Auz

His Son Will Ride a Camel

Tres interested

TES: The Second Great War

The streets of Solitude were bursting at the seams. Soldiers of the Imperial army littered the pavement like grains of sand on a beach while merchants hustled their wears and locals hid in their safe havens. Sifting his way through the maze of men and mer, Edward weaved his way from the inn towards the perfume shop. His decision to reserve a room had in avertedly killed two birds with a single stone, for he had managed to snag one of the two remaining beds in all the city. That, and he was able to wash himself with a bucket from the well. “No sense in trying to find a perfume if all I can smell is myself.” He had reasoned.

The double doors to the shop unlocked with a sonorous gear shift, followed by a long whine as they opened. Inside, the shop had been made from solid stone blocks, awash with dark colours and contrasted by rugs, curtains and linens of warm colours. Candlelight and a fireplace flickered in the last gasps of the wind as the large doors howled shut. “No need for a bell here.” He mused as a middle-aged woman appeared from behind a desk towards the centre of the room.

A Breton, by the look of her, dressed in a simple cotton dress with her brunette hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked tired, exhausted even, as she smiled wearily at Edward. Stomping the mud from his boots, he swept the muck to one side with a single foot. The Squire beamed a smile of his own back, content in having found some semblance of home.

“Hi there, I’m Vivienne of Angeline’s Aromatics. How can I help you?”

The woman’s thick Nordish accent gave the young man a pause in his step as he approached the desk. “Oh… Erm…” he stuttered, attempting to stay on track. “I’m, um, after some perfume.”

“Ah, you too aye?” The shopkeeper chuckled. “Though I assume you don’t want anything from the Ashlands, right?”

“I’m sorry?” he replied, as his face fell further into confusion.

“Nothing,” She giggled, “Don’t worry. Any idea what you’re after?”

Edward’s head swiveled. All manner of potions and ingredients lined the many shelves that encircled the room. There were a few he recognised; restore health, magicka and stamina, even a few bottles for fortifying several different attributes and skills. But perfumes? That was far from his area of expertise. “No, not really. I need something for-”

“For the dinner this evening?” The woman replied, slamming down a rather large book on the table.

“Uh yeah, that’s the one.” Edward approached slowly, curious as to how she knew about the dinner. “Maybe something traditional?”

Vivienne paused, her lips pursing to one side as her head cocked. “I’m not sure if I have anything from High Rock, you lot can be an isolated bunch.” Flipping through a couple of pages, her finger traced down the many names that littered the book.

Edward’s chin reeled in. “You lot?” he said as he took a step back. “Surely you mean us lot?”

Vivienne shrugged, “I suppose so. I dunno. My Aunty, Angeline, brought me all the way from Wayrest when I was a baby, Divines rest her soul. I can’t even remember what High Rock looks like.” Edward could feel his face scrunch up at the mention of his rival city. A motion caught by the shopkeeper. “See, I’m not about that business.” She continued, stifling a laugh while reaching for a bottle off the shelf. “Bretons are so concerned with themselves while there’s a whole world out there.”

Popping the cork on top, Vivienne handed the young man the bottle. “The Nords don’t seem so different.” Edward muttered, taking a whiff of the perfume. “They seem to be just as concerned with themselves. I’m not even sure if they’ll continue to fight once the Thalmor have been driven back.” Pleasantly surprised with the aroma, the Squire gave a raised eyebrow nod of approval, recorking it and handing it back to the shopkeeper.

“That’s different.” She replied curtly, “Skyrim has seen too much of war. You would want the same had you lived through such a thing. The cost of war runs deep, further than most realise. Even if you’re not the one doing the fighting. Every soldier standing out there has friends, family, loved ones. To lose one person causes a rift… one that can drag a lot of people with you.” Staring off into the fireplace, Vivienne became mesmorised by the flickering of the flame, sighing heavily as she wrapped the bottle.

