DJAtomika

Us, Redux

Made another post on the Google Doc.

Lone Star (Sci-Fi/Space Exploration/Criminal) - Party Full

"Doc, you're needed here!"

@Bonjour xx

"On my way!"

Ignoring the relative havoc that was going on within the docking bay, he rushed to Marga and Farvis' side. His hand found the release of the force field helmet and tapped it, opening up the man's face to the elements, well, all the elements that were in the room anyway. He barely had time to register Hundred careening past the closing door, crashing into Mez and upsetting everything else, but then there she was, sealing up the door to give them breathable air, or at least a semblance of one. The ship's emergency lighting chose that moment to restore itself, though he knew not how, and he had more light than just his visor's light. He flipped the faceplate of his armour up with a flick of his chin and gave the poor man a once over. His face was covered in blood, so was the inside of his visor, his breathing was ragged but steady, but his optics would have to provide him with a better view. As he reached behind him to grab a hand into his back rig, he gave his optics their next command.

"Optics, x-ray, scan for severe injuries and highlight immediately."

His groping hand found a small tube and he pulled it right out immediately. The translucent green fluid within vibrated gently as the vial settled in his hand while he slowly swept his optics over Farvis' battered body. Even without the help of his tech, he saw the mighty large gash that had torn its way across the man's face, diagonally across and to the left. Thankfully whatever had caused him the damage had missed his eyes; even with his medical supplies he couldn't regrow those here. He popped the top of the vial and poured a small amount of the cool green gel along the gash. The antiseptics in the compound acted immediately, producing a slight buzzing, painful sensation that almost immediately dulled as the analgesics within the gel next took their effect; the gel warmed up and began to melt, flowing into the wound and being absorbed by Farvis' exposed dermis and tissue underneath. As the medigel continued its healing effects, Simon kept his hand still and gentle on the man's face, his eyes shut tight, and if one were to lean in closely, they could hear him muttering, under his breath, the below statement extremely quietly, repeating itself over and over again.

"A spiritibus supra omnia curare et absolvat hunc dolorem."

The flesh underneath his hand would, almost as if by magic, slowly stitch itself and seal back together. The gash, after all, was a minor injury, merely a flesh wound, and the medigel's rapid healing capabilities could handle that no sweat. It was the other injuries that concerned him more, and shortly his system would have the answer to that. After he'd treated Farvis he would return his attention to the matter of the ship and the rest of their unlikely team.

Music Legends

Why thank you. This is kinda like the way I envisioned my original idea to be, except I couldn't pull it off as well as you could. XD

Music Legends

I have a suggestion for the name of the world. I take it from the notes I've been writing on my own musical fantasy world.

Caesura.

Latin for 'a brief pause'.

And I'd like to be the co-GM. I could share lots of my notes with you.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Nice post, Shien.

DJ's Character Compendium

Samuel Williams - VIGILANCE: Memento Mori

---

"Ever flip a coin and had it land on its side?"

| NAME(S): |

Samuel 'Sam' Williams

| ALIAS(ES): |

Trigger, Outlaw

| D.O.B.: |

14th March, 1977

| AGE: |

37

| SEX: |

Male

| SEXUALITY: |

Straight.

| APPEARANCE: |

Standing at a nice 6' 2", with nice, wide shoulders and a physique fitting of a country boy like himself, Sam is a good enough representation of someone that lived down South, way down in America, and he looks the part too, with a glorious looking mustache and crags in his face that rival the Grand Canyon. Despite his appearance, he is of a good heart and nature, and will naturally go out of his way to help others.

His regular look is a simple collared shirt with the sleeves either rolled up or not, blue denim jeans, a leather belt, either leather cowboy boots or shoes, and a nice cowboy hat. Sometimes he wears a simple jacket or cardigan over his shirt.

| H-CLASS: |

Fortuna

| ABILITIES: |

Sam is able to manipulate probability itself, being able to directly influence the outcomes of any situation he is in or sets eyes on by merely imagining the final result and watching it come to life before his very eyes. This has a very wide variety of applications, which are elaborated on below, and extends to many different things. For instance, if presented with an impending car accident where a car is about to hit a lady, Sam is able to, by changing the numbers and probabilities inherent in the millions to billions of microevents occuring at that moment, make it so that the car misses the lady, or that the driver is suddenly able to regain control, or even something else happening that prevents the lady from being hit.

| LIMITATIONS: |

• He is only able to directly influence what is visible to him. So, let's say someone throws something at the back of his head from behind him, he won't be able to prevent that object from hitting him by manipulating probabilities. Anything in his visual field is fair game, anything that isn't is a crapshoot.
• Without the added power of Future Sight, using his probability manipulation is only useful in short-term situations, like spur-of-the-moment decisions and such. He is not able to foresee a dramatic chain of events that he is able to set off by changing a certain probability or look into the future of someone and change the probabilities of things happening to them to influence and change their destiny.

| WEAKNESSES: |

• He is only human, after all, and requires the regular human things to live and survive and so on, along with all the weaknesses of the flesh.
• His powers do not bestow added strength or stamina or endurance, and even with his training as a fast shooter and a marksman, he is still no more than a highly trained person, not even superhuman save for his powers.
• His probability powers eat up a fair chunk of his stamina when he uses them, especially for extended periods of time. Thus, he keeps himself energised by way of either caffeine or sugar, not so much that he's dependent on it, but if and only if he needs to.

| APPLICATIONS: |

• Making impossible shots with his guns.
• Directly influencing the environment around him to go the way he wants it.
• Calculated defense against threats by neutralising them before they even initiate an attack.
• Influencing the probabilities that a given situation will result in a certain outcome, either good for him or bad for whoever's against him.
• Being able to tell the probabilities of a situation already in motion (eg. a lottery draw or a coin toss) and to directly change them.

| SKILLS: |

• Trick Shooter - Having honed himself in the delicate art of trick shooting, Sam is trained and very proficient in making improbable shots, mostly just-for-fun things like shooting coins in midair or fine accuracy on tiny targets, but it has taught him how to fire at moving objects efficiently and accurately, which leads to...
• Marksman - Sam has taught himself how to be accurate with a small variety of weapons, which sets him above the average Joe, but not as accurate as proper military-trained shooters. He's just good enough.
• Quickdraw - As part of his skillset in trick shooting, he has taught himself how to draw his sidearm really, really fast. Though it's not Mercury-level fast, it's still faster than your average Joe.
• Keen Eye - Paying attention to his surroundings was always something he did, and it shows too, with him naturally being able to pick out what distant objects are even though he can't identify details.

