Rawk

Deadland Wasteland: Calling All Survivors (Looking for a few more.)

Awesome. I should have my CS by tomorrow.

Deadland Wasteland: Calling All Survivors (Looking for a few more.)

I've settled on Washington State, where specifically I have not quite decided, but it will be near either the Ocean, or the Puget Sound.

@Aeonumbra

Good choice ;)

Deadland Wasteland: Calling All Survivors (Looking for a few more.)

I'm down for this. What's the ETA on the CS templates?

Rawk's Character Dump

[DELETED]

Changelings Anonymous

Hey @Sisyphus, something told me I'd exceed the deadline considering I stumbled into the RP a few days later than others, but since I spent the last couple of days working on the CS in between RL stuff, I figured I might as well submit it in the event there is an opening in the future (or you decide to add another) :)

Bryn TreVayne

Name: Bryn TreVayne

Age: b.1981, apparent age is 25 (retained when she was taken to Arcadia) but more likely in her mid-late thirties

Gender: Female

Seeming: Elemental (Woodblood) - crafted from the very essence of her mortal and Fae being.

Court: None at this time...

Appearance:
Standing tall and lean at almost six-foot-one, Bryn’s Mask changed drastically from her shorter and thinner mortal self from whence she was pulled from years ago. She'd retained, for the most part, her identifiable facial features, light brown skin, and dreaded locks of dark hair that now seemed to be more on the wiry side from her “woodblood” Fae form. Very rarely, if at all, does she wear shoes, as they cause discomfort and possibly wounds, as though the very roots of her true nature scream out for freedom.

Mask image

Her Mien, a literal “walking tree” of sorts, slightly taller in stature than the mortal shroud she now wore in her homeworld, with thick corded branches, vines, and various sweet smelling flora which adorned her feminine shaped frame. Her long hair, made of deep emerald vines twisted and contorted around her head and draped over her angled shoulders, slowly ripple independently or perhaps when certain emotions present themselves.

Mien image

Until I can find a suitable image, I'll keep it to the description...

History

”Where words fail, music speaks”

The dark-haired girl stared intently at the quote scribbled along the top of the promotional poster hanging just outside the Boston Symphony Hall on Massachusetts Ave, that portrayed one of her favorite violinists. Not just a favorite, but a mentor of sorts, an inspiration and reminder of how much greater her talent would need to be in order to make it to the top one day. To be admired by others rather than simply passed by on the street like a nobody. Although contrary to these fleeting thoughts, Bryn was never much of a social person, nor did she enjoy being in any kind of spotlight. In fact, she hated it. Mostly self-taught, her musical talents were above average, and she found the violin to be a most pleasant instrument in her grasp, as each note and melody produced a vast mixture of emotions that she could relate to on many levels. In the grand scheme of things, however, the girl didn’t need to be on top, but rather sought affirmation that she hadn’t wasted her years plucking at the strings of a tool which didn’t produce some kind of enjoyment for herself, or for others. Bryn was still an artist, and the perfectionist side never seemed to allow her to move to the next level, no matter how hard she worked.

An artist had to eat, right? And so came the small venues here and there throughout Boston, as well as paintings she’d created in her spare time that connected to the music she wrote. Bryn made a decent living from the meager earnings her artist talents produced, and to an extent, she’d become content with the lifestyle and “romanticized” living of a young bohemian Boston-born artist. As time passed, she’d fallen in love and married, eventually had two kids, and did her best to carve out a life with a new family, all the while continuing to pursue a more lucrative musical career.

Yet, little did she know that on any given Saturday afternoon while taking her young children for a stroll through Boston Commons, her life would be drastically altered forever.

As she approached the large brick laden tunnel she’d crossed through dozens of times in the past, a young dark-haired woman about Bryn’s height and weight, barefoot and dressed in a flowy lavender sundress that looked strangely familiar, stood at the very opening. The stranger held in one hand a dark wood violin, encrusted with small shimmery gems, and in the other, a deep brown lacquered bow with a series of beads at the base. As Bryn approached, still pushing the doublewide stroller with her twin infant girls, she slowed her pace to a crawl, noticing for the first time that the woman’s facial features resembled her own! The stranger, void of any real expression, cocked her head slightly to one side and lifted the stringed instrument to her chin, where she began to play a low key and rather morbid sonata.

