Sounds like something like that would require a lot of delicate, refined control. I would accept it on the condition that the user of Dyson Sphere has to actively maintain the technique, and therefore leaves themselves open to attack while using it.
@BlackSam3091 Well, certainly! Dyson Sphere is precise, and must be maintained by the only trained professional who can use it!
Catch, i just described in an edit.
or are you referring to a Biotic crash, like not enough potential energy in the body sort of thing? I figure when his biotics run out, he still has his guns, and his suit. His suit would allow him to function even to the point of exhaustion, and then some.
@PrivateVentures So whats the point of catch? It doesn't seem to do anything that the biotic barrier doesn't do already.
Basically, just makes him even more durable. A charging Krogan is a huge issue to any biotic barrier, but when that biotic barrier can transfer and throw off 90% of that kinetic energy, chances of survival go waaaaay up.
You gotta remember, medi gel would do almost nothing for him. That suit is his lifeline, and he must protect with everything he's got.
Basically, just makes him even more durable. A charging Krogan is a huge issue to any biotic barrier, but when that biotic barrier can transfer and throw off 90% of that kinetic energy, chances of survival go waaaaay up.
You gotta remember, medi gel would do almost nothing for him. That suit is his lifeline, and he must protect with everything he's got.
Ok, but I still don't see how it accomplishes that using the mass effect. I'm gonna have to say no to it. If a Krogan charges him he could always just Throw them
Ok, but I still don't see how it accomplishes that using the mass effect. I'm gonna have to say no to it. If a Krogan charges him he could always just Throw them
That's cool. I'd like to explain another thing though, not to argue, I just want to share the idea. I think it'd be cool if, by means of a miniature gridded ion thruster, utilizing argon or xenon gas, and with adequate stabilizing, one could utilize the principles of a space shuttle thruster to create a hyperbaric flamethrower, using the burst of thermal and kinetic energy as a weapon to pump holes in things at midrange without the use of a projectile. The sheer kinetic force would be enough to throw tanks, YMIRs, or a freakin' Chaos Demon to kingdom come. But the collateral damage would be insane.
@PrivateVentures It would be cool. Potentially a heavy weapon idea. @Dervish's character could certainly utilize something like that, and @MechonRaptor's could potentially make it. In the RP proper Ellias, Ravanor, and Rayes'Xum could discuss the idea. Good bonding session.
So, how about this: a situation early on, when Ellis brings the concept to Rayes, desperate to make a new friend, but not as thrilled at the prospect of a non-human friend. Rayes, with his problem with humans, would naturally be reluctant, I think, but secretly excited, and does so at Ravanor's request. This would give the three of them ample time to get familiar, helping Ellis with his distrust of engineers, as well as giving him time to fraternize with non-human species. It would be the opposite for the other two, Rayes potentially making a human ally, and Ravanor possibly bonding with a fellow warrior. In the end, everyone has a chance to get along, and Ravanor has a shot at a massive new weapon.
Rykarn. Ravanor is his clan name, e.g Urdnot Wrex.
Techy meet and greets could prove to be amusing between mission interludes. ;D
Sorry about that. I made a human because I'm pretty unfamiliar with most of the species in the ME universe, at least unfamiliar to the finer points of their culture. I'll learn as Ellis learns.
I'm glad you like my idea. Could also prove interesting on the battlefield, as they learn to work together, one another's strengths and weaknesses and such.
I did this late at night and early in the morning so there might be some issues in terms of character fluidity and it making sense. I tried to edit it as much as possible however :)
And yes, my character is a resigned, exasperated person that feels way too old than he currently is.
Edit: I also hope this is of a good length cause I used a phone to type this up and I hope it's okay XD
"Ja'Far in his rare moment of relaxation" "Blessed be the holy Pillars of the Divine and Athame, who dost bring blessing upon thou fulsome eyes and thou strength to give redemption to thine enemies through holy fire. Amen."
Race:
Batarian
Class:
Infiltrator
Age:
39
Sex:
Male
Appearance:
He stands at 6'4" (197 centimetres), a respectable height in the tall Batarian race. Ja'Far has dark to tannish brown skin, worn and stretched from years of back breaking work. One scar adorns his face just above his upper left ridge, running downwards straight through the eye just under till it stops. The socket remains empty, a black marble placed the eye's stead. This is seen as a sign of banishment, a scar for the punished who do not deserve the four holy eyes given by the Pillars and thus such an individual could not move on to the afterlife. Those who have been scarred are labelled as pariahs and doomed to walk the planes of limbo between life and death, even if said scar came through service and not punishment.