“It is our duty as those in the Light to drive out the Dark.” Edward spoke softly, as if to gently rouse her from her trance. “As difficult as that may be to process, those around us must understand we have an obligation.”

Handing over the bottle to the Squire, Vivienne grimaced, her eyes filled with pity. “Such words are spoken easily before the fight, young one. I pray that your innocence holds.”

Unsure how to reply, Edward returned her sentiment with a kind smile, placing some gold in her outstretched hand. Nodding to each other, the Squire took leave to finish getting ready for the evening’s festivities.

An Antique Land (Science Fantasy RP)

I'm interested

Firefly - Second 'Verse

I'm interested, I love the Firefly universe. Only thing is I can't post more than once per week. Would that be acceptable?

Mass Effect: Vigil

Havana, Cuba

February 7th, 2187

Mid-Morning

The ball bounced off the wall, ricocheting off the rim of a low hanging chandelier and landing in the tips of the Turian’s outstretched fingers. “Hm. Almost got away from me didn’t you?” He thought before flinging it back at the tiled floor of the hotel suite. A souvenir from one of the kids back in the desert, Kysar had departed with some of the useless human paper he’d received as payment for it. A worthy trade, at least in his opinion, as the rhythmic sound of the ball bouncing off the floor and the wall were calming in a way.

Besides, there wasn’t much else to do. He had already fired off a report on their first mission via an encrypted channel to Turian High Command. As expected there was no response, nor was there any updates to his missions, protocoles, parameters, or anything. Life, or more specifically his life, was beginning to grow quiet. Outside, Kysar could hear the hustle and bustle of the city, a slew of emotions returning to the streets. Normalcy was returning in force.

“Good for the humans.” The Turian mused, rubbing his chin. “I wonder if Palaven is doing the same.” His heart sank at the thought. It had been a long time since he thought of home, longer still since he’d thought of the only person on that wretched planet he actually cared about. The rubber squeaked as Kysar squeezed the ball. “Please be alright.”

A communicay pinging through on his omni-tool brought the Sentinel out of his trance. A couple messages had come through earlier noting a few of the others had left the hotel. Many in his new squad had made their way to the beach but Kysar had had enough sand for the time being. These new messages were different though, dossiers for a couple of new members. The Turian kicked up his feet onto the bed, bringing the new profiles up as he lay down.

“Another Human?” He rolled his eyes as he skimmed its contents. “Let’s hope this one lasts a little longer.” Flicking it away, he moved onto the next one, stopping dead on the photo. “Woah!” He said aloud as he sat up, back as straight as a ruler. “What do we have here?” Dropping the ball, the Turian zoomed in before darting back and forth across the file.

“Medic…” he muttered to himself, “Palaven… Taetrus… Doesn’t fire a gun?!” Kysar cocked his head to one side, wondering how that would look like, while at the same time making a mental note to come up with some sort of line around that. “Something about me being all the protection she needs.” Pressing on, he couldn’t help but smile. At least he’d get to have a little fun now, even if that was in the least some teasing and flirting.

When he finally finished, he closed his omni-tool, picking up the ball and laying back down on his bed. Tossing it towards the roof, Kysar allowed his mind to wander, his grin only becoming cheesier the further it went. “Oh yeah, things just took a turn.”

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

I'm interested, making up a character

Auz's Lot

Tak 1

Takaror “Tak” Corr

Pics (Please ignore the tail, it is normal sized)

Full name: Takaror “Tak” Corr

Race: Tank Bred Krogan

Citizenship: True Krogan

Aliases: N/A

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Psych. Eval.:

As with all of the tank breds, Tak was imprinted with the extensive knowledge of the four major subjects to life; linguistics, mathematics, science and social studies. Each of these subjects were then pinned under the umbrella of warfare, with all tank breds being taught how to use each field, and sub-heading of that field, to their advantage in war. The genetics of all tank bred pure Krogans were made to be state of the art, enabling them more control over their base instincts, ensuring better performance under high-stress situations.

