Auz

𝔸 / 𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙮 [ᵃⁿ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳʷᵒʳˡᵈ ᵗᵃˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒˢᵐᶦᶜ ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ]

I'm interested, ping me when the OOC goes up

Auz's Lot

Sunao

Sunao

Name: Sunao Zimtara
Rank: Padawan
Age: 21
Species: Mirialan
Gender: Male

Personal appearance:

Sunao is a handsome, fresh faced and fit member of the Mirialan species. With an innocent look in his eyes and a charming, yet cheeky, grin, it’s easy to see why the young man is often the centre of attention. As a diplomatic aid to the Republic, most of his time is spent among high society folks and so he must look the part. His hair, a caramel brown, is neatly trimmed, straightened and swept back, rigorously maintained throughout the day by the man himself. Standing at 5’8 and weighing in at 170lbs, the man is of average height and has decent muscular tone. Each morning Sunao wakes and follows a meticulous skin, nail and teeth care routine, followed by calisthenics training and meditation several evenings a week.

In addition to his recognisable emerald green skin, Sunao’s nose, cheeks and chin have all been adorned with his people's traditional geometric tattoos. Despite the short time spent on his homeworld, the Mirialan takes pride in his culture, often more than happy to discuss the importance of the designs and why the body art means so much to them. In fact, it’s actually quite difficult to catch Sunao in a bad mood. Oozing with a cheerful, glowing aura, there’s almost a bounce in every step as he darts from interaction to interaction.

Despite their humble tradition, the Jedi have agreed to allow their diplomats don flashier robes. Under pressure from the higher ups in the Republic, Diplomats are expected to wear layers of flawlessly made garments. Starting with a white tunic that tightly hugs the body, an extensive and elegant robe is draped over the top, it’s bottom dress and sleeves falling dramatically long off the body. Clinched in the middle by a golden belt, a single patterned lappet falls down past the knees, stylised with various symbols of both the Jedi Order and the Republic. A darker, medallion yellow hooded cloak finishes off the ensemble, so vast it’s able to totally envelop the Jedi. While Sunao is not overly fond of all the layers (especially in warmer climates), he is appreciative of the time and effort that went into the design and execution of such a collection.

Robe

Lightsaber/other personal effects:

Like most Jedi, Sunao has precious few possessions. A datapad for notes and translation, a small bag of goodies from the Republic to look and smell good, and his lightsaber.

Sleek, matte black and double bladed, the Mirialan’s lightsaber holds two standard green kyber crystals. The design is very ordinary with the blade almost appearing to be factory made. In fact, it’s only been ignited a handful of times, acting more as a symbol as it gathers dust on Sunao’s hip.

Lightsaber

Personality:

Sunao is the life of the party. Warm, outgoing, charismatic and emotionally intelligent, the Mirialan is a social chameleon, able to blend into any type of crowd and sway them with his words. He’s open, unafraid to admit his feelings but doesn’t share them in a way that is overbearing or awkward. He sees life as a series of emotional connections, overseen and guided by the Force itself.

For Sunao, the Jedi, and by extension the Republic, are intermediaries to that which watches over all life. As such, their intervention in the goings on of the galaxy are paramount to both positive change and outcomes for every creature on every world. The Mirialan does his best to lead by example, helping wherever and whoever he can, always in search for the deeper meaning in the action of life around him.

Viewing himself and others in the Order as conduits, he believes that the more in tune you are with the Force, the better translator you make. When it comes to his own abilities, it’s not that the young man doubts himself, more that he knows that expertise takes time to cultivate and his path is a lengthy one. Having lived a relatively straightforward and comfortable life, his learnings have come much more gradually than others, few and far between.

Despite being entrenched in constant morning and evening routines, Sunao doesn’t actually enjoy adhering to them. He finds it difficult to focus for long periods of time, so all things routine, paperwork and other monotonous tasks are the antithesis to who he is deep down. Nor does he enjoy the flashier side of diplomacy. The lavish lives of the opulent often leave him feeling empathetic for their citizens who are less fortunate. Though quite stressful, most of the time he is able to rationalise such things through his work in diplomacy and as a Jedi, truly believing that what they do is for the greater good and the Force will reward all eventually.

Sunao has a particularly unique distaste for using his lightsaber. While he can understand an argument for defence in the wilder parts of the galaxy, he cannot get past the fact that it is a weapon. Something created for the very specific reason of destruction and death. He believes most Jedi are over-reliant on such a thing and advocates for its removal from the Order, visually a day where they’re no longer needed.

View of the Force:

Sunao sees the Force as colour, representative of emotions, actions, extension of thought, beings and things both living and non-living and so on. Warm colours such as red, orange, and yellow are the colours of fire, autumn leaves, of sunsets and sunrises, and are generally energising, passionate, and positive. Cool colours, green, blue, and purple, are often more subdued than their warmer counterparts . They are the colours of night, water, nature, and are usually calming, relaxing, and somewhat reserved. Neutral colours like black, white, grey and brown are all consuming, straight, specific and to the point. They tend not to mix or change shades by significant degrees like the others and are often quite rigid in their meaning.

But the spectrum of colour is finite and the same colour, or even shade, can take on different meanings. Red, for example, is a very hot colour. It’s associated with fire, violence, and warfare but it’s also associated with love and passion. As such, that is the learning curve for Sunao when it comes to the Force. To decipher the spectrum and master reading what the galaxy at large is trying to tell him and all those around.

