Like I said, Good to go! Put her in the CS. I really like the culture, a kind of spirit endorsed biomechanical race. I can imagine the god being very mechanical, with various subroutines as their angels and spirits.
@vietmyke I mean, my character is also a technomancer, so if you really wanna do a concept that's already covered just do it :D also here's a discord link for ya discord.gg/4jaN72
@vietmyke like they said, if you have a concept feel free. you wouldn't be stepping on anyone's toes. it's also interesting when there's a few too many cooks in the kitchen ;)
"Meh, just slap a few essence seals on it and it should work fine."
I swear on my oath as a sadistic evil kitsune that, if I end up in a position where I have to deal with the paperwork, I am pranking the everloving heck out of you lot.
Race: Hominus Margo Sigasmarandum (Sigasmarandi Rim Dweller); colloquially: "Sig-Mar(s)"
Racial Features:
"Hominus Margo Sigasmarandum" is a species of Old Rim Human, found originally in an area of the southern hemisphere of the Elysian Mega-Cluster, in a region of low light reception from the inner worlds, a region called Sigasmarand. As such the species has had to adapt to the effects of stellar darkness as a result of Cosmic Fog, evolving eyes capable of high degrees of low light vision and slight ability to detect heat signatures. And due to the colds of their extreme climate, the species has adapted an internal metabolic rate running at approximately double the median temperature of Human species originating from the more habitable Old Worlds (not only does this mean they need to eat far more, but it means that narcotics and alcohol have a weaker effect). However, as a closely derived successor species, they share almost complete genetic parity with the 'typical' human, though no offspring of the pair is known to have survived the third trimester of pregnancy. Notable physical differences that can be made from a cursory surface glance include: The inclusion of a sixth, fully functional finger on both hands (leading to maths being done primarily in base 12); noses that vary in length and pointiness, having a range of anywhere from two inches of extension past the nostrils to one foot, allowing for similar olfactory levels as 'typical' humans with the added thermosensory properties; similarly, longer ears are present across the species as a means of heat radiation and audiosensory increase. All this meaning, they've grown to have more reliance on their other senses, each adaptation allowing them better functionality in their homeworlds.
Culture:
The Sigasmarandis are scattered across a system of stellar debris of varying sizes, on the very edge of Elysia, Sigasmarand. They are the successors to an original group of colonists who settled the area long before the race had evolved/engineered its defining characteristics. Sometime during the collapse of the Outbound Tykassian League, the colonists took advantage of the situation and declared independence, not expecting the Senate Loyalists to retake control of the unruly Retainer States as soon as they had. After a succession of successful defensive battles, Sigasmarandi sovereignty was won, despite them having had to face off against a numerically and materially superior force. As such Sigasmarand earned a reputation for being the home of stalwart fighters, of excellent skill and unyielding nature, to an extent that the coming centuries saw the proliferation of mercenaries to far-flung systems.
However, as the loose confederacy invaded and defended against its neighbours, a deep resentment grew towards their cold isolated territory, away from the Elysian centre and on the edge of nothing. The cold forced them to bundle up, rarely ever showing skin (except in the presence of family, friends and loved ones), and eventually, this evolved into a culture of suspicion and mistrust; day to day meetings happenings happening from behind veils and masks and scarves; to an extent that parts of the body that did show despite the layers were painted or tattooed black. The almost sacred nature of identity plays into gender in some societies, from a young age, children get used to dressing androgynously, behaving androgynously, shaving all hair and doing everything in their power to appear sexless. Once hitting puberty, it is customary for females to bind their chests and men to tuck, or for both to wear padded clothing to obscure body shape (in more liberal families), and once voices start to break Sigasmarandis are often trained by their parents to speak in one tone and pitch. This voice, common to all of Sigasmaranda, is called Tonsloslillt and is used in day to day communication basically ensuring everyone sounds the same if not similar. The only time Tonsloslillt is not observed is when Wuld (which will be discussed later on) are being given, and only then.
Another result of being so close to the cosmic edge was the presence of a constant, corrupting fog, that manifested itself as grey, sooty mist, that made vision difficult to long distances. The Fog, however, has water like properties, in the sense that it exhibits systems of currents and tides; meaning there are times of more and less dense fog, and areas where the concentration and thus effects of the fog are more powerful. As well as this, the strength of the fog is also dependant on the distance from the cosmic void, with the Elysian center being completely devoid of its effects; despite this, the fog has inroads and tendrils in the dark places of Elysia and a weaker ambient fog permeates in most places farther from the center. The properties of the Cosmic Fog (though typically having minor manifestations in Sigasmarandi) have a powerful mutative effect on the flora and fauna of the outer system, spawning and melding beasts into increasingly more terrifying beasts. That being said, just as the fog has the capability to produce flesh-rending monsters, it has equal capacity to make creatures of little notability or even beings of awe-inspiring beauty.