As a result, Tak was born, handed a shotgun and dropped straight onto the frontline. Warfare came as easy to him as breathing, cutting through enemy lines alongside his cohort with little trouble. For the first five years the tank bred acted without thought or hesitation, following his orders to the letter. Unlike his naturally born counterparts, Tak fought with no rage, no anger or bloodlust, he was cold, calculating and if need be, ruthless, similar to that of a machine.

It wasn’t until adolescence that Tak had his first real thought. At the age a five, a gnawing began under the plate of his brow. A slow, burning ebbing that was akin to a spark that would light a forest fire, like being born again but spiritually rather than physically. It was an anger and hatred that began to grow inside of him but not of those he faced on the battlefield, no, this was about control.

With each order given to him, every life he took, every world he scarred, that feeling grew. He didn’t fully understand it or where it came from but the feeling was like a virus that spread throughout the tank breds. For Tak, emotion began to swarm his mind, overloading his senses to the point where he began to lag behind when compared to his brothers. Eventually frustration boiled over into an incident on an Asari settled world. An event that would become a catalyst for his future behaviour and something that got him pulled from the front line.

His superiors blamed all of this on Tak’s move into an adolescent stage and a failure to take the Right of Passage. But even now, after the death of Fortlack and the taking of his own Right of Passage, the feelings have not dissipated.

After becoming further disillusioned by his own brethrens political games and ploys, Tak began to research matters of the soul, coming across philosophy and the works of several human philosophers. Slowly he has begun to realise that he has a “monster” inside of him, one that lusts after war and death with an insatiable hunger. He fears that if he feeds that monster, then it will consume him.

Out of fear of what he can do to others, Tak isolates himself, avoiding contact, instead trying to get a hold of his emotions. Any attempts to pry these emotions or deeper thoughts out of him lead to an outburst of frustration and rage. Instead preferring to work through these problems alone, attempting to understand why he is like this and how he can forever kill the monster inside.

The council of Pure Krogan’s either overlook these feelings or are unaware, instead seeing Tak’s value as a warrior. As a result the tank-bred is being lent to those in power as a further extension of their peace ambitions, hoping that his success in the Spectre program will bring them closer to ending the war.

Phys. Eval.:

Tak stands at an imposing 2.75m, amassing 320kg of pure Krogan. He is daunting to look at and inspires fear in most creatures (just as he was bred to), possessing an incredible amount of strength. He was also bred to have much stronger plating, with more of it covering his body then regularly born Krogan.

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 adolesence 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 and perform a biotic charge , Tak 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, the intelligence of Salarians, the martial discipline 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:

One hour was all it took for the tank bred to be thrust onto the front line. Born, handed a shotgun and told to take a hill alongside his freshly, fully formed brethren, Tak was dropped onto a planet he had only dreamed about in the tank. It was a process that would be repeated for the next five years, being dropped into wherever the fighting was the heaviest and turning the tide of the war.

There was no significance in those battles, for every enemy that fell, another fifteen would take their place. For every world they took, another would appear on their strategic map with their superiors salivating at the idea of conquering it. It was monotonous, endless violence where everyone in it fought in a cruel and brutal manner.

Fortlack and the other Rebel clan leaders saw the tank breds as nothing but an edge over their enemies, a strategic gold mine that would see them to glory and victory. As such, there was no line that they wouldn’t make the tank breds cross, slaughtering civilians in person or from space, execution of POWs, mutilation of their enemies, biological warfare, it didn’t matter. For the newborn Krogan, their actions were meaningless, there was no difference between man, woman or child, there was simply the objective as they didn’t know any better.

Tak was no different in the beginning, engulfed in battle he would have no trouble gunning down whatever creature stood in the way of his objective, tearing apart other races limb by limb if need be. Every night he would dream of nothing but more warfare, the imprint of his tank life haunting his subconscious every time he shut his eyes.

Among his squad there was little chatter within those first years. There was no aggression or animosity between them like the naturally born Krogan. Instead they walked around in a kind of zombified state, aware of each other's existence but knowing the acknowledgement of such things was meaningless.