At first glance, Bryn was stunned, unable to vomit out a single word in protest, and certainly had no idea what was going on as this seemingly average “clone” continued to play a tune which held the young woman’s attention against her own free will. Was this a dream? A dream within a dream? Bryn hadn’t realized that time around her began to slow to a standstill and it was only her, the two children, and the other moving in real time. Curiosity took hold, as the music called to her, chiding her to approach the stranger. As she passed the front of the stroller, the girl noticed that both her kid were asleep, which hadn’t been an unusual occurrence during their afternoon walks. Her attention then pulled back toward the other until they were both within arms length, and the stranger ceased her playing, but rather holding the instrument out for Bryn to take, which she did without much hesitation to her own surprise. The violin felt heavenly within her grasp, a surge of excitement and wonder that she hadn’t felt in a long time surged through her, and she immediately closed her eyes and began playing music she’d never played before. Musical compositions that were on a level she’d never reached before, and yet there she was, playing them effortlessly and for that small moment in time, the world she’d been born into and raised up in was forgotten as the music enraptured her very being.

And then an abrupt push from the clone -the Fetch as is later realized- that plunges the girl into another realm altogether, with the last visions of her two sleeping children and their new “mother” at their side, smiling wryly and waving as the portal closes behind the now lost young woman...

An undetermined amount of time had passed, and even as Bryn opened her eyes from what seemed as though it were a long slumber, she was greeted by a lush and beautifully maintained garden, one of which seemed vaguely familiar. Even the scent that permeated throughout brought her joy and comfort, a place she hoped to never leave again. Her mind told her to rise up, as though she were actually laying down, yet it occurred to her that she was standing all along. Even moreso, the young woman felt as though she’d been here before...many times, in fact. Bryn tried to walk as she’d done every day of life, but she was stuck, rooted into one place and as her stiff neck turned and pivoted her head toward her legs, the realization struck her like a thousand blades to the heart. What replaced her lower body was the massive trunk of a tree, it’s roots spread in every direction, going deep into the ground to soak up the water and nutrients it offered. Her arms and hands, thick twisted branches and vines that took the shape of what was once human appendages of flesh and bone. Even what she could see of her upper body, was covered in bark and more corded and woven vines that made up the rest of her body. She brought a shaking limp up to her face, and without being able to see her own visage, knew that it was less than what it was, but still a shadow of it’s former self. She was what one would consider a Dryad from folklore, a hauntingly beautiful creature made up of an array of wood, thorny vines, various flowering plants, and the blackest of soil to bind it all together.

The girl wanted to scream in protest to whatever had happened, her mind raced and thoughts carried her back into time, countless years to the point of her first being pushed through the gateway and into the darkened Hedge. The massive Ogre who carried her nearly unconscious body through the thorny pathways into Arcadia, where he’d kept her for many days in a workshop full of sculptures made of every kind of element you could imagine. Bryn grew weaker as the days passed, still in her human form that slowly felt as though it were fading away, as though her flesh slipping away from the skeleton that held her up. The Ogre -her Keeper- had bled most of what was left in her body into a pot, adding it to the strange brew that was simmering day after day within the morbid workshop he considered his home. As the last vestiges of life drained away into whatever concoction the beast had, Bryn died, but only her body faded away. Her true essence, her soul if you will, carried on into the wooden golem that she now inhabited, its structure, once just a base design, twisted and formed into a closer image of what her mortal form had once been. Just more…tree-like.

Time passed, and the Ogre continued on with his new bondservant, treating her as less than equal but paying little attention to her other than being a mere tool for his trade or an exquisite “show piece” for his vast architectural landscapes and gardens. It was then, surprisingly, and after several years of hard labor, that the Ogre presented Bryn with a beautifully crafted violin that had a rich, deep red color soaked into the wood itself. The beast never forgot the girl’s true potential and gift of music, and he wished to take advantage of yet another aspect of the Changeling's rebirth into the land of Fae: Magic.