| EQUIPMENT: |

• Sam owns a pair of guns, Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 revolvers. These are his life and soul, and were the mainstays of his act and job as a trick shooter. The guns have small names engraved on the sides of their barrels, one reads 'Carl' and the other 'Bessy'. He does not carry them around with him, but they are displayed in a glass case on the wall behind and above the counter of his shop.
• Sam also carries around a small tin of marbles wherever he goes. Flicking these with a good arm and fingers does indeed hurt people, and with his probability powers they have proved quite useful in indirectly influencing things to happen in favourable ways.
• Sam also owns a beagle he calls 'Casey'. It sports a neat brown leather collar with a single tag with its name on it, and is a young female beagle in the prime of her life.
• Lastly, Sam owns a very nice hat. There are many others like it but this one is his. Do not touch.

| BACKSTORY: |

Sam was born to Keith and Suzanne Williams, and was the youngest of three siblings, with an elder brother named Robert and a sister the same age as he called Eileen. The Williams were ranchers by trade. They owned a farm just outside the small town of Corbin, Kentucky, and spent their days growing wheat and corn, along with the usual mainstays of livestock like cows and chickens. Life on the farm was simple enough, the Williams siblings' hobbies were music, tending to the animals and going horseriding around the farm and surrounding countryside. Of course, being in the country and owning livestock meant that they also had to keep their share of firearms to ward off unwanted intruders like foxes. Young Samuel took to his father's habits of shooting old tin cans on their pasture fence and soon became a regular shot, spending free time unloading round after round onto old cans, plastic bottles and cardboard boxes. He kept the hobby well into young adulthood, even though his main job then was to take care of the farm in his parents' old age. He purchased a rifle and practiced with it, eventually being able to shoot apples off the trees in their small orchard, though the apples became apple juice when he shot them.

Now you might be wondering how he got his powers. The answer's simple: they developed when he was a child, and worked unconsciously through his youth and into adulthood. The only thing that Sam knew about himself was that he was just incredibly lucky when he wanted to do something impossible for a man of his skill level. Flick a coin in the air and shoot it? 'No problem', said his mind, and 'lemme help you with that' said his powers. Okay, but taking the same coin (now with hole in it) and shoot it again, putting the bullet through the exact same hole? 'Impossible' said his mind, but his powers said 'everything's possible if you believe oh and I can make it happen so there'. The only time when he realised that something was quite amiss about himself was when he began pulling off these sort of stunts regularly, and with enough "skill" to warrant some notice by the media. When questioned by an intrepid reporter, he merely responded with "I guess it's a whole lotta luck," but questions ran circles in his mind until he decided to test them. Setting up an experiment, Sam performed the feat of shooting a bottlecap off a glass bottle, something that would normally be impossible to do without breaking the bottle itself. Then he realised that he didn't just have a talent or a knack at making impossible shots, he actually had the power to make the impossible...possible. With further testing came further realisation that not only could he influence himself, he could influence others too.

This was enough to make him rethink his life choices. Though his family was getting by on the farm, Sam saw promise with his gift. He left, promising that one day he'd return with a fortune, and moved into Louisville, where he touted his gunplay skills at carnivals and contests, challenging other marksman to nearly impossible feats and gaining glory when he succeeded. For a while, life was good. He regularly sent money back to his family at the farm, money that he won by winning (read: cheating at) shooting contests and other accuracy competitions, and was even touted as the most accurate man in Kentucky. Alas, his luck was not to hold out, as not even he could have predicted the rise of the so-called "Hyperhumans", and he was almost immediately outed as one. Not one to falter in the face of despair, Sam gave up on his dreams but instead went into the more simple business of firearm repair and servicing. Once a lofty shooter, now reduced to a businessman, he didn't have the face or the guts to go back to his family, a feeling that influenced his decision to move to Canada. He set up his own small business in Toronto, his feats unheard of, but he regularly went to a local gun club for the socialising and to relive his glory days. Sometimes he would go to the countryside just outside the city to partake in more dangerous stunts just to keep his skills sharp, but otherwise Samuel Williams was now nothing more than a washed up old gun.

Still, being as helpful as he was, the powers he was given did still have some use. He regularly helped neighbours with chores or other things, like packing or moving, and with proper use of his powers (obviously kept under wraps so as not to freak out anyone), he made processes efficient and slyly helped other folks in their endeavours, all the while tending to his store and being one of those nice, middle-aged men that smiles at you on the street and chats with you about the weather while waiting to cross the street, a life he is happy to enjoy for the rest of his days.

| SAMPLE POST: |

7 A.M. Normally a time when people would be sleeping. However, for Sam, it was the start of his day. Business at his store didn't start until eleven, but he valued being an early riser and being prepared early. So it was off for an early jog, followed by bagels at the local cafe, where he would regularly relax until ten thirty, at which he'd take a stroll back to the shop, shower and freshen up, then open it for business at eleven on the nose. Today wasn't an irregular day, and he proceeded on his little schedule at his own pace. As he jogged, however, he kept an eye out for anything...weird, or bad. You could never know, what with the recent increase in the number of "Hypes" out there, coupled with the regular irregularities whose probabilites contributed to an interruption to a routine. Who knows, today might be the day a Hype used his (or her) powers for bad and caused some chaos in the neighbourhood. But it was highly unlikely. Sam knew the numbers. He always did.

His jogging route took him around the block, as usual, and right past the cafe he ate breakfast at, as usual. The sweet young lady that swept the front doorstep and brewed the coffee smiled and waved at him and he returned the gesture.

"Morning, mister Williams!"

"And g'morning t'you to, young lady!"

He smiled to himself as he kept on. She had a bright future ahead of her, this he could tell even though he couldn't predict it.

Probably.

Rounding the final corner to end his jog, Samuel turned his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him. Same as always, as usual. There was old Mrs. Nelson hobbling towards the park to feed the pidgeons like she always did. Same patrol car coming down the street towards him with the same two officers in it, one of whom waved a greeting that he returned in kind, as usual. The weather was bracing cold, as usual for a morning that early, one he knew that would turn warmer as the day went by. Everything as usual, just the way he liked it.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Something wasn't right.

The scream that suddenly emanated from the alleyway in front of him confirmed his suspicions.

Oh this wasn't his usual day at all. What were the chances? Slim, actually.