His three other eyes hold a fiery defiance to the galaxy, an appearance that many Batarian survivors hold as their once proud, might if but stagnant race falls into disgrace. Ja'Far has two golden rings pierced into each ear, a sign of middle-caste status and a distinctly military background within the former Hegemony. He has a large muscular frame and carries himself high, rigid posture honed from militant discipline, chin held high with shoulders pulled backwards. The seriousness he always holds himself in can either be respected or laughed at by others.
Ja'Far typically wears a loose sleeveless grey shirt, black pants and dark military boots. He carries with himself a necklace with a small idol of the Pillar of Strength on it, made of marble and gold with etchings of holy text scratched unto the surface. One's of hope and redemption, the power of the four holy eyes and those who carry them. Cigarettes often find their way in his mouth, the smell of them tingling his sensitive nose. Dark gloves and arm wraps cover more holy scripture, tattooed unto his arms. These carry a darker message, reminders of the fate of the pariahs, resurgence through cruelty and punishment, the wrath of the Gods upon the pitiful and weak.
Backstory:
Ja'Far was the second son of a middle-caste family back in the old Hegemony, born on his homeworld of Khar'Shan. His parents were strict and cruel although these were seen as a blessing by most Batarians later in life, better for the young to see cruelty in their own supposed loved ones first before stepping out into an even harsher galaxy. He however, hated it. They were abusive, beating him constantly, blaming him for the current shame their family was in even though that had nothing to do with either. They blamed him for his unknown older brother's escape from the family, ascending higher through the ranks of the caste system to the Holy Raiders.
Some may see this as a point of pride and an influx of income but Ja'Far's brother kept all this new wealth to himself and thus kept his family down a caste or two. His parents were malicious and spiteful, a hurricane of anger. During the tentative times of peace within his household, there was always a thick tension in the house between them and him. They did not love him and hated him for things his brother did earlier before. This led to the younger Batarian hating both him and his parents wholeheartedly. This rough childhood made him grow up and mature much quicker than most petulant and snobbish Batarian children, developing a serious outlook on life.
Throughout these younger years however, there was an aspect that he could back fondly at. His parents, suffering and torture be to their ascended souls, owned one Asari slave. Praised for their beauty, the reasons these slaves were owned was more for status rather than any type of labour work, which was done by their second son of course.
She was a maiden, young and boisterous, sold cheap to the family by a family friend. An Asari of a deep blue. She was led around in a collar into Ja'Far's household, head drooped downwards, naked quivering body bare for all to see. His father grinned lecherously at her, his mother seemingly indifferent towards her. In the couple of days, the second son of the Balak naturally avoided the stranger. At the age of eleven, he was yet to be influenced by the harsh propaganda the Hegemony instilled into it's people and still saw the family slave as another living sentient being.
Their first encounter was during his parent's anniversary. They left him at home as usual, leaving him to his own devices as they spent their money throwing a party of "great importance" in honour of their own "holy marriage". In reality, they were probably taking in a line of Red Sand and cheating on each other in one of the various "illegal" slave brothels within Khar'Shan. As per usual, he began to walk his way into the kitchen for cooking dinner, only to find the young maiden almost setting the house on fire.
"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, running towards the pan on fire with a horrified expression on his face. The slave was promptly bowled over and hit her head on the nearby table as Ja'Far quickly sprayed cooling liquids all over the flame. As the sizzling blue goop sizzled with heat, he turned towards the Asari who was currently rubbing her head in embarrassment and injury. He crossed his arms and tried to look like his threatening and aggressive father which of course looked comical on a young Batarian such as himself. He glared.
"Do you realise what you could have done? You could have burned the whole house for The Pillars' sake!" He pointed at the now ruined and blackened pan "Father and Mother are going to have our heads for this."
The slave quickly lowered her head down on the floor and bowed, keeping her mouth shut as she awaited punishment for her mistake. Ja'Far's eyes soften3: from a glare, crouching down towards the Asari's level. "It's fine" he whispered softly, hesitantly placing a small hand on her shoulder "I-I'm not going to punish you like my parents do. All I want to know is what you were trying to do."