Learning to play this newly crafted instrument all over again as a reborn Woodblood was challenging but the girl was determined to bring back the one thing that truly kept her happy and at peace. She brought herself up to speed in no time, playing tunes she'd remembered from her mortality and learned new songs by simply listening to the environment all around her. The Ogre’s work flourished with each harmony, and many of his sculpted pieces came to life as a result of the magic that flowed through the red violin. The instrument was a part of Bryn, and she, a part of the instrument.

Forever inseparable. Or so she thought.

Many cycles later, in a fit of rage, the Ogre ripped the instrument from his slave’s grip in a single violent stroke, taking with it pieces of her wooden limbs that slowly regenerated. The violin body cracked, and strings broken away from the tuning bolts, an emotion erupted in the girl that has never been there before. Where fear and subjugation had been the dominant factor, they were quickly replaced by a heated anger that unleashed in a flurry of attacks against her keeper. The first of many, gouging the beast's eyes out with the sharpened ends of her fingers, causing the branches to grow and penetrate into the creature's brain matter until it reacted by swatting her arm away, snapping it in half and leaving the wooden shanks lodged in his head.

Bryn shrieked as she’d lost her forearm, but knowing full well it would regenerate with time, but at that moment she only wanted to flee and create as much distance between her and the Ogre as possible. So she scooped up the broken violin and ran, using the time that her Keeper was blinded and distracted to hide in the thick of the dark forests, a place she knew would allow her sanctuary, if even for a little while.

And so the two worlds collided once again.

Up ahead, canvassed by large trees and flanked by two pillars of layered stone and glass, a tall but narrow rip in the fabric of Arcadia revealed the mortal realm, a world where Bryn knew she'd belong to many years past. Slivers of memory came back as she gazed into the gateway, keeping focus on what lied beyond, and using what little she could remember about the portals to make a possible escape. At that moment, however, fear and doubt once again rose up and kept her petrified. She wanted to run, to escape the unknown years of slavery and reclaim what was once hers on the other side of the gateway. But what did await her? The girl could hear voices in the distance, and she'd realized that it was now or never to cross. With a deep breath and a renewed sense of purpose, Bryn bolted toward the portal and leapt through the narrow passage just before the glamour which held it open dissipated and the spot where the gateway appeared returned to its original state.

Most of what happened next seemed to be a blur, memories of the transition from Arcadia to the mortal world again hit her hard. Her body took on the Mask of a rather close approximation of her former self, but still different, with certain aspects of her true form, her Mien, seeping through the magical disguise she wore to protect her identity. She'd landed in a place that was foreign to her, a city that had never been her home before, and was far from where she'd started. What's more, she knew she had to escape to the mortal realm, yet she could not recall who or what she had prior to being taken all those years ago. Did she have family? Was there a home for her to go back to?

The basics of survival were still with her, and little by little, she discovered that the Fae magic coursed through her veins even in the strange new city. Her arm, the one damaged during her escape from the Ogre, formed properly but was still not fully functional, and felt weak compared to the rest of her body. A small price to pay she supposed, but hopefully something that could be rectified as her journey begins in New York City.

Personality:
With the heart of an artist and the grace and temperament of one who allows classical music to influence her very being, Bryn does her best to keep the dread of her captivity at bay with the beauty and harmony created through her own musical works. Meditation and focus is also a significant part of her life that she kept from her mortal days, surrounding herself with the beauty of the outdoors as she allows her body to recharge. Due to her Fae nature, she also has an empathetic connection to the flora, sensing it’s own emotions, which in turn, influences her own well-being, whether good or bad.

Skills:
Primarily a professional-level violinist and painting enthusiast, her magically imbued violin has a chance to animate objects and artwork that are otherwise inanimate.

Supernatural Powers:
Redwood violin she plays -one carried over from Arcadia- is imbued with her own Fae & mortal blood, causing it's music to bring certain plant life, and to a certain degree, inanimate objects.
Her skin is tougher than most, a sort of “bark skin” that will activate seamlessly when under duress as a defense mechanism.
Empathic connection with flora, can feel their emotions, which can empower or perhaps disable her depending on the severity.