Backstory:

As with most Jedi, Sunao was adopted into the Order as a child after being discovered on his homeworld, Mirial, by a Jedi scouting party. His species' basic understanding and respect for the Force ensured there was no issue in giving the young boy up with his family firmly believing their son had been chosen for a higher purpose.

His time in the academy was most enjoyable for the growing boy. Ever the centre of attention, Sunao always got along with the majority of his youngling trainee’s, often proving to be quite popular. His teachers, on the other hand, weren’t overly fond of the boy's ability to distract others or his distaste for academic work. Though he did excel when it came to matters of mediation and the Force, becoming infatuated with the binds of the galaxy, coerced by its mystery and fascinated by its connection to all living things. His own connection proved to be a strong one, with the Mirialan coming to rely heavily on its use during his training. That wasn’t to say he was unable to use his lightsaber, he just believed it to be a weapon whose sole purpose was to destroy, whereas the Force had so many applications for almost any situation.

It was this kind of attitude that saw the now young man fall under the tutelage of Master Yennifer, a skilled Jedi Consular and one of the most revered Diplomats in all the Order. Together the two bonded well as teacher and student with Sunao travelling around the far reaches of the Republic, helping found new colonies and negotiating treaties for those who wish to be inducted into the flourishing Empire. Sunao would see first hand how the Republic enabled each world to move forward, meeting with politicians and other members of the elite for over one hundred worlds, elevating them from what seemed like a backwater and stagnant people to a new galactic stage. There was almost never any push back, no deal that they couldn’t work around and every time a species was inducted, they were nothing but grateful for the Jedi’s and Republic’s presence.

After a time, his Master devised a test for him. They were to be sent to Mirial to oversee the coronation ceremony for a new leader of the Mirialan people, representing both the Republic and the Jedi Order. Though Sunao was certain he had no memory of the world, and therefore no connection, his Master cautioned him that things might not be so simple.

Sure enough she was right. There was something about being among his own people that tugged at something deep inside. He was of course connected to the Jedi by their belief and code but both were intangible things. There on his homeworld, the connection was physical, he had never been among so many of his own people before.

Feeling her students' confliction, Master Yen pushed the young man into connecting with his people and understanding their culture.

“If you cannot find peace within yourself, how do you expect to spread it throughout the Galaxy?”

Sunao spent the next few months among his people, visiting various landmarks, partaking in local customs, seeing villages and wouldbe cities. His face was tattooed in line with cultural traditions and finally, a missing piece of who he was, was filled. Eventually the time came to say goodbye and although it was a sad event, Sunao felt more whole, ready to take on whatever lay ahead.

As a final part of this side of his training, Master Yen had organised a trip to Ilum so Sunao could reaffirm his connection to the Order, just as he had with his people. The two spent several months in the sacred temples on the planet's surface, strengthening their connection to the Force, meditating and studying. Now was time to move onto the final bit of Sunao’s training, helping oversee the official expansion of the Republic into the far reaches of the Outer Rim. A task not so simple as before but with renewed energy and confidence in his teacher, the two set out from Ilum for Sunao’s final leg of his apprenticeship.

Deadlands: Tales o' the Weird West

What Lucky said

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A soft reboot

CS

Full name: Takaror “Tak” Corr

Race: Tank Bred Krogan

Citizenship: True Krogan

Aliases: N/A

Age: 15

Gender: Male

Psych. Eval.:

Notes From Neo-Krogan Government:

To Whom It May Concern,

Battlemaster Takaror Corr is one of the finest additions to our species. As with all Pure Krogans, he has extensive knowledge of the four major subjects in life; linguistics, mathematics, science and social studies. Each of these subjects have been pinned under the umbrella of warfare, with all our superiorly bred brethren being taught how to use each field, and sub-heading of that field, to their advantage in battle. The genetics of all Pure Krogans have been made to be state of the art, enabling them more control over their base instincts and ensuring better performance under high-stress situations.

His superior and unique genetics have been finely tuned to create the ultimate warrior, one who is cunning, cold and calculated. A Battlemaster with no opposing equal.

Again, as with all Pure Krogan’s, Takaror was placed onto the battlefield within moments of being born. He, his squad and regiment were one of the finest additions to our great army. They were paramount in turning the tide of the war for the old rebellion and the formation of the new Krogan Empire.

After the events of our victory at Fulmar, it was proposed that Takaror joined C-sec as an example of our capabilities and what we could bring to the table if our peace treaty was accepted. Though the peace treaty has not been formally recognised, C-sec graciously accepted our offer.

With Regards,
The Krogan Council

An Interview With C-sec Officer, J Farnworth:

Good morning Officer, we’d like to start this interview by asking for your thoughts on Takaror Carr.

“Tak”, as the tank-bred likes to be called, is a dog on a leash. He will both swear loyalty and threaten to murder you in the same sentence should he deem it necessary. Those bloody tank-bred’s did nothing but breed a killing machine on legs but damned if he isn’t the most effective machine I’ve ever seen. Once that leash has been removed I don’t think there’s anything that could stand between that monster and it’s objective. Hell, I could’ve sworn that one time I saw it chew through straight steel to get through to our suspect on the other side.

Thank you Officer. We’d also like your thoughts on the incident that occurred with Takaror and another lower ranked Officer.

