Eisenhorn

Unheroic: A Second Chance [ENDED]

@PaulHaynek Alright, I suppose that means it'll be Lash that gets pushed forward. Poor Jericho. Also problem fixed in both.

@DocRock Honestly both sound like interesting enough characters, so it is hard to say, especially with only brief blurbs for them haha.

Unheroic: A Second Chance [ENDED]

So, I honestly cannot decide between these two, so I'll post em both and see who is a more popular preference.

Jericho Cross

Former Title: Ranger Captain of Istvargrad

Nickname/Alias: Walker

Name: Jericho Cross

Age: Early forties

Pronouns: He/Him

Race: Human

Personality:
Having been the leading man in a crime ring of thieves, bandits, thugs and assassins turned into a commissioned Captain of the Monarch when Kazzok and his forces invaded, one might think that he was either a piss poor thief, or a god awful Captain, but that is not the case. Well spoken, fluent in several languages spoken among his people, and clever to a fault, one could easily mistake him for a noble playing at crime. Indeed, some rumors are that he was a noble ousted from his family for being too vicious in the court intrigue. Whatever the truth, he hides it behind a facade of feint smiles, blatant lies, and constant distrust of any and all around him at all times. This leaves a great deal in dispute among his (former) peers as to who he is. Exiled noble, jumped up gutter rat, disgraced officer, rumors swirled wherever he walked.

What isn't in dispute is the level of pragmatism that Jericho displays on a routine basis. It served both him and his own well during the conflicts and problems leading up to the eventual loss of his world. Of course, the arrival of Kazzok and his forces should have had quite the detrimental impact on Jericho but, on the surface and as far as he'll let anyone see, he took it in stride. "A gods damned shit stain cleaned, and without a coin paid, what's the bother, eh?" Of course, one cannot seriously believe this to be the truth, and while he doesn't expect anyone to buy it, he also won't be sharing lightly what the truth of the matter is. Not so much sorrow, but a mix of regret and rage, mixed into a dangerous bundle waiting to simmer to the surface. Regret over what was left undone and of redemption lost, rage over being denied all that he had earned with his own two hands, and of any chance at redemption, being stolen away.

Abilities/Powers:
- (Reluctant) Leader of Men -
Between his own ring of criminals, bandits, and thugs to when he was drafted to be a formal soldier, and a Captain no less, of soldiers of dubious reputation, Jericho has proven to be a surprisingly effective leader in small, urban brawls. Organizing and tactically deploying small bands of disparate thugs, thieves, and specialists of all sorts tends to come second nature, even if its something Jericho is not fond of. Too much attention, and too much riding on his shoulders. Of course, when Kazzok arrived with his legions, reluctance was no excuse for not applying what skills were useful in fighting back.

- Resilient Physiology -
A life of crime tends to lead one to exposure to all sorts of nasty things, from the obvious such as blades and bludgeons to the not so obvious, poisons, toxins, and various diseases, illnesses, and injuries that were never treated by completely competent healers. In such circumstances, one either becomes resilient to physical traumas, or becomes crippled in a hurry. Fortunately for Jericho, he proved to be rather resilient, even by the standards of his world, bouncing back from most physical ailments alarmingly quickly, and shrugging off injury through will, quick bindings, and a touch of liquid courage when needed.

- Dirty Fighter -
It should come to absolutely no surprise the crook plays dirty when it comes to a fight. While he is certainly a skilled swordsman, and competent archer, he chooses to "enhance" his ability in a fight with cheap, underhanded methods. Poisoned blades, barbed arrows, a bit of sand in the eye and a brisk blow beneath the belt, anything to give him an edge and come out on top, or at least survive to see another day. He is also alarmingly creative when it comes to preparing an area for a fight, when he has time to, lacing traps and patches of unfortunate terrain for whoever isn't ready for fighting in such conditions.

Equipment:
- Personal Arming Sword (Stolen) -
A personal, well worn, and tried and true sword that Jericho has had for most of his career. Lacking any real ornamentation anymore, besides the remains hinting at a noble owner in the past, it remains his personal choice of weapon. Well balanced, and honed to a razor edge with a hardened tip, it is capable of cutting down lightly armored foes, and thrusting through medium armor and the weaker joints on heavier armor.

- Composite Bow (Stolen) -
Mostly what he had on hand during his last stand in his world, Jericho's bow is a rather plain example of a composite bow. With a quiver full of various arrows, some for armor, some for flesh, and even a few for utility, it rounded out his toolset in a fight, giving him options to face a foe on footing that was not in their favor.

Inventory:
- Lucky Pipe (Stolen) -
A hand me down from father to son for quite some time, the battered old pipe still functions as a pipe, and is often used as such, even if the remains of ornamentation hint that it was, once upon a time, a symbol of status and nobility.

- Trappers Kit (Stolen) -
A small bag of lockpicks, springs, spare parts, and other bits of metal and leather designed to let a man put together, or disarm, traps, locks, and the like without needing a dedicated workshop following him around. Often times added to with scrap and salvage from fights and thievery, one can be surprised at what might be found in its contents from time to time.

Istvargrad

A realm of sprawling cities, often times built on top of those that had come before them, many go their entire lives without ever seeing nature outside of scant few trees, weeds, or roots. Magic exists, of a sort, though those gifted with the ability to utilize said magic liken it to more of being a conduit for powers outside their control, or even understanding, than conventional control over the arcane. As such, magicians were viewed with great distrust, skepticism, and often times ostracized and hunted over problems that routinely plagued the land, either to try and fix them or punish them for causing them. Banditry and organized crime are as common as the official powers that be, a classical Monarchy who's ruling head changes almost as often as the months passed, due to political intrigue, assassination, or just plain bad luck. Guards and soldiers were crooked, and pretty much the entire land ran off crime, organized as it was, and if one wanted to actually get something done, they went to the Robber Barons.