Weaknesses:
Due to her nature, her Mask’s skin can become rather dry or cracked in appearance and she may become weakened physically and mentally unless she is properly hydrated with water throughout the day. Because of this drawback, Bryn has been known to spend time in areas that have a higher degree of moisture, especially during the colder, dryer months.

Note: Certain waters -whether bathed in or ingested- imbued with magical properties allow her to heal from wounds or general ailments at an accelerated rate.

Possessions:
Violin, crafted from her own Fae blood, wood, and hair (bow string)

Other:
TBD

Changelings Anonymous

Just an FYI @Sisyphus, I'm wrapping up my CS and should have it posted for approval by tomorrow morning (US EST). Unfortunately posting time for me is limited each day (damn you RL!) but I'm def looking forward to this RP.

Changelings Anonymous

@Rawk Well, you're welcome to throw your hat into the ring! I'm looking to take five players, so there's still room.

@Sisyphus

Yeah, I'm def interested and working on a CS so hopefully I'll have something for review by today during the "git yer CS in!" rat race :D

Changelings Anonymous

Wow @Sisyphus, a blast from the past for sure. I still have my original Changeling Player's Guide (cir 1998!) somewhere buried on a shelf collecting dust :)

I may have to check this out if you're still looking for additional players...

Rawk's Character Dump

Name:

Species: Human

Age: 39

Occupation: Bodyguard / Enforcer (Prev. Employed with Imperial Security Bureau)

Appearance: 6’0, 210lb lean muscle, olive skin, neatly combed dark hair with streaks of gray

Faction: TBD

Equipment: Reinforced leather jacket with durasteel & cortosis armor plates sewn into the lining, dual blasters, modified light blaster rifle, vibroknife, & chewing gum...because why not?

Skills:
>> Hand-to-hand / close quarter combat experience
>> Tactical Espionage
>> Proficient with small firearms & blades
>> Intermediate level slicing
>> Investigations & Security-systems specialist

Weaknesses:
Slowed over time: (physical) While he’s generally a fit person, Gavon is unable to keep up a fast steady pace for long due to a prosthetic left leg from an accident years prior.

Addicted to Painkillers: Due to his leg injury and the cybernetic replacement, which at times, seems to be rejecting its host, the pain can become unbearable and Gavon doesn’t hesitate to inject a good dose of painkillers to keep himself in the game. However, several years of the same routine has caused him to develop a habit which, if not kept in check, could hinder his actions.

A little history...

“You know the rules, lmperial dog. If you want to eat, you fight!”

The large Fight Master, whose species was unknown, fully charged electro-staff in hand, continued to poke and prod the blood and sweat-soaked combatant, shouting profanities in aurabesh, and spitting vile yellow-green saliva which poured from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. The resounding death chants of the crowd pulsating throughout the small makeshift arena had become deafening as the battle continued.

“That's ‘former Imperial’, genius…” The human retorted in between heavy breaths.

“If you want to die...well...you’ll have to die somewhere else!” The creature's lips parted forming a wry smile that revealed rows of jagged, displaced yellow stained teeth. “And I’d hate for something as succulent-looking as you to waste away so soon”

The combatant stood up slowly, holding firmly onto his right arm where his opponent, a dark reddish-hair Gundark who smelled of week old urine, carved a good sized gash that went deep, rendering any muscle movement in the arm useless at that moment. The human shot the wretched Fight Master a cold stare, his sore and tired green eyes ignited with the will to push on.

“You know I used to like you...about thirty seconds ago, but now I just want to kick you in your face. The problem is, I can't tell where your face starts and your ass ends you slimy piece of- ”

The human’s gaze suddenly switched over to the charging beast, fifty meters ahead and closing in fast.

A frantic look replaced the Fight Master's earlier smug expression as he let out a harsh squeal and something exclamatory in his native language. “Gru’dah! Time to take my place behind the gate! Good luck meatbag human!…”

The Fight Master, chuckling to himself, started toward the outer gate, while the human’s arm quickly reached out and grabbed the electrostaff mid-handle. “Not so fast worm, I need to finish this...”