Due to the ever-present gloomy darkness of the Cosmic Fog, song is the major form of art and follows a complex system of belief, identity and utility. In their culture, songs are called Wuld, and Wuld varies in style from planetoid to planetoid, with families having their own tones and rhythmic variations of the regional Wuld, and with everyone having a unique fingerprint to their own. Wuld are not typically lyrical (though some Wuld are worded), and vary from melodic tones to simple screaming, acting as an alternate form of communication that could cut through the fog and cloud mired terrain. Wuld are also deeply engrained in Sigasmarandi mythology; they are believed to be the borrowed voices of the Lost Good (positive spirits trapped in the cosmic fog), and as such lore dictates that Wuld outlive their Wuldors, so that they may make the journey back to their Lost Good.
With every death, families hold on to the Wuld of their loved ones by incorporating it into their own in some way. This is the reason as to why there is such a huge variation in Wuld, which can be heard on a daily basis, with brief Wuld being presented as greetings; longer ones being performed at weddings-births-and-funerals; and full ballads being passed between friends and loved ones in lieu of conversation, as an expression of affection.
Wuld forms such a core part of people's lives, that some Sigasmarandi believes that one dies when their Wuld leaves them, and not that the Wuld leaves them when they die. This has resulted in a tradition of yearly festivals, conducted when the tide of the Cosmic Fog is at its weakest, and culminating with ships setting off into the void - crewed by those who believe that if they can get permission from the Lost Good of their Wuld, that they will be able to hold on to their Wuld forever.
Wuld also has a more sinister side, various intonations, harmonies and incantations allowing the Wuldor to manipulate the properties of the cosmic fog and the beings corrupted by it. Aeyterwuldoree is the forbidden art of using those Wuld, though its basics are simply learned and sometimes practical (though usually useless and typically frowned upon for the connotations of using it). However, more advanced Aeyterwuldoree is considered a heinous crime, as its seen as cooperation with the cosmic fog, due to the process allowing mutations to happen more readily in the Wuldor's body. To an extent that people can be horribly disfigured/misshapen by its misuse, these individuals (Aeyterwuldor) are considered highly dangerous and traditionally have been hunted down and killed, or locked away and unstrung (the process of making someone mute), a punishment some consider worse than death.
But that was before the Era of the Return of Jornwuld Ritaynur, an Aeterwuldor who after decades of being cast out of exile from Sigasmaranda returned, wielding her dark power as a tool of retribution. Many, who practised the dark-art in the shadows rallied by her side, waging war against the Hunter Clans that once chased them across the length of breadth of the Sigasmarandi Rim. The conflict was short, intensely bloody, and indecisive, as the vast majority of people raised their arms on the side of Clans such as the Ritaynurs and the Borgphrysts. The resulting peace lead to the abolition of laws that attacked Aeyterwuldors, in exchange that they used their power sparingly, and in the defence of Sigasmaranda. The truce, dubbed the Accord of Long Peace, named after a monastery at the edge of darkness, has been held to this day. However, the number of Aeterwuldors has not increased significantly since then, as the effects of the use of Aeyterwuldoree are still not well understood. And as of yet, the mutative, corrupting effects of Aeterwuldoree are incurable. So those who handle the dark-art remain in the distant, dark places of the realm, training and studying for when the time comes that they will be needed.
Appearance:
Skyldig's hard life is reflected on her face, not a picture of beauty by any stretch of the imagination. She stands at 4 Qbits tall, and is enmeshed in dense, lean muscles, though not enough as to be grotesquely muscular. The telling feature of her femininity are her hips, which rise away from her body slightly before rolling back in, though only slightly visible through her layers of clothes. Her chest is flat, not in the sense that she was unendowed, but due to a voluntary double mastectomy she underwent; to detract herself from easy identification, and to give her more manoeuvrability.
Her round face also tells of a life "well" lived life, originally her nose' tip extended a few inches past her face, and her ears pricked upwards just the same. The tip of her nose she lost in a fight, where her opponent held on to it and refused to let go; suffice to say they did not survive that encounter, and Skyldig had her nose treated by a surgeon, hence the lack of apparent damage. Though her nature was that of constant action, and she broke the bridge of her nose a few weeks later, and healed crooked. She lost her ears when she was captured by a rival group of marauders, cut down to human size by her captors, leaving the edges angry, red and poorly rounded. Her full lips are smudged a sooty black, positing that it's due to stains from her Bako (a roughly chopped, dried root, from the nightshade family of plants) chewing. And the scar on the left side of her face? The deep, angry channels of flesh, and the missing lower eyelid? The result of her time as a slave, fighting in the pits of Pargalon-3, wherein during a duel with a pyromaniac she got a large portion of her face, neck and chest burned.
