Kori'Andh nar Chayym

Race: Quarian

Gender: Female

Class: Engineer

Age: 22

Homeworld: Chayym Liveship, Migrant Fleet

Appearance:
As with most members of her species, Kori’Andh wears a sealed enviro-suit at all times to protect her weak immune system. An enviro-suit is a highly customised and important cultural item for the Quarians and so Kori takes great care with hers and has given it a black/grey/red paintjob. Physically she stands at about 5’6”, with a frame that is slightly more petite than most humans.

Psychological Profile: Growing up on the Flotilla and its limited space has made most Quarians highly social and Kori'Andh nar Chayym is no different. She loves to talk and will gladly share her opinion on whatever topic or situation is at hand. This talkative nature doubles when she is stressed and she has been known to begin to babble when in highly difficult situations. Regardless, she finds speaking with and befriending new people easy and forming bonds with others brings her great joy. She has been known to be sassy at times, although she usually tries to avoid being hurtful. She tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve, even if she may not be very open about the root of the problem. She values loyalty highly and dislikes breaking promises.

On a related note, Kori is hardworking and dislikes leaving a task half-finished, even if it is not necessarily enjoyable for her. For good reason she distrusts most synthetics, doubly so for anything involving the geth. At her core she is altruistic and selfless, thinking of the greater good over her own personal needs more often than not, though her time on Omega has given her a thin patina of caution and wariness to temper her Flotilla-forged social inclinations.

Overall, if you need someone to fly a ship, fix a ship, or just talk about Fleet and Flotilla with, Kori is your girl.

Equipment:

• Quarian Enviro-suit (Light Armour)
• Modified Logic Arrest Omni-tool
• M-22 Eviscerator Shotgun equipped with a choice selection of Quarian mods courtesy of her Mom.
  
  • Shotgun High Caliber Barrel
  • Smart Choke

Abilities:

• Overload
• Sabotage

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Bio: Born on one of the Migrant Fleet's three Liveships, Kori'Andh was always interested in the piloting of ships. Her father, Koma'Andh was an AgriTech and helped manage and grow food on the Flotilla. Her mother, Hara'Andh was a shuttle pilot and flew in the Patrol Fleet. Growing up, Kori loved to accompany her mother on her shuttle as she flew patrols for the Fleet. She also loved to spend time in the cockpit of the Chayym, watching with awe and observing the bridge crew of the huge starship as they went around doing their duty. A lot of her peers in the young children loved the engine room and hum of the core and the whirr of the vital systems and learning how to fix them. Kori did her due diligence and like most young Quarians learned to fix ships and do basic mechanical repairs, her first love however, was always flying ships. When she was a teenager she begged her mother to let her fly her shuttle, and even though she had asked many times before Hara finally felt that Kori was old enough and began to teach her. At first, they merely went over the controls and Kori had to memorise the preflight and postflight checklists. But slowly, as she gained experience Kori was allowed to take the shuttle for short jaunts around the Flotilla under the supervision of her mother and the other crewmembers.

In the years closing in on her Pilgrimage, her mother finalised the lessons she had taught her over the course of her teenage years. Though not an official member of the crew, she tagged along on countless patrols, even acting as a co-pilot when the actual co-pilot was indisposed. As her Pilgrimage loomed ever close, Kori had settled on a gift before she ever left. She was going to bring back a ship. Her own ship. And she would sail through the void like her ancestors had soared through the skies of the Homeworld all those generations ago.

Finally, the year of her Pilgrimage arrived. Kori'Andh told her parents of her plans to return with a ship. Her father, though slightly disappointed that she wasn't planning on bringing back rare food synthesizers, was supportive and proud that his daughter had grown into a such a driven young Quarian. Her mother on the other hand, was worried that she would find herself in over her head if she rushed headlong to get a ship. A Pilgrimage needn't be a short affair, Hara explained. A Quarian on Pilgrimage was supposed to experience the galaxy and gain knowledge and wisdom about the Universe, not rush into a goal they had decided on before they had even left the Migrant Fleet. Still, she was proud of her daughter and wished her nothing but success on her journey. Next, Kori began the six month training course that all adolescent Quarians about to embark on their Pilgrimage undergo. Within the course, she learned basic combat and survival techniques from the Migrant Fleet Marines as well as electronic decryption and hacking systems. In addition, her own considerable starship piloting skills were bolstered by a formal flight class which she aced. Starship maintenance was also covered and she excelled at that as well. Finally, to further guarantee her success, Hara gifted her only child a modified human-manufactured M-22 Eviscerator that she had traded for on a recent trip away from the Flotilla.

All of her preparations completed, Kori'Andh nar Chayym left on her Pilgrimage, bound for Omega. Her plan to acquire a ship basically hit a snag the moment she stepped onto the virtually lawless station. The first starship dealer she struck a deal with took her credits and when she tried to take the ship, he chased her off with a hail of gunfire. Poorer in credits but richer in wisdom, Kori realised that she was going to have to get a ship through other means. After a few days of searching, the Quarian found what she was looking for. A small, private docking bay had a derelict ship that someone had dumped there and never come back for. It was too damaged to fly (most likely why the original owner had limped it into the port and abandoned it) and getting it removed would cost the owner a lot more than it was worth, but it was starting to cut into the profits of the docking bay. Kori cut a deal with the Volus owner. If she could get the parts and get the small shuttle flying again, enough that it could vacate the port, she could have it. He even allowed her to stay on the shuttle as a sort of mini-apartment. He was just glad to soon be rid of the damned vessel.

Kori had no idea what had initially crippled the shuttle. Most parts that could be safely removed and sold separately had long since been stripped clean. Most likely by the Volus in an attempt to stave off the financial drain that came from being unable to rent out one of his bays. Luckily the drive core could not be safely removed and was still functional. Kori set up shop and began cataloging all the parts she needed to acquire and needed to repair. It took her seven months to get the shuttle functional again. She had set up a small side business repairing basically anything to get the credits she needed so she could buy the parts she otherwise couldn't fix (which wasn't many.) She had even improved the performance of the shuttle, turning it into somewhat of a sleeper ship. She had replaced two of the four main thrusters with higher power but older models and even had enough reactor power left over to add a second set of maneuvering jets, improving the handling significantly. To compensate, she stripped out a majority of the high-power survey gear (Kori had neither the expertise to repair it nor any use for it) that the original model had used, presumably for its primary role in exploration and charting. This in turn had freed up a significant amount of room in the vessel as well as a large portion of reactor power that could be used elsewhere. For now, under her limited budget she let it power the oversized engines. As a final touch, she gave it a nice new green and gold paintjob and christened it the Eyas.

Of course, what Omega gives, Omega takes back. The minute she had left the hangar she was swarmed by fighters and her comms were assailed with hails and directions to follow them or be blasted into space dust. Having no other choice, she obeyed. The unmarked fighters escorted the Eyas to a private landing zone on the far side of the station. Once landed, Kori'Andh was escorted off of the ship and led by armed guards into the VIP room of a nearby club. There, it was explained to her that the ship she had fixed up was actually property of Aria, and she would be expected to hand it over. When Kori protested, saying that no one had claimed it for years and it was basically just a shell when she found it, the turian in charge told her she didn't actually have a choice. Furthermore, she had stolen it and owed Aria the full retail value of the shuttle. Obviously, Kori lacked the almost 700k credits it would take to purchase one and made no secret of it. The Turian just grinned. "Looks like you'll be working for us then."

It has been a year and a half since Kori'Andh effectively became an indentured servant for Aria's organisation. She now spends most of her time fixing and maintaining vehicles for the organisation, being paid a small stipend (the majority of which goes to her 'debt'.) In addition, any money she makes on the side also goes towards her debt. On certain occasions she is allowed to fly errands to other nearby systems, always accompanied by another member of the organisation. At this point, she's given up on tracking her debt day by day.

On a slightly more upbeat note, she is excited for an upcoming flight out of system with a new group of freelancers.

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Strengths:

• First and foremost, Kori'Andh is a skilled pilot. Many beings can claim to be pilots, but not many pilots can weave through the Migrant Fleet at top speed without so much as scratching the paint on a Liveship. Flying in the void has been her calling since she was a girl and she has spent countless hours either in a sim or in a ship, honing her zero-gee skills.
• As a side effect of both being a void-junkie and a Quarian, Kori has learned how to maintain, jury-rig, and otherwise fix up countless ship designs, and by proxy mechanical objects. Give her enough time and she could build a fighter out of a omni-tool. Whether it would be her ship is another story...
• Though not nearly as skilled with electronics as she is with mechanical objects, she is still quite handy with them. Her Pilgrimage training gave her above-average decryption and slicing abilities.
• Highly sociable, can and will talk to someone about anything she can think of. Failing that, she will talk to herself.

Weaknesses:

• Though she has basic combat training, Kori'Andh is far from a skilled combatant. She prefers talking her way out of violence or ideally, avoiding the problem by flying over it.
• Unless in the pilot's seat, she has trouble under large amounts of stress. She is the opposite of cool under fire. She is hot under fire.
• Despite her time on Omega doing much to burn off her childlike wonder, she is still a bit trusting and naive, Omega having been the first and only stop in her Pilgrimage so far.
• No immune system. Do not sneeze on her.

Misc:
- Big fan of Fleet and Flotilla
- Loves to browse the extranet in her spare time, can be found giving her opinion on various forums across the 'net

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𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑


𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒


𝐀𝐆𝐄


𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

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𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

The military-grade environmental suit Cherk Sab wears is an older thing, which has clearly seen a lot of lively action. Multiple scars are apparent on close inspection, and the chipped orange paint is all but gone nowadays. The name tag on the right breastplate seems fresher than the rest of the armor, but those who travel with the Volus know that the name is changed regularly. Aside from this, great care is taken to minimize the damage, and there are a few repairs which are nearly seamless, almost calling into question whether there are even more repairs which go unnoticed.

Due in dual part to the discreet nature Cherk tries to keep, as well as the nature of being limited to an environmental-suit, most of Cherk's identifying features are found in his body language. The Volus walks with a slightly heavier left step than right, and his hands seem like they're always prepared to inspect goods - almost like a Pyjak ready to steal food. He tends to take breaks while walking often, though these can be either to catch a breath or to stop and take in the sites. His posture is rather good, all things considered.

In combat the Volus looks almost completely different. His stance is very clearly trained, and even his usual habits of being left-footed and leisurely seem to disappear. The way he holds himself is reminiscent of a Turian, though obviously not as outwardly imposing.

During negotiations, the Volus is surprisingly intimidating. He stands as if he were always holding the higher ground, and his hands take on a much more defensively aggressive shape. He often makes use of gestures which are vaguely similar to crushing fruits and lobotomizing sentients, and he stands almost like a Turian authoritarian rather than a Volus merchant.

