Appearance Miracle takes much more after her father than her, his dark hair, pale skin and freckles all being passed down to her. Most people assume that she's purely Caucasian, a mistake she never corrects. The only real trait she inherited from her mom was her height. Standing under five feet tall it's very easy to dismiss her as not much of a threat, an assessment she's always very happy to prove wrong. Underneath her clothing is rangy body made lean by her early years of hunger and toned by working out with her dad. Her strength is shown whenever she;s on patrol, carrying her anti-tank rocket and machine gun as easily as some men do their rifles.
When in the field Miracle wears the typical olive drab fatigues and webbing, decorating her helmet with slogans and patches picked up from various places. When at the FOB or preparing to go into the cramped rat tunnels she forgoes the jacket and helmet, choosing to wear just a tank top, pants and her holsters.
Height 4'9"
Personality Overall, Miracle is best described as angry. Angry at the US government for sending her into some stupid war, angry at the VC bastards hiding in the trees and laying traps along the jungle floor, angry at her superior officers making her crawl around the rat tunnels with some CS gas and a pistol, angry at her parents for bringing her into this world and herself for not taking the easy way out. She handles all this anger by self-medicating and keeping her issues to herself, letting them build and build until she inevitably explodes. Her default expression is a bitter scowl, softening to a grim smirk or a cold snarl as needed.
Her complicated relationship with her parents and her ancestry has left Miracle with a intense dislike boiling on hatred of the locals she has to deal with. ARVN regulars are seen as nothing more than disposable shields, civilians are informants to be bullied for information and loot. Her knowledge of the language is used to sling insults and shake people down, all in an attempt to conceal her heritage from other members of her squad. Her sexual identity is hidden just as well, locked up out of fear over how others would see her.
The only time she can reach a state resembling relation is when she's high. A fascination with weed and prescription medication as a teen morphed into a full blown addiction. Six months of combat forced her to branch into other narcotics, picking up cocaine, heroin and LSD from the many unscrupulous servicemen with stateside connections.
Rank Private First Class
Role Switches between Heavy Gunner, Tunnel Rat and Translator as needed.
-1955 Stratocaster -Various stashes of cigarettes and other drugs -1955 Telecaster -1000 American dollars and 1000 Vietnamese Dong, in cash. -Dice and playing cards
Biography Miracle Morgan was originally named Bian Nzuyen, the daughter of two immigrants. Her father Gael was a naturalized citizen of the U.S. and Marine with a fondness for drinking, gambling and women. Her mother Hau was a frightened new arrival from French Indochina who worked as a washerwoman and errand-runner. How they met was never explained but the result was a half Vietnamese, half-Welsh bastard whose father wanted nothing to do with her. Before she was even born he was gone, leaving behind some money and instructions for Hau to never contact him.
Bian spent the first decade of her life in poverty, wearing second and third hand clothes until they fell apart and eating only what could be bought in bulk or for pennies. There was no money for anything but the bare essentials, nothing was wasted. Nearly every meal consisted of rice, bread and whatever meat was left over at the butcher's shop. The rationing of World War 2 actually improved their diet, the Emergency Price Control Act allowing Hau to buy things like coffee and sugar for the first time.
Despite taking more after her father in terms of looks, Bian was still very distinct from her peers. Her mother's thick accent stuck with her for her early years, something she was mocked for in school. There was often little difference between the Japanese and other Asians in her classmate's eyes, and she quickly became known as "Jap" and "Zipperhead". The teachers did little if anything to stop it so she took it upon herself, scrapping with any and everyone that had a problem with her. It was a tendency that would follow her throughout her life.
By late 1944 Gael had returned to the States, sent home by one of the coveted million dollar wounds. To the surpise of both Bian and her mother he wanted to take custody of her after years of little more than letters and postcards. Hau refused at first, desperate to hold onto her little girl. But Bian was a child who couldn't help but feel like her mother had failed her, dressing her in too big clothes and being unable to protect her from the abuse she suffered at school. She choose the man who had done nothing to help her, following Gael and leaving Hau broken hearted.
Gael was certainly able to provide a better home and a better standard of living, but he was certainly a worse parent. Within the first month of her arrival it became clear that his personal biases and trauma were not going to make it easy to raise his half-breed bastard. She had a habit of singing to herself in Vietnamese before it was beaten out of her, Gael letting her know that he "hadn't gotten myself shot by some slant-eyed fuck only for my daughter to refuse to speak properly." And she didn't just stop speaking Vietnamese around him. She worked hard to lose her accent and present herself as something more familiar, asking him to give her a new name. Miracle was chosen out of a phone book.
Gael had wanted a boy and her set about raising Miracle as he would his son, pushing her into sports and shooting and other traditionally male pastimes. She was short but vicious, able to hold her own on the scrimmage line and in the boxing ring. When Gael opened a moving company she would come along to assist, building her strength with every couch and fridge she helped load into the truck. The better food and emphasis placed on physical activities like hiking or wrestling made Miracle much healthier than she had been before.
Physically. Mentally she was suffering under the weight of desperately trying to change what she could about herself and hide what she couldn't. Gael's casual usage of slurs was picked up by Miracle and intensified, spewing all sorts of harsh language at people who gained her ire. When she was fourteen she cautiously broached the topic of her burgeoning attraction towards other girls only to be quickly and resolutely shot down by her father. So she did her best to write it off, going through a string of boyfriends through her teen years to try and prove it was just curiosity. She had no luck. By the end of high school she was smoking weed and abusing prescription medication, and it only got worse when she entered college.
When she visited her mother Hau could see that she was falling apart at the seems and pleaded with her to get help. But every warning was brushed off with a dismissive non-answer or flat out ignored. Miracle had decided she was going to be what her father wanted her to be or die trying, and to that end choose to leave college for the Marine Corps in hopes of finding pride in herself there. Affiliations -Gael Morgan (Father)t -Hau Nzuyen (Mother)
Relationships An optional segment that can be updated as it goes along, though most of the time this can just be merged into the affiliations tab.
Character Theme Not necessary, but can be used if wished.
Victoria hadn't minded the marching. Two decades of loyal service to the Federation had given her plenty of time to practice getting from point A to B without falling off a bridge or something. She had hadn't enjoyed listening to a pair of perfectly dense soldiers complain about walking and cards and mud and whatever dumb shit came to their minds (such as they were), but they had at least been shut up pretty quick. Besides, sooner or later they would end up under fire and Vicky would get the pleasure of watching them piss themselves. As long as she had her flask she could put up with them and obnoxious tramping of boots and her daughter cooing and whispering to that stupid cat. It was easy once you were used to it: just keep putting one foot in front of the other, try not breath in the clouds of dirt blown up by tanks and trucks, and for the love of God don't stop drinking. That was the most important part.
Getting up at Go Fuck Yourself o'clock was honestly completely fine. She hadn't regularly slept a full night since the first war so this was entirely normal. Wake up, get dressed, scream at the people who were still trying to sleep and then get into formation. Easy. She didn't even have to do anything except listen to her boss read off the list of bullshit regulations and let her know she heard them loud and clear. "Eat shit, cunt." Spoken like a professional soldier. The words were harsh but her tone was light, a rare smile stretched across her slashed up face. Maxi was probably the only officer in existence that wasn't brain-dead. In a strange way she reminded Vicky of herself in her younger years.
This of course meant that she was probably as intelligent as a cow, but that was just how kids were.
Really she found most parts of army life more or less agreeable, able to be endured for the sake of a paycheck and a pension. Today though she'd be dealing with the parts that weren't: the food and the officer corp. Vicky had grown up mixing sawdust in with old flour and helping her mom cook meat she had managed to buy when a draft horse needed to be put down. She prided herself on being able to turn ingredients of little-to-no quality into food that was actually pretty good! Or at the very least, edible. And that's was made the slop being served to her so insulting. All the fucking money the Feds were taking out of her paycheck as taxes and they couldn't afford a half-way decent cook?
It was the fault of those goddamn bigwigs roaming about, fat old fucks whose idea of intensity was a rousing day at the horse races with their wives and mistresses. It was their fault that the food was awful, tightfisted cunts who couldn't bear to approve a penny more of pay raise unless it went directly into their own pockets. The best and brightest of Vinland, Francia, Edinburgh and the other shitholes that made up this proud alliance. Just being near them pissed her off to no end, and she dealt that anger with the same way she dealt with all her problems.