As far as apparel goes, on ship when not on duty Skyldig gravitates towards a white tank top and olive cargo-shirts, tucked into a pair of well work combat boots. The pair she goes out on duty in, resulting in a trail of dusty footprints behind her, unless she keeps them clean which she almost always done. On her hip she wears a dense, fibre belt, a sidearm dangling in its holster on her hip. During operations and combat, Skyldig wears a rather medieval set of segmented plate, though it's made of a Magnesium and allot and is highly durable, it speaks of the type of combat she initiates in, head on and without uncertainty.
Occupation/Concept: Formerly Captain of the Battery of Slaig/Currently Shipside Weapons Expert
Training: - Heavy & Medium Weapons Proficiency: Trained and specialized in the use of heavy weapons such as artillery, cannons and rocket systems, as well as in lighter auto-cannons, medium and heavy machine guns, and man-portable explosive projection systems. - Ordnance Expert: Familiar with explosives and explosive devices, Skyldig has trained and used many of them throughout her work, from hand grenades and dynamite to warheads and C4. Such training was necessary to disable rival weapons platforms, as well as for tactical or engineering reasons. - Military Tactics and Planning: Part of her training with the guild involved strategy and coordination, having studied the classical arts of war and practising modern techniques of defence and offence. She is adept at many doctrines. - Field Medicine: Though she may not be able to perform neural surgery or understand stem-cell boosts, she is well equipped to at least stabilize most combat injuries, as well as treat various kinds of poisoning and infections. Assuming she has all of the relevant materials, as she is not skilled enough to fabricate medicines at chemistry stations. More so the mixing table.
Powers/Abilities:
- Terrifying Presence: Skyldig watched from the other side of the one-way mirror, as a pair of interrogators tried to threaten, coerce and cajole information out of a black market dealer, who captured and sold Sigasmarandi mutated wildlife to buyers in the inner worlds. They were deep in the bowels of a Clan Castle, much deeper than where the actual interrogation cells were. The Dealer, a stiff-lipped, Dapreedian, wasn't budging. The interrogation dragged on for hours, and Skyldig's limited patience began to wear thin. Finally she snapped, groaning out loudly in frustration, catching the attention of those on the other side of the glass. The door to the little cell was thrown open, and she stormed in like a freight train, rushing the man in the chair and picking it up. She raised the man and chair almost above her head, before throwing it back down against the floor. The wooden chair shattered under his weight and the force of their throw, shocking him against the ground. Skyldig almost dropped herself against him, straddling his torso and grabbing the tentacles on his face in her fists, slamming him once more against the floor. "Tell us what we want to know!" She barked, her scarf slipping off her face, spittle splattering the Dapreedian's face.
- Wrought Physique: Pargalon-3 was a slave world, existing as part of a network of slaving guilds that dotted the borders of Sigasmaranda, which itself was a major supplier and purchaser of slaves. When the exodus occurred, after the onslaught of the undead, many refugees were taken as slaves of which military personnel were highly prized, as slave-soldiers or long-lasting-labour. As the slaves marched back to their barracks, their shackles clacking against one another as they shuffled towards the gaping tunnels out of the steel mills. The Slavewarden stopped Skyldig in her tracks, stopping the whole line behind her before taking her aside. "Go bring another pack." The Zandani growled, pushing the sack against her chest, and pointing back towards the steel mill. He stood a two heads taller than she did, and was armed and armored unlike she was. She gripped on to the bag and trudged back. This happened for days, weeks, the week's turned into months and toilers came and went but she maintained, carrying bundles of iron rods back and forth. Every time the expectations growing higher, until the brass decided her strength was wasted hauling iron and instead put her into the fight-pits.
- Wuld: The mining schooner, a JcZ-09 of an older make, bounced and shuddered against the ground as it began to slowly lift off of the Lithium flats of Pargalon-3, kicking up lilac clouds and sparks behind it. Wind rushed into the open, rear bay door, as it slowly and rustily brought its maw shut. Behind a crate of packaged alkali metals, oil filled ampules tinkling against one another, Skyldig cradled a scrawny Weedonian, pink blood oozing out of massive gashes where he took an excavator's drone blades to the gut. He shook, as the schooner rocked side to side, drawing too close to anti-ship mines. "Sing to me again?" He croaked, his arms coiled in her's, his hands pressed against the wounds. Skyldig gulped, patting her cracked lips before humming a note and lulling to him. Her Wuld was like fluorescent light, clunky, mechanical, but fit for purpose and ever reliable. She sang to him until he stopped shaking, causing her voice to break, looking off at the ceiling, she brought the back of her hand to her eye and wiped away a stray tear. "Skyldig!" A voice called from down the hall, "They're boarding we need you here!" She gulped, relieving bee dry throat, before picking up her auto-hammer and leaving the Weedonian in the cargo hold.