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𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄

Cherk Sab is a rather private individual, though he appears at first glances to be helpful, a man of his word, though a gullible sort who has a tendency to get wrapped up in strange schemes. As a Fixer, Cherk is a shrewd businessman with a charismatic personality. He has a way of appealing to folks from all backgrounds, which he attributes to his economic mindset. When dealing with unsavory business, he tends to offer sympathies to his targets, often claiming that he regrets it as much as they do. His words are often laced with sincerity, and the way he holds his voice is like that of a guilt-ridden tax collector. With most sorts, he acts as though he is an agent lacking autonomy, and is simply doing his job.

Of course, Cherk Sab is a multi-faceted volus with a series of behavioral quirks that lie hidden beneath the surface.

As a result of his time on Taetrus, Cherk also has many Turian mannerisms. Chief among these are habits regarding promotion and recruitment. Cherk often goes out of his way to ensure that he does not put responsibilities on individuals he doesn't believe to be capable of carrying them out. His spirit is surprisingly strong given his attitudes, and he occasionally claims that not even the Hastatim could quell him. He holds himself as a Turian citizen usually would, and in place of a proper historian, chronicles the tale of his squads. These are documents he is very careful about, and he has multiple copies of them stored at different locations.

To start: Cherk is aggressively and obsessively organized, and is constantly tweaking small things to make sure they aren't crooked, misaligned, or otherwise out of place. He is fixated on small details that others sometimes overlook, and is constantly examining his possessions for signs of things like dirt, rust, or slight misalignment. At odds with this, is a hoarding tendency. As a result, Cherk's quarters are cluttered, organized towers of personal treasures which others would probably discard as junk. They form something which seems like a city grid - easily navigable roads with "districts" being organized (and constantly reorganized) based on utilitarian standards. Of course, this carries over to his work, and he is often trying to find the cleanest, most organized, way of doing something. This leads to an often over-prepared approach that has taken far too long of a time to perfect.

At his core he is a true sellsword, even if the blade has chipped off for the most part. His allegiance belongs to the highest bidder, and his friendships are usually those of economic benefit. Those who he considers to be under his employ are folk that he attempts to mentor in some capacity, and they are the recipients of no-holds-barred assistance. He offers his aid to these individuals in most any way he can, though he often likes to utilize moments like these to foster efficient cohesion, rather than genuine bonding. Cherk claims to have no issue with abandoning those who no longer serve his purpose, though he also says such things as, "Look at how well redundant organs work for the Krogan. It doesn't hurt to keep a few happy individuals in your back pocket."

Cherk makes constant show of trustworthy actions when it comes to potential marks. The volus likes to be in the good graces of nearly everyone, and has no qualms with forging separate personas for each entity he deals with. Cherk is by no means a yes man or a fence sitter, but he is an efficient liar and truth stretcher which goes out of his way to appeal to the egos and personalities of these entities he seeks to impress. When dealing with the Eclipse of Illium, he is nowhere near as authoritative and strict as he is with the Blood Pack of Omega. He believes in earning respect for his character, though such a concept of personal character means something completely different in the hands of Cherk, given the multiple identities he claims ownership of.

If there is one thing that defines Cherk, it is the notion of Greed. The volus has a nigh endless appetite for credits, and is constantly trying to accumulate as much as possible. He often takes risks which he shouldn't in the name of credits, and will dig underneath most every cushion he can for a credit chit. No job is too big or too small for Cherk, so long as he can negotiate a comfortable price. But, this by no means means that the volus is stingy. In fact, he operates under a mentality of using accumulated wealth to create more means of accumulating wealth. To this end, he makes sure to secure the best jobs, and uses the connections he has made throughout the years to help arm whichever crew he represents at a given moment. However, it is also from this greed that his ambition blooms, and he considers it a boon.

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𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐏𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓






𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

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𝐁𝐈𝐎

Originally born on Talis Fia, Cherk Sab is, technically, a native of the Terminus Systems. The first fifteen years of his life were spent on the planet as the son to two transportation managers, and if there were one word Cherk would use to describe the experience, it would be affluent. Cherk received the best education money could buy, and his household was stocked with servants to serve his every whim. While his parents were absent, Cherk did not mind – such was life, and so long as they could continue to support a life of luxury, he did not mind. Of course, the two pushed him to learn their trade so that he could support his own children, and maybe succeed where they had failed: in becoming the leader of a clan. Of course, as many children do, Cherk rebelled against this notion, and did everything in his limited power to apply for special military training, an oddity amongst those of his clan and even a bit of an oddity amongst the Vol-Clan. Luckily, the young volus’s parents thought it would whip him into shape, and so they used what connections they had to ship him away to Palaven, fully expecting him to return without an urge to branch out. Or so he claims, at least.

Cherk Sab became a citizen of the Turian Hierarchy.

The road to citizenship was long and difficult, but it was exactly what Cherk wanted out of life at the time. He served in an auxiliary unit with other Vol-Clan, and for a time they were inseparable. Most of their time was spent training, though after a few years of regular drills they began to see action (mainly against pirates and insurgents). Their role was mainly to support the Turians they accompanied, often performing screening duties. Cherk himself was appointed to heavy weaponry, a role which he was surprisingly fit for at the time. By the time the Relay 314 Incident, Cherk and his crew were ready to see their first full-scale war. Though at the time bitter about it, Cherk was lucky enough to avoid deployment on Shanxi, and so he never held bitterness against the humans. Life went on until the unit was mustered out, and Cherk was a fully-fledged citizen of the Turian Hierarchy. Along with the other Vol-Clan he had served with, Cherk found a job in public service for a time, settling into a role which was comfortable.

At some point, Cherk was asked to transfer into Requisitions. A higher-up whom he had known for some time had scouted him for his organizational mind and attention to detail, though the transfer would require further, specialized education. While Cherk was a citizen of the Turian Hierarchy, he requested that he be sent to Ten-Clan Academy on the surface of Maskawa. The request was partly a way to show his devotion to the cause, his literal willingness to die for the cause if need be, but also because of a desire to be among Vol-Clan again, who he and his superiors both knew were more skilled at business development. Though it was a risky decision, he managed to squeeze his way (just barely) into the Academy, and within the week he was shipped back to the Terminus Systems for an education.

Ten-Clan Academy proved to be the foundation for the volus Cherk Sab is today. He found that life on Maskawa wasn’t what he had grown used to. Things weren’t nearly as organized as he had grown used to, and whenever he had finished studying for the night, he was bored. His room was already organized, and with few possessions there was nothing much to do. Cherk began to play Galaxy of Fantasy in his spare time, and, funnily enough, supplemented his economic studies by examining the online game’s player economy. He kept frequent tabs on the marketplace, watched developer updates put in place to help it along, and kept careful track of the patterns it developed. Watching it was fascinating to him, and the next semester he applied for Computer Science classes so that he could build V.I.s which watched the game’s market when he was in class. Cherk kept in touch with his old squad and sent frequent reports to his superiors so that they knew they weren’t wasting funds on his education. His marks were more than enough to prove he was ready for the position, and he even landed a position as Treasurer.

About halfway through his time at Ten-Clan Academy, it lived up to its reputation.
While the security measures of Ten-Clan Academy are impressive, the occasional slaver gang will manage to get past them. Cherk remembers the event vividly even to this day, as it was his first real combat experience without the Turian Hierarchy supporting him, with only a mass of Vol-Clan who were unfit for battle, to say the least. The pirates rounded up students and whichever guards had been weak enough to surrender, and those that resisted were either beat into submission and in two cases, outright shot. Most anywhere else, that would have been a death sentence, but on the surface a Maskawa such cases tended to be salvageable (at least for Vol-Clan).

As much as Cherk would like to say he singlehandedly killed the slavers and saved the day, the truth is that he was weaponless, had been beaten for initial resistance, and had been prepped for cargo to someplace off-world. He felt humiliated, as if all his training had been a waste on behalf of the Turians, and that feeling lingered for a long time afterward. It was only thanks to the heroics of a guard, who had managed to hide away until the captor of Cherk’s group had turned his back, that Cherk wasn’t sold into slavery. The Drell had been an import from Kahje, and Cherk made it his duty to support him as he used to do with the Turians. Most of the other Vol-Clan cowered, though there were a few who stood with the duo, and they went through the Academy doing whatever they could to sabotage the efforts of the pirates.

Cherk’s leg was broken during an encounter with one of the slavers, and he was forced to sit with the cowards who sat and watched as others did the work. But, he survived, and so did most of his peers. His leg healed up, though it left him with a slight reluctance. He’d shot down a few slavers himself but insisted that it was thanks to the Drell and the other valiant students and faculty. The incident may have been reported, but it was common enough that it might just as well not have been. Cherk sought no glory for the events, convinced that his first exposure to combat without a clear superior had been a failure. Regardless, his education continued, and after only a handful of similar events, he was on his way back to Turian Space, this time with a role which suited him just fine.

The next few years of Cherk’s life was spent securing requisitions at the lowest price possible, brokering trade agreements for resources, and reigning in a V.I. army which had been dedicated to watching the galactic marketplace. The work was stressful, and Cherk lost many nights of sleep during the course of his service, though he consistently made sure to do his duty to the best of his ability. He received a few more promotions, until, one day, he was transferred to the Citadel.

While initially Cherk had been excited about the change of scenery, he came to loathe the job. He slept every night, and he was given much more freedom than he had ever had before, even at Ten-Clan Academy. His superiors were adept at handling their own money, and the accounting V.I.s Cherk had put into place made sure that they kept a healthy balance. He had, effectively, automated himself out of the picture. He was still on call, though, in the rare event something went wrong.

In desperate need of something to draw his attention, Cherk applied for a job with a banking firm in the Lower Kithoi Wards, wanting to slink away from the uppity sorts that he was now forced to interact with day in and day out. Within days, Cherk was caught up in an ultra-competitive market, trying desperately to recruit people into the fold of his firm. Frequent client meetings with the biggest credit holders saw him falling down a hole of increasingly deprave actions. What began as business-oriented outings to the clubs of the Kithoi Wards turned into helping potential customers crack the codes of slot machines, and from there it turned into helping actual customers move large sums of money in ways that seemed legal.

Really, it all happened in a blur. It wasn’t long before Cherk was managing the estates of some of the biggest criminals on the Citadel, and he was buying up businesses left and right to help solidify the acquisition of funds as legal. When it was impossible to do it without a paper trail, he created one out of thin air instead. The bureaucratic system that was in place here on the Citadel was full of rules which almost anyone could learn if they had the time – which the Spirits know Cherk did – and if you knew the rules you could create a person from nothing. It was more than just a way to pass time at this point, it had become a way to live out a megalomaniac fantasy that Cherk had never realized he had.