Of course, the most lucrative trade for the crooks and thieves was in the dealings of Relics. A catch all term, for items that sort of fell from between the cracks and ended up in their world. Magicians and self styled scientists alike paid almost as much to get these Relics, as they did to keep their rivals from getting them. Good scouts and sharp eyes to find proper Relics, or a silver tongue to pass off fakes as the real deal, were prized among such rings as much as a steely gaze, steady sword arm, and complete lack of morals might be.

Officially, the Church held say over all things related to the arrival of new Relics, though in practice even the Crown overlooked the trade as it often lined his own pockets and coffers with illicit gold. That being said, about the only thing that could unite the disparate groups of Istvargrad would be an outside threat, as the Robber Barons, Church, and Monarchy distrusted each other to the point that all out war would, to an outsider, be all but guaranteed. Of course, Kazzok's arrival was one such threat, and a stiff resistance was put up, but we all know how such fights turned out by now...

Backstory:
Istvargrad was one of the largest cities of the realm, not so much a single settlement as a sprawling mass of civilization. Humanity as it was known was, by far, the most dominant species present, though compared to other world's versions, the humans of Istvargrad were hardy and resilient against trauma and disease. Elves circulated as concubines and entertainers among the noble courts, moonlighting as assassins and masters of alchemy for those with coin or information to spare. Dwarves and halflings, lumped together in the poor quarters, ran bars, taverns, and and places of business as readily as a human. They would also turn their deft fingers to locksmithing, lockpicking, and the production of clever trinkets and tools for the trade of crime. Indeed, one would be safe to say that the realm of Istvargrad was, indeed, one that ran on crime, either the engaging in, or fighting of, it.

Crime, and the Robber Barons that ran the highest levels of it, knew where the profit was. Relics, strange objects and contraptions that fell into their world due to the weakened walls of their world and sold to the highest bidders. The Church and, officially, the Monarchy would oppose them in a three way struggle for power, the Church seeing them as holy objects, trappings of a faith that had once sustained the barriers of their world and protected them from outsiders. The Monarch saw them as leverage against the Church and its enforcers, and the Robber Barons? Money, money to whichever noble, scientist, magician, or eccentric could pay the most coin. Entire bands of rogues, thieves, thugs and assassins would form around individuals with the skill and know how to track down and secure these items. Little did Istvargrad know, in all its constant focus inwards, that the slowly increasing tide of Relics was a sign of its impending doom.

This is where Jericho Cross comes into the picture, a man that had erased his past from all accounts barring his own, and yet was a highly successful leader of criminals. Knowing how and when to ply guile, charm, and force in due measures, he had a knack for finding Relics and pawning them off to both higher bidders, and his superiors. He made a good amount of coin off his work, lived comfortably in the seedy underbelly of Istvargrad, and was generally respected for his capabilities. Of course, such things do not last forever, and it was getting more and more dangerous for Jericho to work as the Church had begun to focus on his work more and more closely, trying to pin him down for illicit Relic trade. Of course, this never came to a head thanks to the arrival of Kazzok, who likely either followed the trail of relics that slipped between the cracks and into this world, or perhaps to use them as signs of the best options of where to go next.

Istvargrad was the last city remaining within a few short years, the rest of the realm falling in relatively short order, though it was not from a lack of effort. Jericho, and many men like him, were appointed as military officers in desperation, leading their own bands of criminals and scum alongside broken survivors of initial efforts to repel Kazzok. Instead of facing his forces openly, they instead opted to often strike from the shadows, ambushing and harassing the enemy forces wherever they could, stalling and buying time and victories where they could. The problem was that open warfare was a relatively rare thing in Istvargrad, standing armies acting more as guards and opponents to organized criminals than monsters and even other professional soldiers. Ironically, it was the criminals, convicts, and the like able to put up the fiercest resistance as their infighting better prepared them then the long guard shifts with little going on within their view.

Jericho made a name for himself leading men of increasingly varied walks of life against Kazzok and his legions, organizing defenses, leading ambushes and counter assaults, and moving around like a man possessed. It didn't take a genius to realize whatever Kazzok had in mind was bad for business, and everything was thrown into the defense against him, and for his own reasons, Jericho was throwing everything he had into it. Even as Kazzok's legions advanced into Istvargrad itself, entire districts were burned in defiance, forcing them to move in patterns more suitable to being ambushed and making costly assaults on defensive positions. Indeed, scorched earth had become a standard practice, anything that couldn't be taken with them was put to the torch or otherwise ruined. The last point of feasible defense was the barrier to the Monarchy district, a towering manor on an isolated rocky outcrop, accessable via a long, narrow pathway on foot, and the clear, moonlit nights readily exposing approaches by other means.

It was on this long, narrow road snaking up towards the Monarch's home that Jericho would make his last stand, what surviving associates of his old crew alongside soldiers and survivors that would sooner die in a last ditch defense then turn over and die as prisoners, or worse. On top of his career of criminal activity, underground fighting, and scrapes with the guards, he had years of desperate, hard earned experience fighting a losing battle. The Monarch district was designed to be nigh unassailable by any mortal hands, even magicians were anticipated if an all out assault was to be engaged. In the hands of legends and heroes, it might have even sufficed. But legends and heroes were not commonplace in Istvargrad, indeed, the latter was bad for business, and the former too attention grabbing for subtle operations. Jericho had become a hero by necessity, not by choice, and it was no doubt he would fight to the bitter end alongside the remaining few that held the Monarch district. Though, how can one imagine, as the moon itself is blotted out by the oncoming tide, and the ground itself trembled at the approaching legions, that such a motley crew would last long at all?