Another heavy gulp of cheap whiskey helped prepare her stomach for mouthfuls of rubbery eggs and nearly curdled milk as she sidled up to some of her fellow Rangers trying to harass Maxi. "Hate to break it to you, but whatever it is will be awful." Rosie and Paloma were already at their routine of being too cheery for the morning, but that was preferable to Yori's permanent case of bitch face. Could he make any expression besides a grimace?"Watch it there Yori, you put any more sunshine in that famous smile of yours and people might actually think you're happy to be alive!"
He always looked as if he couldn't decide whether he was more disgusted with himself or his comrades.
Me too kid. Me fuckin' too.
---------------
Not for the first time Elizabeth was bemoaning her decision to sign up and fight her way through the Ranger selection process. Her hare-brain attempt at showing her mother that she was capable was turning out to be a dismal failure, Victoria having made little notice of her making it through sniper school or being placed in her unit. If anything she had seemed upset, like she couldn't believe Liz had managed it and wished she hadn't. It hadn't been good enough, just like everything else. Liz spent most of her time away from her now, unable to figure what she should or even could do to try and make up for her existence. It was the same today, the younger White slipping away from her mother's spot in the convoy. Best for both of them that they didn't talk too much.
She was good at that sort of thing, quietly fading into the background and disappearing before she could attract too much adverse attention. It was a skill she had picked up from dealing with a family of drunks and never quite fitting in with her peers, Liz carefully backtracking through the convoy until she spotted at least a couple of familiar faces. One of her mother's old comrades who she didn't really know, and her aunt! The sight of Mrs. Godfrey could usually cheer her up, but she had to be careful around her. She was motherly almost to the point of smothering, such a far cry from Vicky that it was almost a shock to the system. There was such a thing as being too affectionate after all.
"Hello Auntie."
Her voice was a near whisper, Liz keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her as she wrapped an arm around the shorter woman. "You doing okay?" The question had been addressed to Diana but answered by someone else entirely, a gentle "Mraow?" echoing out from the confines of her jacket. There was visible bulge moving from within the garment, climbing up from her stomach and along her ribs it popped out at her collar, Soot making his presence known with another curious meow. "Soot says hi as well." She giggled, a musical noise quickly cut short as if out of habit.
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'5" ► Weight - 202 lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Specialization - Raider ► Rank - (Applying for Staff) Sergeant ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. The rangy leanness of her childhood and teen years of starvation has passed, the career soldier having bulked out from a steady source of food. Her body type could be described as Amazonian, height accentuated by her obvious strength. Her biceps and calves are thick with muscle, her abs clearly outlined on her stomach. brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head to be scooped out of the way when it becomes annoying. Her body bears marks from the the battles of the first war as well as her rough upbringing, a jagged scar tracing its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head. More cover her forearms, left by hot shrapnel.
Her uniform is hidden by the waterproof cape she's carried since it was issued to her in the 1910s, the rabbit felt hat of the Oceanic Expeditionary Force still perched on her head after all this time. Two extra bandoleers are wrapped around her torso for easy access.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
The wild years of Vicky's youth are far behind her. Instead of drinking to party and bragging about how she can kick the ass of anyone in the room she usually drinks by herself and thinks about just where her life has taken her. A member of the Federation's Rangers who hates the Federation itself and a high school drop out who uses a pseudonym to write eloquent essays calling for Oceania's independence, she's a mess of contradictions and poorly managed trauma. She's open about her life but pretends that it didn't really affect her, ignoring her nightmares and anxiety driven hallucinations.
Her relationship with her daughter is awkward, Victoria loving her daughter but never really knowing how to properly express it. Liz has to settle for backhanded compliments and unwanted advice about how children can ruin her life. With friends Vicky is a different person, boisterously loud and full of life. But she tends to keep her true thoughts to herself, a bitter old woman who's upset she made it as long as she did.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria White was born in Prairie, Oceania to a pair of struggling sheep ranchers who could hardly afford the three kids they already had, much less a fourth. The elder White children had been calculated risks, extra hands to help with labor. Victoria was an accident and knew it. Her mere existence drove the family to the brink of ruin, her parents just managing to sell enough wool to keep a roof over their heads through hard work and suffering. The day after she was born Victoria was swaddled and carried on her mother's back as she herded the flocks. Within two years every sheep they had either died or was sold off. A massive drought hit Prairie, turning the cattle town into a wasteland. Crops failed and homesteads were sold off or abandoned by people who could afford to move. Everyone who couldn't buckled down and made the best of a bad situation.
Victoria's earliest memories were of her older siblings teaching her how to strip copper from wires and dig through empty houses for any valuables left behind, the young girl taking quickly to the work.. By the time her siblings left in search of better prospects she could be trusted to go out for a few days and return with enough scrap to buy enough flour to last a week. But she wasn't the only hunting for things in the old homesteads. Gangs of youths had formed, stealing everything that wasn't nailed down and fighting among themselves for bragging rights and the best spots to tear through. Victoria was jumped into one when she was fourteen and quickly made a name for herself, learning to drink and fight with the best of them.
She was fifteen when she drunkenly stabbed another girl to death, sixteen when she got pregnant. The father was a petty thief and con-man four years her senior who rather unsurprisingly disappeared. Left by herself Victoria fell back on her family for assistance. Elizabeth White was born in the same dilapidated side room as her mother and Victoria was back to scrounging anything of worth by the next day. The famine had ended but the damage was done: Prairie was a ghost town totally devoid of opportunity. How was she supposed to feed her kid?
The answer came in the form of the First Europan War. Victoria followed the time honored tradition of uneducated youth every war and signed up to fight. She was good at it too, pushing aside her fear and horror with the hep of cheap booze and slashing her way through the opposition. By the end of the war she had earned herself a medal for bravery during a particular nasty trench raid.
When the guns died down she stayed in the army, settling down into a life of moving from base to base with little Elizabeth. With no war to fight she spent her time educating herself, reading more books in a year than she had total up to that point. With knowledge came reflection, Victoria ruminating on the war and her life in Oceania. She had devoted herself to an utterly pointless conflict, took part in the slaughter of millions in the name of a country that had done nothing and cared nothing for her. The Federation let her people starve, keeping Oceania's resources and manpower firmly under its control control while she had been forced to loot for scrap metal.
Thinking about how she and her country had been used as little more than cannon fodder weighed on Victoria heavily, driving her to do something she had never really done before: write. It was minor at first, a few minutes each day scribbling her thoughts and grips in a little notebook. But as time went on and she got a better of language and the world stage it began to expand into essays about topics ranging from the treatment of Darscens to economic policy and colonialism. It was almost therapeutic for her, Victoria letting herself opinions she hadn't even known she was capable of having.
Sending them to newspapers was really the next logical step but with a kid to raise and bills to pay there was no way she was going to risk being fired or imprisoned by using her real name. Victoria White became Hudson Weber, notorious agitator and borderline anarchist depending on who you asked. Even as she was making a (fake) name for herself as an essayist White joined the Rangers in search of higher pay and something to do. It was the only option she had, having no other skills or trade besides sewing. She served the Federation with distinction by day as a Ranger by day and railed against it at night for fifteen years, managing to keep the wheels of contradiction turning with steady usage of alcohol as lubricant.
When the second war was declared she was more excited than she had been in years. She would get to do what she was good at again.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Berserk: Being a shocktrooper requires unwavering dedication to the Federal cause and a complete lack of fear, two things Victoria lacks. She makes up for it with brute strength, speed and insanity. When charging enemy positions she became a snarling beast hellbent on driving her bayonet through some chests. She excels at using her fists and any nearby objects to bludgeon the enemy into submission. She handles problems out of combat the same way she does in: with overwhelming force.
Mother Bear: Her first priority is her daughter, her second is friends and everything else is third. She doesn't really know how to show it but Victoria cares for very much for her daughter, silently checking up on her in camp and watching her to make sure she doesn't get into trouble. With friends she's loud, boastful and loyal, watching their back in the field and shooting the shit with them out of it.