Things came to an end after a client ratted him out to the authorities over a petty dispute.

Cherk was forced to broker passage with the footmen of one of his clients as they smuggled goods off the Citadel and to the Terminus Systems, but he still had the courtesy to submit his resignation. The journey was long, and to kill the time, Cherk played Galaxy of Fantasy whenever he was in range of comm buoys. When he couldn’t swing that, he organized the cargo that he was now an accomplice in transporting. It wasn’t too long, but by the end of it, Cherk had nothing but a few lingering connections. He was forced to start over in Omega, and the next decade or so was fraught with criminal violence.

While Cherk prefers not to talk about it too in depth, his time in Omega isn’t too hard to gleam. The volus has kept a relatively low profile, though he has come to be the manager for one of the big players on the rock. He tends to operate through proxies to place himself in less danger, because the Spirits know that he’s made more than his fair share of enemies. He carries a Blood Pack Executioner with him, and he’s rather adept at using it. Whatever he does discuss tends to be vague, and the volus frequently redirects questions.

Of the things he openly discusses is that he has served as a mercenary since coming to Omega. He’s done the boot-work, he’s helped gun down high-profile targets, and he claims to have once helped bring down a space station with the aid of six other mercenaries. He’s used his skills to help mercs get in and out of Citadel Space without raising any flags, and he’s even helped a few faces escape even the Terminus Systems in terms of identity. Since then, he’s built numerous connections and even reasserted himself as a fierce trade presence, though one which tends to operate through fake identities and proxies. He has no quarrels with gunning down a Vorcha in the alleyway when a deal goes sour and does so on a rather frequent basis.

Recently, he’s taken a much more relaxed role as the handler of a Quarian by the name of Kori’andh. In return for a guaranteed steady supply of jobs he takes a Fixer’s fee. The most recent of these jobs regards the transportation of a few freelancers, through a source which is paying everyone involved more than a measly sum of credits. The whole thing reeks like a Pyjak’s corner in the cargo ship, but the paper trail is as legitimate as they come, and it’s an easy enough job for him and Kori’andh to handle, so long as the freelancers do their part.

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇𝐒











𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

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𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂

Gamer Profile for PhinnG2129,

Most Used Character: Zada Ban, Level 543 Hanar Occultist
Group Affiliation: Keeper Safety Vests (14th Highest Ranked Guild)
Most Recent Boss Defeated: Kardan, Krogan Werevarren
Awards:
- Reformed (Awarded for good behavior following account suspension)
- Runner-up DPS (Event: Night of the Living Geth)
- Slayer of Kalros (Event: Return of the Old Ones)
- Willing to Help (Community Award)
Infractions:
- Unsportsmanlike Behavior (toxic behavior after player refused to share loot); challenged but not overturned, received 3-day account suspension

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Appearance:

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Psychological Profile:

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Equipment:


Abilities:

• Sentry Turret
• Combat Drone
• Defense Drone
• Hacking AI/Sabotage
• Decoy

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Bio:


Strengths:


Weaknesses:


Misc:

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Appearance:

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Psychological Profile:

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Equipment:


M-5 Phalanx

Preferred weapon of choice

M-15 Vindicator

Tends to use less, and would rather a pistol. Uses when in a tight skirmish and needs fast fire.

Magenta Asari light armour

Abilities:

Singularity
Pull
Shockwave
Nova
Passive - Barrier

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Background:

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Strengths:



Weaknesses:



Misc:

Name: Zaash 'Cannibal' Gakkez

Race: Vorcha

Gender: Male

Class: Vanguard

Age: 17

Homeworld: Heshtok

Appearance:

Standing roughly 5'10 in height, Zaash possesses an athletic figure. His eyes are a fierce crimson red, his mouth filled with the signature razor sharp teeth of his species. On his left thigh he has the Bloodpack insignia branded into his flesh, though he keeps it covered up. No longer a member of that brutal gang. He wears a set of lightweight dark blue metal armor in which speed and mobility is emphasized. Its rare for him to be out this armor, or in general be unarmed.

Psychological Profile: At first glance Zaash seems like another typical Vorcha, frightening looking with a predator's eyes. Beneath a rough exterior he is a different man, someone that's been through brutal hardships in his short life. He is not lacking in inner scars or issues, but refuses to allow them to be shown as to not appear weak. He is an inwardly withdrawn figure around strangers, often putting on a facade of toughness and intimidation. Never speaking of the true thoughts which plague his mind. Unlike some others of his species he has, for the most part, a firm grasp over his anger and violent tendencies. Still, he's impulsive and unpredictable in his actions. But he does not enjoy starting conflict, he is typically a non-confrontational figure, except to enemies and those that draw his ire. Though Zaash is not beyond quips or comments when he sees them appropriate. Combat is a different story, where he is a chaotic, unpredictable combatant who seems to unleash his full rage at his opponents. He's utterly ruthless when on mission, not letting anything get in the way. He's entirely focused on succeeding and just simply does what it takes to get the job done. He deeply enjoys brutalizing and utterly destroying his enemies, finding comfort in combat.

In casual or social settings he is a different person, someone that doesn't often start random conversations or reveal much about himself. He's a curious being, that enjoys wandering around and going to new places. He's not cruel hearted or mean, and enjoys friendly conversation. Someone that really likes being around friends. He is uncomfortable in large crowds of strangers, but being from a clan based species he also likes being around people much more than being alone. He shows hints of loyalty, but doesn't have anyone that he feels he can be loyal to. He craves acceptance, and to be around people that actually enjoy his company. A loneliness seems to tinge inside of him. Though he'll never speak of it. He does not have really any experience in the romantic field, especially outside of his own species. He is hilariously ignorant of flirtation and the like.

His life has been filled to the brim with violence, abuse, hatred and prejudice. Underneath the sturdy outer character is a complicated, confused and frightened person. The realization of his imminent death, even if he wins every single battle he fights until that day is something which terrifies and breaks him apart internally. The fact that he and his species live such a pathetically short life angers him, Krogans live hundreds of years and they're just as violent as his people. He doesn't want to die, and isn't sure if he will ever accept that fact. Against all odds he's managed to survive such a hard life as long as he has, its cruel that he's going to die soon anyway. Still, he's also committed to going out with a bang. Not wanting to be forever forgotten.

Due to spending years on Omega, and living such a violent, unpredictable life has made him into a somewhat selfish character, untrusting of others from to being burnt in the past. He looks out solely for himself and has his entire life, not allowing himself to show any outward weakness. He keeps everyone at a distance, refusing to be hurt more. He's seen the worst the galaxy has to offer, everyday on the streets of Omega he walks past his fellow Vorcha, homeless and ignored, spit on and despised. Zaash feels a deep empathy for his downtrodden brethren. Part of him wishes he could help them, but a larger part realizes such an endeavor would be utterly pointless. He is disgusted by racism and hatred directed at his species, but has heard so much of it any such words directed towards him just bounce off. Though remarks about his people as a whole still get to him. Anyone who damns an entire species is a despicable person. He also holds empathy for the poor and helpless in general, having been there himself.

Due to past abuse at their hands, Zaash has a deep hatred for the Blood Pack. He refuses to work with them, and even seeing their members in public is enough to ruin his day. He does pity the Vorcha in their ranks, the fact that they're used as nothing more than cannon fodder, that they are frequently beaten and tortured, abused into becoming strong soldiers. He has a strong dislike for Red Sand, having been addicted to the drug for years while in the Blood Pack. The sight of it tends to make his stomach drop. He deeply detests his given nickname, Cannibal, he's never eaten his fellow Vorcha but the name was bestowed upon him by one of his Blood Pack superiors and has stuck ever since. The nickname always tinged of racism to him, people thought that Vorcha ate each other like rabid savages. While not holding any prejudice against other races, its more difficult for him to form connections and trust non-Vorcha, being hated by all manners of people tends to do that. Still, he has no qualms working with them on missions.

Equipment:

• M-22 Eviscerator, equipped with a bayonet
• M-3 Predator
• Incendiary Ammo
• A wrist mounted grappling hook
• Elkoss Combine Cipher Omni-tool
• Aldrin Labs Solaris Biotic Amp
• His light armor

Abilities:

• Shockwave
• Charge
• Pull

Bio: Zaash was born on the chaotic Vorcha homeworld of Heshtok, a brutal, volcanic world which is located in the The Shrike Abyssal. An overcrowded world, every day was a struggle for much of the Vorcha population. He was born into the Gakkez clan, a proud bloodline filled with warriors and hunters. Resources were a rarity on the world, clans constantly fought for control of them, and so Zaash was essentially born into war. Due to his species short lifespan he taught how to fight early on, and thrust into battles against rival clans. The wars were rapid, terrifyingly violent affairs. The strongest clans absorbed smaller ones, executing any defeated clansmen who refused to submit and join. The young Zaash made a name for himself, helping to lead his clan to glory in multiple battles. He still carries a token of his first kill, a tooth of a Vorcha whose head he caved in with an axe. During those days he rarely thought of life outside his homeworld, he did dream of one day going into the stars but his people weren't in any position to join the galactic community. Family was emphasized on Heshtok, he always believed close knit clans held the strongest bonds in the galaxy. Zaash frequently thinks of his homeworld, part of him misses it.

At the age of four he was plucked from his homeworld by a visiting band of Blood Pack mercenaries. The powerful gang were the first aliens he encountered. While out on a hunt with a half dozen of his fellow clansman they encountered the visitors, after a brief firefight, and with three of his people killed Zaash was knocked unconscious by a massive Krogan. He'd awake to find himself offworld, with twelve other Vorcha in a makeshift jail cell, on a bizarre starship rapidly speeding away from his homeworld to be taken to a bizarre, alien place. He was strapped down and branded, screaming the entire time as a Krogan burnt the symbol of the Blood Pack into his leg. From that moment forward his days were frequently filled with beatings, abuse and degradation. His new superiors were tasked with beating and molding him into a fearsome mercenary. Some of his fellow Vorcha resisted and were beaten savagely, or at worst executed. One moment that will never leave his thoughts is of one of the other Vorcha being launched out the airlock, a showing of what happens if one refused and rebelled. The next year of his life was entirely about training, and being made to fight with unquestionable loyalty. It was commonplace for Zaash to be roughly beaten, or even mutilated in extreme instances. Due to his species healing factor such a thing could be done to him in order to encourage obedience.