The human male, tall, lean, and muscular in physique, held tight to the staff, shifted his weight to his leading foot and spun around with the grace of a wild Cathar, ripping the weapon free from the Fight Master's greasy hands. As he was virtually meters from the huge beasts open jaws and massive claws, the human gladiator launched the electrified end of the staff straight out in front of him and the weapon hit its mark with near precision.

The crowd roared with intense excitement. Blood is what they wanted to see, no matter whose it was.

“Move!” He shouted toward the slug-like Fight Master as he dove and rolled sideways out of the overly-pissed creatures path of destruction. The energy cell powering the staff overloaded causing the beasts insides to burn at an accelerated rate. It writhed out of control for a few moments longer until the dust settled and the beast’s shrieks and thrashing fell silent.

“Now I eat…” The human said behind clenched teeth. “And you’ll not say another word...”

The fight master, shaking off the anxiety, stared at the creatures half-burnt corpse in disbelief and then back at the dust-covered, bloodied, and bruised humanoid and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ehh, right...so what do I call you off-worlder?” The fightmaster asked, as he motioned over to the clean-up crew.

The man grabbed the edge of the Fight Masters tattered cloak and wiped the sweat, dust, blood, and whatever else was stuck to his face.

“Call me whatever you want slime, just pay me what I'm owed and I'll go on my way.”

“Hah, bold words, meatbag. You'll get your pay, less the cost of that electrostaff you destroyed, of course. But I need a name as well before you see anything.”

“Fine. Gavon..call me Gavon”

--------------------------------------------------------------

Odd jobs. It had been like that since the collapse of the Empire, its many holdings and investments dried up, stolen, or destroyed by enemies and competitors, or any entitled rogue group considering themselves valiant heroes of the war. Many corporations throughout the galaxy whose vested interests were embedded in the mega-structure of the Empire, abandoned planets, or negotiated new contracts with private businesses, Republic officials, or anyone willing to keep them employed. Inhabitants of the galaxy needed work and did what they could to hold on to it.

Gavon had no real love for the Empire, it’s Imperial army of drones and tools, and especially not the deified Sith, whose ego knew no bounds, or so he heard. Fortunately, he never actually met a Sith Lord, or any “force sensitive” during his employment, and even if he had, Gavon [jokingly] assumed they would be easy to spot. Did a Jedi or a Sith glow with the force? Was there a secret handshake that would be their tell?

However, all things considered, his dislike for the Empire only went so deep as they did provide a steady stream of work, enough it seemed considering the amount of enemies in and out of Imperial controlled territories.

At the time the Empire was at the height of their power, Gavon had been conscripted and trained at a young age under a relatively new branch of the Imperial Security Bureau (ISB) as an “Enforcer Agent”. The ISB had many branches and agents that kept their fingers busy shuffling through everyone else's business, and the Enforcers were there to ensure they survived when things went awry. They were considered, for all practical purposes, a bodyguard. Training as an Enforcer was quite strict, and long hours were spent in physical as well as mental exercises, learning to extract a team member (and themselves) out of any given situation. Weapons training was one of the last exercises, and a number of blasters, rifles, and an assortment of melee weapons were given to each Enforcer agent to use as needed. But above all things, they were protectors to the agents, and each life lost was a scar on their reputation that would be carried forever. A scar that Gavon wore with much shame.

Kaliza.

Her bloodied face and frightened expression haunted him each night and continued to remain at the forefront of his mind. It was supposed to be an easy covert Op for her, in and out, but the ambush came quickly and the false intel Imperial Intelligence had been fed positioned Gavon and his crew at the wrong extraction point. Even among the opposition of the higher-ups and some of her peers, she had been the first non-human to be accepted in Imperial Intelligence and her career was over before it started.

Protectors. Who are we protecting now, but the undeserving?