Resourceful: Scavenging for scrap and substituting horse meat for beef as a child has made Victoria a very cost-efficient kind of person. She can knit and sew to keep her clothes in shape, turn substandard or small amounts of ingredients into a decent meal and sniff out all sorts of usable goods from bargain bins and ruined houses alike. A more unfortunate side effect of her rough upbringing is that Victoria sees nothing wrong with looting the dead. After all, they don't need it anymore. She usually sticks to enemy corpses but if a Federation soldier had some trinket she wanted or is valuable enough to sell then she won't say no.
Functional Alcoholic: While certainly in a better place than she was twenty years ago Victoria is by no means cured of her alcoholism. She's managed to hold down a job and keep a roof over her and her daughter's head by hiding her problem and building a tolerance. No longer the kind to drink to the point of blacking out, she still becomes noticeably less social and angrier when she's been sober too long.
Hidden Depths: Victoria is still as foul-mouthed and crude as ever but now hides a deep interest in politics. Sometimes when a particular issue has been weighing on her or she's just looking for an argument to pass the time she'll tap into that well and present her case while cursing up a storm.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Reising M9A1 (Higher rate of fire and ammo capacity but less accurate and less reliable) - F1 Grenades - Ragnaid - ND-3 Combat Armor - FW Mk. I (Gizmo) - Rawlings Model 1903 Combat Shotgun(Requisitioned)
---A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Elizabeth White (Daughter) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard) - Emma Godfrey (Goddaughter) - Luther Godfrey (Godson)
---R E L A T I O N S
Luke Godfrey (Old squadmate, the son she never knew she wanted) Maxi Höfler(Her boss, one of the few officers she likes.) Diana Godfrey (Old squadmate and one-time fling, married to Luke)
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'3" ► Weight - 176lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Sniper ► Specialization - Saboteur ► Rank - Private First Class ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Liz has exactly three things in common with her mom: her hair, her eyes and her height.The rest is as different as night and day. Where Victoria carries herself tall and wields her height like weapon Liz tends to gravitate towards corners and bend her knees to look shorter than she actually is. Her skin is soft and lacks the scars that her mother has, and her uniform is kept almost immaculate except in the most dire of situations. She wears a gold and silver watch that was a gift from her father and a simple bracelet given to her by Emma Godfrey. Liz is also built much more slender than her mother, lacking the broad shoulders and muscles of the elder White.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Liz is quiet, meek, averse to conflict and quick to apologize, traits that drive her mother insane. Bouncing between rather chaotic households for most of her childhood has made her very timid and withdrawn from the world, inheriting neither the natural charisma of her father or the self-confidence of her mother. When caught in an argument she tends to look at her feet and mumble responses and being yelled at just makes her crumble entirely. It's rare for her to volunteer any information about herself without being coerced or cajoled, preferring not to tell any one about her hobbies or professions. The thing she's really open with is her cat, speaking to it about what she did with her day and telling it her hopes and dream because it won't judge her.
In an effort to get her to toughen up as a child Victoria had told her stories nearly every night of the horrors of war and the savagery violence she had lived through and done to try and show her how pointless it was to be a timid little wreck. It didn't work. Liz simply became a timid wreck with an interest bordering on obsession with death. Many of the paintings and photographs in her private college are of animal bones and bodies, Liz spending sketching out and tracing them with rapt attention to detail. There's nothing sinister or murderous about it, it's just a hobby.
In the rare cases where Liz manages to make a friend she's incredibly clingy, often randomly wrapping them in tight hugs and asking if they're okay no matter the situation. She's just so starved for positive attention and affection that she doesn't know how to act when she gets it, just holding on tight and praying they won't let go.
---B I O G R A P H Y
In her infantile years, Liz was essentially raised by the late Grandma Liz, from whomst she earned her name. It was difficult being raised by one so advanced in age, but at the very least, there was food on the table thanks to Mama Vicky's paychecks. When Vicky returned from the war, she moved out with her. Vicky treated her...distantly, affirming her love for her, but then soon lashing out for being the cause of her life getting ruined. Liz was fed, kept warm and given clean clothes, but none of this provided shelter to Victoria's vicious drunken rants, where she would often lament the unexpected birth of a child turning an already difficult life into one of unbridled torment.
Nothing she did was satisfactory, no matter the endeavor or scale. Victoria constantly pushed her to do something more impressive or worthwhile to avoid repeating the same life she had. Paired with a mother still in the military, Liz had to bounce around from base to base with her mom, eventually winding up in boarding school. Soon after, however, a most unexpected appearance turned to the fold; Her biological father had came back into her life. Victoria was furious. Immediately, she scathed him viciously with vernacular no child should be witness to bear, but after her intense pleas, Victoria was eventually convinced by her grandmother to allow Liz to know her dad.
Charles and Liz got along well enough, never to the relationship of a true father and daughter, his role more like that of a distant bum-cousin who lets her crash at his place and keep his other kids out of his hair for a while when her mom was, "being a cunt." When she got away, Liz discovered a love for the arts, picking up painting and drawing as a way to kill time with her half-siblings and later photography when she got a cheap camera as a gift. Book-writing came from her mom's, Diana's, and Luke's stories about the war, Liz turning them into adventure stories and selling them under pseudonym. For what seemed like the first time in her life, Liz's mom appeared thoroughly impressed with her work. No longer were her compliments peppered with notions of missing potential nor mediocrity, instead, Victoria was rather proud that her little mouse of a daughter could muster up the courage to put herself out in the world, and strongly encouraged her to continue to refine her skills. For a while, she did just that.
But, Liz knew the cycle was bound to continue, and if she had just gotten better, then her mom was going to take that for granted, too.
And in a perhaps misguided attempt to solidify her mother's praise, she enlisted in the military and specifically aimed for placement in the Ranger Corps, putting herself in a position Victoria tried so hard to divert her from.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Renaissance Woman: Liz devotes much of her free time to her crafts, scribbling down notes for stories and sketches or blocking out shots when not on duty. While not open about her double life it wouldn't be impossible for someone familiar with "Captain Harris West's" work to notice some similarities... Morbid: Growing up listening to vivid descriptions of carnage will affect a kid. Liz has an interest with death and decay than can be more than a little disturbing to passer-by. Some of her favorite subjects for her art are corpses and she may or may not have a necklace of bird bones stashed in her kit. Friend of Nature: Animals of all kinds are very dear to Liz's heart. She saves parts of her meals to leave out for wildlife and can spend hours just observing the birds. She has affection for other animal lovers and one of the only things that makes her angry is cruelty to critters.
- Charles Blake (Father) - Victoria White (Mother) - Luther Godfrey ("Cousin") - Emma Godfrey (“Cousin”) - Mary Blake (Half-Sister) - Mark Blake (Half-Brother)
---R E L A T I O N S
- Luke Godfrey (Her "uncle" that she spent summers with) - Diana Godfrey (Her "aunt" and the origin of her middle name) - Soot (Her friend and closest confidant)
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'5" ► Weight - 202 lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Specialization - Raider ► Rank - (Applying for Staff) Sergeant ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. The rangy leanness of her childhood and teen years of starvation has passed, the career soldier having bulked out from a steady source of food. Her body type could be described as Amazonian, height accentuated by her obvious strength. Her biceps and calves are thick with muscle, her abs clearly outlined on her stomach. brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head to be scooped out of the way when it becomes annoying. Her body bears marks from the the battles of the first war as well as her rough upbringing, a jagged scar tracing its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head. More cover her forearms, left by hot shrapnel.
Her uniform is hidden by the waterproof cape she's carried since it was issued to her in the 1910s, the rabbit felt hat of the Oceanic Expeditionary Force still perched on her head after all this time. Two extra bandoleers are wrapped around her torso for easy access.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
The wild years of Vicky's youth are far behind her. Instead of drinking to party and bragging about how she can kick the ass of anyone in the room she usually drinks by herself and thinks about just where her life has taken her. A member of the Federation's Rangers who hates the Federation itself and a high school drop out who uses a pseudonym to write eloquent essays calling for Oceania's independence, she's a mess of contradictions and poorly managed trauma. She's open about her life but pretends that it didn't really affect her, ignoring her nightmares and anxiety driven hallucinations.