Sam ran ahead to the entrance to the alleyway and collided head-first with a young man that was running out, a leather purse grasped tightly in his hand as he shook off the impact and ran away. The poor middle-aged lady, one he recognised as the accountant who always woke up early for breakfast like he did, staggered to her feet and hobbled out of the alley, gibbering and wailing.

"That horrid young man took my purse! Someone stop him! Thief! Police! Anyone!"

He knew that the patrol car behind him was just rounding the corner and disappearing out of sight. He had to do something.

Then he remembered.

His hand dived into the pocket of his track pants and pulled out the tin of mints he always carried around. With a thumb he popped open the top and shook several out onto his palm. Then he broke into a run to chase after the young punk that had so interrupted his routine. That was the easy part, within seconds he had the youth in sight, the strap of the purse flapping about in the wind as he ran, presumably to someplace safe. Now for the hard part. Taking into account the speed at which they were running, Sam looked for something he could exploit, something in the environment that would stop the young punk from running.

Something like a trash can. An innocent green bin (one of those plastic deals with wheels on them) sat on the curb in front of an apartment building, one they were getting really close to. He needed a plan.

There, an idea.

With mints in hand, Sam aimed right for the bin and flung them ahead of the young runner, adjusting the probability that they'd impact the bin on its side to maximum. Of course they'd hit, it was like throwing gravel at the side of a barn. Once the mints clattered against the side of the bin, he then adjusted the probability of one of the bin's wheels giving way under the minute strain to extremely probable, which is exactly what happened. A plastic wheel popped free of its slot and the bin, overburdened and unbalanced, toppled over right into the youth's path, causing him to run straight into it and crash head-over-heels into the sidewalk. He deftly hopped over the fallen bin and straddled the young man's back, sitting on him and pinning his arms in place as he took back the stolen purse. Then, as the rush of what just happened caught up with him, he heard distant sirens. The lady called the cops. He could relax, thank goodness. All in all, a plan well executed, and just in time too! He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, a poignant reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be, and so he popped two mints and waited for the cops to show up.

A fine start to the day. Hopefully he wouldn't have to deal with that sort of thing any time soon. Which was unlikely, since he himself knew the numbers. It wouldn't happen again, not for a long, long time.

As usual.

| NOTES: |

• Regularly keeps a roll of sweets or a small box of mint candies to keep his energy levels up.
• Root beer, he loves it. And so do I.

DJ's Character Compendium

Two-Step

"You may have swag, but I've got swing."

Vitals

Name: Jonathan "Johnny Two-Step" Clarke Gable

Title: Maestro

Age: 29

Sex: Male

Date of birth: 26th July, 1986

Lineage: -

Class/Major: Pugilist

Class/Minor: Mage

Occupation: Wandering Pugilist

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Marital Status: Single

Birthplace: Basin, Caesura

Blood Type: A+

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 6' 4"

Weight: 166 lbs

Hair Color/Style: Short brown hair, well kept in a left side parting.

General Appearance: A lean, lanky individual, Jonathan is also impeccably dressed at every occasion he can afford to. His main dress is a navy blue suit ensemble, consisting of a navy blue suit jacket with thin white pinstripes, a darker navy inner waistcoat, a stark white cuffed shirt and a navy blue tie, along with slacks and his signature black leather tap-dancing shoes. He also sports plain white dress gloves and a simple, thin watch on his right wrist, and a nice, blue fedora with a white band around the body of the hat.

Skin Tone/Condition: Normal Caucasian skin tone, slightly tan.

Markings: -

Combat Stats

Dominant Hand: Right

Equipment:

-Upper Body: -

-Lower Body: -

Weapons

• Basin Street - A pair of tap-dancing shoes fortified with specially enchanted metal plates on the toes, soles and heels. The shoes are always paired with a pair of white, cotton socks that are also enchanted with magic. The spells on the shoes grant Johnny's legs with the powers of speed and air manipulation, also known as sound. The spells on the socks are strengthening spells that grant his legs, feet and hips with enhanced endurance and strength to accompany the power of his shoes.
  
  Johnny fights using a style comprised of a few things, that was taught to him by the masters of old in his home city of Basin. This fighting style mainly uses the feet, with the addition of the hands as pivot points or supports, similar to that of the Brazilian martial art Capoeira. However, the main difference is that this style also incorporates many elements of Tae Kwon Do in it, specifically the many low to high standing and crouching kicks, along with the intricate footwork of tap-dancing to confuse and distract opponents.

Abilities

• Enhanced Endurance, Speed and Strength (Lower Body) - This ability allows Johnny to kick with increased strength and power, and also being able to block and withstand blows of a similar power using only his legs and feet. The speed aspect lets him essentially kick at the speed of sound or over, effectively letting him kick with the power of a sonic boom at maximum efficiency.
• Enhanced Agility

Magic

• Beat - Johnny uses his sound power and stomps hard down on the ground once. The impact, combined with one good, strong push of air vibrations, results in an extremely large shockwave that expands from his foot and dissipates over distance, to a maximum effective range of twenty feet. Multiple Beats strung together in sequence can create a devastating earthquake that can destroy small structures, more detail in the section on Staccato below.
• Scratch - Manipulating the air around the toe and heel of his shoes, Johnny is able to create blades of compressed air by kicking in a short arc either from left to right or vice versa. The length, speed and strength of the air blades are directly determined by his kicks. Short, fast kicks produce many smaller blades that are easily blocked but are overwhelming in number, while longer, slower kicks result in bigger, stronger blades that take a fair bit of strength to overcome, akin to trying to stop a MLB batter's home-run swing.
• Crash - If Beat is the starter, Crash is the coup de grace. By hopping into the air a short distance, drawing his feet in and then kicking downwards upon landing with the force of a jet plane fly-by, Johnny is able to stamp a humongous shockwave into the ground that ripples and explodes the earth in circles around him. Each explosion increases in intensity the further it gets from him, to a maximum of three explosions in three perfect circles around him.
• Staccato - By tap-dancing on the ground, imbuing each hit with Beat, Johnny enters Staccato mode, Beating an earthquake into the ground that he controls. The intensity and strength of it is determined by how fast and how strong the Beats are, to a maximum of a 8 or 9 on the Richter scale, an extremely devastating earthquake that he can only maintain for several seconds before he has to stop and move to avoid being harmed by his own attack.
• Accent - With a high or low straight kick, powered by air, Johnny is able to shoot bullets of compressed air at impressive speeds that can break bone and cause concussions with the impacts. These bullets, or Accents, are aimed simply by way of the direction he kicks in, up in the air or down low at the ground, so as long as it's a straight kick and not a curved kick.