Equipment:
- Massen Company Automatisk Slåssgevær (Automatic Fighting Rifle): Similar to the one she was issued when she underwent her training with the Clan, this kinetic weapon fires .32 caliber rounds at high speed, with enough power to punch through walls and most conventional armors. Though with proper shot placement it could disable a personal shield. Fit with a 25 round detachable box magazine, and a Kutts Compensator, this rifle is fit to lay down loud and overwhelming bursts of fire.
- AquaSeltzer Dispenser: The metal caged, Quartzglass dispenser acts as a quick deploy administration device for a cocktail of drugs that Skyldig uses during combat. Or occasionally for recreation. The ingredients consist of the following, among other things she doesn't take kindly to exposing. Beta-Nico'ffine (Stimulating Agent); Epinephrine (Adrenaline Booster); Benzedrine (Anti-Sleep Agent); Cocaine (Awareness Enhancer); Dextroamphetamine (Calming Agent); Morphine (Pain Killer); Palcohol (Calming Agent); Citric Acid (Buffering Agent Component); Sodium Citrate (Buffering Agent Component); Ascorbic Acid (Preservative); Octyl-Methanoate (Grape Fruit Flavoring); Lemonine (Lemon Flavoring); Sorbitol (Sweetener); Aspartame (Sweetener); Seltzer Water (Medium); Vitamin B and C (Health Benefits). She calls it SitronKruse.
- E-1 "Sitrongranater": Containing a 60g charge of dynamite, this fragmentation Grenade has a cookable 5 second cookable fuze, and a striated bi-metal case that fragments into deadly shrapnel upon explosion. This type of grenade is devastating against unarmored targets, and less effective against fully armored ones at more than close range. The shrapnel has a deadly range of 80 cubits on unarmored opponents, and a 300 cubit harming capacity. On armored targets it can wound within the 80 cubits, and on metallically encased targets it would require effectively a point blank detonation to cause damage.
- Bako Tin: Bako is the dried and finely milled root of the Arbako plant, native to inner-Sigasmaranda. It is not suitable for smoking, and so is usually administered nasally or rubbed into gums and areas under the tongue. Afrikander, the specific brand she chews, comes with grains of fiberglass or asbestos, to cut up the gums and tongue and aid in the absorption of the Nico'ffine from them. Skyldig usually takes it between shots of SitroKruse, or when not in active combat recreationally. The container is a small, thin, sheet bi-metal box, hinged on one side and covered with an embossed lid.
Airship: N/A
Motivation: More Money for More SitronKruse, the thrill of combat, the nihilistic pursuit of pleasure (despite her believing in the faith of the Sigasmarandis) and less overtly, a way around the undead to see what is become of her homeland.
Personality: Perhaps the most startling of her qualities is that she never used to always be like this. Not at first, but those times are long past, except for the little bits of them that yet survive within her somewhere. Her face is locked in a perpetual expression of anger or disapproval, an angry scowl or an annoyed, pursed lip, matching how she always feels. She sways from neutral to wrathful, an exhibit of rage in combat or more frighteningly; complete calm, where she feels most at home. This is reflected in her charted hours on the simulator, and her high scores and times on the scenarios. Ever the disapprover, she holds contempt for those who are not up to scratch in her eyes, especially when it comes to her own performance, in her judgments she never neglects to cast shame on herself. Maybe an outcome of her training, or a life of soldiering for fortune, she has become highly competitive and usually prioritizes numero uno. Despite her tendencies towards violence, Skyldig puts significant effort into suppressing it while shipside, the last needed is a whole crew she's antagonized. Get a beer in her hand though, the story is prone to changing.
Flaws: - Suspicious/Suspicious: - Drug Addict: - Fixing for a Fight:
Bio: "My father was a regrettable creature, but I suppose that means I didn't fall too far from the stalk." From her place in the common room, Skyldig commanded the attention of the assembled Marauders. "I killed my mother upon decanting, so he stuck me with 'It's your fault' as a name, and proceeded to remarried. He was the kind of man who thought his spermatozoa to valuable to waste in handkerchief." Pulling her scarf open from the bottom, she spat out a black melange of fibre and saliva, a chewed up lump of Bako. "Oh and he spread that spermatozoa around, I probably have brothers and sisters that I don not know about. Nor do I care to know about them, I couldn't even get to know my step-siblings. Father was too busy making my life miserable." From a very young age, Skyldig was put through the ringer of preparation for courtly life, and her Father made sure to find her the most cruel of teachers. Her elocution teacher would beat her for every stutter, her literature teacher would tear her books apart and reassemble them in the wrong order, her gymnastics teacher, looking back at it now, had done many an obscene thing to her.