Her relationship with her daughter is awkward, Victoria loving her daughter but never really knowing how to properly express it. Liz has to settle for backhanded compliments and unwanted advice about how children can ruin her life. With friends Vicky is a different person, boisterously loud and full of life. But she tends to keep her true thoughts to herself, a bitter old woman who's upset she made it as long as she did.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria White was born in Prairie, Oceania to a pair of struggling sheep ranchers who could hardly afford the three kids they already had, much less a fourth. The elder White children had been calculated risks, extra hands to help with labor. Victoria was an accident and knew it. Her mere existence drove the family to the brink of ruin, her parents just managing to sell enough wool to keep a roof over their heads through hard work and suffering. The day after she was born Victoria was swaddled and carried on her mother's back as she herded the flocks. Within two years every sheep they had either died or was sold off. A massive drought hit Prairie, turning the cattle town into a wasteland. Crops failed and homesteads were sold off or abandoned by people who could afford to move. Everyone who couldn't buckled down and made the best of a bad situation.
Victoria's earliest memories were of her older siblings teaching her how to strip copper from wires and dig through empty houses for any valuables left behind, the young girl taking quickly to the work.. By the time her siblings left in search of better prospects she could be trusted to go out for a few days and return with enough scrap to buy enough flour to last a week. But she wasn't the only hunting for things in the old homesteads. Gangs of youths had formed, stealing everything that wasn't nailed down and fighting among themselves for bragging rights and the best spots to tear through. Victoria was jumped into one when she was fourteen and quickly made a name for herself, learning to drink and fight with the best of them.
She was fifteen when she drunkenly stabbed another girl to death, sixteen when she got pregnant. The father was a petty thief and con-man four years her senior who rather unsurprisingly disappeared. Left by herself Victoria fell back on her family for assistance. Elizabeth White was born in the same dilapidated side room as her mother and Victoria was back to scrounging anything of worth by the next day. The famine had ended but the damage was done: Prairie was a ghost town totally devoid of opportunity. How was she supposed to feed her kid?
The answer came in the form of the First Europan War. Victoria followed the time honored tradition of uneducated youth every war and signed up to fight. She was good at it too, pushing aside her fear and horror with the hep of cheap booze and slashing her way through the opposition. By the end of the war she had earned herself a medal for bravery during a particular nasty trench raid.
When the guns died down she stayed in the army, settling down into a life of moving from base to base with little Elizabeth. With no war to fight she spent her time educating herself, reading more books in a year than she had total up to that point. With knowledge came reflection, Victoria ruminating on the war and her life in Oceania. She had devoted herself to an utterly pointless conflict, took part in the slaughter of millions in the name of a country that had done nothing and cared nothing for her. The Federation let her people starve, keeping Oceania's resources and manpower firmly under its control control while she had been forced to loot for scrap metal.
Thinking about how she and her country had been used as little more than cannon fodder weighed on Victoria heavily, driving her to do something she had never really done before: write. It was minor at first, a few minutes each day scribbling her thoughts and grips in a little notebook. But as time went on and she got a better of language and the world stage it began to expand into essays about topics ranging from the treatment of Darscens to economic policy and colonialism. It was almost therapeutic for her, Victoria letting herself opinions she hadn't even known she was capable of having.
Sending them to newspapers was really the next logical step but with a kid to raise and bills to pay there was no way she was going to risk being fired or imprisoned by using her real name. Victoria White became Hudson Weber, notorious agitator and borderline anarchist depending on who you asked. Even as she was making a (fake) name for herself as an essayist White joined the Rangers in search of higher pay and something to do. It was the only option she had, having no other skills or trade besides sewing. She served the Federation with distinction by day as a Ranger by day and railed against it at night for fifteen years, managing to keep the wheels of contradiction turning with steady usage of alcohol as lubricant.
When the second war was declared she was more excited than she had been in years. She would get to do what she was good at again.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Berserk: Being a shocktrooper requires unwavering dedication to the Federal cause and a complete lack of fear, two things Victoria lacks. She makes up for it with brute strength, speed and insanity. When charging enemy positions she became a snarling beast hellbent on driving her bayonet through some chests. She excels at using her fists and any nearby objects to bludgeon the enemy into submission. She handles problems out of combat the same way she does in: with overwhelming force.
Mother Bear: Her first priority is her daughter, her second is friends and everything else is third. She doesn't really know how to show it but Victoria cares for very much for her daughter, silently checking up on her in camp and watching her to make sure she doesn't get into trouble. With friends she's loud, boastful and loyal, watching their back in the field and shooting the shit with them out of it.
Resourceful: Scavenging for scrap and substituting horse meat for beef as a child has made Victoria a very cost-efficient kind of person. She can knit and sew to keep her clothes in shape, turn substandard or small amounts of ingredients into a decent meal and sniff out all sorts of usable goods from bargain bins and ruined houses alike. A more unfortunate side effect of her rough upbringing is that Victoria sees wrong with looting the dead. After all, they don't need it anymore. She usually sticks to enemy corpses but if a Federation soldier had some trinket she wanted or is valuable enough to sell then she won't say no.
Functional Alcoholic: While certainly in a better place than she was twenty years ago Victoria is by no means cured of her alcoholism. She's managed to hold down a job and keep a roof over her and her daughter's head by hiding her problem and building a tolerance. No longer the kind to drink to the point of blacking out, she still becomes noticeably less social and angrier when she's been sober too long.
Hidden Depths: Victoria is still as foul-mouthed and crude as ever but now hides a deep interest in politics. Sometimes when a particular issue has been weighing on her or she's just looking for an argument to pass the time she'll tap into that well and present her case while cursing up a storm.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Reising M9A1 (Higher rate of fire and ammo capacity but less accurate and less reliable) - F1 Grenades - Ragnaid - ND-3 Combat Armor - FW Mk. I (Gizmo) - Rawlings Model 1903 Combat Shotgun(Requisitioned)
---A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Elizabeth White (Daughter) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard) - Emma Godfrey (Goddaughter) - Luther Godfrey (Godson)
---R E L A T I O N S
Luke Godfrey (Old squadmate, the son she never knew she wanted) Diana Godfrey (Old squadmate and one-time fling, married to Luke)
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'3" ► Weight - 176lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Sniper ► Specialization - Saboteur ► Rank - Private First Class ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Liz has exactly three things in common with her mom: her hair, her eyes and her height.The rest is as different as night and day. Where Victoria carries herself tall and wields her height like weapon Liz tends to gravitate towards corners and bend her knees to look shorter than she actually is. Her skin is soft and lacks the scars that her mother has, and her uniform is kept almost immaculate except in the most dire of situations. She wears a gold and silver watch that was a gift from her father and a simple bracelet given to her by Emma Godfrey. Liz is also built much more slender than her mother, lacking the broad shoulders and muscles of the elder White.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Liz is quiet, meek, averse to conflict and quick to apologize, traits that drive her mother insane. Bouncing between rather chaotic households for most of her childhood has made her very timid and withdrawn from the world, inheriting neither the natural charisma of her father or the self-confidence of her mother. When caught in an argument she tends to look at her feet and mumble responses and being yelled at just makes her crumble entirely. It's rare for her to volunteer any information about herself without being coerced or cajoled, preferring not to tell any one about her hobbies or professions. The thing she's really open with is her cat, speaking to it about what she did with her day and telling it her hopes and dream because it won't judge her.
In an effort to get her to toughen up as a child Victoria had told her stories nearly every night of the horrors of war and the savagery violence she had lived through and done to try and show her how pointless it was to be a timid little wreck. It didn't work. Liz simply became a timid wreck with an interest bordering on obsession with death. Many of the paintings and photographs in her private college are of animal bones and bodies, Liz spending sketching out and tracing them with rapt attention to detail. There's nothing sinister or murderous about it, it's just a hobby.
In the rare cases where Liz manages to make a friend she's incredibly clingy, often randomly wrapping them in tight hugs and asking if they're okay no matter the situation. She's just so starved for positive attention and affection that she doesn't know how to act when she gets it, just holding on tight and praying they won't let go.