Even now Tak couldn’t tell you what day that all began to change. A feeling in his head began to grow, starting like a headache, something began to gnaw behind his forming plates. It was so subtle at first that the only memory worth remembering was an instance where his squad was preparing for an ambush. There he was, primed to take the first shot, eying down his enemy through the sight of his gun with his finger stroking the trigger ever so delicately, waiting for the precise moment to strike.

But then, right as the order was given, a sharp pain in that spot caused him to miss the shot. He had never missed a shot under those circumstances before, though his team successfully mopped up the enemy squad, the moment resonated with him.

It wasn’t long before he found himself drawn to similar events, questioning superiors orders, slight hesitations when it came to the gunning down of other Krogan and pausing momentarily at the death of his allies. Something began to stir inside his chest, like that feeling behind his plate had grown like a vine, twisting its way down his spine and around his hearts.

That same something began to stir in all tank breds and over time, these anomalies began to grow to the point that Fortlack began to take notice. Older tank bred Krogan began being put forward for almost suicidal runs to stop them from reaching maturity while stepping up production of fresh specimens. Those who survived began to organise meetings in secret, away from the natural borns. The tank breds had grown smart enough to know that they were experiencing an awakening, an adolescence and maturity in which they would be able to form their own identity.

Shaman were created in an unofficial capacity, hidden among the ranks with only the pure and true Krogans having knowledge of who was who. With this newfound sense of identity each tank bred was free to choose a clan of their choice, taking a step forward and coming closer to the realisation of a new destiny.

Still wrestling with these new feelings, Tak sought out a Shaman in his unit. Tak was told of how their superiors had made them fight without honor and this is why they had been given a new awareness. So they could see the truth and through the lies of their superiors, that there would be a new day dawning for the Krogan and the formation of a grand final clan in which the true Krogan would lead.

The Shaman told Tak that in order to rid himself of these feelings, he must fight with honour and in the name of his brothers and sisters, not for Fortlack and his kind.

One day they had been tasked to invade an Asari settled world. Their superiors had deemed the factories and mines of that world to be important enough to launch a full scale invasion, rather than trying to bomb it from orbit. This should have been a routine run for Tak, it wasn’t his first time taking a world the other races called home, they all knew civilian casualties would be high and unavoidable.

Tak and his squad were dropped from orbit in pods into a town at the foot of an eezo mine. The community was etched in between a valley with the Asari fortifying a frontline at the only road into town. Though they had littered AA guns throughout the houses, they weren’t enough to stop the Rebel Clans assault. Tak’s squad (along with other squads) dropped in behind the frontline defences and assaulted them from the rear.

Tak himself was shot off course, flak from an AA gun glanced his pod, sending him crashing through the roof of a hall. As soon as the doors flew off he was set upon by a natural born Krogan, the two rolling around on the floor as screams erupted from all around them. Instinct had kicked in and it wasn’t before Tak gained an upper hand, freeing himself up to grab his combat knife. Just as he went for the killing blow, he was hit by two biotic charges, causing him to fall back on his ass and off the Krogan.

Again, instinctively, Tak reached for his assault rifle, pulling it from his back and taking aim towards whatever had fired the charge. The Krogan on the ground screamed for Tak to stop, holding up his hand and slowly getting to his knees. Behind him were two small Asari’s, children in appearance, their faces soaked in tears. Confused Tak uttered what felt like his first fully formed sentence to anyone outside of the clan. He asked the Krogan why he fought with children, what kind of tactic was this?

The Krogan replied that he was no soldier, this was his family, their mother was defending the front gate but he had left Tuchanka long ago, no longer wishing to be a part of the constant cycle of violence. Tak knew that their mother was dead and said there was no escape for them but the Krogan asked him to help them get out through a secret tunnel in the mines. The Krogan told Tak that he didn’t have to be a part of this, he could make a choice like he once did and that there was more to life than this.