A Tavern Song of great fondness to the people of Istvargrad

LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI.

Lashiel Voss

Former Title: Church Reclamation Officer

Nickname/Alias: L or Lash

Name: Lashiel Voss

Age: Early thirties (31)

Pronouns: She/Her

Race: Crimson Branded

A by product of experimentation by the Mages of Istvargrad into finding the source of the constant stream of relics, the backlash of energy after a failed attempt to breach a gate left behind by a relic left a stain on the fabric of the realm. This would result in certain newborns having a brand somewhere on their body, signifying mutation depending on the color. The Church decried them as spawns of evil, as the coloration of their brand would mean different sorts of effects and "powers", though scholars maintained that these were little more than biological mutations from exposure to the oft mutagenic properties of the energy released. There were a handful of documented variations in branded, forcing an addendum to the branded classification dependent on the color, as various colors had common traits between them.

Crimson Brands, derogatorily referred to as "hot bloods" or "forge whelps", tended to be the most resilient out of the Branded. Boasting an unnaturally high self healing rate, the reason why is apparent when their blood is spilled since, moments after, the spilled blood will combust and set fire to the most whatever the blood landed on. This means injuries will self cauterize, aiding in the healing process, though external help in binding wounds or other healing efforts fail, for fairly obvious reasons. Their blood, when properly extracted, also makes for a potent power source, spawning a new generation of crude alterations of steam tech to run on their blood, often times grafted and installed onto the limb that bears the brand to "get the most potent source of the blood possible". Besides the mutations from the Brand, they are effectively human and can, and often did, have human offspring, confounding efforts to pin down precisely what caused a child to be born Branded.

Personality:
Lash is a fairly gruff, no nonsense, and pragmatic soul to be dealing with on any given day, though hints of a wry sense of humor hint at something under the surface. She is a highly private person, however, mostly since her career of choice ended up being a rather lonesome one, and tends to stonewall or otherwise react poorly to prying questions. She will volunteer information as she deems fit, and will frankly tell others her feelings on a matter otherwise. The amount of distrust from her, sometimes reluctant, employers meant that she is always expecting treachery from those she has to work with, making it a slow process to actually trust and open up enough to work with someone outside of a professional setting. She is also fiercely proud of her work, despite it being glorified grave robbing, having been able to make ends meet in a sanctioned manner unlike many of her kin who either ended up in bonds or as petty criminal enforcers, agents, or other useful bodies in a criminal syndicate.

Abilities/Powers:
Crimson Brand Physiology: A byproduct of what she is, Lash has all the benefits and drawbacks of being among the Branded. Her blood will combust when spilled or extracted incorrectly, which not only self cauterizes a wound but also acts as a means of self defense since the unaware will suddenly have burning blood flying about. Curiously, the blood's combustion doesn't destroy any articles of clothing worn by the Branded, though this protection doesn't extend to their flesh and blood. As a side effect, their bodily functions are capable of healing wounds and injuries at an alarmingly fast rate, meaning that unless an outright lethal amount of damage is done, its likely for her to recover in a timely manner.

Brand Extraction Implants: Despite the misleading name, and general hatred that Lash has for the device, it is an integral part of her now. Removal of the device would be, at best, a lifetime crippling injury and, more likely, a lethal event. Fortunately, it is sturdy and designed for combat, meaning that if an incoming blow would destroy the device, odds are it would just kill Lash outright as well. Fortunately, this device gives her means of employing her blood's properties without just constantly cutting wounds and trying to splash enemies with the blood before it combusts. The extractors in the device, which are linked to her arm's arteries, can draw out blood to maintain tanks in the armored gauntlet device running along her left arm. This can be used to either fuel converters that let her, in short, launch blasts of electricity or launch small balls of the blood at high velocity, meaning that it is, effectively, pyromancy without the magic. Of course, she cannot just keep doing this as blood loss can eventually take hold, but thanks to her physiology, she can get away with more than one might think.

Grave Robber: Despite the formal title, Lash is pretty much a grave robber, and anyone who could afford to have Relics buried with them would have elaborate means to protect their buried treasure. This means that, besides being skilled at infiltration and stealth (as to avoid formal discovery by guards around such burial sites), she has had to learn how to detect, disarm, and even make her own traps when the need arose. And, when in doubt, leg it and live another day, so fast on her feet rounds out the talents and skills she picked up from grave robbing, or as the Church preferred, Reclamation of Sacred Relics.

Passable Fighter: While not as comfortable with it as, say, frontline soldiers or captains in the guard, Lash is perfectly capable of defending herself should she run afoul of nosy guards or furious nobles. Preferably, her reinforced shovel is her go to weapon, which gets her routine ridicule from fellow robbers that carry shortswords or other weapons suitable for close in work. But, as she points out, she'd rather just cave some poor sods head in or use the sharpened edges of the shovel to get a problem sorted out.

Equipment:
Reinforced Shovel: Lash jokingly refers to this as her "Master Key", and it sees as much use as a proper shovel as it does a means of forcing entry and defending against guards, traps, and other problems that might arise when one goes robbing noble graves and tombs. The shaft is reinforced to be able to parry and block blows, while the actual shovel portion was sharpened and weighted to make bashing more effective. She will be rather furious about it being removed from her person. (Currently Missing)

Inventory:
Nothing Worth Noting

Origin:

Istvargrad

A realm of sprawling cities, often times built on top of those that had come before them, many go their entire lives without ever seeing nature outside of scant few trees, weeds, or roots. Magic exists, of a sort, though those gifted with the ability to utilize said magic liken it to more of being a conduit for powers outside their control, or even understanding, than conventional control over the arcane. As such, magicians were viewed with great distrust, skepticism, and often times ostracized and hunted over problems that routinely plagued the land, either to try and fix them or punish them for causing them. Banditry and organized crime are as common as the official powers that be, a classical Monarchy who's ruling head changes almost as often as the months passed, due to political intrigue, assassination, or just plain bad luck. Guards and soldiers were crooked, and pretty much the entire land ran off crime, organized as it was, and if one wanted to actually get something done, they went to the Robber Barons.