---B I O G R A P H Y
In her infantile years, Liz was essentially raised by the late Grandma Liz, from whomst she earned her name. It was difficult being raised by one so advanced in age, but at the very least, there was food on the table thanks to Mama Vicky's paychecks. When Vicky returned from the war, she moved out with her. Vicky treated her...distantly, affirming her love for her, but then soon lashing out for being the cause of her life getting ruined. Liz was fed, kept warm and given clean clothes, but none of this provided shelter to Victoria's vicious drunken rants, where she would often lament the unexpected birth of a child turning an already difficult life into one of unbridled torment.
Nothing she did was satisfactory, no matter the endeavor or scale. Victoria constantly pushed her to do something more impressive or worthwhile to avoid repeating the same life she had. Paired with a mother still in the military, Liz had to bounce around from base to base with her mom, eventually winding up in boarding school. Soon after, however, a most unexpected appearance turned to the fold; Her biological father had came back into her life. Victoria was furious. Immediately, she scathed him viciously with vernacular no child should be witness to bear, but after her intense pleas, Victoria was eventually convinced by her grandmother to allow Liz to know her dad.
Charles and Liz got along well enough, never to the relationship of a true father and daughter, his role more like that of a distant bum-cousin who lets her crash at his place and keep his other kids out of his hair for a while when her mom was, "being a cunt." When she got away, Liz discovered a love for the arts, picking up painting and drawing as a way to kill time with her half-siblings and later photography when she got a cheap camera as a gift. Book-writing came from her mom's, Diana's, and Luke's stories about the war, Liz turning them into adventure stories and selling them under pseudonym. For what seemed like the first time in her life, Liz's mom appeared thoroughly impressed with her work. No longer were her compliments peppered with notions of missing potential nor mediocrity, instead, Victoria was rather proud that her little mouse of a daughter could muster up the courage to put herself out in the world, and strongly encouraged her to continue to refine her skills. For a while, she did just that.
But, Liz knew the cycle was bound to continue, and if she had just gotten better, then her mom was going to take that for granted, too.
And in a perhaps misguided attempt to solidify her mother's praise, she enlisted in the military and specifically aimed for placement in the Ranger Corps, putting herself in a position Victoria tried so hard to divert her from.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Renaissance Woman: Liz devotes much of her free time to her crafts, scribbling down notes for stories and sketches or blocking out shots when not on duty. While not open about her double life it wouldn't be impossible for someone with "Captain Harris West's" work to notice some similarities... Morbid: Growing up listening to vivid descriptions of carnage will affect a kid. Liz has an interest with death and decay than can be more than a little disturbing to passer-by. Some of her favorite subjects for her art are corpses and she may or may not have a necklace of bird bones stashed in her kit. Friend of Nature: Animals of all kinds are very dear to Liz's heart. She saves parts of her meals to leave out for wildlife and can spend hours just observing the birds. She has affection for other animal lovers and one of the only things that makes her angry is cruelty to critters.
- Charles Blake (Father) - Victoria White (Mother) - Luther Godfrey ("Cousin") - Emma Godfrey (“Cousin”) - Mary Blake (Half-Sister) - Mark Blake (Half-Brother)
---R E L A T I O N S
- Luke Godfrey (Her "uncle" that she spent summers with) - Diana Godfrey (Her "aunt" and the origin of her middle name) - Soot (Her friend and closest confidant)
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'3" ► Weight - 176lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Sniper ► Specialization - Saboteur ► Rank - Private First Class ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Liz has exactly three things in common with her mom: her hair, her eyes and her height.The rest is as different as night and day. Where Victoria carries herself tall and wields her height like weapon Liz tends to gravitate towards corners and bend her knees to look shorter than she actually is. Her skin is soft and lacks the scars that her mother has, and her uniform is kept almost immaculate except in the most dire of situations. She wears a gold and silver watch that was a gift from her father and a simple bracelet given to her by Emma Godfrey. Liz is also built much more slender than her mother, lacking the broad shoulders and muscles of the elder White.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
Liz is quiet, meek, averse to conflict and quick to apologize, traits that drive her mother insane. Bouncing between rather chaotic households for most of her childhood has made her very timid and withdrawn from the world, inheriting neither the natural charisma of her father or the self-confidence of her mother. When caught in an argument she tends to look at her feet and mumble responses and being yelled at just makes her crumble entirely. It's rare for her to volunteer any information about herself without being coerced or cajoled, preferring not to tell any one about her hobbies or professions. The thing she's really open with is her cat, speaking to it about what she did with her day and telling it her hopes and dream because it won't judge her.
In an effort to get her to toughen up as a child Victoria had told her stories nearly every night of the horrors of war and the savagery violence she had lived through and done to try and show her how pointless it was to be a timid little wreck. It didn't work. Liz simply became a timid wreck with an interest bordering on obsession with death. Many of the paintings and photographs in her private college are of animal bones and bodies, Liz spending sketching out and tracing them with rapt attention to detail. There's nothing sinister or murderous about it, it's just a hobby.
In the rare cases where Liz manages to make a friend she's incredibly clingy, often randomly wrapping them in tight hugs and asking if they're okay no matter the situation. She's just so starved for positive attention and affection that she doesn't know how to act when she gets it, just holding on tight and praying they won't let go.
---B I O G R A P H Y
In her infantile years, Liz was essentially raised by the late Grandma Liz, from whomst she earned her name. It was difficult being raised by one so advanced in age, but at the very least, there was food on the table thanks to Mama Vicky's paychecks. When Vicky returned from the war, she moved out with her. Vicky treated her...distantly, affirming her love for her, but then soon lashing out for being the cause of her life getting ruined. Liz was fed, kept warm and given clean clothes, but none of this provided shelter to Victoria's vicious drunken rants, where she would often lament the unexpected birth of a child turning an already difficult life into one of unbridled torment.
Nothing she did was satisfactory, no matter the endeavor or scale. Victoria constantly pushed her to do something more impressive or worthwhile to avoid repeating the same life she had. Paired with a mother still in the military, Liz had to bounce around from base to base with her mom, eventually winding up in boarding school. Soon after, however, a most unexpected appearance turned to the fold; Her biological father had came back into her life. Victoria was furious. Immediately, she scathed him viciously with vernacular no child should be witness to bear, but after her intense pleas, Victoria was eventually convinced by her grandmother to allow Liz to know her dad.
Charles and Liz got along well enough, never to the relationship of a true father and daughter, his role more like that of a distant bum-cousin who lets her crash at his place and keep his other kids out of his hair for a while when her mom was, "being a cunt." When she got away, Liz discovered a love for the arts, picking up painting and drawing as a way to kill time with her half-siblings and later photography when she got a cheap camera as a gift. Book-writing came from her mom's, Diana's, and Luke's stories about the war, Liz turning them into adventure stories and selling them under pseudonym. For what seemed like the first time in her life, Liz's mom appeared thoroughly impressed with her work. No longer were her compliments peppered with notions of missing potential nor mediocrity, instead, Victoria was rather proud that her little mouse of a daughter could muster up the courage to put herself out in the world, and strongly encouraged her to continue to refine her skills. For a while, she did just that.
But, Liz knew the cycle was bound to continue, and if she had just gotten better, then her mom was going to take that for granted, too.
And in a perhaps misguided attempt to solidify her mother's praise, she enlisted in the military and specifically aimed for placement in the Ranger Corps, putting herself in a position Victoria tried so hard to divert her from.
---P O T E N T I A L S
Renaissance Woman: Liz devotes much of her free time to her crafts, scribbling down notes for stories and sketches or blocking out shots when not on duty. While not open about her double life it wouldn't be impossible for someone with "Captain Harris West's" work to notice some similarities... Morbid: Growing up listening to vivid descriptions of carnage will affect a kid. Liz has an interest with death and decay than can be more than a little disturbing to passer-by. Some of her favorite subjects for her art are corpses and she may or may not have a necklace of bird bones stashed in her kit. Friend of Nature: Animals of all kinds are very dear to Liz's heart. She saves parts of her meals to leave out for wildlife and can spend hours just observing the birds. She has affection for other animal lovers and one of the only things that makes her angry is cruelty to critters.