Well, understandably, some of the other races didn’t take too kindly to his presence among our ranks, especially the Turians. They would try to give the thing hell for it but it was like throwing insults at a black hole. Only time I saw him react was when one of the Turians pulled a pistol on him. Damn idiot pulled a pea shooter on the biggest and meanest krogan I’ve ever seen, cost him an arm and a leg. Had to keep the tank-bred in isolation since, kept the troops safe and the politicians happy.

Thank you again Officer. Would you recommend Mr. Corr for further services with C-sec high level operations?

Please note that the Officer laughed at this question for a full 30 seconds before rendering an answer.

Here’s what I’ll say about, Mr. Corr, you could throw that thing into the deepest darkest corner of this galaxy and I’m certain it would come out with barely a scratch on it. You find a way to control a beast like that? He’ll be worth more to you than an entire fleet.

Notes From Observation and Interview Process:

Mr. Corr initiated our interview by stating that he did not like to talk, or rather, that he was not used to it but he would “do as he is commanded”. Aside from that, Mr. Corr was rather well versed and had an almost poetic like way of structuring his sentences.

Interestingly, Mr. Corr is very forthcoming and unashamed of his actions during the war. The way he expressed them was very matter of fact. The same goes for the actions of the coalition forces, including the genophage; he held no animosity to any of the galactic races and just sees it as “war being war”.

We were able to gleam a few insights into his past, finding that he had gone through a ritualistic trial, similar to that of regular krogans, just after the death of Fortlack. It was implied that the tank-breds had Shamans in their ranks before the assasination of their former leader. As such, the Shamans had spoken of honour in combat, claiming that Fortlack and his ilk made them fight without it. This brought a great shame among their brethren and hence he was killed.

After some more digging we found that Mr. Corr’s particular Shaman had spoken to him of morality, right and wrong in simplistic terms, and he admitted that the concept was lost on him. Mr. Corr expressed a technical understanding of it but could muster no true feelings towards it.

Direct Quote: “It is akin to what I imagine it is to be colourblind, as in, everyone else knows what colour looks like, yet it is indescribable to someone who cannot see it.”

Afterwards we held a brief discussion on the human thought experiment, ‘Mary’s Room’, which Mr. Corr politely thanked us for and vowed to look into it himself. It’s important to note the young tank-bred has a childlike fascination with the subject.

We then went on to ask about his commendations during the Battle of Dumart. Mr. Corr’s responses to this were both distant and curt, explicitly stating that he had nothing to say on the matter. Even going as far to make what we believe was a veiled threat, though to him, it was just pure honesty.

In Summary:

There is no question of Mr. Corr’s combat prowess. Even if his actions in the Neo-Krogan Military are exaggerated, C-sec’s account shows what a valuable asset he could be. It’s beyond clear that the young tank-bred is in need of an authority figure, someone to guide him and act as a moral compass. We also suspect he has trust issues as a result of some sort of incident with the new Krogan Council but we have no solid evidence to back this up.

Given what we know about the assigned leadership, we recommend Mr. Corr for the renewed Spectre Program.

Phys. Eval.:

In Mr. Corr’s case, he and his squad were part of a particularly unique breed that aimed to psychologically demoralise the enemy by making them much larger than ordinary krogans. They also have been bred with thicker platting, making them even harder to kill. Not only this but the latest generation of Pure Krogans have all been bred to be Battlemasters and thus have a powerful command over biotics.

The young tank-bred stands at an imposing 2.75m, amassing 320kg of pure Krogan. He is daunting to look at and possesses an incredible amount of strength. Maturing into adolescence, he has moved from a dark green colour into a metallic blue, with his head plate still forming. It's unclear if his unusual colour comes from his genetic alteration, or if this is simply just a phase of adolescence but there appears to be no downside to this.

(OOC: Please ignore the tail in the picture, his tail is regular Krogan size, I'm just unable to edit it out. Cheers.)

Biotics: Born as a Battlemaster, the Neo-Krogan biotics have very much become an extension of his fighting style and emotions. Always possessing the ability to put up a barrier, perform a biotic charge as well as pulling and slamming their targets, Mr. Corr has seen the recent addition of being able to release a flare. Pent up emotions of unstable rage and anger allow him to release a massive biotic charge, though it leaves him exhausted, drained and even vulnerable after.

Qualifications: Tak is the pinnacle of genetic technology, being bred with the strength and resilience of Krogan, intellect that matches the Salarians, the martial discipline similar to that of Turians, the adaptability of humanity and even the dexterity of Drell; albeit rather wasted on the Krogan physiognomy. Specifically Tak was bred to be a daunting figure in an attempt to demoralise the enemy before they even picked up a rifle.

He has fought extensively on the front lines of the Neo-Krogan Rebellions and as a result is able to operate medium to heavy weaponry, employ the use of demolitions and can lead small unit’s on the battlefield.

History:

A Summary of The Reports Given by the Krogan Council and C-sec:

Mr. Corr was born and simultaneously put into military service in 2284. He fought for 10 years in the Neo-Krogan wars before the Battle of Dumart in 2294

During this battle Mr. Corr and his regiment were tasked with taking and holding the mining and port city of Dumart on the Turian planet of Fulmar. Being such an important planet for the Turians, coalition ground forces outnumbered the Krogan Army significantly. Though initially the Krogans took the city in a surprise attack that coincided with another attack one system over, Mr. Corr and his regiment were pushed back to the centre of the city with a lot of their force being routed.