Bio

Voice: Deep, smooth basso.

Personality: Johnny is a very laid back and suave fellow, one you would see leaned up against a wall or a bar counter, drink in one hand, a woman in the other. He's smooth and slick, cunning and feisty, yet kind spirited and gentle to boot, in stark contrast to his fighting style. A ladies man all the way, he is the most gentlemanly to those of the fairer gender, going out of his way to make sure they receive the utmost respect that befits them. With other guys, he's very chummy, the bro amongst other bros, and you'll never see him without a smile on his face unless something's very, very wrong, because Johnny is also very optimistic and cheerful, something that's helepd him all through his life.

Backstory: Johnny hails from the tribe of the Swing people; collectively known as the Oldies of Oldtown, his tribe are one of the oldest in the whole of the land. The music they practice and play is also one of the oldest forms of music in the land, as attested to by their elders. Eons ago, Jazz, Swing and Blues were formed from the hearts and souls of the early Caesurans during their trials and tribulations of terraforming their unstable land into their homes. Their blood, sweat and tears distilled through their emotions and into their voices and song, and thus the Trifecta of Trials were born. Jazz, Swing and Blues make up this trio, and Johnny's tribe were the first of the Swingsters in Caesura. He is of their current generation, when the music has reached new levels of ingenuity and excellence yet they dream higher and greater, and he carries these hopes and dreams of his people with him.

Being a current generation Swingster brings along its share of troubles, and for Johnny, nothing was more troubling than being the sole heir to their style of self defense. All Swingsters knew how to fight to defend themselves, that was true, but Johnathan Twostep was the upcoming heir to the title of Maestro of Swing, something that he didn't quite fancy. Sure, he was the best fighter they had, but he simply didn't want the high life. He enjoyed his time spent in the dives and bars of his home town, Basin, and the relevant dangers that posed to his health. He loved the adrenaline and the adventure of it all. Being the Maestro meant that he'd spend the rest of his days cooped up in some boring school, teaching all the young Swingsters how to fight and to defend themselves. Not a life for him. He left Basin a week before he was to inherit the mantle, and as such his whole town got into an uproar.

Now he wanders the multiverse, having fallen into a portal while running from those that pursue him. Still with no real idea of where he's going or how he travels, he wanders in search of a good challenge.

Others

-

DJ's Character Compendium

The Jester - Betwixt the Eternal Light

Given Name

The Jester.
_{"But it's just Jester to you, wise guy."}

Appearance

Image

By all means, the Jester is a scrawny looking chap. Standing five feet ten, with more lean muscle than meat, clad in dirty clown clothes and a mask that hides his scarred features and a face that never smiles, he is the very definition of an out-of-work clown.
_{"I ain't outta work, it's just a phase."}

The bells on his worn hat, though tarnished and old, still ring clearly, each and every movement making the bells dance and jingle softly, its notes haunting in the black, for friends and foes alike.
_{"Ey, these things are a warning, y'know. T'let people know I'm comin'."}

Equipment

- A dagger, old and rusty but sharp as a point, it's actually more like a broken long sword than anything else, judging by how the blade isn't whole and the hilt is longer than a regular dagger.
_{"It hurts people just fine. No fixing needed. 'Cept to keep the blade sharp."}

- A sickle. Originally a farmer's implement, the Jester, some time in his past, made one his own. It's sharp and stained with dried blood.
_{"But most importantly it's sharp."}

- A waterskin. Being a former entertainer meant keeping his throat healthy.

-A leather sling bag. It holds a few days worth of rations, a whetstone, a flint and tinderbox and a broken compass.
_{"The compass helps me navigate. Don't think of it as broken, it's just leadin' me where I'm supposed to be."}

- A lute. Made of a light oak wood, stained a deep brown, the lute is still perfectly tuned.
_{"Maybe it's because I've been tuning it, stupid."}

Memories

The Beat
_{"Pleasure's all mine. Now, what am I supposed to do? Okay, so I'll be playing for the king, yeah? Alright. Is the coin good? Good enough? No it has to be perfect, man, I swear. This is my life we're talking about here, and I'm not gonna take "good enough" for an answer. Alright fine. Look, I'll sort things out on my end, you do so with yours. In two weeks, I'll be outta here and no longer your problem. Just... Get it done, alright? I'll owe you a big one. Once I'm settled, you find me and I'll see how I can repay you."}

Razor's Out
_{"Look, boss, I swear it's true. Yeah, everythin' went according to plan; guy's dead, body's fed to the pigs. No trace, I swear. Yeah, I know. No I don't know who this other douchebag is. No he wasn't part of the plan. Yes, I-...I know, I know, but he showed up without any warning! Yes I took care of him too. Yes, yes I know. *sigh* I got my reasons. Yeah, a dame, love of my life, but listen boss, I want out. What d'you mean, there's no outs?! You distinctly told me there was always an out! Well okay then, what sorta job is it? ...fine, alright I'll do it, but listen, this is the last job, alright? I do this, I split, forever, I won't see you ever again and I won't be a massive pain in the ass."}

I Won't Stop
_{"Gotta keep goin'. We can't stop, not now, not ever. Got to get outta the city, find someplace safe to rest. Yes dear I know, it'll be fine. We're not gonna die, don't worry, I'll kill all the bastards that try. Don't you look at me like that, you know where I come from, you know what you were gettin' yourself into. Look, ugh, I'm workin' things out, alright? I'm going through some stuff, cuttin' all my ties with that place, don't you worry. We'll be untouched where we're goin', I'll make sure of it. Now take the horse 'n go! I'll catch up with you! Leave these bastards to me! Don't you worry, I'll find you! Now go! GO!"}

A dirt road. It's night time. Foggy. I hear horses. Frenzied hoofbeats on dirt and mud and stone. A woman screaming in fear. I remember following behind the lady. She is with child. I am riding a horse. The men behind me are similarly armed. Weary of the chase, I stop and dismount. The lady screams my name. I pay her no mind and confront my pursuants. Then I remember blood.