Of course, the most lucrative trade for the crooks and thieves was in the dealings of Relics. A catch all term, for items that sort of fell from between the cracks and ended up in their world. Magicians and self styled scientists alike paid almost as much to get these Relics, as they did to keep their rivals from getting them. Good scouts and sharp eyes to find proper Relics, or a silver tongue to pass off fakes as the real deal, were prized among such rings as much as a steely gaze, steady sword arm, and complete lack of morals might be. The Church employed its own cadre of grave robbers, or in their words "Reclamation Officers" to go into graves and tombs of nobles or magicians that were suspected to hoard illicit relics and reclaim them, paying their teams a living wage for doing so. It also was one of the only ways for Branded to avoid persecution and hunting by the Church, yet most Branded only took up such a job once actually hunted down and cornered by the Church.

Officially, the Church held say over all things related to the arrival of new Relics, though in practice even the Crown overlooked the trade as it often lined his own pockets and coffers with illicit gold, fueling the Church's need for its Reclamation branch. That being said, about the only thing that could unite the disparate groups of Istvargrad would be an outside threat, as the Robber Barons, Church, and Monarchy distrusted each other to the point that all out war would, to an outsider, be all but guaranteed. Of course, Kazzok's arrival was one such threat, and a stiff resistance was put up, but we all know how such fights turned out by now...

Backstory:
Istvargrad was one of the largest cities of the realm, not so much a single settlement as a sprawling mass of civilization. Humanity as it was known was, by far, the most dominant species present, though compared to other world's versions, the humans of Istvargrad were hardy and resilient against trauma and disease. Elves circulated as concubines and entertainers among the noble courts, moonlighting as assassins and masters of alchemy for those with coin or information to spare. Dwarves and halflings, lumped together in the poor quarters, ran bars, taverns, and and places of business as readily as a human. They would also turn their deft fingers to locksmithing, lockpicking, and the production of clever trinkets and tools for the trade of crime. Indeed, one would be safe to say that the realm of Istvargrad was, indeed, one that ran on crime, either the engaging in, or fighting of, it.

Crime, and the Robber Barons that ran the highest levels of it, knew where the profit was. Relics, strange objects and contraptions that fell into their world due to the weakened walls of their world and sold to the highest bidders. The Church and, officially, the Monarchy would oppose them in a three way struggle for power, the Church seeing them as holy objects, trappings of a faith that had once sustained the barriers of their world and protected them from outsiders. The Monarch saw them as leverage against the Church and its enforcers, and the Robber Barons? Money, money to whichever noble, scientist, magician, or eccentric could pay the most coin. Entire bands of rogues, thieves, thugs and assassins would form around individuals with the skill and know how to track down and secure these items. Little did Istvargrad know, in all its constant focus inwards, that the slowly increasing tide of Relics was a sign of its impending doom.

Lashiel Voss was born with the brand on her left palm, which was unfortunate due to how difficult to conceal it would be. Yet she would do so, keeping a close eye on the Church parties that swept the poor districts routinely, searching for newborn branded to be snatched away. Having to abandon her birth parents at a young age, as they planned to turn her over for the bounty on all Branded, she would end up running with a gang of thieves and crooks for awhile run by a fellow who folks called Walker. She worked as their entry specialist, getting people in and out of areas, slipping in wherever one might think to need someone skilled in breaking and entering. Walker would be the first to find her Brand, and to her surprise he didn't turn her over to the Church, instead keeping her clear of jobs dealing with the Church from then on out. Of course, good luck doesn't run forever, and she got picked up by the Church in an unexpected raid.

Normally a Branded of her age should have been executed, but the official in charge of her trial had owed a favor to Walker and he had called it in, to give her an option. Execution, or enlist with the Reclamation Branch. While it would, officially, put her opposed to her old boss, it gave her a chance to find a way out. She had to undergo the rather gruesome and painful grafting of the Brand Extraction Implants, though she survived and, despite the stigmata such a thing carried, had to acknowledge its usefulness in her new job. She spent several years robbing graves, growing to be proud of the job she was doing despite it having been forced, though she turned a blind eye to certain shadows where they weren't supposed to be and worked just a tad slower every now and again, just for old times sake. Whether Walker had called in that favor to benefit him and his crew, or to bail her out, it wasn't something she was going to forget, and planned to eventually escape from the Reclamation branch and join back up with Walker's crew.

Of course, the invasion by Kazzok changed all of this. Walker got drafted as a Ranger Captain, and the Reclamation branch was drafted to help build fortifications and defend them alongside Church militant groups. While they looked down on a Branded, she was sanctioned all the same, so they helped stiffen the backbone of the best equipped to defend and slow down Kazzok and his forces. Between their stiff resistance and the guerilla efforts by the auxiliaries led by Walker, they were able to stall the inevitable for several years, though Istvargrad would end up being the last city left. Lash would assist in scorched earth tactics, putting her burning blood to use to put entire districts to the torch, rigging them to be impassable and force the legions into where the defenders wanted them to go, and she got a reputation for a Church sanctioned devil, putting the torch to things that could not be saved to prevent them falling to Kazzok. They continued being pushed back, however, and when the Magician's quarter erupted in a sphere of light, leaving it a barren husk, the defensive lines collapsed and the survivors fell back to the Monarchy district.