It was here, according to the logs, that Mr. Corr’s unit ordered one of their remaining battleships in orbit to ram itself into one of the planets moonlets, sending large pieces of it into the atmosphere and directly onto the battlefield. While not big enough to reduce the city to complete rubble, the pieces of the mini moon created enough chaos for the Krogan forces to be able to rally and regain control of the city. Afterwards, they successfully dug in and held for almost a month until reinforcements arrived. Though the regiment was essentially wiped out and the remaining Krogans had to be reassigned as a result.

Mr. Corr received multiple commendations and hence was offered up as part of the proposed peace treaty to join C-sec. Though the peace treaty has not been accepted formally, Mr. Corr did take up a position in Citadel Security.

During his time in C-sec, the young tank-bred has performed admirably, barring his run up on a single incident.

According to reports given by his superiors, the incident came about when others in C-sec instigated a fight. Once physical contact was initiated (in the form of a M-3 Predator being fired at Mr. Corr) he practically tore his opponent limb from limb without remorse. It’s a miracle that the Turian C-sec Officer survived, whether their survival was on purpose or not remains unknown. As a result, Mr. Corr was isolated in a housing facility and released only when they needed him.

Position: Mr. Corr’s primary role is a Shock Trooper and although he may have other talents, he has no idea what they could be. At least he’ll be good for heavy lifting in the meantime.

C-Sec Status: C-sec member of the Direct Engagement Team (D.E.T)

Inventory & Logistics:
Weapon wise, Mr. Corr has the following in his possession:

- Graal Spike Thrower
- Striker Assault Rifle
- ML-77 Missile Launcher

Armour wise: Battlemaster Armour

Pic

Notoriety: 5/10

Due to his unique genetic design and victory on Fulmar, Mr. Corr is well known within the Neo-Krogan’s, though they do not know him personally. Outside of their clan, he is relatively unknown.

In relation to C-sec, his allowance into the organisation caused something of a stir. Even though most avoid him the majority of members are well aware of his presence among their ranks.


Misc.: Mr. Corr has brought on board training equipment, books and bookshelves, as well as a computer for access to the internet. All donated by his government.

[Blasts from the Past]: Yes

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A soft reboot

CS

Full name: Takaror “Tak” Corr

Race: Tank Bred Krogan

Citizenship: True Krogan

Aliases: N/A

Age: 15

Gender: Male

Psych. Eval.:

Notes From Neo-Krogan Government:

To Whom It May Concern,

Battlemaster Takaror Corr is one of the finest additions to our species. As with all Pure Krogans, he has extensive knowledge of the four major subjects in life; linguistics, mathematics, science and social studies. Each of these subjects have been pinned under the umbrella of warfare, with all our superiorly bred brethren being taught how to use each field, and sub-heading of that field, to their advantage in battle. The genetics of all Pure Krogans have been made to be state of the art, enabling them more control over their base instincts and ensuring better performance under high-stress situations.

His superior and unique genetics have been finely tuned to create the ultimate warrior, one who is cunning, cold and calculated. A Battlemaster with no opposing equal.

Again, as with all Pure Krogan’s, Takaror was placed onto the battlefield within moments of being born. He, his squad and regiment were one of the finest additions to our great army. They were paramount in turning the tide of the war for the old rebellion and the formation of the new Krogan Empire.

After the events of our victory at Fulmar, it was proposed that Takaror joined C-sec as an example of our capabilities and what we could bring to the table if our peace treaty was accepted. Though the peace treaty has not been formally recognised, C-sec graciously accepted our offer.

With Regards,
The Krogan Council

An Interview With C-sec Officer, J Farnworth:

Good morning Officer, we’d like to start this interview by asking for your thoughts on Takaror Carr.

“Tak”, as the tank-bred likes to be called, is a dog on a leash. He will both swear loyalty and threaten to murder you in the same sentence should he deem it necessary. Those bloody tank-bred’s did nothing but breed a killing machine on legs but damned if he isn’t the most effective machine I’ve ever seen. Once that leash has been removed I don’t think there’s anything that could stand between that monster and it’s objective. Hell, I could’ve sworn that one time I saw it chew through straight steel to get through to our suspect on the other side.

Thank you Officer. We’d also like your thoughts on the incident that occurred with Takaror and another lower ranked Officer.

Well, understandably, some of the other races didn’t take too kindly to his presence among our ranks, especially the Turians. They would try to give the thing hell for it but it was like throwing insults at a black hole. Only time I saw him react was when one of the Turians pulled a pistol on him. Damn idiot pulled a pea shooter on the biggest and meanest krogan I’ve ever seen, cost him an arm and a leg. Had to keep the tank-bred in isolation since, kept the troops safe and the politicians happy.

Thank you again Officer. Would you recommend Mr. Corr for further services with C-sec high level operations?

Please note that the Officer laughed at this question for a full 30 seconds before rendering an answer.

Here’s what I’ll say about, Mr. Corr, you could throw that thing into the deepest darkest corner of this galaxy and I’m certain it would come out with barely a scratch on it. You find a way to control a beast like that? He’ll be worth more to you than an entire fleet.