He was brought to Omega immediately, the space station both fascinating and terrifying the Vorcha. He'd never seen so many aliens before, its constant battles between gangs reminded him of his homeworld. But it was still an alien place to him, and would take him a few weeks to settle in. His status as a biotic only encouraged his superiors to whip him into submission. Element Zero was a quite rare element on his homeworld, unbeknownst to his clan he was unknowingly exposed to it before birth after his mother wore an amulet infused with the beautiful material. Biotics were a rarity among Vorcha, but they did exist. He was implanted with a biotic implant, forced to strengthen and use his fledging powers. They forced Red Sand upon him in order to strengthen his powers, a substance which he become addicted to. The addiction itself was more of a mental one than anything else. Ever second he was clean of the Sand it seemed to be the only thing on his mind. How amazing he felt on it, how the universe seemed to just slow down. In one instance after being struck for disobedience Zaash in his rage flung the Krogan who had struck him through a window. But instead of more beatings he was positively encouraged and praised, something which really surprised him. He was deemed a potentially powerful warrior for the Blood Pack, and drafted into a legion led by the Davrak Hurm, a young, but truly brutal Krogan. He slowly developed a loyalty to the Blood Pack, developing a bond with several of his fellow Vorcha. Such bonds were frequently short lived as his people that were in the gang were frequent cannon fodder, something which always upset Zaash. Sadly, the mercenary group was the closest thing he had to family, or friends. He hated Hurm and the other superiors, dreaming of one day butchering them all and showing them how intelligent a Vorcha actually was. Such desires wouldn't come to fruition, for some time at least.

The next six years of his life were spent with the Blood Pack. He ended up on missions all over the Terminus systems, doing whatever was demanded of him. The Blood Pack did not turn down many jobs, and in fact prided themselves on taking the most immoral and violent contracts. Drug trafficking, assassinations, abductions, even slavery work was all on the table for them. They'd raid colonies like common pirates, plundering and pillaging whatever they wanted. Zaash took part in it all, albeit as someone forced into it and frequently drugged out of his mind. If he resisted he'd be killed or beaten into submission. He was powerless to protest, and did some truly terrible things. He did enjoy the credits, and the frequent battles he was put into but the despicable work he did wasn't something he took pride in. It was no fun brutalizing harmless civilians, a far cry from gunning down rival gangs. He'd get into spats with Davrak Hurm, the Krogan commander constantly pushing or picking on Zaash. He wanted nothing more than to rip the brute's head from his neck socket. As the years went on, Zaash's urge to drop everything and leave the gang grew. It was just a matter of how and when, and ensuring he was gone for good.

On his final day of service with the Blood Pack Zaash forced himself to refuse taking any Red Sand, the substance was part of what let him be so controlled. Even as his fingers twitched and his skin crawled his pure hatred for the Pack and his treatment at their hands allowed him to back away from the drug. He was tasked with assisting in the shakedown of a doctor in the slums of Omeha, a human named Dr. Loring. Zaash decided this was an ideal opportunity to break free. Following Hurm and two other Vorcha into the winding streets of Omega he bid his time. As they came to the doctor's office, Hurm put on his show, smashing windows, bashing in equipment, the usual for a shakedown. The other Vorcha went at the doctor, kicking Loring to the ground. Hurm commanded Zaash to shatter the man's legs, he did not expect the now veteran mercenary to hesitate and instead send him flying into a wall. Zaash rapidly gunned down the other two Vorcha, then took on Hurm, it was a day he had been waiting for. The two engaged in a brawl, the fierce Krogan's physical strength giving him an early advantage. Brimming with emotion, Zaash channeled his biotics into a charge, rocketing Hurm out of the office and into the streets. He then plunged his Omni blade through the Krogan's left eye.

A wave of relief seem to overcome him, as Hurm's corpse slopped to the floor. Then a stronger wave of panic. He bolted into the depths of the slums, running until he couldn't anymore. The Blood Pack would hunt him down relentlessly, and he'd need to lay low. He took refuge in the worst areas of the streets, fitting in amongst the numerous vagrants, many of which were unfortunate Vorcha. Zaash's need for Red Sand tore at his soul, almost breaking him. He went four days without the drug, not allowing himself to submit and become a slave again. Collapsed on the street, twitching and suffering from the worst of withdrawl he thought that was how he'd die. A pathetic, strung out runaway. He was saved by a familiar face, Dr. Loring, who had witnessed the Vorcha's entire escape from the Blood Pack. Zaash had spared the man's life, he had relocated his clinic and brought Zaash to it. Loring would become Zaash's only friend, someone he'd forever been in debt to for helping him fully kick his addiction. As well as be an example of a kind face on Omega, someone that didn't just see him as a wanton pest, a symbol of kindness in the unlikeliest of places. Loring would also help shield him from the Blood Pack, who eventually gave up their search as they were drawn into a turf war with the Blue Suns. Eventually Zaash with the help of the doctor would become a changed man, a composed and unchained being.

He'd re-enter mercenary work, albeit as a freelancer. Shunning the type of jobs that the Blood Pack forced him to take he'd instead find a place in other fields, body-guarding being a popular service. He'd take other jobs, participating in small time conflicts and turf wars as a freelance merc. The credits were nice, and he carved out a solid place for himself. While he'd never truly escape his past reputation or misdeeds, he had no problem finding steady work. As Sovereign attacked the Citadel, Zaash was unaffected by it. He'd never been there, and Omega was tucked in the safety of the Terminus systems. The stuck up people on the Citadel didn't like his people, and refused to help them in anyway. He ignored it and continued to live his life, making credits. All while the slowly growing realization that he was more than likely approaching his final years crept its way into his mind, only having grown worse recently.

Zaash would take a recent mysterious job offer with interest, seeing it as an opportunity to make a bigger name for himself. Perhaps go out with a bang.

Strengths:

• Zaash is a highly skilled combatant, a fierce, vicious opponent to face on the battlefield. He's done whatever it takes to survive and persevere. The Vorcha has fought basically his entire life and it shows. He's a formidable biotic with years of experience using his powers.
• His species is well known for their pure adaptability, and their limited regenerative abilities. Zaash is no different, this natural healing factor hassaved his life in the past several times. The Vorcha are also naturally immune to most diseases.
• With years of frontlines combat behind him, Zaash has a good deal of tactical knowledge in his mind. He's a talented strategist who can effectively set up traps or ambushes on the battlefield, as well as recognize them.
• He's an intimating figure, who knows how to get information from someone. His fierce appearance, and the 'savage' stereotype of his species helps in this regard. Due to his time in the Blood Pack he also knows torture techniques and how to 'break' someone in that regard.

Weaknesses:

• Due to being a Vorcha, many people believe him to be an ultra violent simple minded savage. He routinely faces racism, hatred and fear because of this species wide stereotype. Its something he'll never fully escape.
• He knows he's not long for this life, Vorcha have very short lifespans and he's fully realizing that one way or another he is going to die soon. He's yet to fully accept this and it terrifies him deeply, though he's not open about this.
• Zassh is quite arrogant, someone like him thats survived as long as he has living an extremely dangerous lifestyle has to be skilled. He has no issues speaking about his talents or ability to survive.
• Zaash is a reckless with his actions, acting without much regard for circumstances having been this way for a long time. This is also evident on the battlefield where he does not care about collateral damage at all. But the realization that he is in his final years has caused him to begin to harbor regret over some past actions.
• He's very blunt with his words, to the point where they can be taken as insensitive or frank.
• When enraged Zaash tends to just go wild and destroy things. In these 'meltdowns' its easy for him to lose control of his biotics and wreck everything around him.
• Due to being betrayed and abused in the past, Zaash does not trust easily. He does not have any actual friends, in part because of this fear. When it comes to the big picture he looks out for himself above everything else, there has truly been no one else for him to look out for anyway.
• Due to past actions and especially during his time with the Blood Pack, Zaash has a pretty bad reputation. While in the Blood Pack he was well known for his brutality and bloodlust. The reputation has helped with getting some jobs on Omega, but isn't so great when trying to make friends. He frequently spends time explaining it and how he's a different man.

Misc: Theme song

• Deeply enjoys human heavy metal music, and aggressive music in general. He's always wanted to learn the drums.
• He follows Biotiball, and is a diehard fan of the Usaru Maestros.
• He likes Varren, finding them loyal and cute. Someday he'd like to adopt one, perhaps a retired pit fighter.

Name: Kyo Zhang.
Species: Human.
Gender: Male.
Age: 32.

Homeworld: Shanxi.

Appearance:



A very typical human of Asian descent, Kyo stands at 5’8” and has an athletic build that seems to be made specifically for speed and dexterity. His skin is light and almost Caucasian in complexion but its slight hue makes his race unmistakable when combined with the rest of his features. His body appears to be in good shape for a mercenary; he has only a few scars, none major, and Kyo’s smooth skin, trimmed nails and immaculately groomed body hair indicate his vanity and the pride he takes in his appearance.

Kyo’s face has an almost permanently austere look to it, even when he is amused or delighted, owing to the raptorian arch of his brow, the lines beneath his eyes and the way his lips naturally purse together. His eyes are narrow, sharp and as black as his hair, giving them an inscrutable and keen quality at all times. Speaking of his hair, Kyo wears it in a simple style, longer on top of his head and trimmed shorter on the sides, that he sweeps back out of his face. It has a healthy sheen and lustre to it and appears to be just as well cared for as the rest of his body. There are no visible scars or blemishes on his face, leaving the overall impression of Kyo that of a meticulous and capable professional that does not take unnecessary risks or put himself in harm’s way all that often.

His movement and speech would support that notion. Kyo is inherently graceful and agile, carrying himself with the deliberation and restraint of a gymnast -- or a killer. He speaks in short, clipped tones and with as few words as possible to get his point across, but that does not mean he is averse to talking. His flexibility and core strength allow him to sit in strange, seemingly uncomfortable positions that are perfectly manageable for him and Kyo likes to seat himself on top of something, be it a table, a closet or a support beam, to gain the high ground in conversation.

His casual clothes are simple and comfortable, mostly harem pants and plain t-shirts, making them equally suitable for relaxation and exercise. Kyo’s battledress, however, is a stylish ensemble of black leather trimmed with yellow that he wears over the ceramic plating of his combat hardsuit. The inside of the popped collar of his jacket and the embroidered sash he wears diagonally across his chest are decorated in gold thread over a soft yellow background. His helmet is matte black and features a single narrow and horizontal yellow visor that is reminiscent of the helmets worn by the participants of Earth’s Urban Combat Championship League. Unlike the bulky suits of armor worn by Soldiers, Kyo’s gear is lightweight and flexible enough for him to wear it practically every time he leaves his quarters or has to be seen in public. This is by design; the look is part of his trademark.