Tak could feel the tearing of his soul as his nature wrestled with itself. He could hear the Shaman’s words, that this Krogan had forgone his honour by leaving his clan but there was more to this, the genophage had taken away their ability to have children but still life had found a way. The Asari were so delicate, how could they love something so brutish? Then there was the innocence in the children's eyes, what was all of this?

Emotions overwhelmed the tank bred, he began to tear apart the kitchen in a fit of rage before aiming a gun at the Krogan on the floor. Tak told him that he was without honour for leaving his kin and as such he would be killed but, in the same vein, his children would be spared and be allowed to leave. The Krogan agreed and asked his children to turn away.

Tak killed the Krogan just as his squad arrived. The other tank breds had slaughtered the defenders at the entrance and were sweeping the town clean, as per orders. Tak explained to his squad what had happened and that their Shaman had spoken to him about honour. The others were unsure what order to disobey, they were each in their own stage of awakening and it was something that manifested individually.

It only took one of the other tank breds to decide that their orders were more important for things to go south. His squad member raised his shotgun at the two little girls and Tak snapped. He tore into his squadmate, screaming for the girls to run and fought a brutal hand to hand fight.

In the end it took 5 tank breds to take Tak down, not knowing if the girls had got away. Luckily for him, the mutiny had occurred. Fortlack and any who stood with him had been killed and a New Pure Krogan council had been formed. Tak’s outburst was put down to him going through adolescence and he was ordered to be taken from the front lines to undertake their newly formed Right of Passage.

He thought all of this would bring him peace but away from the front lines he had become more restless than ever. The Krogan’s words that day had stuck with him, adding to the gnawing feeling in his soul. More than that the new council of Krogan had made Tak a pawn in their own political games, offering him up as a part of their peace proposal. The Shamans' promise of a grand new Clan had begun to ring hollow as Tak saw his older brethren fall into the same patterns of control.

But rebellion had got them nowhere, so Tak hatched a plan. He would play the good soldier, serving the New Council and C-sec to the letter, all the while hatching an escape plan. When the prospect of renewing the Spectre program came up, with the addition of moving out from the immediate thumb of their superiors, Tak jumped at the opportunity. He petitioned the New Council to be their representative, to which they agreed.

Position:

Tak'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.

Recruited:

No

Inventory & Logistics:

Weapon wise Tak has the following in his possession:
- Graal Spike Thrower
- Striker Assault Rifle
- ML-77 Missile Launcher

Armour wise, Tak sports medium armour, allowing him to be more fluid in combat. Together with his natural shell, both layers provide the protection level of heavy armour when it comes to covering his vital organs. Though this leaves some of his joints exposed.

Notoriety:

5/10

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


Misc.:

Tak 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

Auz's Lot

Ollie

Sam ‘Ollie’ Oliver

Name: Sam ‘Ollie’ Oliver

Age: 35
Gender: Male

Appearance: Considered a pretty boy by his colleagues in his younger days, Ollie has matured into a gruff gentleman kind of look. His hair is dark brown, medium in length on top, swept to the back and shortly shaved on the sides. He sports a thick moustache with 5 o’clock shadow over his strong jawline. Facially he has prominent cheekbones with slightly gaunt cheeks and deep ocean blue eyes.

Standing at 6’1, the man is in decent athletic shape, still able to run down younger perps with relative ease. He weighs a healthy 85 kilograms and somehow has managed to maintain a decent diet all these years despite his personal struggles.

After suddenly being transported to New Atlantis, Ollie’s right arm has become seemingly infected. From his right hand to just below his elbow, that part of his arm has turned black with cracks that run through it. The cracks reveal a fiery glow that emanates from within, giving off warmth but not enough to burn when calm, the same can’t be said if he becomes angry. His fingers have become slightly longer and have morphed into more of a claw or talon.

Over time and with use of his magical abilities this ‘infection’ will spread ending up looking like this.

