Auz

Sk8te: A Dystopian Cyberpunk Rp

Interested

Star Wars: Aeons

Tyrsam “Tyr” Musarna

Name: Tyrsam “Tyr” Musarna

Age:

30

Species:

Human

Occupation:

Smuggler

Homeworld:

Dandoran, a lush and watery planet found in what was formerly Hutt Space.

Appearance:

Aside from what you see, Tyr holds himself high in a smug self-esteem. Slick, armed with a silver tongue as well as sarcastic quips, he idolises the smugglers of years gone, hoping to emulate them from head to toe. He walks straight backed at a stock-standard size of 5'11, with the posture and poise of a ballerina, sure footed in every step.

The man also loves his fashion, spending an obscene amount of time carving out a dashing appearance, with the latest in clothing to match.

Equipment:

Weapons: Shotgun, combat knife, pistol
Utilities: Tinkerers tools (small tool kit for minor mechanic/robotic adjustments), creds, ship-holo interface chip (installed in his head), wrist mounted scanner and AI linked lockpick
Other: Smokes and flask (whiskey)

Bio:

Born on Dandoran, Tyr’s mother died during childbirth in a Cartel den that lacked any sort of medical facility. His father, an unknown and faceless member of the gang, set the boy to work in the hideout's hangar bay from almost as soon as he could walk.

Though lush and beautiful, the planet's population was nothing but a seedy underbelly of pirates, cartels and other unsightly underworld figures. When Hutt Space fractured, the planet was thrown into disarray, with any idiot with a gun looking to rule. Cartels constantly fought each other and themselves, with most dissolving and reforming so often that their names became meaningless. Tyr’s father was killed during the conflict sometime during his early adolescence, leaving the boy to fend for himself.

Tyr offered services repairing droids and ships, making a small living for himself all the while building his very own programs. Though he had an affinity for dealing with hardware, it was always the software that interested him. For the life of him, Tyr could never understand why they crammed such intelligent programming into clunky, slow moving robots. Fear, was what he surmised, fear of what AI could truly achieve if given a more form free existence.

Eventually, a loose form of stability came to the planet by the way of Lando’s Privateers, a swanky and well dressed bunch who had let their virtuous sides get the better of them. With work drying up, Tyr being of age and things ‘becoming dreadfully boring’, the now young man, *ahem*, commandeered a ship by installing an AI program and sought off to become a smuggler in his own right.

Keeping his AI program a secret, Tyr managed to edge ahead of his competitors building a decent amount of notoriety, something his father never achieved. Nowadays he has become somewhat known in the region and while he isn’t a part of Lando’s Privateers, he is friendly with them.

With a mountain of tech being uncovered in the unknown region from the Starkiller Base, Tyr is on his way to meet with a new contact interested in selling pieces on the black market.

Powers and Abilities:

Tyr is an outlaw, a gunslinger with quick hands and an even faster triggerfinger. He’s also a robotics expert having worked on them since his childhood and a decent ship mechanic. Having spent so much time among his robot companions, he speaks droid and common.

But the man’s strongest ability is his AI run ship. Personally linked to him thanks to a chip in his head, he’s able to navigate sticky situations a lot easier than other regular humans. The ship does have a back-up droid it can deploy, however it’s not a combat model and serves only to be moved to another ship if necessary.

Tyr's Current Ship

Star Wars: Aeons

Tyrsam “Tyr” Musarna

Name: Tyrsam “Tyr” Musarna

Age:

30

Species:

Human

Occupation:

Smuggler

Homeworld:

Dandoran, a lush and watery planet found in what was formerly Hutt Space. (Real Place in Star Wars)

Appearance:

Aside from what you see, Tyr holds himself high in a smug self-esteem. Slick and armed with a silver tongue as well as sarcastic quips, he idolises the smugglers of years gone, hoping to emulate them from head to toe. He walks straight backed, with the posture and poise of a ballerina, sure footed in every step.

The man also loves his fashion, spending an obscene amount of time carving out a dashing appearance, with the latest in clothing to match.

Equipment:

Weapons: Shotgun, combat knife, pistol
Utilities: Tinkerers tools (small tool kit for minor mechanic/robotic adjustments), creds, ship-holo interface chip (installed in his head) and AI linked lockpick
Other: Smokes and flask (whiskey)

Bio:

Born on Dandoran, Tyr’s mother died during childbirth in a Cartel den that lacked any sort of medical facility. His father, an unknown and faceless member of the gang, set the boy to work in the hideout's hangar bay from almost as soon as he could walk.

Though lush and beautiful, the planet's population was nothing but a seedy underbelly of pirates, cartels and other unsightly underworld figures. When Hutt Space fractured, the planet was thrown into disarray, with any idiot with a gun looking to rule. Cartels constantly fought each other and themselves, with most dissolving and reforming so often that their names became meaningless. Tyr’s father was killed during the conflict sometime during his early adolescence, leaving the boy to fend for himself.

Tyr offered services repairing droids and ships, making a small living for himself all the while building his very own programs. Though he had an affinity for dealing with hardware, it was always the software that interested him. For the life of him, Tyr could never understand why they crammed such intelligent programming into clunky, slow moving robots. Fear, was what he surmised, fear of what AI could truly achieve if given a more form free existence.

Eventually, a loose form of stability came to the planet by the way of Lando’s Privateers, a swanky and well dressed bunch who had let their virtuous sides get the better of them. With work drying up, Tyr being of age and things ‘becoming dreadfully boring’, the now young man, *ahem*, commandeered a ship by installing an AI program and sought off to become a smuggler in his own right.

Keeping his AI program a secret, Tyr managed to edge ahead of his competitors building a decent amount of notoriety, something his father never achieved. Nowadays he has become somewhat known in the region and while he isn’t a part of Lando’s Privateers, he is friendly with them.

With a mountain of tech being uncovered in the unknown region from the Starkiller Base, Tyr is on his way to meet with a new contact interested in selling pieces on the black market.

Powers and Abilities:

Tyr is an outlaw, a gunslinger with quick hands and an even faster triggerfinger. He’s also a robotics expert having worked on them since his childhood and a decent ship mechanic. Having spent so much time among his robot companions, he speaks droid and common.

But the man’s strongest ability is his AI run ship. Personally linked to him thanks to a chip in his head, he’s able to navigate sticky situations a lot easier than other regular humans. The ship does have a back-up droid it can deploy, however it’s not a combat model and serves only to be moved to another ship if necessary.

Tyr's Current Ship

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