At first glance, Katya doesn't cut the most imposing figure. Sure, she's slightly taller and heavier than the average human woman, but her physique clearly indicates that of a spacer, instead of a ground-pounder. She has a feminine figure paired with well-toned muscle: relatively large breasts, generous hips, sturdy shoulders, taut belly and strong limbs. Katya is in great shape at the age of 40, thanks to the military's nutrition supplements and exercise regimes. However, none of that is apparent under the standard issue field uniform and armor.

Katya's facial structure is typical of eastern Europeans, with hints of northern European ancestry. She wears her sandy blond hair in a bob, which parts slightly to the right and extends halfway down her neck. It's about the longest her hair can be while still fit under helmets. Her upturned hazel eyes often focus on the most pressing objective. Her nose is curved concavely with a hook, and her lips are heavier on the bottom. Finally, defined cheekbones with an overall round face shape gives off an authoritative yet motherly impression.

As much as Katya tries to carry herself stoically, she can only take so much before flinching and breaking. Since the war ended, she's been much less uptight around people. Maybe her vulnerabilities are too much to hide, or maybe that long held stress is finally releasing. Either way, what good is etiquette when everything formal lies in ruins? What's the point of standing at attention when there's hardly a chain of command left? After the initial wave of celebrations, Katya's face is just as tired as everyone else.

Bitch, lover, child, mother.

Katya has been called many things, flattering and unflattering, and she's not ashamed to admit most of them are true.

Some people say Katya is a bitch, well, she's not a bitch all the time. These people probably see her as petty or ruthless, or occasionally, both. Katya really tries not to be petty, but some slights just have to be repaid in kind. There's a fine line between forgiving and spineless, and if she has to choose, Katya would rather wrong someone than letting them push her around. It is similar in principle to her ruthlessness, except, Katya embraces her ruthless side. After all, personal feelings are inconsequential next to the success of a group. If a few has to die for the many, Katya is willing to stomach that loss.

On the other end of the spectrum, Katya can be a passionate lover. Not only does she love her grandparents, her husband and her children, Katya loves her homeland, she loves to learn about history and cultures, and even loves her job (most of the time). This love is a mix of emotions and careful appreciation of the best parts of her life. It is also an understanding that when things are at their worst, what she loves keeps her moving forward. A soldier doesn't fight because they hate what opposes them. No, people like Katya know all too well they fight because they love what they fight for.

All these conflicting emotions make Katya a thoughtful adult, right? Or just a mercurial child? It's honestly easier to be a kid at times. When responsibilities become too much to shoulder, and they certain do, Katya closes her eyes and wishes she's still the little girl holding her grandparents' hands. Her fondest memories are those of her childhood, of a simpler time where there isn't a galaxy of worries to contend with. With that said, certain insecurities then persist even now. Can she succeed when many doubt her? Can she show compassion when her parents have never given her any? At the end of the day, when Katya throws a tantrum, as much as she hates to admit, it is because of her inner child rearing its tiny head.

Ultimately, Katya has to be a good mother. She has to be a strong and reliable mother figure to those alongside her. Earth is her home; if she can't lead those stranded far from home, who will? Sure, the reapers are defeated. But defeating the enemy is merely one step to winning the war. There would be no victory to speak of, should the victors never return. And when the victors do return, when Katya sees her beloved husband, daughter and son again, what will she tell them? She wants to tell them a good ending, an ending she will make sure her family will be proud of.

From datapad notes added to each team member's profile:

As difficult to talk to as Solveig has always been, she is not an uncaring individual. She may seem like a reserved woman, but she is also a woman of action, and when it comes it, a dependable woman. Sol spoke of the stars' meanings at family gatherings, and at Alliance bases, she spoke only of the classified natures of her missions. Neither make great conversations. Still, there's no one more dear than cousin Sol right now; she's the family left here on Earth.

Obviously a fidgety one: keen-eyed and a bit paranoid. What has he seen in just 15 years of life? The desert environment seems to bother him the most, but at least he's staying hydrated. And about hydration, that flask isn't containing alcohol, isn't it? Drinking right before action is worrisome, but hey, maybe it's not so much with salarian metabolism?