Biography: Born on Shanxi five years before the First Contact War with the turians, Kyo was the only child of a very typical pair of colonists; his father Yaoru and his mother Sakura. Yaoru worked in construction and Sakura as a nurse in one of the colony’s health clinics. They were already in their late thirties when they finally managed to conceive a child and Kyo was hailed as a blessing and a miracle. He was doted upon by his entire family and never wanted for anything. The colony was prosperous and it looked like humanity’s dreams amongst the stars were going to be realized without much trouble.

Until the turians arrived, of course. Shanxi was besieged and the Zhang family found themselves having to seek refuge in the bomb shelters amidst the turian fleet leveling entire city blocks just to kill single squads of Marines. Kyo’s uncle, Shinto, took up arms against the turian invaders and participated in the guerilla war against the turians on the ground. He was not an Alliance Marine and operated as a rogue element. He was the older brother of Yaoru and carried a legacy with him that could be traced back to the family’s distant origins in Asia on Earth. The discovery of the Prothean technology on Mars and the Mass Relay inside Chaurus suddenly propelled humanity into the stars but it also prompted a wave of retrospection among colonists, learning about and identifying with their Earthly heritage before departing for worlds unknown. Simply put Shinto had become a trained warrior in the ancient Oriental style, his skills with the blade enhanced with modern technology that rendered him invisible and gave his swords tremendous killing power. He stalked the battlefields of Shanxi as a lone wolf, anathema to the disciplined and organized way that the turians waged warfare, striking from the shadows at officers and snipers before slipping away and living to fight another day. He continued this practice even when General Williams surrendered and despite the turians’ best efforts, Shinto was never caught. His distinctive appearance, characterized by an ochre sash around his torso, was passed on to turian command by the few witnesses that Shinto left behind and he became known as the Yellow Death among the occupying force -- a much hated and reviled foe.

In the final days of the turian occupation an orbital strike destroyed the shelter where Kyo’s grandparents sought refuge and they were among the dead. Enraged, Shinto visited Yaoru, Sakura and Kyo and told them that he intended to fight the turians until his death and that he would likely never see them again. Yaoru, unwilling to lose another family member to the aliens, managed to talk him out of it -- but only barely. Shinto stayed with them, buried his gear to hide all incriminating evidence of his activity as the Yellow Death, and quietly fumed.

Life went back to normal as well as it possibly could once the Council intervened and brokered peace between the humans and the turians. Shinto was never able to let go of his anger, something that Yaoru saw, and as Kyo grew older his father told him not to listen too closely to his uncle. Yaoru thought that Shinto’s ideas and emotions were dangerous and he did not want his son to get mixed up in that. Kyo, however, grew up to see Shinto as a war hero and he was swiftly imprinted with an undying fascination for his uncle’s exploits. Yaoru tried to hide them from Kyo, but he learned the truth from others -- among them his mother, Sakura, who secretly admired Shinto for his actions and his ferocity and resented the turians deeply for the death of Kyo’s grandparents.

Inevitably, as Kyo grew older, he found himself seeking out his uncle despite his father’s warnings and asked to be told about Shinto’s experience in the First Contact War… and, while his heart raced with the audacity of his request, to be taught the same skills. Shinto rebuked him, hot anger flashing in his eyes, saying that the boy had no business asking such questions and should focus on his academic education instead to become a doctor like Yaoru wanted. Kyo insisted, emboldened by the refusal, saying that Shinto had no right to withhold the skills inspired by their heritage -- his heritage, too. Shinto remained silent for a minute before he began to laugh. Kyo was right.

And so it was to be. Yaoru was kept in the dark with Sakura’s aid while Kyo and Shinto retrieved his hidden blades from their underground stash and found a place to practice in a disused storage hangar. Kyo’s studies were to be equal parts martial and technological in nature, as the modern shinobi of the 22nd century had to incorporate bleeding edge developments into their arsenal to be successful. But Shinto introduced an unexpected third element into the curriculum: philosophy. His wrath against the turians had almost made him forget the most important parts of his teachings, Shinto told Kyo, and he had been close to losing his way. It was essential that Kyo was never to make the same mistake, or the combat skills that Shinto was to teach him would surely only lead him to death and ruin. Kyo struggled with this part. He failed to see the importance of long and boring hours of meditation and he did not grasp the meaning behind Shinto’s insistence on the strength of balance and tranquility. Was violence and combat not the domain of the incensed and the furious, Kyo thought? Discipline was important, yes, but as a tool to focus such emotions, not to negate them. No, Shinto said, time and time again. A killer was at his most dangerous when he felt nothing at all.

Yaoru was disappointed that his son did not pursue the opportunity to become a doctor and instead wasted his time studying hydroponics and horticulture. It was an easy enough education for Kyo to be able to dedicate several hours every week to training with Shinto. Many years passed this way. His busy schedule left Kyo little time for friends or romance and he was always considered a bit of an outsider by his peers, and aloof too, as if he knew something that they didn’t and it made him better. Shinto tried to get rid of this slight arrogant streak but he failed and was eventually forced to accept that that was how Kyo was. The boy was simply determined to be devoid of humility.

Kyo became a man, graduated from his class (with mediocre grades, but Sakura was swayed to forge a diploma with distinction) and when he was 20 years old, Shinto abruptly said that he was ready. Kyo naturally and easily gave himself over to meditation, voluntarily spending an hour each day before bed perched on the roof of his family’s hab, looking out over Shanxi and thinking about nothing at all. His skills with the monomolecular blades were such that he could consistently beat his uncle in a duel. And last but not least, he became capable enough with the omni-tool that his tinkering had resulted in an even stronger Tech Shield than the ability Shinto possessed. But a student does not become a real shinobi until his skills are put to the test.

At the end of a serious ritual that involved a lot of incense and meditation, Shinto handed over all of his gear to Kyo and informed him of a “job opening” with a local real estate development corporation that sought to increase its influence over Shanxi. Evidently, Kyo’s uncle was well-connected. Shinto guided Kyo remotely as he entered the world of corporate espionage, breaking into dark offices after hours to hack server farms and virtual private networks to scour them for dirt on the corporation’s competitors. The turf war of Shanxi, hitherto unknown to Kyo, was a fierce competition waged out of the public eye as multiple entities had sought to capitalize on the rebuilding efforts that were necessary after the First Contact War and still continued into the year of 2172. Shinto seemed unduly interested in this corporate kerfuffle, Kyo thought, but he could not deny the sizable paychecks he received for each successful operation. His swords remained sheathed as Shinto reminded him that lethal force was inelegant when it was unnecessary and Kyo avoided the security guards and the local police forces instead. They were innocent bystanders.

Matters escalated quickly and suddenly when Shinto gave Kyo a small device with instructions to place it within the walls of his client corporation’s head office. Kyo had gained the trust of the director with his exemplary results and was free to come and go as he pleased -- which he did often enough for briefing and debriefing. Shinto explained that he had discovered a pattern in the information Kyo retrieved but refused to explain the details until he had received confirmation from the corporation’s own data bank. Kyo, trusting his uncle, complied. Shinto called him a day later, clearly furious, and relayed a series of discoveries to Kyo -- the corporation’s director had been acting as a proxy for turian interests that sought to undermine the human rebuilding effort on Shanxi, seemingly out of spite. Shinto demanded that Kyo wet his blades for the first time and ordered the director’s death. Simmering resentment against the turians for what they had done to Shanxi drove Kyo to obey without question and he struck against the unsuspecting director the very next night in his own office. Kyo stabbed him through the heart from behind before quickly wiping the security camera footage and vanishing in thin air, only to disappear without a trace.

The murder made headlines and the corporation’s various competitors were accused, as news of the data breaches they had suffered leaked to the press and a motive for a retaliatory strike seemed evident. Kyo followed the news closely, dismayed to see that the assassination of the director had essentially achieved the alleged goal of the turians and created discord within Shanxi’s communities. The cogs in his head began to turn and Kyo set his sights on Shinto himself, convinced that there was something his uncle wasn’t telling him. The student turned his master’s own skills against him by tracking down his uncle’s hideout when Kyo knew that Shinto was meeting friends at the bar. He broke into his personal computer and discovered a very ugly truth: there had never been any turian interests. The assassination of the director had simply been another contract and Shinto had reaped the rewards in Kyo’s name without ever putting himself in danger. Clearly, Shinto lied about having almost lost his way and Kyo struggled to keep his fury from overcoming him. Every emotion that raged in his heart told him to kill his uncle in the name of revenge, and paradoxically everything that Shinto had taught him told Kyo to keep his cool and deal with this matter calmly and professionally. Kyo settled for downloading all the evidence to his omni-tool for the time being and after two days filled with meditation and reflection, Kyo knew what he wanted to do.

Using the information he had recovered from Shinto’s computer, he outed him as the mastermind behind the director’s assassination while keeping himself anonymous by sending carefully curated versions of the files to the colony’s security forces via dead drop courier delivery. He almost threw away the armor and its distinctive yellow sash that Shinto had given him, but Kyo had to admit that, once his anger had subsided, he admired Shinto’s audacity and he decided to keep it as a reminder to respect the threat that others could pose. In a way, he felt that he had earned the right to take up the mantle of the Yellow Death after outwitting his uncle and seeing him sentenced to life in prison. But he was definitely determined never to be controlled like that again. Kyo kissed his family farewell, claiming that he was leaving to pursue a career in horticulture on the colonies of the Attican Traverse, and set off for the stars of the Terminus Systems instead. He knew he had the skills and the guts to carve out a niche for himself as a freelancing thief, assassin and stealth warrior. And so he did.

Amidst a long career of odd jobs and missions completed comfortably on the fringe of galactic society and out of the public eye, the first most notable event was Kyo’s involvement in the Skyllian Blitz and its aftermath. He was still not an Alliance soldier and certainly had no intentions of signing up, but human colonists paid well for ragtag teams of mercenaries to act as their defense force against rogue pirates and slavers while the Alliance Navy was focused on fighting the bulk of the batarian forces elsewhere. This was Kyo’s first taste of real combat instead of corporate espionage. The initial shock of the brutality and sensory overload (war was loud) wore off as Kyo learned to put his specific set of skills to use on the battlefield. He was, more so than any other member of his team, uniquely suited to hunting down and taking out important threats like snipers and combat engineers that operated at the fringes of the combat zone or just behind the heat of the firefight itself. He had no qualms with killing batarians, vorcha and other alien species and found a grim satisfaction in knowing that he was now truly following in Shinto’s footsteps as the Yellow Death. It was during this time that Kyo modified his twinned pair of monomolecular swords to carry a potent electrical current to replicate the effects of Disruptor ammunition, allowing him to slice through personal shields while the singularly sharp edge of the blades themselves sank deep within the weak points of his enemy’s armor. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, however; Kyo was wounded during his fourth proper firefight when he unexpectedly found himself bested in melee combat by a batarian with an overcharged omni-blade and Kyo had to be rescued by his allies. Where Shinto had consistently failed, Kyo now finally learned a lesson in humility and his cockiness was taken down a notch.