Currently it looks like this


Personality: As a boy Ollie’s mother used to say he was so loving and caring, always happy and spreading joy wherever he went. A tough and strenuous adolescence changed that, life began to harden his personality, forcing Ollie to set aside his weak emotions, instead becoming cold and calculating.

With his career, things became more morbid, forcing him to bury his emotions even further down inside. The only emotion that ever really appeared was rage, venting out in short bursts of anger, though that was and is rare. Most of the time he learned to use his numb ability to his advantage in the workplace, though it did remove him from being able to connect deeply with others and made him more robotic. He is aware of all this though, and does try to hide it behind comedy, he does enjoy making himself laugh and is often quick witted and dry in his humour.

Deep down he still has an eternal struggle between who he was born as, a good and kind nature, versus his nurtured cold and emotionless monster.

Backstory: Growing up, life was never easy for the Oliver family, after a nasty accident at work Sam’s father was left with major back problems, leaving him unfit for most jobs. In order to cope with this and the added financial stress, the man turned to alcoholism, losing himself to the drink. Unable to cope with the abuse and anger that came with addiction, Sam’s mother became distant and numb, barely ever leaving her room or even acknowledging anyone else.

Sam himself was left to care for his younger brother, John, who was 10 years his junior. At only 3 years old the boy needed round the clock care, so Sam brought John to their grandmothers and set out into the world looking for a job. Living in a poor neighbourhood the place was wracked with crime and a job, especially one for a 13 year old boy, was impossible to find. So it wasn’t long before Sam fell in with a bad crowd.

Those in charge used the adolescent to peddle drugs, either running them from location to location or selling them outright on the corner. Sam made good enough money doing this to provide for his family but it took an emotional toll on him. There was no love in gang life, anyone considered to be weak was instantly preyed upon by others, often getting them chastised to the point of breaking down or even putting them in hospital through physical violence. Sam was forced to master his environment, forcing himself to become numb; he integrated himself deeper into the gangs ranks.

It wasn’t long before things became even more hostile when an opposing faction moved in on their territory. Events snowballed as retaliation begat retaliation, leaving all sides blind. Those who Sam had grown up with began to drop like flies and he knew it wasn’t long before someone would come for him or his family too. Knowing there was only one way to protect the only thing he had ever cared about, Sam abandoned his family and old life behind, hoping those still left around would see that he had no real connection to his brother and would therefore leave him alone.

Using what little money he had left, Sam moved to the other side of the country, finding himself in another downtrodden city. Not wanting to repeat the same mistakes of his past, the young man applied for the police academy. Six months later he was working the streets and it wasn’t long before he was progressing up the ranks. Sam used his experiences as a troubled youth to his advantage, being able to pick up on crimes a lot easier than others and coaching others in the way that drug gangs worked. After two years he was offered a job as a detective and he began to hone these skills.

Though Sam had progressed, his past still troubled him, suffering from insomnia due to nightmares in the form of deep seeded guilt. After a string of failed personal relationships, Sam felt enough time may have passed to try and make contact with his family again. He called his grandmother only to find that his brother was missing. Their money had long run out and John had opted to provide for the whole family by taking up a job in New Atlantis just before the island cut itself off from the world.

Taking a leave of absence from work, Sam travelled home for the first time in over a decade. He sifted through his brother's things and put the pieces of the case together. He could only find small bits of evidence from the things left behind, with his biggest clue coming from John’s journal, referencing a mysterious man offering some sort of job. Who was this man and what was the job? Sam couldn’t find the answers and every official channel he explored was just a dead end after dead end.

That was until she appeared.

Skills:

Problem solving
Critical thinking
Communication
Attention to detail
Keen understanding of human behavior and psychology.
Ok computer and technology skills
Basic hand to hand skills
Decent small firearms knowledge

Items of Note:

SIG Sauer P320 9mm
Two additional ammo clips
John’s journal (small pocket sized notebook)
Mobile phone

Abilities: Due to his detective skills, Ollie’s sixth sense is really prominent, often able to help him find clues in the area and react quickly when there is magic involved.