Definitely the least combat-experienced team member; Janiri's unease is apparent. There's something else beneath the asari's nervousness: a strong work ethic, which many brash recruits can't wrap their heads around. Even though her lack of biotic skills seem atypical of asaris, Janiri's tech expertise has already proven its worth.

The largest combatant; a towering presence both on and off the battlefield. Having a big, thick krogan is great for drawing enemy fire, but Karnoc does more than that. He's confident, a good shot (hard to do with the Striker's recoil) and a...dog person? Anyway, subtlety isn't his strong suit (unlike a certain Ravanor clan infiltrator). It's not a problem for now, though probably needs a talk before any stealth mission.

A slam dunk pick from just his profile. Tech, biotics and experience in turian spec ops; what more can SRN ask for? Actually, Kysar doesn't feel like the most reliable team player. While some (like Janiri) are willing to help injured resistance personnel, this turian is content to lounge in the shade. When he isn't catching his beauty sleep, he seems to be lurking just beyond eyesight. Suspicious.

Asari commandos are legendary, however, this one is almost disappointing. Appears as reserved and closed off as Solveig. While this isn't a issue in itself, Keslia hasn't earned nearly the level of trust as Sol. Must be maternal instincts to worry about her; this asari's clearly seen more combat than the other one, but what led to her current somber mental state? At the end of the day, it's not anyone's business to pry, as long as she performs on the battlefield.

Dead already? What a shame.

Kaya is slightly taller and a little more built than the average Salarian. He has a few scars here and there on his teal skin, small mementos of when things got a little too close. While not part of his apperance, Kaya has a uniquely deep voice for a salarian. It tends to throw people off more often than not.

He likes to wear dark armor, usually brown or black, with an equally as dark cloak. Preferably something that can match the environment if he can find it. When he's working, he usually keeps his hood up so as to hide his bright coloration.

When he's not working, Kaya likes to wear outfits that compliment his skin tone. Usually red, white, or yellow.

Kaya believes everyone deserves a chance at a happy and peaceful life. He was raised and trained on the principle of protecting those who can't protect themselves. A little idealistic, but he still stands by it. That belief was why he took to the stars when the reapers invaded. The people of the galaxy needed more help than his little colony did. And with his skillset, Kaya had to be sure he was protecting people. If a sniper's bullet doesn't protect someone, then it is taking a life for evil. And Kaya can't live with that. He can't save someone by curing them of an illness or building a shelter. But he can track down those trapped under rubble or take down a marauder from a hundred yards away. What kind of a salarian would he be, if he didn't use those skills for good?

Erinle Laka Greengrove Voten Kaya was born on March 5th, 2171 on Erinle in the Greengrove district of the Laka Colony. From a young age, he was chosen to train under resident weapons experts to protect the colony from the many dangerous variations of wildlife on Erinle. He was separated from the other salarian children of the colony and placed in a 'pod'. A small unit of a few dozen young salarians who were to be trained, the same as him. Kaya's early years were filled with long hours of Salarian Union history, ruck marches, weapons ranges, and tracking techniques. Most importantly, his instructors, who the young salarians all viewed as father figures, instilled in him the importance of protecting the public. The virtue of peace and the type of warriors who kept that peace. Kaya burned to be that kind of warrior.

Though they didn't learn with the other children, the members of the pod were often allowed to go explore the colony in their off times. It was important that they knew what exactly they were protecting. Kaya always found himself the quiet one of the group. Preferring to observe rather than chime in. Though sometimes that rubbed some of the other kids wrong, all of his podmates knew that it was a good natured, thoughtful silence. Kaya's instructors took notice of this and shifted the focus of his training to long range marksmanship and recon. Kaya thrived in it. He enjoyed being out in the wilderness, tracking the movements of his homeworld's creatures. However, in order to complete his training, he had to face an unpleasant truth. A truth his superiors would force upon him.