Notes From Observation and Interview Process:

Mr. Corr initiated our interview by stating that he did not like to talk, or rather, that he was not used to it but he would “do as he is commanded”. Aside from that, Mr. Corr was rather well versed and had an almost poetic like way of structuring his sentences.

Interestingly, Mr. Corr is very forthcoming and unashamed of his actions during the war. The way he expressed them was very matter of fact. The same goes for the actions of the coalition forces, including the genophage; he held no animosity to any of the galactic races and just sees it as “war being war”.

We were able to gleam a few insights into his past, finding that he had gone through a ritualistic trial, similar to that of regular krogans, just after the death of Fortlack. It was implied that the tank-breds had Shamans in their ranks before the assasination of their former leader. As such, the Shamans had spoken of honour in combat, claiming that Fortlack and his ilk made them fight without it. This brought a great shame among their brethren and hence he was killed.

After some more digging we found that Mr. Corr’s particular Shaman had spoken to him of morality, right and wrong in simplistic terms, and he admitted that the concept was lost on him. Mr. Corr expressed a technical understanding of it but could muster no true feelings towards it.

Direct Quote: “It is akin to what I imagine it is to be colourblind, as in, everyone else knows what colour looks like, yet it is indescribable to someone who cannot see it.”

Afterwards we held a brief discussion on the human thought experiment, ‘Mary’s Room’, which Mr. Corr politely thanked us for and vowed to look into it himself. It’s important to note the young tank-bred has a childlike fascination with the subject.

We then went on to ask about his commendations during the Battle of Dumart. Mr. Corr’s responses to this were both distant and curt, explicitly stating that he had nothing to say on the matter. Even going as far to make what we believe was a veiled threat, though to him, it was just pure honesty.

In Summary:

There is no question of Mr. Corr’s combat prowess. Even if his actions in the Neo-Krogan Military are exaggerated, C-sec’s account shows what a valuable asset he could be. It’s beyond clear that the young tank-bred is in need of an authority figure, someone to guide him and act as a moral compass. We also suspect he has trust issues as a result of some sort of incident with the new Krogan Council but we have no solid evidence to back this up.

Given what we know about the assigned leadership, we recommend Mr. Corr for the renewed Spectre Program.

Phys. Eval.:

In Mr. Corr’s case, he and his squad were part of a particularly unique breed that aimed to psychologically demoralise the enemy by making them much larger than ordinary krogans. They also have been bred with thicker platting, making them even harder to kill. Not only this but the latest generation of Pure Krogans have all been bred to be Battlemasters and thus have a powerful command over biotics.

The young tank-bred stands at an imposing 2.75m, amassing 320kg of pure Krogan. He is daunting to look at and possesses an incredible amount of strength. Maturing into adolescence, he has moved from a dark green colour into a metallic blue, with his head plate still forming. It's unclear if his unusual colour comes from his genetic alteration, or if this is simply just a phase of adolescence but there appears to be no downside to this.

(OOC: Please ignore the tail in the picture, his tail is regular Krogan size, I'm just unable to edit it out. Cheers.)

Biotics: Born as a Battlemaster, the Neo-Krogan biotics have very much become an extension of his fighting style and emotions. Always possessing the ability to put up a barrier, perform a biotic charge as well as pulling and slamming their targets, Mr. Corr has seen the recent addition of being able to release a flare. Pent up emotions of unstable rage and anger allow him to release a massive biotic charge, though it leaves him exhausted, drained and even vulnerable after.

Qualifications: Tak is the pinnacle of genetic technology, being bred with the strength and resilience of Krogan, intellect that matches the Salarians, the martial discipline similar to that of Turians, the adaptability of humanity and even the dexterity of Drell; albeit rather wasted on the Krogan physiognomy. Specifically Tak was bred to be a daunting figure in an attempt to demoralise the enemy before they even picked up a rifle.

He has fought extensively on the front lines of the Neo-Krogan Rebellions and as a result is able to operate medium to heavy weaponry, employ the use of demolitions and can lead small unit’s on the battlefield.

History:

A Summary of The Reports Given by the Krogan Council and C-sec:

Mr. Corr was born and simultaneously put into military service in 2284. He fought for 10 years in the Neo-Krogan wars before the Battle of Dumart in 2294

During this battle Mr. Corr and his regiment were tasked with taking and holding the mining and port city of Dumart on the Turian planet of Fulmar. Being such an important planet for the Turians, coalition ground forces outnumbered the Krogan Army significantly. Though initially the Krogans took the city in a surprise attack that coincided with another attack one system over, Mr. Corr and his regiment were pushed back to the centre of the city with a lot of their force being routed.

It was here, according to the logs, that Mr. Corr’s unit ordered one of their remaining battleships in orbit to ram itself into one of the planets moonlets, sending large pieces of it into the atmosphere and directly onto the battlefield. While not big enough to reduce the city to complete rubble, the pieces of the mini moon created enough chaos for the Krogan forces to be able to rally and regain control of the city. Afterwards, they successfully dug in and held for almost a month until reinforcements arrived. Though the regiment was essentially wiped out and the remaining Krogans had to be reassigned as a result.

Mr. Corr received multiple commendations and hence was offered up as part of the proposed peace treaty to join C-sec. Though the peace treaty has not been accepted formally, Mr. Corr did take up a position in Citadel Security.

During his time in C-sec, the young tank-bred has performed admirably, barring his run up on a single incident.