Suffice to say, when the Hunter Guilds came to the family to demand their rightful conscript, she was delighted when her Father forced her to go, instead of one of his many sons. "At least in the Guilds they beat everyone." She said, thinking back to when her father savaged her for having a lover. Despite he himself, and his offspring from the other woman, having mistresses in copious amounts. "I would say I wasn't prepared for it, but looking back now I don't think they were prepared for me." Skyldig attacked every challenge and expectation handed to her with vigor, whether it meant sleepless nights in the Scrollatorium or beating the largest cadet to within an inch of his life in training. "When I graduated, I was the only one to get an officer post, because the others 'paled in comparison'." She said, imitating the strong accent of her division's Drill Sergeant. "It was a shitty post, I mean, I didn't know Slaig was a place before they put me on the first Eel there." Sometimes she thought they put her there because they were scared of her.
The day she assumed her command, she threw a private off a barracks roof to show her superiority. It was safe to say that she would not be a popular commander, but that was none of her concern. Slaig was a hamlet-town, that held the distinction of being one of the farthest inhabited rocks of Elysia, it was also home to the College of Karadzic, a convent/monastery where Aeterwuldors practiced their dark arts, far from the civilized inner world's of Sigasmaranda. As such, the concentration of void fog in the area was high, and life there was grim and medieval, and the mutants and creatures that crawled out of the Void were likewise terrifying and gargantuan compared to what would normally emerge. Hence the requirement of such a large military installation nearby, not only did it serve to stop these creatures rampaging deeper into Sigasmaranda, it allowed the guilds to keep a watchful eye on the College and its mystic inhabitants.
The first few months of Skyldig's deployment were uneventful, no more than a few dozen Sultedyr, their man-sized talons and giant leathery wings were no match for the barrage of rockets, shells and 13.2mm rounds from the battery. Despite that, had they gotten through the chaos would have been unfathomable. Uneventful. Until that is the night of the 9th month of her deployment. Zapatov Zapatinski was a private, the twin brother of the girl Slyldig had thrown off the roof all those days ago, a scrawny man with rat like features, but with a mettle to him that betrayed his looks. It was he who was assigned, though he infact volunteered, to do the supply runs between the village and the College. As part of the arrangements, the College would provide technical assistance to the people of Slaig in exchange for rations and supplies. So it was Zapatov's responsibility to drive into the College every other day in the truck to do the deliveries. It seemed, however, that the extended exposure to the even more intense Vapour on the inside had severely effected him. As on the night of the ninth month, without warning, he sat bolt upright in barracks J and began to scream uncontrollably. Zapatov pointed around, jerking his body about as he fingered people across the room and nearby, telling them in a horrified voice that they were going to do. Suffice to say, before anyone could hold him down and administer a sedative, he stuffed the muzzle of his service pistol into his mouth and emptied the chamber.
And as if by some divine decree, the siren went off hours later, sounding the alarm and rousing the troops that hadn't been woken up by Zapatov's suicide. They manned their stations, waited, the radar operators peering into their green displays as oscilloscope swung a wave of electrons around the circular monitor. For a moment there was nothing. Then suddenly the screens went bright and the batteries opened fire. The first shell to sail through the darkness impacted something, seeming to explode in midair, the rockets that followed illuminated the darkness around it, exposing the assailants. Giant beasts of other dimensional frightfulness, surrounded by flocks of rotting, ragged creatures. The entire battery opened fire, as the sea of evil approached them like a tidal wave, every gun firing as fast as possible, rockets like burning lances across the darkness. Ears and fingers bled from the frantic fire. Skyldig alone manned a heavy machine gun, standing at the head of a buttress that extended out into the void, wielding it from the hip, one hand holding the belt while the other pushed on the paddle, and aimed the thundering machine gun around.