As mentioned above, the ‘infected area’ that is his right arm, is imbued with the elemental power of fire and earth. Using his pistol as a conduit for the magic, he is able to shoot hot, metallic magma rounds at enemies with the actual gun itself changing in appearance to look like an extension of his right arm. The magma slugs burst open after penetration for maximum damage both on the outside and inside of a target. When returning it to its holster or handing it off to his left hand, the gun goes back to a regular shape and look.

As Ollie uses magic, the blackened area grows similar to a virus (hence why it’s referred to as an infection) as well as in moments of anger. The actual area also appears to have a mind of its own, physically manifesting itself for Ollie, appearing as his brother John. In reality the magic is just a manifestation of his fractured personality (with his negative traits inhabiting the magical area) and will only appear for Ollie to see.

The arm itself also doubles as a defensive ability, fusing to metal or rock on touch (not in an instant but given enough time) and imbuing the object with magic. Ollie is able to defend himself from the magic of others using the object as a shield. In terms of close quarter offensive ability, the arm (and whatever part of Ollie the infection has spread to) has superhuman strength, there is no magical ability other than this though.

Finally the arm can possess others of his own power level, or beneath, on touch. If the target is unwilling and of the same power level, then it only acts as a debuff, inhibiting the target's magic ability to a degree or temporarily restricting movement. If the unwilling target is a much lower power level, the level of control is greater. The greater a target's magic resistance, the more difficult the possession or control of the target is.

If the target is willing (an ally for example) then the powers of Ollie can be used to some degree (they gain its strength and toughness) but the willing target will be affected by their own negative emotions in the same way, i.e manifesting a “dark” version of themselves only they can see. If a willing target also has magic resistant abilities, this will also make possession difficult, thereby lessening the effect of the magic.

Possession can also work on inanimate objects, though only in relation to the elemental base of fire and earth. For instance, a pile of rocks could become a golem, or a flame atronach could be conjured from fire. Again this would be affected by Ollie’s negative emotions, with the creature taking on that “dark” persona and lasting for as long as Ollie can manage it.

When touched, the ‘infection’ will spread over a small area the same in appearance as Ollie, making it noticeable on the target (friend or foe).

Melee: 10
Ranged: 16

Focus: 15
Spread: 2

Burst: 10
Sustain: 10

Force: 5
Finesse: 10

Defense: 15
Agility: 2

Support: 10
Sabotage: 15

Auz's Lot

Gin

Gin

Name: Gin'ibak'aosame
Species: Chiss
Sex: Male

Profession: Gray Jedi, Jedi Sentinel/Investigator

Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Finishing the final job given to him by the Jedi Order, pursue Callidus to know if he has truly fallen to the Dark Side and if so, bring him to justice.

Looks

Personality Description:

During his younger days in the Order, Gin was always a bit of a larrikin, rebelling against his teachers in small, yet annoying ways. There was one master, however, whose teachings always resonated with the Chiss. What began out of a childlike fascination of a shared similarity in name, Qui-gon quickly became an idol for the young boy as Gin took a serious fascination with his work, including the masters criticisms of the order.

The young Chiss had always understood why he was offered up by his parents to the Jedi for having ‘the Sight’, but did find himself at times missing being among those who resembled him. As such he spent a lot of time alone, choosing instead to tinker with his lightsaber and hone his force awareness skills.

As with most beings in the universe, the transition into adulthood was both abrupt and filled with hardships. Major heartbreak and the devastating loss of the Jedi Order has left Gin reeling and in pain. He has lost sight of the teachings of the Jedi, seeing the flaws in their ways as the reason for their ultimate destruction. Though to say he has fallen to the Dark Side would not be true. Instead he seeks balance, he is angry about the injustice done to the Order, he is passionate for his former lover and he seeks to do right in the galaxy, which has since become a cold and cruel place. Gin’s strong sense of duty is now what drives him, to finish what he started and find balance in the process.