After the Blitz was well and truly over and the Alliance Navy had finished its retribution against the batarians, Kyo continued to operate in relative obscurity, avoiding allegiance with any of the major criminal syndicates while working for them and many other clients. If he had a reputation, it was one of true neutrality, discretion and effectiveness. He mostly took jobs that allowed him to work alone, from the shadows, but he found himself as part of a fireteam every so often -- there was no escaping that part of the job. Truthfully, he didn’t mind. Life was good and Kyo picked up the habit of sending a portion of his earned credits back home to his parents on Shanxi, who had adopted an orphan after Kyo left the nest and could definitely use the extra money. Like so many other freelance mercs, his base of operations became Omega but Kyo ranged widely throughout the galaxy, even dipping into Citadel space for clandestine operations on occasion. However, it seemed his luck was not meant to last forever...

Psychological Profile: While Kyo is stubborn and hot-blooded by nature, he has learned to overcome these traits through the power of meditation and philosophy, tempering the flare of his personality with an innering ability to keep his cool in stressful situations and his mind clear when it would otherwise be plagued by anger or doubt. Despite the betrayal Kyo suffered at his hands later in life, his uncle Shinto was a defining part of his formative years and the lessons he taught Kyo have become an integral part of who he is today. He seeks comfort and wisdom within the ancient teachings of eastern philosophers from Earth and lives his life according their tenets, just like his uncle taught him. However, Shinto also affected him negatively. Kyo is slow to trust and values his freedom and personal agency so highly that he has never stuck with a single employer, benefactor or romantic interest since leaving Shanxi, nor does he have many friends. He finds solace and satisfaction in his work and continues to hone his skills -- there is not much else he knows how to do.

In interpersonal relations, Kyo is both polite and reserved. He is quick to judge others for displays of excess and lack of restraint but he appreciates people who know what they’re about and can keep their head in the game when it matters. He has a soft spot for asari after a few flings, whereas his deep-seated racism against turians, and more recently batarians, has a habit of slipping through his mask of etiquette and good manners. If and when Kyo does warm up to someone, he is a dependable ally but it remains very difficult to get him to open up about himself. He loves having long, deep and meaningful conversations with the people that he likes about their beliefs, motivations and inner struggles, and he is very good at listening or giving sage advice, but he carefully avoids conversations about his own past with practically everybody -- it takes a lot of trust for him to delve into that. Kyo believes that telling people about his homeworld, his family or the way Shinto manipulated him gives them power over him and that thought is too frightening to entertain.

He shows affection or interest with small, attentive gestures and non-verbal communication since he is not much of a smooth talker. In fact, when he has to speak quickly due to circumstances or is involved in a group conversation, Kyo is quietly flustered and uncomfortable. This forces him to be curt and direct and he becomes oblivous to the subtleties of what other people are saying or the immediate impact of his words. When he has time to think about what to say and he feels relaxed, Kyo often speaks in metaphors and riddles that are open to interpretation and are designed to help his conversational partner with their own problems. He is perceptive and empathic, but not at a moment's notice.

He believes strongly in the virtues of inner balance and tranquility and will, whenever necessary, retreat within himself to straighten out that which is crooked before re-emerging, steadfast and whole. Kyo is not strongly affected by trauma or feelings of pain and regret for this reason, moving on quickly from losses, though he does sometimes cringe at himself (hours after the fact) when he realizes that he said the wrong thing. It could be argued that he does not properly process the things that happen to him and instead buries them so deep that they effectively disappear, which could be tied to his extreme reluctance to talk about his past. An asari psychologist that Kyo briefly dated suggested that he might be on the autistic spectrum and that he is compensating for his emotionally stunted development with wisdom from the philosophers of ages past. The truth could be somewhere in the middle, but who knows?

Class: Infiltrator.

Abilities:


Equipment:


Strengths:


Weaknesses:


Misc:

Appearance:


At a quick glance, it becomes readily apparent that Khosin has a lean figure when compared to other men who have underwent military training, standing at 6’7 feet and weighing 180 pounds. However, in spite of this, Khosin has an athletic, muscular, build thanks to his training. It is thanks to this very training, coupled with almost 3 decades of combat, that Khosin’s body is riddled with multiple scars, albeit these are often hidden behind his armor or whatever clothes he is wearing at any given situation.

The only things that make Khosin stand out from other Batarians are the red prosthesis that replaces his right forearm and the tattoo located on his neck; otherwise, Khosin looks like your average, brown-skinned, Batarian seen throughout Omega or in one of the Hegemony’s worlds in Kite’s Nest. When outside of battle, Khosin usually wears short-sleeved shirts with matching cargo pants.

Psychological Profile:
On the surface Khosin seems like an affable enough man, ready to go out for drinks with his comrades or to engage in small banter with them between contracts. But, were one to look deeper, a pattern would begin to emerge in the way Khosin behaves himself; he prefers to keep conversations focused on the present and away from himself and his past, not divulging anything truly personal. In other words, despite his seemingly affable disposition, it becomes apparent that Khosin keeps people at arm’s length rather than allowing himself to form deep friendships with his comrades. This stems mainly from the loss of his previous crew and from the simple fact that mercenary crews are volatile by their very nature, with their members changing regularly as they replace their losses be they due to the death of one of their members or from their retirement. It is simpler, and better in the long run, to keep a certain amount of distance in Khosin’s mind.

Aside from this, Khosin prefers mostly quiet afternoons where he spends his time with either a book, doing maintenance on his prosthesis, or practicing his woodcarving. Though, like mentioned previously, he isn’t opposed to going out for drinks or more social-oriented activities.

In contrast to his demeanor during down time, when in battle Khosin is fully focused on the mission and on the task of achieving the objectives that he and his teammates set out to do and fully ready to do whatever is necessary to achieve said goals. This is a result of the training that Khosin underwent when he joined the Hegemony’s military forces, in which he and other trainees were taught to pursue decisive victories no matter what methods they had to employ to achieve said victory.

“Defeat your enemies so thoroughly, so decisively, that they can’t get back up to challenge you again. That is the only mean to attain true victory.” Such were the words of one of Khosin’s instructors, words that the Batarian still remembers to this day and which shape his choice of tactics in the battlefield. Still, in spite of the ruthlessness that Khosin displays on the battlefield, it is not like he fights that way due to deriving pleasure from it, rather in his mind it seems the most efficient way to fight and the best way to ensure that any battles in which he participates are as short as possible, no matter how bloody they might be.

Equipment:


Powers:

• Drone
• Flamethrower
• Reave
• Tech Armor
• Shockwave

Background: Born from a moderately wealthy family in 2143 CE, Khosin found his initial life to be an easy one. His parents were a loving couple that often doted on their children, and he adored his trio of younger brothers and sisters and the discovery of biotic potential within the young Batarian proved to not be problematic and his family managed to find a school that accepted Biotic children easily enough.

As such, most of the life of the young Batarian would be a pleasant -fairly uneventful- one. His parents were kind people, treating their slaves well, and would recite excerpts from the Pillars of Strength from time to time to their children. In short order, Khosin's family was a 'model' family so to speak within the society of the Batarian Hegemony.

That all would change the year 2165 CE, when his father invested most of the family's funds in what -at the moment- seemed a secure investment in a fledgling mining colony being funded by the Hegemony in the Skyllian Verge. But what seemed to be a safe prospect turned to be anything so, as the colony was lost to the Alliance's aggressive colonizing efforts which -along with the Council favoring the Alliance in that particular instance, and the Hegemony paying a meager, if they paid at all, insurance- the Sedgoroh family found itself barely making enough money to not sell themselves into servitude. It was at this point that Khosin found himself enlisting with the Hegemony's military in the hopes of making the humans that had ruined his family pay, a decision motivated mostly by the newfound hatred of humanity that the young Batarian felt.

It wouldn't be so and although Khosin proved himself a capable soldier he was deemed a troublemaker -starting fights with his fellow soldiers and getting into arguments with his superiors- and was being considered for a discharge before his second year within the military, it was at this time when he was approached by a Colonel within the Hegemony's military for a 'special' project as the man himself put it. Seeing no reason to say no, Khosin accepted the offer that the colonel gave him and soon the young Batarian found himself listed as being honorably discharged, a cover for his transference to the command of colonel Khesrak Sed’mevan.

The 'special' project of colonel Sed'mevan, as it turned out to be, was to be inducted into a black ops squad of the Hegemony’s External Forces. The principal objective of the squad, as colonel Sed’mevan put it, was to raid ships that travelled near the Mass Effect Relays that led to Hegemony space, preferably those of the Alliance if the opportunity presented itself, and then funnel the resources back to Hegemony space via Sed'mevan's contacts in the black market. However, before Khosin could join the team he, along with the others who had been earmarked for the colonel’s squad, would have to undergo the training that those selected to join the Hegemony’s External Forces underwent before they were accepted into it.

The training was arduous, pushing Khosin and his fellow trainees to their limits and beyond them in most occasions. It wasn’t uncommon for some of them to die during the hellish exercises they were subjected to but, in the end, Khosin and many of the other trainees persevered through the program and were accepted into Sed’mevan’s black ops squad. The newly formed squad was promptly given a ship, which was swiftly christened as The Serrated Sun by the members of the squad, and told to set off to do the task that the colonel had given them. Being an off the book squad, Khosin and the other crew members of the Serrated Sun enjoyed a great deal of freedom in how they conducted themselves both during their free time and during missions; as long as they raided ships and funneled the resources back to the Hegemony, they were free to do as they pleased. In this freedom were planted the seeds of Khosin and his squadmates downfall.

As the years went by and the crew of the Serrated Sun continued with their piracy of those ships unfortunate enough to be caught by them, Sed’mevan’s hold on the group began to loosen more and more as the crew of pirates became emboldened by their successes. Issues where Sed’mevan’s orders ‘mysteriously’ weren’t received became more and more frequent and the crew began attacking instead more high profile targets and keeping more of the spoils for themselves. The continued assault on ships eventually got the crew on the radar of the Alliance and colonel Sed’mevan, who at this point considered the corsairs of The Serrated Sun a lost cause, was more than happy to let the crew fall to the Alliance, withdrawing information from his one-time subordinates about a trap that the humans had prepared to wipe them out.