The Road to Redemption
_{"Ah don't worry kid. It'll only be until we get a better place to stay, alright? Daddy's gotta work to get coin, and this is the only way daddy knows how to. Besides, it'll be in the palace! Daddy can tell you all about how the king and the queen! Now lemme see you smile. Lemme see. Smile fer me kiddo, else you ain't gettin' a good night kiss. There ya go. Prettiest gal in the whole neighbourhood, you are. My sunshine. Now get to sleep, you got a long day ahead a' you tomorrow, 'n daddy's gotta work for you n' mommy, alright? Relax, sweet cheeks, I'll be fine. I promise."}

Sunlight streaming through a window. A young girl sits on a chair at a table, eating oats. I sit next to her, a hand gently stroking through her thick, brown hair. The room is homely. Small, but comfortable.

She's so pretty.

That's my girl. My baby.

My sweet, sweet child.

Heaven
_{"Daddy's home! Oh hey kiddo, c'mere give daddy a big ol' hug! Thaaat's right! Now you're squeezin' the life outta me, leggo! Hehe, how was your day today, sunshine? You met a whole buncha new kids eh? Didja make any new friends? That's great! You'll settle in just fine, sunshine, no sweat. Who, me? I ain't silly, sweet cheeks. Well, today was a good day. I got to meet the king today! How was he? Well he's this old guy, like daddy, but his hair's all grey, and he wears this loooong cape and a crown with shiny jewels in it. Yeah, he's the king baby! The biggest fish in the sea, and daddy gets to play to him for coins! Yeah, sunshine! You couldn't ask for better, right? Where's mommy? She's sleeping? Alright, let's you and me give her a surprise, shall we?"}

A Job
_{"Yeah, I'm the king's jester, so what? You got anything against that? I make the funnies and make people laugh for coins. It's my job. So sue me. No you can't pull that on me no more, wise guy, I left that life behind. I left it behind, dammit! I swore an oath! I went on one last fuckin' job! I gave it all up! And now you're wantin' me back in?! No way! I have a wife and daughter I have to upkeep! What d'you mean the coin's not enough? I get paid well enough to enjoy life, wise guy, so keep yer money comments to yourself! Look, I made her a promise that I'd stay away from you forever. Yeah, I know I made a promise to you too, but I am not gonna repay you by offing the person I work for! Maybe a drink or something, yeah, but not like this! You want to kill the king, fine, I'll have to work at the tavern again, but I am not the one to kill him. Go find someone else. I'm done with you."}

No one ever told me about the prices one pays for freedom. In hindsight, I guess I was foolish enough not to pay attention to his words. There I stood, blood soaking into my boots. Bodies all around. Everyone was dead. There was nothing else to do, so I ran.

I hid.

But I swore one thing.

I'd make him pay.

Awakening

Shit...my head. Hurts.

I was surrounded by darkness. Enclosing. Trapping me in its embrace. I shook it off and stood. I was disoriented, confused, head was spinning, nothing was making sense, but as I got right with myself things started being more and more coherent. I wasn't on a road no more. I was in this...place. Smelled damp, moldy. Like the inside of someone's old sock drawer. Unfamiliar terrain. Felt like dirt beneath my feet. I could see in front of my face but the dark around me was thick, heavy, like a fog someone had dyed black. Pea soup. Hell, I couldn't have asked for a worse place to wake up from...whatever had knocked me out. At least I still had my things with me, else I'd have tracked the damn cutpurse that took my gear and made him pay. Now, I had to get out of here. There was...somethin' that needed doin'.

But what?

Wait, where am I?
_{That, my friend, is the million gold question.}

The hell? Who're you?
_{I'm you.}

You're me? Wait...who am I?
_{You're you, and I'm you.}

Wait that doesn't make any sense. I'm me.
_{See? That makes perfect sense.}

I shook my head. What in the world?! I tried to think, to focus on my name, but nothing came up. Absolutely nothing. Then, as I was trying to calm myself, memories drifted up from my unconscious like a wellspring. A woman. A young girl. Blades, knives. A king. Blood.

Death.

Shit. This didn't make any sense at all. I didn't even remember what I was doing before I woke up! This was stupid!
_{The wrong man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world.}

Shut up! I'm trying to think here!

Okay, focus.

I took to examining my surroundings a bit more. At my feet, there was a torch, still damp with, as I sniffed my fingers, oil. Slung on my shoulders there was a pack. Inside there was food (thankfully, something right in the world), a waterskin, some other assorted junk, but what I saw was two pieces of flint. A striker, excellent. I fished the stones out of my bag and picked up the torch. Holding the thing between my knees, I struck a spark with the flint and poof, it went up instantly. Light. More things going right for me today, whatever today was. I kept the stones back in the bag and held up my light. It cut through the black like a knife it did, and I saw more than I wanted to.

Irregular stone obelisks jutted out of the ground around me. Some were broken, the rubble scattered out on the dirt, while others extended high, way high into the black sky, farther than I could see. There were no trees, no paths, just the obelisks. They weren't even evenly spaced apart, more like someone had just tossed stone seeds out on the dirt and let them grow into these...things, without caring for organisation or something. Typical. Pfft.

The light also, well, lit myself, and for the first time I could gauge myself. I felt like myself, after all. I reached up to touch my head (I must've hit the back of it when I went down), and found myself touching fabric. Cotton, in long spindles that tapered off to a point ended by a...bell.

A bell?

Okay, I was wearing a hat of some sort. Fine. I took it off and held it in front of me without burning it. The thing looked like some sort of strange, otherworldly beast in the flickering torch light, with its long spindles of fabric and slightly reassuring bells and their soft jingles. The colour on the fabric was faded, yes, but I made out colour. There was patches of red, green, yellow, blue, orange, every other colour in the rainbow, and as I looked down I saw the same sort of attire, faded coloured tunic, pants and soft leather boots. I put the hat back on my head and went to touch my face, but a cold plate got in the way.

The hell?

I was wearing a mask?

My mask.
_{Our mask.}

I tried to make out the features of it in the light, but apart from the two holes for eyes, I didn't see anything else on it. It was as pale white as the whites of my eyes. Funny. I looked like a fuckin' joke, like some sort of clown.

Clown...was I one? Was I
_{a jester}

a jester? That sounded about right. I didn't even know my own fuckin' name, what a joke, but I guess I could call myself Jester until then. Yeah, that would work. Fuckin' Jester the...jester, make you laugh, make you cry, make you bleed your fuckin' bones dry. Har de har har.

Well whatever the case, I didn't feel safe here, not at all. I had to get moving. With one foot into the black, the other soon followed. I didn't know where I was going, or where I was gonna go, but I had to find answers.

I had to.
_{Or else one of us is going to get very, very}

MAD.