While Walker and the remaining soldiers dug in on the bridge, Lash would help dig and burrow towards the coast, trying to dig a way for those too young, infirm, or otherwise incapable of defending and fighting to the last. There was some hope that the docks had a boat that hadn't been damaged or torched and could put to sea and head for parts unknown. It was better than dying at the hands of Kazzok's forces. With the sounds of fighting in the manor above announcing the defenses had been breached, and Walker likely dead, Lash ran back headlong into the manor, to defend the tunnel entrance and buy the diggers a scant few moments more to try and finally breach out. Whether they did or not, well, Lash wouldn't be able to tell as, despite her best efforts and nearly killing herself expending her blood into the device strapped on her arm, she was overwhelmed and consciousness fled from her mind.

Other:
During dry spells, Lash would assist local graveyards in digging graves, putting her shovel to honest work and giving her an understanding of funeral rites and basic prayers, giving her a bit of spiritual understanding.

Current Theme Song

LUMIERE IS MY SENPAI

Fire Emblem: Lost Song

Apologies, sort of blanked and forgot to post, I'll try to have one put together in the next few days.

Unheroic: A Second Chance [ENDED]

I am also currently debating whether or not to bring back Jericho, or create a fresh character completely. Within the next day, at most, it should be up, whichever way gets decided.

Unheroic: The Reboot

I'm here and down for another go at this as well, sure as sure.

Torchlight

I've been slow on posting and, given current circumstances, I really am just going to bow out and save any further trouble or potential need to contact or prod. Apologies for wasting everyone's time.

Mass Effect: Sinless

Alright, finally got something put together, criticism, suggestions, and the like are welcome and encouraged.

Voto'Tos

Voto'Tos vas Lamorn

---

Race: Quarian
Gender: Male
Class: Soldier
Age: 31
Homeworld: Heavy Cruiser Weedir, Migrant Fleet

---

Appearance:

Typical Appearance

Unsurprisingly, Voto'Tos is encased in the environmental suit that has become the face of his species, though under the hood and robes he wears is a suit reinforced for the close quarters that would be demanded of a (former) Migrant Fleet Marine. Standing at 5'7", he has fairly dark colored attire which tends to make it hard to tell the reinforcements in the envirosuit from the normal materials. Besides the corse torso being reinforced, non jointed areas are also armored and protected as well, allowing for glancing rounds even after the shields go down, while not slowing him down. Hidden in key points are deployable boosters that provide a level of agility hard to match by most other normal combatants. Inspired by the Turian troops that employ the same, the experimental thrusters allow him to launch into fights and maneuver the field of battle readily.

---

Psychological Profile:

Growing up on a combat vessel has definitely shaped Voto'Tos and his mentality compared to your typical Quarian. While he has no problems chatting and engaging in dialogue, he tends to be more reserved and introspective, less open to talking about his experiences in pirate suppression exercises and the circumstances of him leaving the Migrant Fleet for good. Though when it comes to combat tactics, training, or other high stress tasks that demand his attention, Voto'Tos shows that Quarian energy that he usually holds in reserve, stress doing nothing but strengthening his confidence. In his mind he always worked better under stress than not, and he typically seems ready, able, and even eager to prove himself time and again, even long after he's proven himself to a team or allies of the moment, and when questioned on the matter Voto'Tos will quickly revert to the quieter and more introspective self, deflecting it with quiet humor or just static silence.

While Voto'Tos might get accused of some sort of inferiority complex, considering Quarian frontline troops tend to be a rare sight outside the Migrant Fleet. After all, one rupture and then they die of the flu, right? The truth of the matter is more based in fear than anything else, fear of failing again in such a catastrophic manner, and that 'confidence' in high stress is a poker face to mask that fear of failure. Easy to wear a mask when the suit already comes with one, after all, and since failure in general carries a general sort of fear with it, Voto'Tos is a perfectionist, constantly trying to improve or be the best possible in any given tasking or job. Many times a 'good enough' has been ignored in favor of doing the absolute best that Voto'Tos could do.

Off duty, Voto'Tos really does mean well for his compatriots in arms, though he struggles with getting too connected. On one hand, the Quarian cultural call of the community building, trust, and cooperation remains as strong as ever. On the other, having lost his entire squad in the Fleet Marines due to, honestly unpredictable, complications and having never forgiven himself means he doesn't want to end up in that situation again, since he is convinced he has already failed as a leader. The struggle between cultural norms and hard earned experience sometimes forces him into isolation, other times, he welcomes company rather easily, all depending on recent events. He does, at least, attempt to suppress that isolationism whenever in the company of others. Its not their problem, after all, so he has no intent of making it theirs.

Something worth noting is that Vot'Tos has a hard time accepting the view that most of the galaxy has of the Quarians. Ironically, he is of the opinion that the mistakes of the past generations should not dictate their future, and remains a staunch supporter of eventually retaking Rannoch. Whenever the idea that Quarians are "vagrants", "thieves", or "beggers" is often reacted to with hostility and argument.

"Take Earth from the Humans, Palaven from the Turians, Thessia from the Asari, or Sur'Kesh from the Salarians, and you tell me they wouldn't plan everything in their power to retake their homes. 'Just resettle elsewhere', Bosh'tet. It's what you keep telling us. To just give up and be the thieves and beggars you lot think we are." This harsh, angry, and overall unpleasant shift in self for Voto'Tos is fairly rare, as the simmering anger is not something he is proud of, but it rears its head in the face of injustice towards his people. Probably stemming from the time he spent in the Migrant Fleet Marines before his self imposed exile, but he still feels a responsibility to help and defend his fellow Quarians when the opportunity makes itself available.