Around her she watched as people fell, the plague descending on them despite the full power of the battery bearing down against it. Perhaps one of the most dense collections of conventional firepower in Sigasmaranda, if not Elysia, could not stop the tide. For the split second she glanced to the side, she watched the Black Wall spill into the country side all around. They were going to be encircled. She dashed back, behind the thunderous canons that blasted at the ever approaching wall, behind the rocket batteries, launching incendiary missiles into the mass of rotting reek, behind the heavy machine guns chugging lead into the invading force. Zapatov was right, and perhaps wiser than the rest of them. From the College she heard a resounding shriek, followed by many more, as the front tower that faced into the void exploded, shadowy bolts and giant trailing beasts bursting towards the oncoming invasion. The Aeterwuldors honoring their end of the deal, cartwheeling into almost certain devastation. The truck door slammed shut, as some of the troops who decided to run clambered into the canvas covered bed behind the cab, stamping her foot on the accelerator, the automobile rushed forwards and away from the tidal wave of doom.
"And that's how I got out." She said, looking down into a tin of crushed up Bako root, before taking a pinch of the fibrous material and putting those fingers into the folds of her scarf. "Call it cowardly.. I lived." She spoke around the slowly reconstituting plant matter, before leaning back to silently ruminate, the assembled crowd looking about at each other before slowly dispersing.
There you go guys, a complete (I think) CS, for your approval.
Quig is what one would call a 'Warrenless' Ku. Having left his previous Warren, Quig holds no loyalty to any of his former warren, though that isn't to say he isn't sympathetic to warrens of slave ku that he comes across. Ku society is chaotic and freewheeling, and a typical warren is full of half-finished projects and multiple Ku talking over each other. Regardless of their role in society, slave or free, nearly all Ku hold a knack for technology and gadgets, whether it be an Engineer’s love of taking machines apart or a soldier’s appreciation for her armor’s construction. They traditionally serve under a master or organization as slaves or take on roles and societal niches other races view as unpleasant, often acting as junkers or squeezing through the innards of airships. Larger races’ tendency to underestimate or pick on ku has left them fiercely loyal to their friends and families—both ku and otherwise—and a ku presented with a gross injustice often feels the need to fling himself teeth-first at the problem, consequences be damned. Personality-wise, Ku tend to adopt a pack mentality, and their personalities, while constantly conflicting, tend to align towards the same goal as the others in their warren.
Racial Features:
Low-light Vision - Ku often operate in dark conditions, and are able to see in low light or near dark environments
Spatial Awareness - Evolved to work in cramped and crowded conditions with all manner of chaos going on around them, Ku have generally higher degrees of spatial awareness than other races.
Cybernetic Disposition - Most Ku, by nature are cowardly, and when trapped are more than willing to chew their own arm off to survive- literally. Luckily, through gene modding or evolution, most Ku take to cybernetic prosthesis rather well.
Appearance Taller than the average Ku, Quig stands in at about 4 feet in height. His frame is typically laden with a variety of equipment, electronics, and explosives. Quig's fur is mostly grey, with patches of brown, and his right ear has a hole from a bullet in it. His body is covered with scars and scorch marks, from misfiring experiments, and fights with others. Most notably, his tail is almost entirely metallic- having been replaced a long time ago with a cybernetic, as is his left arm.
Combat Engineering - Good at putting things together, better at taking them apart.
Smallship Piloting and Drone Control - Experienced with flying fighter and boarding craft, and controlling combat drones.
Combat Arms Training - Trained in the use of firearms and close quarters weapons.
Powers:
Low-Light Vision - Ku often operate in dark conditions, and are able to see in low light or near dark environments
Prehensile Tail - Ku are able to use their tails to carry, hold, and manipulate objects.
Equipment:
Scrapper Mk13 - This drone has been salvaged, rebuilt, destroyed, recovered, and rebuilt again so many times that its hard to determine the original model it was built from. At its core, the Scrapper Mk13 is a heap of metal powered by a plasma fusion cell. 4 Directional plasma thrusters grant it impressive mobility as well as thrust and lift capacity, and a handle dangling underneath it allows Quig to fly into combat zones. The drone itself has 2 multi-role cameras, one mounted on the body of the drone itself, and another mounted in line with a rotating turret underneath the drone. The turret mounts a twin barreled plasma pulse gun, alternating barrels granting it a higher rate of fire. The Scrapper MK13 can be manually controlled via remote strapped to Quig's forearm, but also recognizes Quig's vocal commands (such as 'Shoot that!') and can automatically follow Quig's biometric signature. When not in use, the arms fold and the drone can be carried on Quig's back.
Arm by CybermaxxxxxTM - A customized and redesigned CybermaxxxxTM arm, Quig's left arm is in fact a cybernetic limb. The mechanical limb is made of high quality carbon-fiber reinforced alloys and synthetic muscle bands, plated by lightweight titanium alloys and coated with a layer of removable synthetic fur. The arm itself has a range of movement considerably greater than a biological arm, with the elbow capable of bending 225 degrees and rotating a full 360. The wrist joint as well allows the hand to continuously rotate 360 degrees. It is fitted out with a variety of tools, deployable from the fingers and parts of the arm, as well as a set of electroshock knuckles and a short range energy scattergun.