According to reports given by his superiors, the incident came about when others in C-sec instigated a fight. Once physical contact was initiated (in the form of a M-3 Predator being fired at Mr. Corr) he practically tore his opponent limb from limb without remorse. It’s a miracle that the Turian C-sec Officer survived, whether their survival was on purpose or not remains unknown. As a result, Mr. Corr was isolated in a housing facility and released only when they needed him.

Position: Mr. Corr’s primary role is a Shock Trooper and although he may have other talents, he has no idea what they could be. At least he’ll be good for heavy lifting in the meantime.

C-Sec Status: C-sec member of the Direct Engagement Team (D.E.T)

Inventory & Logistics:
Weapon wise, Mr. Corr has the following in his possession:

- Graal Spike Thrower
- Striker Assault Rifle
- ML-77 Missile Launcher

Armour wise: Battlemaster Armour

Pic

Notoriety: 5/10

Due to his unique genetic design and victory on Fulmar, Mr. Corr is well known within the Neo-Krogan’s, though they do not know him personally. Outside of their clan, he is relatively unknown.

In relation to C-sec, his allowance into the organisation caused something of a stir. Even though most avoid him the majority of members are well aware of his presence among their ranks.


Misc.: Mr. Corr has brought on board training equipment, books and bookshelves, as well as a computer for access to the internet. All donated by his government.

[Blasts from the Past]: Yes

Deadlands: Tales o' the Weird West

I'm also interested

Into Perdition's Jaws

Silver

Since entering the dense forest Silver had been tagging along behind the bulk of their little group. Having his paranoia confirmed by one of the troop commanders had only made the voidhanger’s fretting worse, opting to engage his cloak despite being among ‘comrades’. Their newest compatriot was no different to any other of the paramilitary soldiers they had met so far; full of bravado and out for blood. Silver hadn’t even bothered with an introduction, attitudes like that got people killed real quick and who knows what the gealtirocht’s angle was.

The voidhanger grimaced as his foot sunk deep down into a flooded pothole that Zsresrinn had punched into the ground. The beast of a thing was surprisingly nimble and quiet for its size but the forest floor could only bear so much weight.

Egh. Silver thought as he shook loose the mud that stuck to his leg. Note to self: never leave space again!

Continuing on, the cyborg rolled his eyes as he shooed away another report from his little AI companion. There was nothing new to be gained from such things, more enemies, more threats, more carnage. The voidhanger didn’t need a report to tell him how royally fucked they were.

Right on time Gourlan’s slimy, stomach churning voice crackled through the comms, calling the group into action. Seemingly without a second thought, the gealtirocht bounced into the tree’s with talk of dismembering while Zsresrinn whirred into action mode. Silver, however, paused; instead choosing to open up their comms channel.

<Guys, I’m not sure about this. Back at the outpost Yrilovan warned me that Gourlan shouldn’t have known about the rendezvous spot and that he didn’t know why he was there. This could be another ambush.>

Into Perdition's Jaws

Silver

The APC jerked from side to side, swerving around a large pothole in the centre of the road. Inside, Silver was hunched over, his hands locked onto his thighs to stabilise himself as he performed a systems diagnostic. His HUD lit up with reading after reading, analysing both his suit and the internal systems that kept him functioning. According to the reports he had spent half a cartridge of rifle ammunition trying to take out the bioconstruct and the puncture he had received in their crash landing had been repaired/healed without issue.

With Silver’s focus elsewhere, Jerry was keeping a watchful eye on the cyborg's surroundings. The AI was running a behavioural analysation program in an attempt to predict any hostile action before it materialised. The little robot recorded every scrap of information it could, from the subtle nature of body language to the obvious utilisation of tone and discourse.

“Host, Silver,” The AI’s innocent robotic tone reverberated around the voidhangers helmet, quiet enough that only he could hear. “The humans have engaged you in dialogue, their tone and demeanor suggests they are attempting to offend you.”

Ugh, humans. Silver thought, rolling his eyes. You always can count on them to be the most close-minded species in the universe. So quick to project their issues onto everyone else.

“Their words are meaningless,” He said out aloud. “Just let me know if you pick up any hostile actions. Otherwise I’m not interested in their bullshit.”

---

Some time later the APC ground to a halt. Silver opened the door to see they had reached some sort of facility but couldn’t be sure if this was their destination or just a spot to resupply. The look of things didn’t help either, war torn buildings surrounded them, left to rot as nature slowly enveloped everything. The troops around the group began to fan out, scanning all around for any signs of movement. Despite the silence, tension gripped the air with only a nearby waterfall daring to make any sound.

Silver slowly eased off the front line, taking up a position behind a large contingent of well armoured troops. Several figures began to materialise from a treeline far away from the buildings, leaving the cyborg certain that had he still possessed a biological gut, it would be twisting a large knot. Everyone’s rifles swiveled to meet the emerging group as they cautiously moved forward. From the looks of their armour they weren’t Sect troops but hostiles wouldn’t have given away their position either.

So who are they? Silver thought before being tapped on the shoulder. It was one of the tarrhaidim troopers who had been riding in the same APC.

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd their scouts simply hailed us like that?” He asked, his tone distance and with a hint of a quiver. “No radio signals, nothing? They just popped up out of the woods and rolled in, not even in their APC’s.”

Silver shrugged, looking over the new group before returning to meet the soldier’s gaze.