---

Equipment:
+ M-96 Mattock

+ High Velocity Barrel
+ Piercing Mod
+ Thermal Scope
"A popular mainstay among his former squad, this heavily modified Mattock was carried by his team's designated marksman, or markswoman in her case. Carrying heavy sentimental value, and being rather weighty itself, practice has made Voto'Tos a reliable shot to open combat before the assault begins proper. The name Raefe'Waann is engraved above the thermal clip ejection port, a hint at its former owner and a clue at their eventual fate."

+ M-27 Scimitar

+ High Caliber Barrel
+ Smart Choke
"His standard issued Shotgun from time in the Migrant Fleet Marines, this fast firing shotgun has been suitable for close quarters actions. While it lacks the raw power of some shotguns, the modifications help alleviate this to a degree, coupled with better accuracy then standard makes for a room clearing weapon after a charge."

+ Armored Quarian Enviro-Suit

Abilities:
+ Havoc Strike
+ Adrenaline Rush
+ Arc Grenades
+ Stimulant Packs
+ Fortification (Passive)

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Bio:

Born on the Weedir, a decommissioned Turian Cruiser that had been acquired by the Migrant Fleet, Voto'Tos was all but born into the Migrant Fleet Marines. His father was a security officer, while his mother was a trained and professional doctor. Growing up, his father was quick to train him in basic hand to hand, firearms usage, and general survival skills while his mother would take time to teach him basic first aid, how to handle suit breaches in crisis situations, and the like. While maintenance and repair work was the standard for children, and Voto'Tos was no different, his parentage gave him a fair bit of survival training and how to defend himself should the situation arise. He always felt a calling for putting himself into situations first, first into a simulated hull breach for training purposes, always first in to get to the injured, stabilize them and get them back safely. He could have made for a great emergency responder if his life took a different route.

As with all Quarians, as his Pilgrimage came closer, Voto'Tos would receive more training to compound what he already had received from his parents. How to survive, having immunity boosting implants installed, and receiving gifts and tools to help survive outside the Flotilla. He was a basic set of armor, what could be spared from the armory, alongside a sidearm, supplies, and everything he needed to head out into the galaxy on Pilgrimage. He would undergo formal combat training courses, which he excelled in, as well as unarmed combat drills to improve his ability to defend himself from danger, considering what he was considering and planning. Voto'Tos had heard countless times that the state of the armory was a constant concern, and he decided the best way to help the fleet was to bring back arms, and lots of them. Where better to find stockpiles of arms ripe for the acquiring then the Terminus System? Despite the dangers, which his father warned him of, as his father had helped in seeing off pirates before, he was confident in his abilities and departed for the Terminus Systems, with a simple plan. Find guns, lots of guns, and get them back to the Flotilla.

Voto'Tos would stop briefly on Omega, and would do some work and oddjobs fixing machines in the guts of the station, defending himself from the odd small time gang and getting a taste for how the outside galaxy worked, at least in the Terminus System. It was hard, filthy work, but thankfully the armor saved his life on more than one occasion, and he started gathering hints and ideas where he could find stockpiles of weaponry. Officially, the Pilgrimage gift could not have been gained by harming another, Quarian or otherwise, but as Voto'Tos was finding out, especially on Omega, making any sort of gains without harming another was extremely difficult at best. He would barter for transport off Omega, managing to avoid getting stuck on the mining platform, though the ship he had bought passage on was targeted by pirates. Voto'Tos would jump into the fray alongside the security forces, surprising them that this Quarian was not only ready to get into a fight, but wasn't completely useless. He was offered a job with the security firm, and as far as Voto'Tos could tell, security was defending and protecting and didn't violate the Pilgrimage's sole rule, not technically.

After joining the security firm, he would spend several years working with them on various jobs, often times assigned to ship security thanks to his experience having grown up on a Quarian ship. It also gave him the means to see more of the galaxy then in the guts of a malfunctioning engine on Omega, and most of the time any violence that erupted was seeing off pirates and slavers targeting the ship or compound he was in at the time. Between the credits from security work, and his own research, he was able to finally purchase a rather large stockpile of Mattock rifles, enough to outfit an armory on a cruiser, and began hauling them back towards the Flotilla. He left the security firm on good terms, and with an open offer to find them on Omega should he ever need work again. The hauler was slow, but his time in the Terminus System working security had taught him where pirates liked to prey, and where he could law low and take cover. Plus, trying to take a Quarian bunkered down in a ship with more guns than rations was a dangerous prospect indeed.

When he returned, Voto'Tos would broadcast the code phrase for a successful Pilgrimage and proceed to dock with the Lamorn, another heavy cruiser that had been refurbished for Heavy Fleet use by the Quarians, and presented the cargo of Mattock rifles to the Captain. It was a welcome, and needed, gift, as Voto'Tos had suspected, since accurate, hard hitting rifles were hard to come by. More inaccurate weapons were riskier to use as hitting ship components was actively avoided if firefights were unavoidable when repelling hostilities. He would take on the name Voto'Tos vas Lamorn, and promptly joined the Migrant Fleet Marine contingent on the Lamorn, applying the skills he learned in the galaxy at large alongside focused and demanding training from the Marines themselves. He would be assigned to a squad that was routinely tasked with boarding actions and ground operations, protecting specialists and scientists from the Special Projects fleet. He would even rise to command his own squad of Marines, something he remains proud of though is very, very hesitant to ever speak on due to events leading up to his self imposed exile.