The plan of the alliance was simple: have one of their transports, usually staffed with non-combat personnel, actually be manned by trained forces ready to eliminate the corsairs while keeping the facade of being easy prey to the emboldened pirates. Predictably, the crew of The Serrated Sun, their egos bloated from years of easy piracy, fell for the trap set out for them by the Alliance. What originally seemed like an easy run soon turned into a bloodbath, the trained marines of the Alliance more than capable of being a match for the batarian corsairs who had grown accustomed to assaulting ships piloted with only a token security detail. The heated firefight between marines and corsairs soon turned in favor of the former, with more and more of the Batarian pirates dying by the second. Khosin himself was taken out of the fight near its end, his right forearm mangled beyond use by a close-quarter blast from a shotgun, narrowly avoiding death thanks to the quick intervention of one of the few corsairs that still stood unscathed. The battered corsairs beat a hasty retreat to their ship, leaving those of them that couldn’t muster up the strength to run back to The Serrated Sun behind for the Alliance to deal with. But, even when they had made their way back to their ship, their troubles were far from over. Fighters soon appeared and began pursuing the Batarian’s ship; after only a few hours of pursuit, critical systems were failing aboard the Serrated Sun and those who could had found their way aboard the vessels escape pods.

The Alliance was thorough and many of the pods were either intercepted or outright destroyed but, either through providence or sheer luck, Khosin’s pod managed to avoid capture. Eventually, in a twist of irony, the pod in which Khosin had escaped was picked up by a Turian merchant ship making its way to the Terminus system, towards Omega specifically. The Turian merchants didn’t ask too many questions, and what questions they asked were answered with difficult to track lies, and gave Khosin medical aid for his mangled forearm which unfortunately, due to the lack of timely first aid, had to be severed. Eventually Khosin was deposited in Omega and, after paying a small fee to his rescuers, disappeared into the bowels of the space station.

With only the weapons on his back and the clothes that his Turian rescuers had graciously given him, Khosin was left adrift on the galaxy. What meager savings he still had left after paying his rescuers soon went away when the Batarian bought himself a prosthetic replacement for his lost forearm. Lost in the world, and far too used to violence to ever reintegrate into a civilian life, Khosin soon found himself working on the closest thing to his previous occupation: as a bouncer for one of the many strip clubs that dotted the levels of Omega. But, even with a steady job as a bouncer, part of him itched to return to the old days or, at the very least, something similar to them. Still, it’d be many years before the Batarian would have the chance to leave the station yet again and, as the years wore on, Khosin himself began to change. Slowly but surely, the hatred that had at one point drove Khosin to join the Hegemony’s military began to evaporate as he lived on Omega and he was forced to live amongst the humans that he had once so thoroughly despised for his family’s misfortune.

Eventually Khosin managed to gather enough money to buy a new set of armor and, shortly after that, the former corsair entered the world of mercenaries, leaving behind his job as a bouncer. Settling into the lifestyle of a mercenary was easy enough for Khosin, who had long ago grown accustomed to risking his life on a nearly daily basis during his time on the Serrated Sun. And so Khosin settled into the life of one of thousands mercenaries on Omega, sometimes working by himself to clean nests of Vorcha or sometimes working in groups with other mercs as security for a merchant or to wipe out a gang or two from time to time.

Strengths:

• The training undergone by those chosen for the Hegemony’s External Forces is a brutal one, with a fatality rate of 18% amongst the trainees that undertake it. Khosin, having undergone such training, has an incredibly high amount of resilience, both mental and physical, and as such he is an incredibly disciplined fighter, being able to keep his cool even in the face of overwhelming odds.
• Like most Batarian soldiers, Khosin is an utterly ruthless combatant. Enforcement gauntlets, harpoon guns, polonium rounds, Khosin is willing to use any sort of weapons, no matter how cruel they might be, as long as they get the job done in a decisive, quick, way.
• As a Sentinel, Khosin is skilled in the use of both technology and biotic-based abilities. This gives him a greater degree of flexibility during combat when compared to other combatants, allowing him to react to a greater number of threats.

Weaknesses:

• While Khosin’s prosthetic forearm is built sturdily enough, there are still some defects in it’s making. The most crucial of them is that, should a sufficiently strong electricity shock hit the prosthesis, it will stop working and, even worse, send Khosin’s right arm into a brief fit of spasms as the electric current makes its way from the metallic prosthesis to the flesh and bone that connect to the robotic appendage. Along with this, the prosthesis requires frequent maintenance to ensure that it works to its full extent.
• While Khosin’s ruthless tactics might be useful in battle, not everyone might approve of them which might cause some friction between Khosin and other members of the team who might disapprove of the use of such tactics in combat.
• Due to the very tactical flexibility afforded to him by his Sentinel training, Khosin is unfortunately outclassed by other combatants who specialised in only one specific form of combat. As such, when specialist are required, Khosin is of less use that he’d like to be.

Misc:

• During the process of recovering from the loss of his forearm and getting accustomed to his prosthesis, Khosin picked up woodcarving as a means to help himself regain fine motor control in his prosthetic hand. As time went on, the Batarian found the hobby to be relaxing and a way to wind down after a stressful day, during his time as a bouncer for a strip club, or after a mission once he became a mercenary. As such, even to this day, Khosin continues to practice his woodcarving skills as often as he can.
• Khosin also enjoyed doing maintenance on his prosthetic arm, finding the task a way to center himself, sometimes even reciting excerpt from the Pillars of Strength as he works on the robotic appendage.
• Khosin also enjoys reading in his free time whenever he isn’t occupied with his woodcarving or doing maintenance on his prosthesis, a holdover from the days before his family lost it all and were forced to live in on the streets.
• During his time on Omega, he picked the bad habit of smoking tobacco. As such, Khosin can be found from time to time smoking his own hand-rolled cigarettes.
• He periodically sends an amount of credits back to his family in Kite’s Nest to try and help them survive and, hopefully, one day be able to regain what they lost all those years ago.
• The tattoo on his neck is his own form of honoring his deceased comrades from The Serrated Sun
  
  *Tattoo design [+]

  

Race: Turian
Gender: Male
Class: Soldier
Age: 42
Homeworld: Oma Ker

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Appearance:

Ardan is a powerfully built and burly turian who has been conditioned by a lifetime of military conditioning and his own drive to strive for peak physical fitness. Standing at 6’05” (182cm) and weighing around 208 pounds (94 kilograms), he maintains a strict military-style fitness regimen, situation permitting, and a mostly regulated diet that permits few luxuries. His carapace is indented and marked from scars from years of combat experience and entirely too many close calls with shrapnel, he’s fortunate to still possess all of his limbs and digits and both of his eyes.

His face is covered by one of the Oma Ker colony markings, a dark blue that sometimes gets lost in the pale grey tone of his carapace when in darkened conditions, a constant condition on Omega. The entirety of his fringes are coloured, and a singular symmetrical line runs down his face, just under his pronounced cheek plates and across the bottom of his chin, and the left and right sides of his rectangular, serrated nose are similarly coloured. Much like his personality, it can be subtle until you begin to notice it, then it becomes very difficult to ignore.

His eyes seem to compromise between his tone and markings in that they are a pleasant blue-grey that are narrow and skeptical, if not outright distrustful, of people outside of what little close circle of friends and acquaintances he has left. Were it not for his perpetual predisposition to sneering and otherwise being dour of disposition, he could possibly be poster material for the Hierarchy recruiting vids, but those days are long behind him.

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Psychological Profile:

Ardan Parvius is a classic example of a man whose entire life and beliefs were shaken to the core and responding in a less than ideal manner. Where he was once assured of the Hierarchy's supremacy and how it was a turian’s duty to fight until the enemy could no longer do so or there were no more turians left to fight, the fact that the humans breached galactic law and had put the turian military to shame during the Relay 314 Incident and the subsequent coddling the Council gave humans eroded the once ironclad faith Ardan carried in the Hierarchy. Now aimless and unsure of where his place is in the galaxy after coming from a strictly regimented society where all facets of life are assured, Ardan has had a degree of difficulty adapting to his new circumstances as a gun for hire on Omega. As a result, he is a bitter, sarcastic, and largely apathetic individual who lacks the direction or purpose that once defined him.

This has led to several career changes, an ill-advised and doomed marriage and little, if any, friends. While he is still boastful and confident to people he meets, several aspects of Ardan's personality are like a puzzle that has been dropped; several pieces don't fit where they should and the whole package isn't quite coming together. Nonetheless, he is still an extremely capable individual with several decades of combined military and mercenary experience and a talent for getting the job done. While his personality might put him at odds with his comrades, having some form of structure and leadership in his life may be exactly what he needs to get himself back on track and reclaim some sense of the purpose he had once had.

Adran is also a compulsive snacker, and a bag of nuts or other salted treats are never long away from his person. He enjoys collecting handguns and military paraphernalia as they remind him of a simpler, much happier time. A childhood toy, a stuffed volus, is one of his most cherished and sentimental belongings that now sits on a shelf in his apartment along with several other personal effects.

He possesses a degree of animosity and resentment towards Citadel Space and he harbours a lingering prejudice towards humans for being unwelcome newcomers to the galactic stage that demand far more than their station would permit, krogan for being warmongering savages that would try to conquer the galaxy the moment the genophage is lifted, quarians for being nomadic freeloaders who were more than capable of finding a new homeworld or colony in their 300 years of exile, and batarians for being utterly hostile to innocent lives and their practices in slavery and torture. However, as an operative, Ardan is capable of looking past his prejudices and working with members of most species in the galaxy and he has an easier time seeing individuals as exceptions to the rather unfortunate rule.

Despite his more self-centered approach to life and apathetic nature, Ardan still believes in order and the duties a turian must perform, and a lot of that means sticking up for people who cannot stick up for themselves and to preserve innocent lives. He has on numerous occasions risked his life to protect a non-combatant, regardless of species. While he is very much a typical product of Omega, he still adheres to a personal code of conduct.

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Equipment:

• Elanus Risk Control Services M-100 Grenade Launcher
  
• Kassa Fabrication M37 Falcon
  
  *Omni-blade attachment, improved heat sink, optical sight
• Elanus Risk Control Services M-3 Predator
  
  *Hammerhead rounds, improved heat sink
• Elanus Risk Control Services Medium Guardian Armour
  
  

Abilities:

• First Aid
• Fortification
• Proximity Mine
• Adrenaline Rush
• Concussive Shot
• Fragmentation Grenade

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Bio:

Born on the turian colony of Oma Ker in 2138CE, Ardan Parvius was the second born son to Varvius and Octaana Parvius, a turian artillery officer with the 78th Artillery Regiment and a fighter pilot with the 16th Flotilla respectively, giving the Parvius family a rather distinguished military pedigree and yet another cemented piece in a storied family mosaic. From a young age, Ardan learned of his family’s legacy and place in turian society on both his parents’ knees and grew up knowing that his parents could perish any day answering the call of duty. Because their service often took them across Citadel Space, Ardan was constantly on the move and all but assured to follow in his parents’ footsteps in becoming a career military man.