The Asari looked up from her kneeling position and sat up straight, young bright eyes staring back at his own black orbs. She had a defiance to her, a look of challenge hidden amongst the cloudy eyes of those who have emptied their tears. "I was trying to cook for you, young master" She lowered her head in shame rather than instinct or slave doctrine "I uh, failed young master."
Ja'Far sighed, scratching his ridge in exasperation. He stood and inclined for her to do the same, making her realise that he was quite tall for his age. He turned and threw the pan into the bin, procuring a new one out of the cabinet. "Don't try and cook, the extent of your slave duties in the household is to look pretty and help around with cleaning and such. I however have to do the cooking and the more manual work that your frame can't handle. Sit down and I'll cook for us."
Batarian cuisine was centred on the idea of smelling the food rather than just the taste of it. The smell added texture and layer to the meal, each whisper of smoke must give add a different flavour for the food to be perfect. The taste was always rather bland but the strong poignant smells always made up for it. As Ja'Far put the last ingredients unto the dish, he plated them up and put them upon the table. He invited the Asari on the table, a practice regularly looked down upon in Batarian society. She looked at him wide-eyed before proceeding to sit and shove as much food into her mouth as possible. She must've been starved as a slave and this was more food than most slaves would normally get.
The Batarian scratched his ridge again before handing over his own plate of food which was then promptly emptied a minute later. "Done?" He inquired, a suddenly tired but soft look on his face. She patted her stomach and sighed in peace, smiling as she relaxed in the chair.
The Asari quickly opened her eyes as if she just realised that he was watching her eat his own meal. Frantic apologies escaped her mouth but the second son silenced her, merely signalling to calm down. They sat in awkward silence. "My name is Siarus, young master" she began, breaking the quiet "I thank you for your kindness in giving this meal although I don't understand why you did so." She bowed her head downwards.
"I live a simple life here. No friends, no other family, only my wicked parents for company." Ja'Far reclined in his chair sat his boots up on the table, hands intertwined behind his head "In truth, I am lonely. Tired. I am in need of company, of something more. I... I was hoping you'd break the monotony a bit." The now named Siarus looked at him inquisitively for a moment, as if questioning whether this was true or not but quickly devolved into a cheery face. She voiced her approvals and thus, a friendship was born.
For six blissful years of his life, Ja'Far had an honest friend. Siarus proved to be exuberant, full of life and brought wonders into the monotony of hate and anger that cycled through the household. They soon became each other's crutches, leaning against the other when one was down. It was moments of alone time in which their friendship blossomed. She taught him about the divine Athame, or what she remembered of it when she was an even younger maiden under her mother, and thus he created his own belief. A mix of Athame-worship (who he believed to have also created the mighty Batarian race alongside the beautiful Asari. Siarus giggled at him as he explained) and the use of the holy ideology and scriptures of the Divine Pillars.
They were quiet in their rebellion against the elder Balaks, showing it in support of the other when they were punished. They grew to have compassion for one another, and often sought the other for happiness and support. For Ja'Far, it was bliss. It may have been the reason he held quite extremist views towards slaves in the Hegemony at the time. Their friendship developed further, turning into a love akin to brother and sister. Her laughter was like music to his ears and he learned so much from her. But it was all finished in a bloody end.
The dripping knife in his mother's hand. His father and Siarus. Jealousy was the cause. Baseless, drunken anger on his mother's part. Pulping rage, red mist in his eyes. Bloody fists, raw knuckles. His mother's head on a pike, burned alive. Thirteenth birthday celebration.
Ja'Far was given a choice for the murder of his mother and the shaming of the Balak family name. Either be sentenced 12 years a slave miner in the pits of Khar'Shan or serve in the first penal legion of the Hegemony. Certain death or possible death. He chose the second sentence. He was framed, broken-hearted but was still pulsing with rage as he threw himself among the varren of the 1st Penal Legion. His eyes scarred and sliced, a sign of disgrace and shame.