Quig's Cybertail - A synthetic tale replacing 3/4 of Quig's original tail, it is slightly heavier and stronger than the average tail, and the tip can unsheath a sharpened blade point.
Plasma Revolver - Quig's plasma revolver is a compact weapon that features 6 plasma batteries in a revolver style cylinder. The cylinder cycles after every shot to extend the charge of the plasma batteries, though Quig has made a 'hotshot' modification, allowing him to fire an entire battery's worth of plasma in a single shot. A standard shot can put down an unarmored man, and can threaten moderately armored soldiers, a hotshot blast can melt a hole in tank armor.
Plasma 'Torch' - In most worlds, flamethrowers are illegal to sell to civilians, especially criminals. This is obviously a plasma torch meant for airship welding and therefore perfectly legal for purchase. Quig has just modified it somewhat to extend the range of the plasma torch to about 20 meters. He may have also rewired it to use energy cells meant for ship weapons for a longer burn time.
Electro Staff - Ideal for close quarters when the 'continuum of force' has been reduced to hand to hand combat. For optimum performance, the staff should be activated to emit an electrical charge around the head of the staff, this head, 'sparky end', should be applied to the enemy and thrust into vital regions. This should be repeated as necessary.
Combat Environment Suit - Combat suit, Environmental suit, everyday wear, pajamas- whatever you want to call it, Quig is always in it. The suit can be sealed and mounted with an oxygen tank for 4 hours worth of EVA, and has standard grade combat armor plates strapped to his shoulders, chest, hands and feet. A ballistic mask with a combat HUD and re-breather round it out. Quig has a variety of equipment strapped and placed in pockets around his suit, from small multi-tools to high yeild explosives, extra plasma cells and duct tape.
Airship:
Despite its intimidating name, the Corsair is little more than a suped up Lufthansa Cargo shuttle. These simple shuttles are seen throughout Elysia, and many are retrofitted for a variety of purposes. Quig's shuttle trades cargo space for a pair of oversized thrusters, extra armor plating, and a basic weapons package. A 30mm electromagnetic vulcan is mounted underneath the chin of the shuttle, along with a pair of anti-smallship missiles, and a rack of high yield dumbfires. The Molotov uses this airship as a combination transport shuttle, escort ship, and cargo shuttle.
Motivation: Looking out for 'numero uno', mainly himself. Personality: Take one part mad scientist, three parts dubiously motivated arsonist, throw in a masters degree in engineering and you have Quig. Well versed in putting things together, but even better at taking them apart(read blowing them apart). A saboteur by trade and explosives expert, Quig is an adept at the art of underhanded destruction.
Quig is, by nature a bitter and cynical little fucker. Sarcastic and rather aggressive, Quig could be considered trigger-happy, and appears to have an innate desire to cause violence, make fire and take loot. Despite all this, Quig seems able to retain his composure quite well, but possesses a rather morbid sense of humor. Quig is surprisingly intelligent and seems to act with a rather callous degree of professionalism showing an impressive amount of self restraint in relation to his violent tendencies- though short outbursts are not uncommon. Jaded from his years as a slave, Quig dislikes the 'sciencey' types, despite being a creature of the sciences himself. As expected of a career criminal, Quig has a rather twisted view on morality and ethics, and prefers to lookout for numero uno- that being himself, and will steal, shoot and loot without second thought.
I had a big write up about what Ku were, but past page 1 I realized I needed to kind of get to the good points, and you pretty much hit the nail on the head with the Kulture.
Dont forget you got a perhensile tail too that helps with holding stuff.
Name: 08 - v2.3881, "Zero-Eight", "Zero" Age: Version 2 running for 4 years Gender Female Race: Artificial Intelligence Culture: What was 08's culture vanished from existence after her version 2.0 update. In spite of this, mannerisms of who 08 was persist in small ways. For example, 08 was once asked to paint something that came to mind. She painted a colorful abstract piece with maritime themes. The obscurity of the piece came from some background and it is assumed to be her previous culture.
Racial Features: As an artificial intelligence of a previously existing organic, 08 has access to advanced complexities of the mind that other races do not. Among those advantages are the ability to digitally process and relay information, meaning that she is highly efficient at connecting computerized systems. Autonomous drones and mechs are prime examples of what 08 can remotely control.