“This whole damn mission is off to me. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

Suddenly the cyborg’s radio crackled to life with the comm chatter revealing it was another team working for the Sect. The word spread quickly among the troops and everyone began to ease up, taking stock and resupplying.

Silver, on the other hand, still wasn’t at ease. Why had they not seen anyone from the Sect? Why were they not receiving any direct communication for themselves? It wasn’t adding up and this new group were just more puppets, dancing on the strings for who knows entertainment. The commander of the mountain base introduced himself via the comms but the cyborg was done for the moment. They had been made to be pawns, sitting ducks waiting to be taken out and Silver was close to cracking.

Auz's Lot

Cal

+

Name: Callon ‘Cal’ Morhana

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Backstory:

Cal was raised in the capital of the Tegary Empire, Erygate, situated in the wild peaks of what was once referred to as the Appalachian Mountains. His father, Regar Morhana, is a legendary battlemage and posterboy for the Mage Councils propaganda in the ongoing war with technology. As a result his father has been away from Cal most of his life, who has instead grown up worshipping posters, rather than the real thing. The boy's mother, Falya, raised him until the age of 8, after which he was taken in by the council and made to endure the punishing training and trials of battlemage school. Falya would go on to serve as a scholar of Conjuration, working in the halls of the Great Gateway that connected every city.

During his education, Cal was no more talented than any of his peers but often was singled out by teachers for “having greatness in his blood”. There were those who were jealous and others who admired him. Cal was never close to anyone, instead allowing himself to get swept up in the praise of those above and the high life of elitism but feeling from time to time, as if something was missing.

It wasn’t until Cal’s father returned from the front lines that the now young man experienced any true conflict. Scarred both mentally and physically, war had left Regar weary and empty, a shadow of the man whom the Council promoted each day. He sought for his son to live a different life, far from the battlefield, one of peace and happiness. He returned to the capital, not only to apologise for his absence but to dissuade him from this path of wickedness.

A fight ensued between the father and son, one so bad that Cal reported his father directly to the council. Though there was no real action taken, Cal was assigned to a special assignment in the city of Sparta, one of great importance to the Empire.

Personality:

As a result of his upbringing, Cal is young, brash and headstrong. He chooses to fight with might and strength, charging both fearlessly and stupidly into battle. Though a somewhat skilled warrior, he is far from the leader that a battlemage is expected to be.

Growing up without the love and connection of others he has been consumed by ideals of fame and glory, desperate to continue the legacy set before both him and the Empire. Those beneath him should worship the ground he walks on, while those above are deities whose words are absolute law.

Cal does his best to avoid ever being alone. Despite not being close to anyone, he finds that if others are around he does not have time to think and reflect. As a result, any creeping thoughts of pain and loneliness are easily quashed.

Though the young mage is firm in his belief of all technology being the enemy of all living creatures, he is proud to have been chosen for this special assignment. He will tolerate technology for now.

Skills:

- Swordsmanship
- Medium Armour
- Endurance

Weapons:

- Tome
- Enchanted Sword

Items of Note:

- Horse
- Rucksack
- Scroll encased in enchantment that opens an emergency portal back home
- 2x Mana potion, 2x health potion
- Several days worth of food rations
- Waterskin
- Small sack of gold coins

Abilities:

Alteration
- Burden (Touch, Somatic)
- Shield (Self, Verbal)
- Fire Shield (Self, Verbal)
- Open (Touch, Somatic)

Destruction
- Disintegrate Weapon (Range, Material)
- Fire Damage (Touch, Somatic)
- Shock Damage (Range, Material)
- Drain Fatigue (Touch, Somatic)

Star Wars: The Heretic

Gin'ibak'aosame

---

The Arrival

---

Gin breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the loud crack from his sternum finally giving way. Closing his eyes, the chiss continued, rolling his head around while feeling distinct pops coming from the bones in his neck. The motor powering the drop ramp of the light freighter screeched, cutting his relaxed feeling short and overpowering the sonorous goings on of The Bitter End’s main port. It was a surprising achievement to be sure, especially considering that the docks sat directly under the factories of the city.

Unsurprisingly, however, the engine overheated not a moment later, stopping the ramp in its tracks halfway down from the ground. Gin took a break from stretching to side eye the ship's captain who was standing next to him. The human smiled weakly, taking a single long side step over to the motor and giving it a hard hit with the side of his fist. Without breaking eye contact the captain gave a small, yet forced, chuckle.

“You know how these things go, the Imps don’t like to inspect ships that look like rust buckets.”

Gin pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows and giving a short set of nods in feigned agreement. Another punch and the engine screamed back to life, managing to bring the loading ramp all the way down without further incident. The smuggler slid his way back over to the chiss like a hutt to a banquet, extending out his hand expectedly.

Long gone were the days of people being honoured to have a Jedi passenger; free rides in luxurious ships, entire rooms to themselves, no hassles with crew and so on. Those were the times. Not that anyone from the Order was supposed to enjoy such things but look at where that had gotten them.

We will each be challenged. Our trust... our faith... our friendships. But we must persevere.

Obi-Wan’s final message echoed throughout Gin’s mind as he wondered if the Jedi Master had ever been stuffed in a smuggler’s ship's crawl space before.