Don't Click Me

<sub>Ding dong
The king is dead
Someone stabbed him in the head
Floor is bloody
Floor is red
The king is fuckin' dead

Serves the prick right.</sub>

DJ's Character Compendium

Ilyaas Mahmud al-Shabaab - The Resistance

"Hi, welcome to Sultan Electronics, how may I help you?”

Name: Ilyaas Mahmud Al-Shabaab (or just Mahmud for short)

Alias: Nice Guy

Age: 42

Sex: Male

Sexuality: Straight

“We provide a wide range of televisions, radios and other electronic appliances at cheap prices, warranty guaranteed.”

Appearance:

Height: 5' 8"

Weight: 170 pounds

Body Type: His body type is well enough muscled for his age, even though he doesn't work out too much; broad shoulders, strong arms, tight, packed abs and a muscled back, all remnants from his construction job.

Distinguishing Marks: -

Clothing Style: He dresses rather casually, in a shirt and jeans and sneakers. Nothing really special about him. He has a string bracelet around his left wrist, a reminder of home.

“Perhaps you would be interested in our range of premium cable sets? They are able to receive as many as one hundred and fifty channels, both local and from overseas.”

Personality: Ilyaas is a quiet, soft spoken man. Kind hearted and compassionate, he is the sort of person that would help anyone that needs help. Sadly his time spent working dead end jobs with horrible colleagues has made him cynical and withdrawn, and although his original personality is more dominant, bits and pieces of it unravel at times when he'd upset, angry, frightened or otherwise stressed. In states of extreme pressure, he grows cold and distant to regain his focus and composure.

Biography: Born in Iraq, Ilyaas came to America with the slight hope that he could find a good life and a good job to finance his family back home. Sadly, that was never to be. He landed himself in a construction firm simply as the labour, and he worked his ass off for minimum wage for years, barely able to support himself in his rented room. He wasn't all that unique, just another face in the crowd that passed by the coffee shops and grocery stores every day.

When he discovered his powers, it was during a very stressing day at work. His vitriolic colleagues had harassed him to the point of him almost breaking down, but he persevered and fought through everything to complete his work for the day. When it came time to sign out, however, he found that suddenly everyone was ignoring him, and not just his colleagues too. Everyone. People on the street, bus drivers, the cashier at a diner he went to, everyone seemed to not notice him. It wasn't until he realised that point, then willed himself to be noticeable, that his presence was suddenly acknowledged. Thus he realised his ability: to become invisible at will.

He's old enough to have seen and lived through the invasion by the Crusaders and the Technopath. His powers helped him immensely; after all, even the big bad is human. His powers apparently extended through the cameras that popped up all over the city, as well as the sensors within the Crusaders. Virtually invisible, he was free to roam about the city, but life would never be the same. He joined the Resistance mainly because his ability allowed him to walk amongst the enemy unnoticed.

Skills: Estimation and guesswork are his mainstays from his previous time as a construction worker, while number crunching and observation stem from his current experience as a store clerk and cashier.

Powers: Ilyaas has the power of perception filtering; now what that means is that he is able to filter and affect the perceptions of people around him to exclude him from their attention. For example, he can alter the perceptions of people around him to not notice him even though he is standing amongst them. He is able to do things to them or change the environment around them and they will not notice his physical presence at all, not until he turns off his power. People under the spell of this power will often attribute his actions as due to their own luck or unobservant behaviour or clumsiness, and the mesmer is powerful enough to work on anyone within in a twenty foot circle around him. He will even "disappear" from things like video feeds, security cameras, phone cameras and other video or imaging devices; even though he is physically present in the feeds, he will not be noticed by whoever is watching unless he lowers his mesmer.

In essence he can make himself invisible without actually physically turning invisible.

_{“...you aren't listening to me are you.”}

DJ's Character Compendium

Hazan Volintis - Mass Effect: Absolution/Mass Effect: Omega Serenade

Absolution

Pic's extremely big

GENERAL INFORMATION

Full Name
Hazan Volintis (also goes by 'Haze' or 'Hazzy')

Species
Turian

Age
23

Gender
Male

PERSONAL DETAILS

Personal Profile
- Chirpy and playful.
- Analytical.
- Can be serious if he wants to.

Sexuality
Bi (which is strange for a turian).

APPEARANCE DETAILS

Physical Appearance
- Stands 6' 3"
- Dark, gunmetal grey carapace
- Facial paint is in white, with the pattern being the arch with five spikes pointing inward towards his eyes.

Clothing and Armour
- Wears Phantom-class light armour, minus the hood.
- Dons Ariake Technologies Kuwashii Visor.

Equipment
- M-92 Mantis bolt-action sniper rifle
- M-9 Tempest machine pistol
- M-96 Mattock semi-automatic battle rifle
- Tactical Cloak module.
- Ammo Modification modules: Disruptor and Armour-Piercing.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

Class: Turian Ghost

- Skilled in stealth and infiltration missions.
- Skilled in maintaining stealth and using subterfuge.
- Proficient in the use of long-range, highly accurate weapons like battle rifles and sniper rifles.
- Proficient in hand-to-hand combat, though it is not his strong suit.
- Proficient in basic AI and mainframe hacking.

BIOGRAPHY

Being a Turian is hard, but for Hazan it was even harder. His family, a line of peacekeepers and bodyguards, didn't accept the fact that he, during his boot camp, had taken a preference to more up front and violent methods than the usual, subdued tones of service under royalty that his father and mother were used to. After boot camp, his superiors recommended that he be instituted under one of the Turian military's many scouting parties that extended out into the fringe worlds, his parents were too happy to oblige, obviously to get rid of one thorn-in-the-side son. Undeterred by his family's disapproval, Hazan left Palaven and ended up on a ship to the Terminus Systems, this being hot after the drama that was the Collector Wars. However, even with that threat gone, the other threats still remained, including roving bands of pirates and mercenaries, one of which hit the scout ship that he was on. In the ensuing chaos, Hazan managed to escape in a pod, jettisoned from the craft as the crew valiantly defended it to their last. He ended up drifting near Omega, and using the pod's emergency guidance jets, deftly landed (read: crashed) it into the station's lower struts, whereupon he emerged, injured but alright.