- Charles Blake (Father) - Victoria White (Mother) - Luther Godfrey ("Cousin") - Emma Godfrey (“Cousin”) - Mary Blake (Half-Sister) - Mark Blake (Half-Brother)
---R E L A T I O N S
- Luke Godfrey (Her "uncle" that she spent summers with) - Diana Godfrey (Her "aunt" and the origin of her middle name) - Soot (Her friend and closest confidant)
▼ E X T R A I N F O R M A T I O N ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Height - 6'5" ► Weight - 202 lbs ► Hair Color - Brown ► Eye Color - Grey ► Classification - Shocktrooper ► Specialization - Raider ► Rank - (Applying for Staff) Sergeant ► Sexuality - Bisexual
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D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Victoria is much taller than most women and quite a few men, standing at a full 6'3" when upright. The rangy leanness of her childhood and teen years of starvation has passed, the career soldier having bulked out from a steady source of food. Her body type could be described as Amazonian, height accentuated by her obvious strength. Her biceps and calves are thick with muscle, her abs clearly outlined on her stomach. brown hair hangs down messily over her face and around her head to be scooped out of the way when it becomes annoying. Her body bears marks from the the battles of the first war as well as her rough upbringing, a jagged scar tracing its way over her right eye, a result of a bottle being shattered against her head. More cover her forearms, left by hot shrapnel.
Her uniform is hidden by the waterproof cape she's carried since it was issued to her in the 1910s, the rabbit felt hat of the Oceanic Expeditionary Force still perched on her head after all this time. Two extra bandoleers are wrapped around her torso for easy access.
---P E R S O N A L I T Y
The wild years of Vicky's youth are far behind her. Instead of drinking to party and bragging about how she can kick the ass of anyone in the room she usually drinks by herself and thinks about just where her life has taken her. A member of the Federation's Rangers who hates the Federation itself and a high school drop out who uses a pseudonym to write eloquent essays calling for Oceania's independence, she's a mess of contradictions and poorly managed trauma. She's open about her life but pretends that it didn't really affect her, ignoring her nightmares and anxiety driven hallucinations.
Her relationship with her daughter is awkward, Victoria loving her daughter but never really knowing how to properly express it. Liz has to settle for backhanded compliments and unwanted advice about how children can ruin her life. With friends Vicky is a different person, boisterously loud and full of life. But she tends to keep her true thoughts to herself, a bitter old woman who's upset she made it as long as she did.
---B I O G R A P H Y
Victoria White was born in Prairie, Oceania to a pair of struggling sheep ranchers who could hardly afford the three kids they already had, much less a fourth. The elder White children had been calculated risks, extra hands to help with labor. Victoria was an accident and knew it. Her mere existence drove the family to the brink of ruin, her parents just managing to sell enough wool to keep a roof over their heads through hard work and suffering. The day after she was born Victoria was swaddled and carried on her mother's back as she herded the flocks. Within two years every sheep they had either died or was sold off. A massive drought hit Prairie, turning the cattle town into a wasteland. Crops failed and homesteads were sold off or abandoned by people who could afford to move. Everyone who couldn't buckled down and made the best of a bad situation.
Victoria's earliest memories were of her older siblings teaching her how to strip copper from wires and dig through empty houses for any valuables left behind, the young girl taking quickly to the work.. By the time her siblings left in search of better prospects she could be trusted to go out for a few days and return with enough scrap to buy enough flour to last a week. But she wasn't the only hunting for things in the old homesteads. Gangs of youths had formed, stealing everything that wasn't nailed down and fighting among themselves for bragging rights and the best spots to tear through. Victoria was jumped into one when she was fourteen and quickly made a name for herself, learning to drink and fight with the best of them.
She was fifteen when she drunkenly stabbed another girl to death, sixteen when she got pregnant. The father was a petty thief and con-man four years her senior who rather unsurprisingly disappeared. Left by herself Victoria fell back on her family for assistance. Elizabeth White was born in the same dilapidated side room as her mother and Victoria was back to scrounging anything of worth by the next day. The famine had ended but the damage was done: Prairie was a ghost town totally devoid of opportunity. How was she supposed to feed her kid?
The answer came in the form of the First Europan War. Victoria followed the time honored tradition of uneducated youth every war and signed up to fight. She was good at it too, pushing aside her fear and horror with the hep of cheap booze and slashing her way through the opposition. By the end of the war she had earned herself a medal for bravery during a particular nasty trench raid.
When the guns died down she stayed in the army, settling down into a life of moving from base to base with little Elizabeth. With no war to fight she spent her time educating herself, reading more books in a year than she had total up to that point. With knowledge came reflection, Victoria ruminating on the war and her life in Oceania. She had devoted herself to an utterly pointless conflict, took part in the slaughter of millions in the name of a country that had done nothing and cared nothing for her. The Federation let her people starve, keeping Oceania's resources and manpower firmly under its control control while she had been forced to loot for scrap metal.
Thinking about how she and her country had been used as little more than cannon fodder weighed on Victoria heavily, driving her to do something she had never really done before: write. It was minor at first, a few minutes each day scribbling her thoughts and grips in a little notebook. But as time went on and she got a better of language and the world stage it began to expand into essays about topics ranging from the treatment of Darscens to economic policy and colonialism. It was almost therapeutic for her, Victoria letting herself opinions she hadn't even known she was capable of having.
Sending them to newspapers was really the next logical step but with a kid to raise and bills to pay there was no way she was going to risk being fired or imprisoned by using her real name. Victoria White became Hudson Weber, notorious agitator and borderline anarchist depending on who you asked. Even as she was making a (fake) name for herself as an essayist White joined the Rangers in search of higher pay and something to do. It was the only option she had, having no other skills or trade besides sewing. She served the Federation with distinction by day as a Ranger by day and railed against it at night for fifteen years, managing to keep the wheels of contradiction turning with steady usage of alcohol as lubricant.
When the second war was declared she was more excited than she had been in years. She would get to do what she was good at again
---P O T E N T I A L S
Berserk: Being a shocktrooper requires unwavering dedication to the Federal cause and a complete lack of fear, two things Victoria lacks. She makes up for it with brute strength, speed and insanity. When charging enemy positions she became a snarling beast hellbent on driving her bayonet through some chests. She excels at using her fists and any nearby objects to bludgeon the enemy into submission. She handles problems out of combat the same way she does in: with overwhelming force.
Mother Bear: Her first priority is her daughter, her second is friends and everything else is third. She doesn't really know how to show it but Victoria cares for very much for her daughter, silently checking up on her in camp and watching her to make sure she doesn't get into trouble. With friends she's loud, boastful and loyal, watching their back in the field and shooting the shit with them out of it.
Resourceful: Scavenging for scrap and substituting horse meat for beef as a child has made Victoria a very cost-efficient kind of person. She can knit and sew to keep her clothes in shape, turn substandard or small amounts of ingredients into a decent meal and sniff out all sorts of usable goods from bargain bins and ruined houses alike. A more unfortunate side effect of her rough upbringing is that Victoria sees wrong with looting the dead. After all, they don't need it anymore. She usually sticks to enemy corpses but if a Federation soldier had some trinket she wanted or is valuable enough to sell then she won't say no.
Functional Alcoholic: While certainly in a better place than she was twenty years ago Victoria is by no means cured of her alcoholism. She's managed to hold down a job and keep a roof over her and her daughter's head by hiding her problem and building a tolerance. No longer the kind to drink to the point of blacking out, she still becomes noticeably less social and angrier when she's been sober too long.
Hidden Depths: Victoria is still as foul-mouthed and crude as ever but now hides a deep interest in politics. Sometimes when a particular issue has been weighing on her or she's just looking for an argument to pass the time she'll tap into that well and present her case while cursing up a storm.
---E Q U I P M E N T
- Reising M9A1 (Higher rate of fire and ammo capacity but less accurate and less reliable) - F1 Grenades - Ragnaid - ND-3 Combat Armor - FW Mk. I (Gizmo) - Rawlings Model 1903 Combat Shotgun(Requisitioned)
---A F F I L I A T I O N S
- Elizabeth White (Daughter) - Charles Blake (Worthless Bastard) - Emma Godfrey (Goddaughter) - Luther Godfrey (Godson)
---R E L A T I O N S
Luke Godfrey (Old squadmate, the son she never knew she wanted) Diana Godfrey (Old squadmate and one-time fling, married to Luke)
No matter how many times she edits her appearance some things remain forever nonhuman, but thankfully are easily hidden. Indigo eyes with a cat's vertical pupils are hidden by contacts, her flexible spine and floating collar bone only noticeable if one were to walk in on her squeezing into some tight space. Her ridiculously low heart rate (less than ten beats per minute) and ability to operate in low oxygen environments are essentially invisible under normal circumstances.