A clearing of the captain's throat returned Gin to reality, watching as the human slicked back his greased hair. The chiss smiled back, staring into the smugglers eyes as he clasped the humans shoulder. The former Jedi let out a long breath through his nose before taking in another just as deep, his chest visibly rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern.

The smuggler opened his mouth to talk but his tongue failed him, refusing to utter even a single word. All he could do was cock his head to the side and give a faint look of confusion. Soon his breathing fell in time with Gin’s, as the Sentinel allowed the Force to ebb and flow between them. Like wind passing gently through reeds, he used the Force to venture back behind the captain's eyes. A sense of calm swept over the human as his eyes glazed over, allowing Gin to fill his mind with fog.

“Captain, walk with me a minute would you?” Gin kept his voice low and soft, letting the Force carry it into the smugglers mind.

“Walk with you a minute.” The captain repeated, mimicking Gin’s tone.

Together the two strode down the ramp, Gin continuously beaming a smile to all who walked past while keeping a hold of the humans shoulder. Once formally off the ship, Gin turned the captain to face him once more.

“Now, you don’t really remember seeing me before do you? In fact, you can’t be sure you’ve ever seen a Chiss in person, let alone smuggle one out of Hutt Territory, right?”

The captain nodded slowly as his jaw flopped open. A single strand of drool spilled out from his mouth, falling onto Gin’s boot.

Whoops, a little too much. The chiss thought, holding back a disgusted look.

Slowly, the former Jedi removed his hand from the human’s shoulder, flipping up his hood and bringing his skin tight scarf up from around his neck to cover the lower half of his face. The captain's eyes fluttered to life, raising an eyebrow as he quizzically studied his surroundings, his head whipping back and forth.

“Hey!” Gin shouted, throwing the captain off balance.

“I said, where is the local cantina? Are you deaf or something?”

The captain's eyes snapped to the hooded figure in front of him.

“I… er… it’s over that way.” The smuggler pointed weakly towards a large elevator off to the side of the port, unable to wipe the puzzled look from his face.

“But…”

“Thanks!” Gin cut him off, pushing past the human and blending into the crowd. A knot twisted through his stomach as he glanced back one final time at the bewildered captain. There was a time where such a technique was used to help reveal information about a target, cut through dishonourable liars, help prevent assassinations and bring criminals to justice. Now it was just a cheap trick, employed to hussle an innocent man out of his credits and cover the former Jedi’s tracks.

Well, Gin reasoned, considering what I saw in his mind, he wasn’t all that innocent.

The Force crescendoed in a place like this, reminding Gin of the smuggler’s moon, Nar Shaddaa, or the lower levels of Coruscant, so much life sandwiched tightly into such a small space. Market stalls skirted along the sides of the port, their owners desperately rushing out and attempting to drag customers in for a closer look at their wares. Hulking four legged creatures shuffled carts of goods, grunting and growling their way up and down the loading bay. Buildings hung high above them from the ceiling, ironically imitating stalactites, while layered on top the rumbles of factories and a much larger cityscape could be heard.

Gin ducked and weaved his way through the diverse crowd, zigzagging through at a decent pace. Artfully, he managed to avoid a particularly keen looking quarren gesturing towards his stand before steering back into the bulk of the rabble, dancing around a couple of colossal weequay. Together they flanked a rather regal looking Falleen, shooting harrowing looks at any who dared to step near their boss.

It wasn’t until Gin stopped at the foot of the towering elevator shaft that he noticed his blood was racing. Adrenaline surged through his body causing his breath to shorten to a pant, like a dog hungry for a meal, while the muscles in his limbs screamed at him for action. As the elevator doors opened to trade loads of aliens with the port, Gin couldn’t help but be reminded of his time hunting Callidus in the Unknown Regions.

True, this place was almost as off grid as you could get but the trail had been too easy to pick up. All it had taken was a few credits here and there to some seedy characters, hidden in plain sight in Hutt Space, to find out that Callidus was supposedly here. Really? A man with the might of the Core Worlds bearing down upon him, an entire galactic Empire on the hunt and the secrets of his whereabouts could be found with the scum of the galaxy? No, Gin knew better than to underestimate the former Jedi Master, something was afoot here.

The chiss had gone over this during his time cramped up in the smugglers crawl space and there were only three possibilities he could think of.

One. Pissing off the most powerful being in the galaxy had left Callidus with so few friends that attempting to cover his tracks was near impossible.

Eh, maybe, but least likely.

Two. An acolyte had made a mistake. The Jedi Council had once feared the pull of the Dark Jedi’s teachings and they were right to. Gin had seen it first hand, his followers were fiercely loyal, following Callidus with a religious like fervency. His teachings jacked the acolytes up, winding them so tight that killing and dying for the man came as easy as breathing. But they were also the only fault in his plans, in fact, they were the only reason the chiss had cornered the former Master in the Unknown Regions. If it was a mistake on their part then at the end of this trail there would be a dead body, another lamb led to the slaughter.

Three, and the most likely of the possibilities, this was deliberate. Callidus was really here but it was an intentional ploy. Maybe to recruit more followers, maybe to bring those hunting him out of the dark, who knows, his past plans had been too intricate to bother with guessing.

The elevator jolted as it moved over bumps in the metalwork. Deep under his cloak and clipped to his belt, Gin felt his lightsaber rattle against his backside. The chiss’ fists tightened as a long drawn out breath caught the back of his throat. No, this was the reason, it had to be, and justice for the Order would be served.