The training was cruel and harsh, designed to kill off most of the Legionnaires within the service. Live fire drills, excruciating punishments for the smallest of slights, hours laying in the sun praying with cruel Priests of Redemption, whipping their backs and beating them with batons. Each day was filled with back-breaking work, designed to inflict as much physical pain in between lectures and drills, leaving the sentenced Legionnaires broken and tired. Many fell in this first year. Either to the harsh punishments of taskmasters and priests, the harsh weather of Khar'Shan or the pitiful living conditions they were given. Many also broke mentally as the days passed, forcing others to either restrict them while they sleep or kill them with already broken knuckles.
Five thousand became a hundred. Murderers, cutthroats, uprising slaves, rapists, thieves, heathens. All of them young, fit and in the prime of their lives. All criminals in the eyes of the Hegemony. The Hundred became a tight web of close bonded relationships between those who were broken repeatedly over the course of one year. Friendships rarely formed however, comrades as they were, it was most likely that the man or woman next to you was one of the most fucked up people in the galaxy.
The Hundred operated in twenty five man teams, each led by a harsh Taskmaster and a Priest of Redemption. Some squads were formed to be the perfect, mighty soldiers of the old Hegemony while others were more like ravenous berserker beasts in battle.
They destroyed slave rebellions, foiled the plans of sabotage among dissenting politicians, disgracing families of those who spoke too loosely about their disapproval of the Hegemony. They traversed the political world of the Hegemony, a hidden dagger held against the throat of those who thought to step out of their place. The Hundred became thirty. Mission after mission, decade after decade, they fought and bled for a country who had no love for them. They were criminals after all, not even deemed fit to ascend to the afterlife. Not even deemed fit to join the slaver gangs of Terminus.
The Reapers hit. The thirty became five. Then one. Ja'Far looked down at the husks at his feet, Cannibals he believed they were called. His former taskmaster lay at his feet, turned into a disgusting indoctrinated mess of a life form. He poked at it one last time, with his rifle, cigarette in his mouth. He looked at the final transport on the planet, some backwater shithole his team had holed up in during this mess as news of the Reaper's defeat reached his Omni-tool. The brown-skinned Batarian scratched his ridge in exasperation and looked up at the sky. "Athame and the Divine, I prithee that thou shalt shine my way for I have no fucking idea what I am going to do."
Psyche Profile:
Ja'Far is tired. He has bled and fought in the political world of one of the harshest countries in the galaxy. He has killed women and children, master and slave. Over the course of his service, he has pillaged worlds with pirates, done countless sins, killed dozens of powerful politicians and has made the downfall of a High Caste political family. This turmoil made him a boogeyman amongst the Hegemony Elite and thus made him a target as the hidden dagger. He is a proud, mighty soldier but one shrouded more in darkness than most.
Constant prayers adorn his lips, praying for forgiveness and mercy. Ja'Far was a religious man, though believed in his own mix of Athame-worship and the Pillars of the Divine. Scriptures were often carried into battle by those in the Penal Legion, those who didn't were often flogged for not praying to the Pillars. He believes in redemption through fire, the only way a soul can be cleansed is if they are beaten and broken. Luxuries and riches are often detested by him but unlike most traditionalists in Batarian society, he had no adversity against love and happiness but found peace as a sweet but far reaching dream.
Happiness comes few and far between, only the cold, if exhausted and exasperated, visage of a soldier is left behind. The few things that bring him happiness would be any homage back to his blissful past with Siarus. Even the mere colour of her skin on another Asari could bring back fleeting memories of her, most of then broken and shattered from the conditioning of the Hegemony. Even through this conditioning, he held strong and still holds a strong sense of individuality that he preserved from his youth. Happiness comes from thinking of the pieces of his broken past, piecing them together in calm meditation. He is defined well as a loner but operates in squad environments with almost frightening efficiency.
Anger comes lesser than even happiness. In his first five years as Legionnaire, he was fuelled with rage. Pulsing, ravenous rage that would have made any self-respecting Krogan proud. However, that Ja'Far lost fuel. There was only so much blood you could use to appease your anger. Instead, any type of rage is quickly followed by exasperation and the weight of his stressful years. However, if anyone was to try and actually provoke this mighty though exhausted soldier, he would devolve into a ravenous berserker beast, very different from the calmer lonely sniper he specialises as.
He enjoys meditation in his own time, prayers to the holies of his faith, sleeping and reading. Ja'Far enjoys mostly solitary activities however loves to experience the occasional thrill of doing whatever the fuck the others were doing. And yes, he swears. A lot.