Voto'Tos and his squad were assigned to a security detail for a research team heading for the edges of the Terminus System, unknowingly part of the ongoing research into the Geth and potential efforts to regain lost territory and reclaim Rannoch. The planet was a dense jungle, sparsely populated by human colonists, though the Quarian team avoided them initially. What they weren't ready for was human mining operations to accidentally breach into and trigger the defense systems of a crashed and dormant Geth ship. The ship coming partially online was easily registered by the science teams instruments, and pinpointed beneath the human colony. Voto'Tos and his marines would escort the scientists to the colony, where familiar faces were struggling against the Geth pouring out of the mines. The old security firm he worked with on his Pilgrimage was present, and his old CO no less. Colonel Vestal was his name, and despite the surprise of meeting on this backwater, it was a welcome meeting and helped coordinate Quarian Marine actions, the team specialized in assault and shock tactics on the ground, Mattock fire suppressing and covering the Marines that advanced on the enemy alongside the tech heavy hard defenses of the security company.

Between the two, with the scientists urgings, Voto'Tos and Colonel Vestal would lead their respective forces into the mines instead of burying the entrance. Still, they rigged the tunnels with explosives as they went, just in case. The humans had taken considerable casualties before the Quarians arrived, the latter better trained to handle Geth than the human security forces had been. Lack of numbers was the main problem for Voto'Tos and his squad, as he personally knew each one of them and each loss would be a heavy blow on his conscious and faith in the Special Projects team that was urging them to push on in the face of mounting losses. The Colonel had no reason to listen, but he still stood by his old Quarian comrade and helped get the team close and closer to the wrecked, long abandoned and, until recently, dormant Geth ship. Upon reaching it, the Special Project team began setting up a base camp for long term study, despite the protests and concerns that it was not a defensible position and would cost them their lives. Voto'Tos would end up telling Colonel Vestal to get to safety, withdraw and guard the tunnel entrance, he wouldn't spend a friend's life on a fool errand like this.

Several days of research would eventually trigger a second wave of Geth platforms that had not been awoken in the initial surge, which would handily overwhelm the battered and injured Quarian Marines. The scientists fled while the Fleet Marines covered them, putting their lives on the line for their kin, and Voto'Tos was the only one who could escape, having been field testing armor mounted thrusters for ground and ship operations, and gave him the mobility he needed to get out of the tunnels and collapse them. All he had was furious scientists, who were convinced they could simply come back with more troops and pacify the now lost trove of Geth parts, and his team's designated markswoman's, Raefe'Waann, heavily modified Mattock rifle. Colonel Vestal offered to bring Voto'Tos along as he reported back to Omega, since they would have to recoup their losses there. Voto'Tos would decline, needing to head back to the Migrant Fleet and report what happened, as the scientists were mumbling about treason and the like when they thought that Voto'Tos wasn't listening. The two groups would part ways, the human colony having been wiped out by the accidental find. Voto'Tos would return to his ship alone, reporting what happened and the scientist's conduct as well. This would put the two ships at odds, the Special Projects ship demanding he be reprimanded and punished for his actions while the Lamorn and her captain defended his actions as necessary, and absolving him of any wrongdoing in the loss of his squad. The tunnel fighting against the Geth would haunt him while he slept, and he eventually slipped off the ship when it was suggested he take a new squad under his command after he had recovered from the combat actions.

Voto'Tos was convinced he was, at best, incompetent and a danger to anyone under his command on the Migrant Fleet and, at worse, an active danger since his inaction against the scientist's wishes had cost not only the lives of his squad, but several of the scientist's aids had died alongside the small human colony and their security forces. He planned to go to Omega and start over in the security firm, but when he got there he found them missing, and learned that the Colonel and his surviving men had been ambushed and lacked the manpower to fight off the pirate retaliatory strike. First his squad, then one of his few remaining friends outside the Migrant Fleet. He could not readily return to the Fleet, so he started freelancing on Omega, selling his skills and abilities as a soldier to the highest bidder. He stuck to security and escort jobs mostly, though with work drying up after the battle on the Citadel, he would end up taking a job on with other freelancers on a small ship out of system. He hadn't gotten off Omega, job wise, ever since he had arrived so maybe a breath of (figuratively) fresh air would do him some good.

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Strengths:
+ Migrant Fleet (Ex)Marine: Voto'Tos might have departed from the fleet on a self imposed exile, but that doesn't change the fact he was a Marine trusted to field test experimental tech. He is a skilled and tactical close quarters fighter, comfortable in tunnels, ships, and other tight locales where sometimes room is at a luxury to fight in. Add in experience during ground ops, he is a safe bet to bring along on a combat op, being a reliable shot and an excellent choice to lead an assault, being clean and focused in close quarters fighting.

+ Squad Tactics: Despite his beliefs, Voto'Tos is still a competent leader of small squads, capable of reading a situation and directing each member of his team to wherever they would do the most good, with the least amount of risk.

+ Confident under Pressure: It takes a great deal to get Voto'Tos to crack under pressure, your typical firefight or skirmish are nowhere near enough to get him to buckle. Even when facing down the Geth that cost him his squad, he kept making the best calls he could, even when that meant retreating and collapsing the tunnels to prevent the second wave from getting out.

+ Basic Medical Familiarity: Between necessary knowledge from his pilgrimage, as well as instruction from his own mother growing up, Voto'Tos has kept himself brushed up on triage and emergency care tactics. He can stabilize someone so a proper medical professional can actually bring them from the brink, which he lacks the expertise to do so. But he can delay their death until help arrives.

Weaknesses:
+ Self Confidence: As far as this Quarian is concerned, he has already failed as a squad leader and no amount of proving otherwise will help, near as Voto'Tos is concerned. Convincing him to be anything outside of a hired gun and, in combat situations, an advisor for the actual leader will take a great deal of effort to overcome.

+ Vendetta: Voto'Tos has quite a few that could readily consume him if the opportunity arose. From the Geth, that cost him his Squad and pushed him into a self imposed exile, to the pirates that ambushed and killed his friend from during his pilgrimage, he can hold a grudge and plot to take revenge for quite sometime.