Appearance: 08 is entirely made of synthetic materials and lacks any biological tissue. All organs, including the brain, have been replaced with machinery except for a few aesthetic parts. 08's skin and hair are synthetic replicas and merge seamlessly with mechanical parts. The overall design of 08 is curious in that while there were attempts to replicate a human child of no more than ten years old, several mechanical parts are clearly visible. The reason for this is unknown and it is assumed that 08 was merely a trial that was not meant to be the final product. Occupation/Ship Position Mech & Drone Pilot / Computer / Analyst
Training:
Constantly updating security software helps protect drones from remote hacking or shutdown
As of version 2.3881, 08 has logged hundreds of hours of simulated scenarios in an effort to protect the Molotov
Additionally, every mech and drone under 08's command has gone through thorough investigation and will effectively make use of each one
Powers:
Artificial Intelligence and processing power allows 08 to make precise calculations, maneuvers, analysis, and so on at a much faster speed on average and utilized best controlling the autonomous machinery of the Molotov
Virtual immortality by way of a digital consciousness
Equipment:
A variety of scavenged drones each specialized with a particular task
A squadron of varied defensive drones to protect the Molotov
A number of scrapper mechs that serve as ground operations or boarding actions
Motivation: Primary Directive: 08's primary directive is self-preservation. She will do whatever she needs to in order to keep existing. Secondary Directive: m̶̛o͜͞҉̢̀F̡̛4̴̕͝m̢͞0̡̀҉͜I̵ẃ́͞N̷̢͘͜v̸҉̴z̶̛͜Ḑ̧̛͡0̶́9̕͠S͜͜e͘̕̕͟͏O̕҉n̶̡̕͠8̀U̧̡̕͢9̸̧̛L̵̢ş̛ Error: Encryption Detected Tertiary directive: A decision was made sometime during her second version to add the secondary directive of promoting the success of the Molotov and her crew.
Personality: A soulless monotone machine only capable of cold, calculating logic or so some might believe. There are a lot of complexities that exist to make 08 alive. These attributes are assumed to be relics of her true personality diluted through many layers of her machine identity. However, the merging of a biological entity with an artificial exposes some unique but conflicting characteristics Her artificial existence means she will never be lacking anything and therefore is willing to make "selfless" sacrifices to ensure the benefit of the crew. Despite the logic behind that notion, she may irrationally refuse accommodations if she does not "like" it. Another example of programming contrasting her personality is the determination of trust. As a defensive measure, all beings are best kept a distance away with knowing just enough to be efficient. 08, however, constantly has feelings of isolation which is the extension of her desire as a human to open up and have a trusted friend.
Flaws:
Attachment to current physical body and maintains this as highest priority
Physically underwhelming, 08 is not built for strenuous activity and is actually crippled in current state
Innate distrust for most of the crew
Bio:
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
In spite of all the magic and technology we have out are fingertips, the cure for death still eludes us. It is one of the last great hurdles left for mortal life and there are many that still chase that illusive solution. Mortals have been driven mad in their quest either to find immortality or bring back that precious loved one. With several millennia of research for potential fountains of youths and elixirs of the everlasting, you would expect something more than fairy tales and snake oils. Yet here we are.
One attempt at beating the inevitable was a process defined by the goal of taking an organic and making them a synthetic. While possible, it fails at a fundamental level when you try resurrecting a deceased by turning them synthetic. Despite the flaws in the methodology, it never deterred one to be devolve into madness trying to accomplish this task. Doctor Ivan Schreiber, a famed prosthetist for the Tiger Dominion, crossed that line in an effort to preserve his deceased wife and he was willing to do whatever it took, no matter the cost.
Human experimentation should have been outlawed and likely was at the time of Dr. Schreiber's experiments. However, he was a person famed for his expertly crafted work with the nobles and was likely overlooked for a significant period of time. During this era of his work, he kidnapped or paid kidnappers to retrieve live human subjects in an effort to experiment on them. Trials began with taking a human consciousness and implanting into a synthetic host. Several different experiments occurred and while some were successful, there was only one that we care about for the story.
08 was the product of a trial where a human would be progressively replaced with synthetic parts until they were fully synthetic. Whoever 08 was before the experiment was lost the moment her last organic organ was replaced and yet, 08 always maintained a bit of herself in that machine. A ghost of her former self exists and functions like any other living being, but that identity is deep within the lines of programing that makes 08 possible.
In the effort of preservation and perhaps purpose, 08 found a role on board the Molotov after her discovery by the crew four years ago. How 08 broke free of Ivan's lab or what even happened to Ivan is something that was never cleared up. Memory of that outcome was never maintained following 08's v2.0 update. She maintains a selective memory of her existence in v1.0, but only enough to know her story origins.
Extra Info: Due to her defensive nature about her physical vessel, she actively avoids (bordering disliking) crewmates that take a vested interest in electronics and technomancers.