Specialty:
A marksman, a recon specialist with an eye for stealth. Ja'Far may be a proud soldier but he would rather pick enemies off from a distance or from behind than get up close and dirty. He may be no galaxy renowned Garrus Vakarian but he was an experienced professional, no natural talent but a strict training regime backing him up anyhow. His job is to enter the building first and leave first, the light armour protecting little of his person as he is not suited for the front lines. His job is to confuse and sabotage, not destroy everything in his path. His specialisation as a reconnaissance man however doesn't stop his other talents shine through.Interrogation and intimidation were important during his time as a legionnaire and could prove vital to get any information they may need to known about.
Powers/Skills:
Disruptor Ammo
Sabotage
Tactical Cloak
Incinerate
Excellent Marksmanship
Minimal technical know-how
Basic leadership skills
Interrogation and intimidation skills
Equipment and Resources:
M-29 Incisor
M-6 Carnifex
Sticky Grenades
Recon Hood
Standard Tactical Black Hard-suit
Hooked interrogators knife
Sample Post:
"Target inbound, 0800 timeframe confirmed. Mission has go ahead. Target is en route to your position Ja'Far, please confirm."
Ja'Far relaxed into his rifle, the rain on this infuriatingly wet planet beating down on his prone body. He had been here, laying still for five hours now, waiting for the go ahead on the mission. Mud formed around his abdomen, his light kinetic barriers flickering in the rain. Lightning struck against the still dark morning of the planet, thunder echoing soon afterwards. He was prone on top of a cliff's edge, surrounded by local fauna, overlooking a small lane of road paved through the thick jungle. The small creaks of strange alien insects and animals filled his ears, three eyes peering into the scope as he tracked a small vehicle running gliding the jungle.
As a single drop of water slowly slid down his cheek, Ja'Far voiced his confirmation with a resigned voice. "Aye, target in sight Taskmaster. Preparing to fire, over." He calmly checked over his rifle, checking the kinks and workings of it. It was a standard Batarian-type, filled with illegal explosive chemicals and modded to be one of the most deadly rifles out there. He leaned into the rifle, keeping it snug against his shoulder as he let his cheek rest upon the stock. A prayer to Athame and the Pillar of Guidance on his lips, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud crash and a boom in the distance, a fiery explosion breaking the monotony of jungle life on the planet. He let out a sigh as he looked upon the burning wreckage. He opened his comms.
"Target eliminated, proceeding to designated extraction point."
However, as Ja'Far was about to high tail it out of there, he got another order from his communications bead, this time from his squad's latest Priest. They were often killed in the first couple of missions due to their almost rabid extremism to give sinners on the other side "redemption through their holy blade". They usually watched their resident Priests be killed by rounds peppering their body as they tried to use swords against guns. It never worked out well. The sound of an old crone crackled through the radio "Hold plebeian. The blessings of the Pillar of Redemption have yet to fall upon one of these sinners. They shall not suffer in afterlife for naught. Give her redemption, sinner."
They were currently overlooking this whole operation from another vantage point so Ja'Far could not claim otherwise that there was no survivors. He settled in once more, zooming into the small face of light purple skin, Asari beauty in sadness. Wailing screams filled his ears. He paused. For a brief second, he hesitated to pull on the trigger. He could save her, prevent her from dying. Fire off a warning shot near her, pretending to miss and letting her run away. He would reprimanded heavily with flogging and even death but he would be able to do one good in the world. Unfortunately, hesitation and will does not break the strict discipline and mental breaking of his training regimen. As the Divine Prayers of Redemption was whispered into his ear, he fired. A twitch of a finger and another explosion erupted, silencing the prayers and the cries.
"Target neutralisation confirmed. Well done Ja'Far. However, you hesitated. Twenty floggings when we get back home tonight and that is for everyone. Proceed to the extraction point everyone, over." The proceeding confirmations from his squad mates brought him out of his stupor. Ja'Far stood and started backtracking his way through the jungle, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He clenched his shaking hand tight as his other brought a cigarette to his quivering mouth. The sweet smell of the lit cigarette brought no happiness in his mind as he added to his list of sins.
Notes
Others see Ja'Far a loner, an outcast. A pariah as he was before and always will be.