Now, his parents and superiors in training disagreed on many things about him, but the one thing they all unanimously agreed upon was the fact that this kid had a sharp eye. Where most budding turian soldiers preferred the heavier, more reliable arms like the Vindicator or Avenger, Hazan always drifted towards the Mattock, a rifle not commonly used by regular foot soldiers. Then, when given a chance to try out different weapons, he'd gravitated immediately towards the Mantis. His aim, though not incredibly stellar, still netted him admiration from his peers, and he was considered one of the best shots of his training company, though not the overall best. That belonged to another soldier that he didn't really like as a friend, but he trusted as a comrade-in-arms. This skill, he brought with him into Omega's criminal underground. Having been separated from his unit as a whole, he decided to strike out on his own for once, selling his services for credits that, though not as much as he liked, were enough to at least get by. That was when he caught the eyes of the Circle. A budding marksman selling his services on the cheap? What's not to want? With a few small contracts under his belt, it was known that Hazan, though only small-time, was proficient enough in keeping hidden, drawing attention away from himself and shooting people in the face from really far awa, qualities that were unique enough to attract attention from employers.

Hazan, now going by the moniker of Havoc, gleefully accepted the opportunity, and though he's yet to even attempt his first mission with the Circle, he knows it's going to be something big.

Omega Serenade

picture too big

Hazan "Haze" Volintis

The Ghost

Civilian Information

Species: Turian
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 2"
Weight 176 lbs
Class: Infiltrator
Biotic potency: (Y/N)

Military Background

Years Spent in Active Combat: 8 years
Armaments:

• M-92 Mantis bolt-action sniper rifle
• M-9 Tempest machine pistol
• M-96 Mattock semi-automatic battle rifle
• Tactical Cloak module.
• Ammo Modification modules: Disruptor and Armour-Piercing.

Armor:

• Phantom-class light armour, minus the hood.
• Ariake Technologies Kuwashii Visor.

Advanced Specializations:

• Turian Ghost - With his years of experience running covert missions behind enemy lines during First Contact, Hazan knows how to make himself invisible, not by using his cloak module, but by blending into his surroundings almost seamlessly. This skill has transferred over into his time on Omega, being the single shooter that has laid claim to several unsolved killings.

Skillset:

• Stealth - Expert; if you need someone to sneak past guards, become invisible in a crowd to stalk a target or to insert himself behind enemy lines, Hazan is your turian.
• Infiltration - Expert; Haze is a genius at getting through security, a combination of cloaking, killing and hacking ensures this.
• Marksmanship - Expert; give Haze a rifle and he will shoot the crest off the top of a krogan's head, or the air filter of a quarian's suit. Eight years of handling his Mantis and Mattock have given him a deadly eye.
• Hand-to-Hand - Skilled; turian military training has instilled within him the gist of handling himself in a close quarters fight. Add to that the years he's spent in Omega and fist fighting has become second nature to him. Put him up against several targets his size and he'll handle them, but anything larger (read: krogans) or quicker (read: drell and some humans) than he is and he'll struggle.
• Hacking - Basic; his omnitool has several programs written into it that allow him to crack any sort of light security, but task him with something larger, like accessing a secure mainframe or taking over an AI network, and he won't be able to.

Favored Powers: Nil

Psychological Analysis

Traits:

• Ruthless - His time in black ops has taught him how to be cruel and heartless to get him what he wants. This isn't something he especially enjoys doing though.
• Focused - He will accomplish his mission without distraction.
• Determined - Nothing can stop him from achieving what he wants.

Flaws:

• Sentimental - His attraction towards his friends and allies can usually result in him making stupid decisions.
• Blunt - Sugarcoating things isn't his speciality.
• Aloof - First Contact didn't treat him well, and his time spent on Omega only furthered his cool, distant nature, though he's been trying to change this for the better.

Pysch Profile: Hazan is a simple Turian, one who has a singular motivation and is driven towards that goal and everything else in the same line as that. Deep down, he is the caring sort, one who looks out for his friends and allies as if they were his own. He's also the type of guy who regularly cracks jokes (bad ones mostly) and is quite unaffected by whatever happens around him, but he does this to keep himself stable and, well, functional, and it applies to his teammates as well; if he can tell a joke to lighten a mood so his allies can function better, he will.
Backstory: Being a Turian is hard, but for Hazan it was even harder. His family, a line of peacekeepers and bodyguards, didn't accept the fact that he, during his boot camp, had taken a preference to more up front and violent methods than the usual, subdued tones of service under royalty that his father and mother were used to. Shortly after boot camp, First Contact hit and Hazan was drafted into the combat, as was nearly every other active Turian in the military. He served in a scout and black ops troop that operated behind human lines to sabotage supply chains, power lines, anything that they could lay their grubby hands on. The war continued for three long, bloody years, before a truce was called and humanity was grudgingly let into the Galactic Council. Hazan was left adrift, without purpose. So he left. He hitched a ship that was heading into the Terminus System and left his old military life behind.

However, even with that threat gone, other threats still remained, including roving bands of pirates and mercenaries, one of which hit the merchant ship that he was on. In the ensuing chaos, Hazan managed to escape in a pod, jettisoned from the craft as the crew valiantly defended it to their last. He ended up drifting near Omega, and using the pod's emergency guidance jets, deftly landed (read: crashed) it into the station's lower struts, whereupon he emerged, injured but alright.

Now, his parents and superiors in training disagreed on many things about him, but the one thing they all unanimously agreed upon was the fact that this kid had a sharp eye. Where most budding turian soldiers preferred the heavier, more reliable arms like the Vindicator or Avenger, Hazan always drifted towards the Mattock, a rifle not commonly used by regular foot soldiers. Then, when given a chance to try out different weapons, he'd gravitated immediately towards the Mantis. His aim, though not incredibly stellar, still netted him admiration from his peers, and he was considered one of the best shots of his training company, though not the overall best. That belonged to another soldier that he didn't really like as a friend, but he trusted as a comrade-in-arms. This skill, he brought with him into Omega's criminal underground. Having been separated from his unit as a whole, he decided to strike out on his own for once, selling his services for credits that, though not as much as he liked, were enough to at least get by. That was when he caught the eyes of the Circle. A budding marksman selling his services on the cheap? What's not to want? With a few small contracts under his belt, it was known that Hazan, though only small-time, was proficient enough in keeping hidden, drawing attention away from himself and shooting people in the face from really far away, qualities that were unique enough to attract attention from employers.

He'd first met Nik on a duo contract, one that was way too difficult even for an experienced shooter like him. Gradually the turian found himself quite attracted to the drell's leadership qualities and they became fast friends. Much later did he become a permanent member of the little team that he now calls a 'family' of sorts. He's been around long enough to have seen several people come and go, but their team composition now is something he's familiar and comfortable with.