After the seat of the Empire had diminished, and the Imperial military no longer working in any official capacity, Gavon found himself at the unemployment crossroads, and sometimes even at a dead end. The galaxy was trying it’s best to pick up the pieces left by the last war, and most corporations and small business had hiring freezes that lasted months. Relief work wasn’t hard to find, and while it paid very little, the benefits had been well worth the time spent for the ex-Enforcer. During a demo and clean up job on Coruscant, the Undercity had been overrun with refugees who once lived on the surface, crime and violence was at an extreme high, even for the likes of the underground world beneath the shining city. Gavon, having taken residence on one of the housing levels, came across a girl, no more than six or seven years of age, who had been hiding away in the closet of a unit he rented. The frightened Togruta child, who he later found out was one of the many war orphans, quickly warmed up to Gavon, and strangely he to her, for it wasn’t until moments after their meeting that he realized the little girl had an unbelievable resemblance to Kaliza.

Weeks turned into months, and both Gavon and his charge, Uriah, left Coruscant and headed toward Nar Shaddaa, to meet a potential employer, Madam Z’noshe, a wealthy art collector who was in need of a full time and local bodyguard. She also had concerns of several pieces of artifacts she claimed were being stolen by pirates and gangs looking to sell them back to her, but had no hard evidence, or a location to start. Gavon knew this job wasn't going to be as black and white as he hoped.

In the long run though, Gavon hoped after some time, his new employer would be able to provide a good home and education for the Togruta orphan Uriah in exchange for half his agreed amount of pay. Even half was enough for him to live comfortably and Gavon knew the little girl needed a life away from all the chaos…

--------------------------------------------------------------

The momentary pinging sound from the communicator console next to his bed startled him from a deep sleep.

“What the...how long was I out? Geez, I didn’t even hear it ring the first time” Gavon rubbed his eyes, and turned on the holoscreen to view the message:

MESSAGE PENDING:
From: Enara Z’noshe
0200 : Centaxday
[[ URGENT ]]

A miniaturized translucent version of Madam Z’noshe materialized on the small holopad.

“Mister TreVayne, my apologies for the disturbance at this late hour, but your attention is of the utmost importance. Please contact me as soon as you can on my private channel, pass phase: ‘drunk Dug with a gambling problem’. Enara out.”

Gavon arched an eyebrow, mumbling to himself. “Must be important. She addressed me as ‘Mister’ “

Rawk's Character Dump

Name: Brynn G’horra

Age: 26

Appearance: Standing at no more than five-foot-two-inches (5’2) and weighing approximately one hundred and twenty pounds (120lbs), Brynn was one of the smallest in height and frame that the Empire had recruited. But skill and determination outshined small stature...

Rank: Imperial Agent / Recon

Strengths:
Smaller target
Lip reading
Close quarter combatant, proficient with small arms as wells as unarmed.
Quick reflexes, misdirection, and ability to disarm most opponents caught off guard.
Stealth, keeping footsteps light, remaining in the shadows, and out of line of sight. (can be augmented with personal stealth generator)

Weaknesses:
Below average strength. Due to a childhood illness, muscle mass is less than average for a female of her size. In combat situations, she generally has to compensate by using the opponents own weight and power against them.
Social awkwardness. Doesn't enjoy mixed company, partners, and prefers to work alone.

Bio:
Brynn was born within Coruscant’s Undercity, but sadly misplaced at an early age when CorSec officials raided several communities known to be harboring drug smugglers and dealers. She found herself alone most of the time, feeding off the scraps of the surface dwellers, and seeking shelter where she could. It was only when caught stealing from an Imperial military officer that her life took an unexpected turn, as the Empire was in the middle of a draft to restock lost recruits, and Brynn was swept right up into the chaotic winds.

Casting all fear and anxiety out, Brynn fought hard to push through the academy and prove that even at her size, she could still be effective. Eventually landing a position within Imperial Intelligence, her cunning, strategy building, and immense focus on any task made up for the physical weaknesses she has to overcome.

Equipment:
Brynn generally carries light in order to slip in and out of the target zones undetected.

< Armor >
Mark V Tactical Operations Suit & components: Mitigates both long-ranged blaster bolts and melee damage to an extent
Built in stealth generator technology
Built in datapad fixed onto arm for quick recon collection and communications
Reinforced knuckle gloves for a harder hit
Goggles with zoom/night/heat vision capabilities
Mask with built-in communicator and filter for various airborne toxins

< Weapons >
A180 Blaster Pistol
Vibroblade collapsible dagger