sense
-Forgetful, lazy
-Outwardly friendly but with little experience in actual intimate emotion
-Thinks Blasto 3 is overrated
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[hider=Minor Character Sheets]
Logging on...
[Welcome, Ms. Rilana]
Accessing files...

Opening File "Riptide Dossiers."
[b]Important Employees, Assets and Miscellaneous Allies[/b]

Name: Sayth Balan
Race: Salarian
Gender: Female
Company Role: Pilot of the frigate [i]Abbadon[/i]
Known History: Recommended acquisition from a very powerful and influential trading company based on Sur'Kesh. Hiring was initially done as part of a business deal, with Sayth acting as a brokering piece for her paranoid employer, who refused to work with Riptide unless he had a personal eye on the inside of our operations. After that company went bankrupt several years back (due in no small part to our increased focus on the Sur'Kesh market), Sayth asked to keep her position as one of our employees. 
[i]Nadene's Notes: Sayth is...difficult. By all accounts lazy, unreliable and rude, she often seems to be more hassle than she's worth. However, she has displayed a skill that far surpasses the standard, and due to the absence of her former employer I have little fear about where her loyalty lies. I have, and will continue to, keep my eye on her, to ensure she does not become a liability in the future.[/i]

Name: Athican Mykalos
Gender: Male 
Race: Hanar
Company Role: Personal Secretary and Assistant to Nadene Rilana
Known History: Athican's history is relatively quiet and unexciting. Has experience with both financial trading and information brokering on Illium. Work with Riptide appears to be first foray into actual illegal activities, for which he has shown a natural propensity. Recruited personally by Nadene Rilana after the formation of Riptide to serve as an assistant, and has slowly gained rank in the organization since then.
[i]Nadene's Notes: Athican is easily my most valuable asset. He's smart, with a natural skill for trades of any kind. I’ll admit I was skeptical of his abilities when he first came into my employ, seeing as he was apparently as straight-laced and law-abiding as any typical Hanar, but his assurances that ambiguous legality will never interfere with the quality of his work have so far been upheld. [/i]

Name: Jonus Linar
Race: Volus
Gender: Male
Company Role: Pilot of the frigate [i]Domitus[/i]
Known History: Employee's history is surprisingly well protected, and is largely unknown. Information indicates very strong connections with several pirate alliances operating out of the Terminus Systems. Jonus is strange in that he sought out Riptide seeking employment, rather than the other way around. 
[i]Nadene's Notes: As much an enigma as he is a rude, vulgar little man, Jonus is still an exemplary pilot, and easily one of the best in our "fleet." I would normally find his secretive history and his initiative to join our group suspicious, but what little I can turn up about his dealings in the years before Riptide give me little cause for fear that he may be working on someone else's payroll. His claim to a pirate background is most likely true, as he is obviously experienced in spaceflight combat. Tonner assures me that Jonus is loyal (or at least as loyal as anyone else) and is an invaluable asset, and I am inclined to trust him. [/i]

Name: Drau Uvar
Race: Krogan
Gender: Male
Company Role: Second-in-Command to Tonner Krineah, Recruitment, Training and Supervision Duties
Known History: Uvar is quite old, with a long and surprisingly available history. Involved in illegal activities across the Terminus Systems for several hundred years, he is a veritable expert on all manner of mercenary operations. Worked as a bodyguard, thug, mercenary, hitman, shake-down artist, and pirate, if not in that particular order. Most recent ties are with a formerly existing mercenary company known as "The Raw Threshers." The company, almost entirely composed of Krogan, was small but successful until a mission on Camala went bad and left Uvar as the only survivor. Tonner first met (and recruited) Uvar in a bar on Omega. 
[i]Nadene's Notes: Uvar's a drunkard, obviously exhibiting symptoms of survivor's guilt. Combine this with his surly attitude, and I can only assume he's going to become more trouble than he's worth at some point. Tonner claims he's invaluable though, and if there's anyone keep Uvar in line, it's him. At least I don't have any doubts about his loyalty: Tonner seems to be the only person in the galaxy he actually respects. [/i]

Name: Andrea Zhang
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Company Role: (Former) Personal Assistant to Nadene Rilana, currently posted on the frigate [i]Wily Varren[/i] to serve as an Assistant to Viktarion Arctus.
Known History: Long and detailed history available, with several service records and personal recommendations. Former ties with Alliance provided Andrea with advanced combat and communications technology training, while a short (but very successful) series of solo mercenary jobs around the Terminus Systems in years before joining Riptide prove her aptitude in the field. Sought out employment personally and was hired after a very lengthy and selective interview process. 
[i]Nadene's Notes: Andrea is the solution to nearly all of my problems. Skilled, loyal, intelligent and efficient, it truly seems like there isn't anything she can't do. Her service as my assistant and second-in-command for the last five years has been exemplary. I was loathe to give her up...but after several "mishaps" and "preventable mistakes" on the part of one of my co-workers (Vik, of course), I felt she may be more useful elsewhere. She is currently serving a sort of trial period on the [/i]Wily Varren[i], trying to keep Vik in line. I know she thinks I've demoted her (and honestly she's really just acting as a glorified babysitter right now), but I need someone I trust with Vik to make sure he doesn't do something stupid (or at least stupider than usual) and get himself killed. She's never failed me before, let's hope she doesn't start now.[/i]

Name: Daron 
Race: Quarian
Gender: Male
Known History: Unavailable.
[i]Nadene's Notes: Daron (vas? nar? I don't know) is a complete mystery. I'm not actually sure he even really works for us, per se. Rather, he just sort of shows up at our safehouse from time to time, typically unannounced and uninvited. Tonner would have thrown him out long ago if Vik didn't vouch for the guy. He's useful, I won't deny that: when he can be assed to help out, his skill in ship repair and tech have done wonders for the various vessels of our fleet. His history is completely unknown, however. I don't know why he's not with the Migrant Fleet, why he's bothering to stick around with us, or even what his goals are. Vik is the only one who seems to actually know the guy, and he's been tight-lipped on the matter. I sense they've got some kind of history, but I can't tell if it's good or bad. I'll have to get him drunk one of these days and see if I can get him talking.[/i]
[/hider]