He'd been on another team once, in the time when he'd been new to the whole mercenary thing. That team had been interesting, but sadly after a job went sour most of them had gone their separate ways, some to other parts of the system, some into the ground or a crematorium. He hopes that his new team won't suffer the same fate.

Denouement

Character Motivation: Credits, dear boy. Hazan's motivations prior to joining this motley crew were simply survival, but now that he's gotten quite adept at it, he values money more now, with honour coming in at a close second.
Significant Relations:

• He left his family, owners of Volintis Security Solutions, long ago after First Contact. He never liked the security life, and he wanted more action. So he left and never told them where he went.
• He knows one other turian: a driven soldier that he'd trained with back on Palaven. They became fast friends, mainly due to their competitive streak and constant dethroning of each other as company best marksman. After the war they went their separate ways, but he'd last heard of his old friend taking up a position as an investigator with C-Sec in the Citadel. Other than emails that they send each other regularly, he knows the turian's real name but refuses to reveal to anyone except himself, taking care to never reveal his identity in the emails for fear of them being tracked. That turian only goes by a short moniker in his emails: G.

Opinions on Others:

Nikusiil Vos

Hazan and Nik had met on a mission. Their employer, a sleazy dirtbag volus, had tasked the two to mess up the operations of a security firm so that he could steal their company secrets while they were busy handling the situation. No problem, said Hazan. The turian set up on a nearby roof while the drell went to their front door and gave it a high explosives face-lift. The whole operation went smooth as silk, and the pair extracted without incident. It went so perfectly that Hazan went after Nik after the whole thing was over, offering to pair up with him for other missions.

Thus began their friendship, a life punctuated by bullets and credits. Though the drell has significantly more combat experience than he did, Hazan had his life forged by First Contact, and through his years spent sniping, he knows that the drell has faith in his marksmanship and stealth abilities.

When not on a contract, Hazan often discusses simple topics with Nik; weapons, tactics, life, ambitions, other silly things like that. He can sense that the drell hides more than he shows, but he pays it no mind. The two are good friends, and when it comes down to it, he knows that he can trust Nik with his life.

Penoraya T'mivius

Raya. The asari. A simply scintillating specimen. Many times he's had very...questionable thoughts about the oldest member of their team, but those are quickly dissuaded by a reminder of her sheer power.

Hazan understands that Raya is am instrumental part of their team; without her, they would not have accomplished some of the more covert stuff they've done. Only through her feminine wiles and charm (and her ability to seduce just about anyone) has she managed to gain access into places that he often thought were impregnable.

Outside missions, he spends little time with her, knowing how cold she can be. Occasionally they talk but about trivial issues.

Inside, he hopes that their resident ice queen would one day warm up to the rest.

He hopes.

Daro'Shuris nar Konesh

Daro is a strange one. He could not quite understand how a Quarian could always be so chipper and cheerful every day, in a place that dealt in death and misery, in a life that handled killing the same way a grocer sells produce. When he first met her, he didn't know that she was a doctor until a mission together where he took a shot to the leg. She didn't even stop treating him while he tried desperately to take out their adversaries. It was only after the whole thing was over that he managed to get her say; she told him that she wanted to help him get better, even if it meant taking fire. She didn't care.

Since then Hazan's been extra protective of their dear little Quarian Doctor, often taking it upon himself to go with her when they need to split up. He likes to entrust her with his Tempest sometimes; it makes a fine, accurate medium-range weapon to complement her shotgun and pistol. When she needs to advance and no one is around to provide cover, he usually does so, with the help of his Mantis or his Mattock.

In return, when they're not on missions, she often likes to show him the lighter side of Omega, if there even is one. Her presence helps him relax, eases some of the tension that's built up in him from the First Contact War. They don't have to be doing much, just having a drink or even simply gazing at the stars from a balcony or a roof top. She knows that her mere presence helps him relax, and he knows that too. It's his reason why he sticks around her so.

He might even have feelings for her, underneath that shell.

Madran Deltis

Madran. Another turian, but unlike him, Hazan finds Madran to be just as much a sleaze as the rest of Omega. If he isn't being a literal pain in the neck to people who disrespect him, he's trying to get in the pants of every other female that comes his way.

And who could blame him? He exudes the sort of charm that makes men drop their guard and makes women drop their pants as soon as he opens his mouth. Personally, Hazan can't stand him, but for the sake of keeping the team together he keeps his thoughts to himself.

Still though, Madran also happens to be fiercely loyal to the team. Something that he appreciates. Another deadly pair of hands not trying to kill them on Omega is a good thing.

The two share a sort of vitriolic friendship; if they're not yelling at each other they're busy either sharing a drink or talking about girls and other things. Hazan isn't as open or add talkative as his counterpart, but he does credit Madran to helping him out of his shell a little.

He still wishes he had the same luck with girls that Madran has.

Olan Bol

The team's lone volus is much appreciated by Hazan for a variety of reasons. He keeps them funded and equipped, and in combat the little alien is directly responsible for numerous victories against bots and automated systems. It was Olan that had supplied him with the hacking and bypass subroutines that he'd loaded into his omnitool, and who had taught him the essentials on how to bypass a security network or to delve into an unprotected system to retrieve data.

In return, Hazan makes sure to watch out for him, as does the rest of their team. Being the least armed and dangerous team member, Olan earned their protection for being so important. The little man is meticulous, a quality of him he likes.

Haze knows that the volus' day will come though, the time when he'll have to choose between a gun and death. He doesn't know when, but he has a feeling that it'll be soon.

Ryland Dilham

A human. The species that had caused him so much grief during the war. Knowing that this...meatbag had fought in the same war he'd lost friends in made their relationship extremely tenuous at first. He never trusted Ry enough to let him have his back, preferring instead if the human went with Nik or Madran.

Then, off mission, the man talked. He rambled on at length about how stupid the war was for his side, about the people he'd lost, about the scars he had. Slowly, Hazan realised that he and Ry were the same: two soldiers who'd lost friends in a stupid war that shouldn't have happened. This made him warm up to him more.

Now the two are more or less comrades in arms. Once on opposing sides, the uniting factor between the two being money and fighting for the right cause. Hazan knows that the human is a reliable and dependable soldier, and knows that Ry is the same way with him.

Awesome Theme Song: Baba Yaga
Other: Nil