With the title of Jedi Sentinel/Investigator, Gin also possesses the skills and knowledge of problem solving, critical thinking, attention to detail, keen understanding of sapient species behaviour and psychology and excellent tracking abilities. The majority of his force powers have been sharpened to exacerbate this.

Character Bio:

In the closing days of the Republic, hearsay snaked its way through the Order with word that Jedi Master Valens Sarethi was in fact alive. Impossible, the council was quick to dismiss such rumours as nothing but whispers in the dark, firmly believing that such nonsense would dissipate in the shadow of galactic war. They should’ve known better than to underestimate their former colleague as theories began to spread like wildfire in the Temple of Coruscant, with each iteration getting wilder and wilder. First he was a fallen Jedi who went by the name of Callidus, then a Sith Acolyte, then a Sith Lord and finally a Sith Lord, Darth Callidus, who was drawing up a new Order.

Preposterous, the Force did not echo with such darkness and so the council held true to their belief, until the theft of the Jedi Temple’s Vault. What was taken is still unknown to this day but the act was so blatant and audacious that it forced the Master's hand.

As such Jedi Shadow Ashuvehe was assigned a new, fresh faced Padawan, Gin'ibak'aosame and both were tasked with following Callidus into the Unknown Regions of the galaxy. Gin was chosen for both his emerging abilities as a Sentinel and Investigator, and the fact that Chiss were quite a common site in the Unknown Regions. Ashuvehe, a Mirialan, was a well renowned agent of the Jedi Shadow arm of the Order, despite being quite young herself, leaving the council quite confident in their ability to find the wayward Jedi.

Venturing into the unknown, the two quickly formed a bond with their skills as Jedi meshing together seamlessly. As their time pursuing Callidus went on, Gin and Ash slowly became infatuated with one another. With them being so far out from the Order and away from its strict teachings, love quickly blossomed. Gin was quick to stray, pointing out the flaws in their doctrines, while Ash was torn between the two, fearing that their love would lead to the Dark Side.

Despite the confusion, the two still remained effective in their pursuit, cornering Callidus on an urban world in the Unknown Region. They had narrowed down his location to a city on the planet's surface and were preparing for apprehension when a message from the order came through. The Masters had grown more desperate, sensing that a critical moment in the war was approaching and they needed all hands on deck to finish the fight. Ash was asked for an evaluation of Gin’s skills, if he was ready to become a Knight, then she would have to return to known space, while the Chiss would be ordered to follow Callidus but not to engage him. Once this critical moment had passed, Ash would return and together they would confront Callidus.

Gin protested this, saying that if they moved quickly, they could capture Callidus and return together. Ash was much more hesitant, telling Gin she could not disobey direct orders and that even if they returned together, this would mean they could no longer be a couple. The young Chiss raged at the notion and upended their room, cursing the Order. Ash’s fears had been realised, seeing that the Dark Side’s influence had begun to grow as a result of their love. In the middle of the night she left, leaving a small message as to why and stating that another Jedi would return to capture Callidus. She begged Gin not to follow her and keep to their teachings but also said she would always hold a special place in her heart for him.

Gin, though heartbroken, did as commanded. It was only when a massive disturbance among the force was felt, as well as Ash being in pain, that Gin abandoned his post. Returning to known space, the young Chiss quickly learned that the order had been destroyed, receiving the message from Obi-Wan to hide and survive. Gin attempted to look for Ash but the destruction of the Republic and the ruthless nature of the Empire left little evidence of any sort of trail.

Accepting defeat, Gin did as he was asked, hiding on backwater worlds and surviving by any means necessary. All until the rumours of Callidus’s infamy surfaced once again, once again he had stolen something of value but from the Emperor himself. Gin wasted no time in taking up pursuit once more, hopeful that if Ash was still alive, she would do the same but also seeking redemption in the eyes of his dead brothers and sisters.

A hologram projected snapshot of Ashuvehe

Auz's Lot

Tak 2

Tak 2

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