While his older brother Casius would enter his mandatory 15 year public service position as a police officer on Palaven, Ardan joined the military in 2153CE and after basic training he was enlisted in the 105th Combat Engineering Corps due to his high scores in mathematics and sciences. Keeping in touch with his parents’ units via Extranet packets on an allotted biweekly basis, Ardan’s career took him across Citadel space, joining in larger military exercises on turian colony worlds and joint exercises with allied asari and salarian units, leading to friendly rivalries with the 10th’s counterparts from the other Council militaries.

While most of his career was training and rising up the rank structure, reaching Corporal after 2 years of service, Ardan did see combat on remote worlds, engaging with pirates, turian separatists, and others operating outside of galactic law. His unit, being a combat engineer regiment, was largely responsible for establishing base camps, building defenses, and laying area denial weapons like landmines and turrets to deter the enemy. At the earliest opportunity, Ardan took Sapper and underwater demolitions training, wishing for an opportunity to bring the fight to the enemy.

These skills brought Ardan into specialized strike teams that acted in support of the infantry regiments and were used to destroy bunkers, breach buildings, and sabotage enemy infrastructure and vehicles. For his role in destroying an enemy artillery emplacement ahead of the main assault, Ardan was given the Banner of the 105th to carry on parade for the next month and several commendations from his superior officers. This would be the height of his career, as the next year was relatively peaceful without any major combat deployments until word came of an unknown alien race activating the dormant Relay 314. Soon, Ardan Parvius two months after his 19th birthday, would be deployed to Shanxi in what would be the largest military deployment of his career.

Ardan’s first meeting with humans ultimately ended up being a long-range firefight where him, his fellow sappers, and the infantry they were attached to spent hours shooting at distant muzzle flashes. The first time he saw a human up close was the corpses of the line they had overrun, and he found the humans to be unnervingly similar in appearance to asari. Thinking they were some distant cousin of the asari, Ardan spent most of the conflict paranoid about the humans having powerful biotic capabilities which they seemed to be holding back as some kind of strategic gambit to hit the turian forces should they overextend their supply lines. The human forces were quickly overrun and the planet was soon under turian control. A month long occupation followed, luring the turian garrisons into a false sense of security.

When the 2nd Fleet broke through and hit the turian positions, the once dominant turians found themselves on the defense and constantly losing ground to the fresh and vengeful human forces. Ardan fought hard and scored kills against human armour, including two Grizzly and three Mako tanks, before being ordered to retreat. Very nearly defying orders, Ardan and his unit reluctantly left the planet to regroup with the fleet.

When they found out that turian casualties at that point were higher than the humans, Ardan demanded his commanding officer convince his superiors to organize a strike force against the human supply lines and disorganize their forces before they could regroup and dig in to prepare for another invasion. Although rebuked for his insubordination, Captain Orodis nonetheless began to coordinate and organize an advance strike force with the Fleet with the blessing of high command. However, before the turians could counter-attack, a ceasefire was called and it came known that the Council was negotiating with the humans, the asari leading the efforts, further lending credence to Ardan’s suspicion that humans might be their distant cousins. Furious with the resolution of the conflict and how the turians, the most powerful military force in the galaxy, was forced into a treaty with the humans after suffering heavier losses was a scar that was, in Ardan’s eyes, an unforgivable embarrassment.

For the first time in the sapper’s career, Ardan started to think that maybe the turian Hierarchy had grown soft and would not be prepared to meet its peacekeeping mandate if its response to future threats was equally flaccid and spineless. Were the turians not the ones who had single handed stopped the krogans during the Krogan Rebellions? Ardan asked the Spirits for guidance, the spirit of the Hierarchy, of his Regiment, of his family, and he found no answers or comfort. Finding out his mother had lost a leg after being shot down in the conflict did little to steel Ardan’s resolve, and after watching the televised treaty being signed between human and turian representatives, most insultingly of all the Hierarchy agreeing to pay war reparations, was too much for Ardan. After 4 years of service, well short of the mandatory 15 years of public service turian culture demands of all citizens, Ardan deserted from the military, disappearing from the public eye for some time.

The next time anyone from the Parvius family heard from Ardan was when his brother Casius received an Extranet packet from an unknown source that turned out to be Ardan letting him know he was safe and in the Terminus Systems some three years later, putting as much space between him, humanity, and the Hierarchy as possible. Ardan managed to get a few more messages back and forth with Casius, who was now serving as a hastatim, and now acting as an emissary between Ardan and his parents. The former soldier disappeared for quite some time, only trying to contact his family once every few months. Before long, Ardan came to Omega, hoping to make a new life for himself far from what her perceived was a corrupt and ineffectual galactic government.

The next three years had not treated Ardan kindly, as trying to adjust to life on the largely lawless station was far outside of the orderly and lawful existence he had lead up until his departure from the military. He took up work with a building firm that needed someone with expertise in blasting rock, or tearing down old buildings, and for a while, Ardan found a humble calling that brought in enough pay to support a small one bedroom apartment in a mostly turian district, a mostly out of the way place with few amenities and beneath the notice of the gang warfare that seemed to sweep across the asteroid colony like clockwork. And so for years, Ardan somehow avoided making any meaningful social connections as his life was a routine and regimented cycle of work, exercise and training, and preparing to do it over again.

He had a few belongings to his name, including a small crate of things he’d managed to grab from Oma Ker before his defection, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that he needed more than his old service pistol for defense. Coming from a society where violent separatist groups were an expected part of life, living somewhere that was owned and run by street gangs was enough to make the turian realize that the quiet times wouldn’t last forever. His fears were validated when his company began to mine a new section of rock to expand a commercial district and discovered a strain of rare metals.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be quiet for long, Ardan quickly answered the call for a citizen militia to form by one of the more proactive members of the community, Regalus Vendaris, one of the community’s security officers, and immediately the community banded together and began running drills and training in anticipation for what came next. Within the week, a gang called the Crimson Fist arrived with a force of 30 men, who upon arrival declared that they were there to provide security for the new discovery. Anyone who had been on Omega for longer than a week know what that particular amount of double speak amounted to.

The gang was allowed into the community, uncontested, and unaware of the trap that was lying in wait for them. When the Crimson Fist arrived at the gates to the dig site, they were held up at the security gates and that’s when a firestorm erupted around them from the concealed militia; a section’s worth of ordinance was unleashed from the capable hands of military-trained turians who made short work of the Crimson Fist group, and from their bodies pried military-grade weaponry and technology to supplement their civilian and surplus arms, and the more pragmatic in the militia made arrangements with ethically-flexible doctors who needed the bodies for organs and testing purposes.

Ardan found a spark he’d been missing in his life for a few years; he’d missed the combat, the fighting alongside a fireteam. It felt good, he fight the pride and dignity seep back into his bones.

He blasted rocks for three more years.

Granted, he trained constantly with the militia and with the new influx of credits from the mining operation and the growing population of their humble community he could afford new weapons and arms that could even make gangs with mechs and armoured support hesitate to press their luck, but a few of the dumber or more risk-loving ones took their shots, and the results weren’t much better than the Crimson Fists three years prior. Ardan found himself away from the community more and more, taking side jobs as a gun for hire or to pick up needed supplies, and it was on these excursions that Ardan began to frequent a strip club at neighbouring Rhytheia District, the Blue Oasis, and it was there he met his first, and only, wife.

In a whirlwind romance, if one could call it that, Veetsha D’alyt, an asari, and Ardan got married a week after they met in a sketchy registration office and moved into a new apartment in Rhytheia District shortly after Ardan left his job with the company and the militia behind. His quality of life was better, and he found a more martial application for his skills, and they were happy for about three months when Veetsha up and left with most of their meager belongings and left Ardan little more than a recliner, the coffee table (sans seat), the built in vidscreen in the living room wall, and his collection of sidearms and the stuffed Volus plush toy he’d deemed worth saving as a memento of his home and life back on Oma Ker. Ardan, not being one to flex his convictions, was back as a regular of the Blue Oasis a week later. This time, he tipped a bit less.

Without much else in the way of options, Ardan became a freelancer, often taking jobs that involved taking down smaller gangs and criminals with outfits that required a replacement set of hands, Ardan spent decades building up a name for himself as a man who could get things done to the point where he could start commanding a price. From clearing vorcha out from undercities to smuggling jobs to commando-style raids that called upon his expertise with explosives, Ardan was contented with his corner of Omega and more often than not, the turian wasn’t hard pressed to find someone who wanted to buy him a drink and offer him a side gig. When news came of his old community being overrun and Regalus dying heroically in a last stand, Ardan simply raised a glass for an old fallen comrade.

Such was life on Omega.

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Strengths:

• Ardan is a very disciplined fighter, as is drilled into most turians from youth. He does not lose his cool in a firefight, and he will stand his ground until victory or death, or a sound tactical retreat.
• Courage and Ardan go hand in hand, and he is not afraid to stand up for his convictions on and off the battlefield. While some may see him as uncompromising, one could count on him to be unwavering in his commitments and see things through to the end.
• Demolitions expert, Ardan is professionally and has a hobbyist proficiency in all manner of explosive devices and has an intuitive knack for yield sizes and how to properly rig together an IED out of spare components, and his throwing arm is impressive; if a grenade can fit somewhere, he can almost certainly toss it in, and he has an uncanny knack for being able to range the trajectory of a grenade or rocket launcher.

Weaknesses:

• Ardan is very prejudiced, if not outright racist, towards humans, krogan, quarians and batarians. He is very slow to trust, let alone like, anyone from these species for a number of reasons. While he’s not petty enough to let it get in the way of getting a job done, on a personal level it is an uphill battle to earn his respect and admiration.
• Still largely a military man at heart, Ardan has had a difficult time adjusting to the lawless Terminus Systems’ way of life. He has a strict personal code of ethics he is very reluctant to cross, Ardan remains determined to succeed and forge his own path free of the Hierarchy’s regulations and treaties. The turian simply does not understand the finer points of life on the street and he often is frustrated at the lack of clean, simple military-like solutions in this region of space.
• Ardan is a very competitive individual whose pride will not let him back down from a challenge, often leading himself into dangerous situations what he handles recklessly. He believes himself to be one of the best, and while he does have the skills to back up his hubris, he does not take well to losing.

Misc:

• Right mandible twitches when Ardan is irritated or annoyed
• Ardan will often idly fiddle with whatever he is holding, he enjoys keeping his hands busy, and it is a coping mechanism when he’s nervous
• Ardan is a guarded personality type that will often cross his arms when he is in disagreement, if he is unsure of someone’s intentions, or if he remains unconvinced about decisions or course of action.