Age: She lost track of the exact number long before living memory but she's been kicking around since the creation of the universe.
Bio: Whatever name Lynx had gone by at the beginning of time, however she had carried herself, she had probably already been bored. Springing into existence at the dawn of the universe fully formed and ready to rumble she originally quite liked the powers that had been given to her. But when the novelty wore off it quickly became apparent just how unpleasant of a life she was going to have. The speed at which she processed information meant that the world was in a constant state of slow motion for her, every moment spent waiting an unbearable torment.
Any hobby or pastime would have all the enjoyment sucked out of it within weeks or days, the Custodian quickly dissembling the activity and piecing it back together thousands upon thousands of times. She bounced from job to job, serving as everything from professional chef to starship captain to doctor and leaving after a few years when it became unbearably mundane. She merely existed for millions of years, trapped in constant race for gratification and amusement.
When some of her brethren went rogue it blindingly obvious that it wouldn't go well for them. The majority of Custodians that had stayed loyal had literal God on their side, only an idiot would have taken those odds. But fighting a doomed war followed by bitter defeat sounded more interesting than curbstomping a few rebels so of course she picked the losing side. The war went about as well as expected, she took out a few loyalists before getting booted out with the surviving rebels.
Historia made a decent place for a crash landing. The Custodian found herself among humanity, a race that measured up to hers about as well as ants did to them. But how interesting they were! Fragile and short-lived creatures they still dedicated themselves to climbing mountains and crossing barren deserts, just as willing to create beautiful (by their standards anyway) works of art as they were to form armies and raze each others homes to the ground. Irrational and hot-blooded, driven to prove that their lives had meaning even though the universe would have forgotten about them in a million years or two, they were simultaneously kind of pathetic and sort of inspiring in their stubbornness.
The Custodian was fascinated by them and wanted to get a closer look, so she began to disguise herself as members of their race. She spent time in the guise of queens, knights, artist, beggars, murderers, thieves and every archetype under the sun, poking at society to watch how it squirmed. She helped establish codes of law and then proceeded to break them to get a look at the prisoners suffering in salt mines, commissioned great works of art for museums and then joined barbaric hordes and stole them. She spent time living on the streets, watching the faces of those who'd give her a few coins and those who acted as if she didn't exist.
It was essentially an undercover investigative report. She learned just as much about humans watching them drag Descendants out of their beds as she did seeing them band together to recover from natural disasters. Over the millennia she built up a strangely patronizing affinity for them, regarding them as amusing animals that could do tricks.
Eventually she ended up in Hermannreich in the form of a gunrunner turned revolutionary, working with a cell of freedom fighters that sabotaged military installations and assassinated high value targets until they were wiped out by a surprise raid. The alien made her exit as her comrades were being lined up for summary execution, escaping to Iliad under the guise of a gunslinger and mechanic turned insurgent fleeing political persecution. With her billions of years worth of technological experience both human and otherwise it was easy enough to set up shop as a mechanic and machinists, getting herself a job as the shop teacher at Marduk. She got herself another position as a history instructor, firsthand knowledge of the world's major events coming in handy.
And so Instructor Lynx became a upstanding citizen of Iliad, wiling away the time grading essays and dismantling engine blocks as she waited for the inevitable need to drop everything and run.
Mundane Skills: Quite frankly her skillset is immense to the point of being too long to list. But for the sake of getting into character the Custodian limits herself to whatever her current identity would be good at. In Lynx's case her skill with firearms and melee combat is quite literally superhuman, at a level obtainable only through her natural powers and millennia of practice. She is a talented alchemist and machinist, modifying her gear and crafting different types of ammo for different types of targets,and has a penchant for explosives. Her careers of planning and foiling assassinations and robberies give her a good sense of small-scale tactics, her specialty being ambushes and smash-and-grab type operations. Stealth is a given, the alien just as quiet as her current namesake when she wants to be.
Powers: Supernatural Senses- Like her namesake Lynx relies on her senses to get an edge over her opponents. On a day to day basis her sense of smell is as good as a dog’s, counting individual threads on a person’s shirt from across the room and hearing each breath they take. She’s capable of much more when she focuses but limits this to avoid sensory overload.
The real advantage is her ability to detect magic. If you’re paying attention there’s certain giveaways inherent to arcane energy. A low hum of some great machine, a minuscule hint of copper on the tongue, a faint shimmer in the air.Lynx can pick up on these clues that others miss and follow them, seeing through illusions and trailing mages by traits specific to their spells.
Super-Speed- Good luck getting the draw on her. Lynx can move at about the speed of sound when running and hit Mach 2 if she were to sprint all out. Incredibly fast but also incredibly exhausting. Moving that fast for any longer than a few hours necessitates her to eat about half her weight to fuel the boost in metabolism so she tends to cruise at four hundred or five hundred miles an hour (when she's not forced to crawl along out of discretion.)
Enhanced Endurance- Moving twice as fast as sound requires a tough body. Lyxn is mostly unaffected by extreme speed or temperatures and needs only a few hours of sleep a week. Her stomach is strong enough that she can taste poisons to evaluate their strength, her skin shattering mundane weapons and deflecting some spells. Walls are no trouble, able to be smashed through with no adverse reaction.
Equipment :Krait- One of the first things she made after being so rudely ejected from the One's favor. The glove houses a container for storing all manner of liquids and a nozzle designed to eject it as an aerosol up to 15 feet. Typically loaded with various irritating agents or toxins.
Wife and Mother- A pair of matched revolvers that she took off a dying loyalist in the war in Heaven. Prime examples of Custodian engineering they generate the energy required to fire and are "reloaded" by letting the excess heat drain. The hammers can be fanned for rapid fire but doing so runs the risk of overheating them.
Starstrike- The usage of advanced Custodian materials allow the bow to be as strong as steel while remaining flexible, able to loaded with arrows of varying types. It's most valuable trait is its ability to absorb and charge arrows with starlight, the energy channeled into the tip to punch through armor and unleash a corona of searing light inside them.
Savagry-A tribute given to her during her days as warlord, Savagery is designed to hold under the extreme stresses of her usage, staying solid under forces and temperatures that would reduce a normal dagger to slag.
Plasmids: Not actually part of a bacteria's cytoplasm but the combination of chemicals and computer input that let her change her face. A thoroughly unpleasant process that requires her to isolate for a week as her durable body slowly melts and reforms.
Tools- The selection of wrenches, hammers, drills, plasma cutters, and other tools she uses to fix machines and make bombs and arrowheads as well as the stockpile of materials for doing so. These range from sheets of metal waiting to be cut to old cars dumped out in her back yard and rusty weapons ready to be stripped for parts.
The Essentials- Cigars and her hip flask.
MAGs- An upgraded version of the Krait. Made with components from a crashed Custodian ship the Mobility Assistance Gloves serve a dual purpose. The first is to form a seemingly unbreakable bond with a surface to allow Lynx to make sudden stops while running and hang from buildings.
The second is to gather the kinetic energy produced by her movement and store it to be released as needed. This allows for movement in mid-air as well as adding substantial force to her blows.
Matriarch and Patriarch- Wife and Mother after being spruced up and getting their inner workings tweaked. Heat build up is now less of a problem and a "choke" has been added to allow for different shot patterns: a wide shotgun style spray, the normal shot that splashes against a target and a focused beam to punch through cover.
Personality: "Blessed" with otherworldly speed and the required reaction time to manage it every moment of everyday in Lynx's life is more or less a living hell. Her natural impatience combined with the fact that time appears to move much slower for her than it would anyone else means that she bounces around from distraction to distraction, spending scarcely a few minutes on anyone thing before moving to the next. Her self-restriction of her speed causes her to twitch and fiddle with coins and other small objects, a nervous tic she passes off as shell-shock.