+ Risktaker: Quarians are not the hardiest sort, so finding one that willingly engages in shock tactics and close assault is rare and fairly unusual. Sure, he is well armored by most standards, but the fact he gladly launches himself into close quarters with enemy ranks, lobbing grenades ahead of his charge to soften the position, is a clear indication of his willingness to throw himself into harms way.

+ Quarian Physiology: It goes without saying, but Voto'Tos is Quarian, meaning that his suit is the only thing protecting him from infection and weeks of sickness from said infections. The armor helps, of course, but a suit rupture is a suit rupture, which means infection in the area and being sick for quite some time after.

Misc:
Voto'Tos paces constantly whenever he doesn't need to be seated, walking back and forth, keeping himself moving. He says it helps him think and formulate plans and ideas, but it is as much a nervous tic as it is anything else.

He enjoys listening to human classical music, as well as music lacking vocals in general really, and will often do so during weapons maintenance or otherwise on his downtime. Hell, he has even looked into acquiring a human violin or other instruments to start practicing, though he hasn't actually gone through with it yet.

He drinks in his off time, though he is by no means a drunkard. Mainly since the amount of effort that goes into purifying and preparing himself for drinking means that he has never built up a heavy tolerance for it.

Voto'Tos just does not get things like Blasto or Fleet and Flotilla. He doesn't dislike them, mind, it just doesn't appeal and he doesn't understand the appeal. No amount of convincing will likely change this either.

Mass Effect: Sinless

Got room for one more? I can definitely think of a couple different ideas to slot into things, sure as sure!

Fire Emblem: Lost Song

"That is some small miracle then, given the trek to track this place down..." The remark was not made in hostile tone, rather, seemed more relieved than anything else. The gesture being dual intended was not lost on the Branded rider, as he noted that it wasn't just this elderly fellow and that another had been present as well already, and the gesture kept things at peace. The man's remark on seeking refuge being a welcome thing, otherwise he would have to depart. Refuge, he turned his gaze to the camp in question for a few moments before answering the unspoken question in whether he sought refuge or not. "Aye, I would not have come this far out of my usual way if I was not here for refuge."

The elderly man introduced himself as Cyprus, leader of the Desert Hare, and inquired after the names of both himself and his 'beautiful wyvern'. After a moment, Altena seemed to huff briefly and almost shake her head, which elicited a chuckle out of Weiland as he rested a hand back on her neck and patted a few times. "She's not much one for flattery, if it wasn't too obvious. I would be Weiland, and she is Altena. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Weiland left his arms sitting idly by his sides, well, the one that wasn't preoccupied resting on the neck of Altena, while he stood at, while not at ease, more relaxed than he had been for quite some time now. Even if he would likely be on the road again before much longer, if the rumor of the departure occurring soon would be proven true.

Fire Emblem: Lost Song

Even this early in the morning, the warm airs rising above the busy camp as one could pick out the flying form of some sort of beast, if one had sharp eyes. Such warm airs were surprisingly comfortable to fly in, certainly a pleasant change from what one might expect from maneuvering about mountain ranges, far as the flyer happened to be from such places. Weiland Voss had been making his way out towards this rumored camp, having paid good coin on leads and rumors that had finally pointed him in the right direction of this Palmyre. He knew that Altena had been wary of this path to begin with, the Desert of Death was known on an instinctive level as someplace both foreign and hostile to both of them. Yet his hunters had forced his hand, and it was a small boon that the camp was at the base of mountains, so he led the pair of them, Wyvern and Branded, in the direction of this camp.

As Weiland's eyes scanned the camp as he approached, and guided Altena in lowering and slowing so they could land and approach on foot, as to avoid causing a stir of having a wyvern and scarred man landing in the center of camp, he considered what little he had been able to learn outside of a proper direction. Some man named Cyprus was leading this group, though some had been quick to deride this man as a monster in man's guise, and that this caravan had made the trip at least once before. Of course, it had taken a great deal more coin, and arm twisting, to get a direction, but as the wyvern's claws made contact with the soft ground and jarred him out of his thoughts, he turned his thoughts to the now. He had seen a man observing the sunrise and, likely, spotted his approach, so he made no attempt in dallying or wasting time, and with an affectionate pat on the side of Altena, the two began walking the remaining short distance to where Weiland had seen the man observing the sunrise.

Finally Weiland laid eyes on the figure of a man he had seen during his descending approach, and could get a bit more detail. An elderly looking fellow, though age meant little in one's capabilities these days, as he certainly could likely handle himself if this was indeed Palmyre. He would come to a halt a respectful distance away, a hand coming to rest on the neck of Altena to inform her to halt as well, a subtle hint at the unspoken bond that no words need be spoken to understand intent between the two. Rather than stand about and wait to be addressed, the wyvern rider spoke up, only loud enough to be heard plainly without needless shouting. "Hail there, have I had the fortune to finally track down Palmyre?"

Besides greeting, Weiland was straight to the point and minced no words about his question towards the fellow. The rider himself stood steady, his attire not unusual for a sellsword that had operated across several of the sovereign nations of the land. Though what likely stood out was the oversized eyepatch, covering up some of the damage that had occurred around the socket that had once held an eye beneath the patch, and his stance, while steady, remained wary all the same for the moment. He had not, after all, confirmed he had reached his destination yet and should this not be the case, he would have to fly hard to check the other places he could think of that had matched the descriptions he had managed to gather. All of this before the days end, as it was rumored that they were about to depart the following day, and attempting to brave the Desert alone would be a slow death indeed. One he would certainly not wish upon Altena, given her rough life so far as well.