While she understands the difference between right and wrong it doesn't really factor much into her daily life. She does what the current persona she's inhabiting would do whether that's building orphanages and going on one woman crusades to rescue kidnapping victims or earning a reputation as fearsome raider pillages villages for sport. The morality of an act is much less important to her than if its in-character or interesting.
"Lynx" is more or less a good person, an exiled freedom fighter turned mechanic and teacher. She pays her taxes, shows up to work on time and gives students the extra attention they require and always has customer's repaired items returned to them promptly. She has a poker game every Thursday, plays golf on weekends with friends from work or just around the neighborhood and generally presents as a good-natured veteran that is sometimes a bit off.
Faction (Marduk, Ishtar, or Cassandra Club when it's founded): Marduk for the time being, whatever seems interesting after that.
Are you a Descendant of the Illuminated Poet?: No
Important Relations: -Lilith: A pickpocket, beggar and all around street rat Lynx picked up off the street shortly after arriving in Iliad. In return for room and board she serves as Lynx's apprentice and errand-runner, working on orders that come in when her boss is out. -Ereden Helbrien : Four or five centuries ago the Helbriens slighted Lynx in some way she's now forgotten about. Since she was posing as stranger sorceress at the time she cursed the family so that every thirty years they would suffer tragedy, a promise she has been making good on since then because it's mildly funny. Much to her delight a couple of their number brought their family to Iliad in an attempt to escape the curse and now the son is one of her top students.
Ereden is studious, serious and determined so it was no surprise to Lynx that much of his studies were devoted curses and how to break them. She hasn't decided if she'll let him succeed.
-Lieutenant Rin Mistold: An old poker buddy of Lynx's and higher up in the local law enforcement. In return for bringing the beer and snacks to their weekly games Lynx is more or less immune to the noise complaints sometimes generated by her late experimentation.
-Family: She lost track of how many spouses, flings and common law partners she's had over the years and doesn't much care to try and remember. None of them ever knew her true nature and she generally either waited for them to die before cutting ties with the family or simply disappeared from their lives. Her children were simply told their Custodial powers were their form of magic.
In total she's mothered (and fathered depending on her form at the time) hundreds of offspring and would have a truly incredible amount of descendants, not like most if any of them would know who she is.
Age: She lost track nearly 1,500 years ago but certainly more than that.
Bio: Back before mankind was doing anything as complicated as living in caves and struggling to make tools out of sharp rocks and sticks the woman who would come to be known as Coyote was already old. A Custodian and proud of it, and why wouldn't she be? Her kind was brought into existence as the embodiment of perfection, already at the height of their abilities unlike lesser creatures who had to dig themselves out of the primordial soup with their newly grown legs. But she didn't complain, kept her opinions on lesser beings to herself.
But when the Custodians were cast down she felt utterly betrayed. She had stayed neutral in the conflict and the One still cast her out. Clearly he hadn’t wanted her so she’d wreak havoc on his favorite creations. And for a while she did, turning people against the One and hunting down descendants of the Poet. And she was damn good at it too, quickly learning that speed and aggression could trump magic when properly applied. But without any reliable way to contact other Custodians she was completely alone, nearly going insane from years spent in the wilderness. A hard blow to the skull from a dying Descendant put things in perspective for her: either keep doing as she was and get killed within 10,000 years or settle down into a quieter life.
So after a few centuries she integrated herself into human life, moving around from place to place every few decades and explaining away her youthful appearance as a side effect of her magic. She even started a family. And another, and another. Because even though she was a Custodian, her spouses and children weren’t. So eventually they all died of disease or old age and she stayed the same, becoming more and more bitter each time. By roughly the tenth family she made a rule for herself: no more attachments to things that live less than her.
And so she started to wander again, the head wound she had sustained caused her to lose chunks of her memories. At some point she realized that she had forgotten her own name, adopting Coyote as a moniker out of respect for their tenacity. And so she continued on, working as a mercenary and hunting all sorts of mundane and magical beasts and moving on in search of the next contract. For the time being she’s settled into the city of Illiad to pose as a student of Marduk and wait until something better comes along.
Mundane Skills: Thousands upon thousands of years of relying on no one but herself has made Coyote very self-sufficient. Her skill with firearms with firearms and vehicles of all kinds is superhuman, at levels obtainable only through eons of practice. She is a skilled alchemist and machinist, modifying her gear and crafting different types of ammo for different types of targets,and has a penchant for explosives.
Of course like any good gunslinger she plays the guitar and harmonica, filling lonely nights on the range with haunting music.
Powers: Enhanced Senses- When she focuses Coyote can hear a man's heartbeat a room away, count the thread on a man's shirt and smell blood from two miles away (assuming the conditions are right). Useful for tracking quarry and seeing through illusions but used sparingly to avoid sensory overload.
Super-Speed- Good luck getting the draw on her. Coyote can move at about the speed of sound when running and reach up to Mach 2 when all out sprinting. Certainly faster than her bike but also much more taxing to do. Using this ability for any extended period of time necessitates her to eat about half her weight to fuel the boost in metabolism.
Enhanced Durability- If she can't dodge the hit she can probably take it. To keep her from shattering all of her bones as soon as she sprints her body is naturally as durable as high tensile steel, immune to bullets and melee weapons.
Equipment :Migrator- Because horses are impractical. Tough enough that it rarely breaks down and simple enough for her to fix when it does the Monster Scout is fast, maneuverable, and dependable.
Wife and Mother- A pair of matched pistols that were a gift from someone very important to her who she can no longer really remember. Named such to remind herself to never be those things again.
Apostasy- Named back when Coyote was using it to actively fight against the One's interests, this rifle is equally good at killing beasts and Descendants. Of course it hasn't been used for the latter in a very long time.
Savagry- Named for what it does best. Also serves as a good can opener, woodcutter and mirror when properly polished.
Tinker's Tools and Reloading Bench- Usually kept in her home for when she needs to make repairs or brew up more ammo and explosives.
The Essentials- Harmonica, guitar, hip flask, cigars and a lighter. The only things worth living for.
Personality: Coyote can described as somewhat aloof at the best of times and outright aggressive and hateful at the worst. Simply by nature of being human people are beneath her approval and have to work hard to meet it. Respect is met with curt cordiality, disrespect is returned tenfold. It's not unheard of for her to challenge repeat offenders to duels, nearly always to the death. If you need something from her it would be in your interest to just spit it out and avoid beating around the bush, time wasters are not high on the list of people she appreciates. Despite this she's often late to events that she doesn't find important or interesting, a side effect of her tortuously long life. After who knows how many thousands of years time frames mean little to her.
Custodian chauvinism used to play a part in her treatment of humans but now its more of a defense mechanism. After watching so many friends, spouses and children die of sickness and old age and fade from her memory she's made it a personal rule to never grow attached to anything that lives less than she does. And the best way to ensure that never happens is by making it so that no one ever wants to ask questions she can't or won't answer, like what her real name is or where she's from. All she needs in her life are her guns and a steady source of income from mercenary work to fuel her drinking and smoking needs.
Her relationship with other Custodians is fraught with difficulties as well. She sympathizes with other “traitors” having been one herself and thinks of Repentants as little more than sniveling sycophants desperately trying to curry the favor of the One who abandoned them in favor of a lesser race. The One is the real traitor in her eyes and his servants are not held in high esteem, for now at least.
Coyote feels immense pride in her achievements and abilities, decorating her apartment with trophies from various hunts and always eager to show off her skills. There's nothing she likes more than demonstrating just how fast, accurate and hard to hurt she is when there's money on the line.
Faction (Marduk, Ishtar, or Cassandra Club when it's founded): Marduk Are you a Descendant of the Illuminated Poet?: No Important Relations: -Kane, Micah and Rachel Helegast (Husband, Son, Daughter, all dead) - ??? Makre, Jason Makre (Husband and Son, both dead) -Kotori Flatcreek (Girlfriend, dead) -Eyo-Zeki (Adopted son, dead) -Marcus ???, ???, ??? (Husband and two children, dead) - Mihek (Concubine/Bodyguard, dead) -Vudir, Walthred, ??? (Husband, wife, husband or wife, all dead) -??? (Boyfriend, dead)
Lunamaria Hawke
Dog
Fish of Oblivion
RBYDark
SleepyWrites
Chronic
Izurich
Noctis
JohnRoleplay