It was 2181. He had just come of age. This was his first real assignment. A human mobster was stepping off of his private ship. He had a nasty reputation and the leaders of the colony knew he would only bring chaos and mayhem to Laka. Kaya had him in his scope. Crosshairs on his chest. He knew he wouldn't miss. Maybe in another scenario, he wouldn't even hesitate to pull the trigger. But Kaya felt his finger trembling when he saw the two kids hop off the shuttle and cling to their dad's legs. When a lovely young woman stepped off the ship with a smile. The bastard had brought his family with him. Kaya realized his team leader was telling him to take the shot over the comms. Kaya just kept staring at him. This bullet would protect the colony. It would protect the people he grew up with. Those who deserved a peaceful life.

He pulled the trigger. He barely felt the recoil. Kaya just watched as that gangster's lovely young wife was painted in his blood. They were a few hundred yards away. Kaya could still hear her scream. Mission accomplished.

Kaya sometimes still has nightmares about it. He continued to defend his colony. And with every sentient life he took, there was a story. A mother, a brother, a father, a daughter. People who relied on his targets went hungry or vanished into the wilds without even a peep. Sometimes he'd track them down. But by the time he found them, Erinle had already claimed them. It was not a gentle planet. Kaya started to turn to drink, dreading the next call that came in. Hoping it wasn't a person.

Then the reapers invaded. The path of their destruction was televised across the galaxy. Kaya had an epiphany. He could use his skills to help people. Really help them. Defend them from monsters and pull them from the ruins of their scorched homes. Maybe that would help with the nightmares. So he made preparations to leave Erinle. Of course the colony leadership tried to get him to stay. He wasn't obligated to them in anyway. He had been serving the colony since he was barely more than a hatchling. And he made damn sure to remind them of that. He hopped on a cargo freighter off world and followed the distress calls.

Kaya found himself in Dekuuna, fighting off reapers alongside the elcor and assissting in search and rescue as well as evacuation. The gravity difference was a bit of a challenge but Kaya got used to it quick. Funny how constant warfare will do that to a person. Kaya did a lot of good on Dekuuna but with each passing week his drinking became more and more prominent. To the point where he was better at his job tipsy than he was sober. Despite the elcor's best efforts, the reapers were overrunning Dekuuna and Kaya had no choice but to retreat off world with one of the evacuation ships.

He began working as a guard for refugee ships. There were plenty of pirates in space even with the galactic apocalypse. Kaya bounced from ship to ship for months. Sometimes on a big cruiser packed with couple hundred people and sometimes on a suped up shuttle, hunting pirates in the area with a few other brash and bold gunslingers.

Suddenly, Kaya had begun hearing about mass requests for mercenaries and freelancers. Specifically from the alliance. After doing some digging he discovered it was for a final assault against the reapers that orbited Earth. They needed skilled fighters on the ground protecting civilians and allied troops. So, with some trepidation, Kaya accepted. Soon after he was being rocketed to Earth, his human pilot dodging reaper lasers and friendly missiles alike. The fighting on the ground was intense. Some of the worst combat and devastation Kaya had seen since this damn war started. But after hours and hours of relentless death and destruction the reapers just...collapsed. They won. The worst war the galaxy had ever seen was over.

And he was stranded in the sol system. Nothing else to do but make the most of it.

Alcoholic: Though he is trying to recover, Kaya still has a major drinking problem. He always carries a flask of something with him. It does relax him when things get tense. But it also makes him sloppy.

Lightweight: Like most salarians, Kaya is incredibly light when compared to other species. Not only that, his hand to hand skills are very limited. It would not take much to lay him out.

Tactical Cloak
Incinerate
First Aid
Neural shock

- Served as a Sniper with the Laka Colonial Defense Force from 2179-2186
- Operated as a search and rescue specialist on Dekuuna
- Worked as a guard for refugee ships and as an active hunter of space pirates in small bounty crews.

- Former soldier of the LCDF
- Recognized friend of the elcor people

You see a worn, leather journal with some etchings of the native salarian tongue on its cover. Under those etchings are several stickers of earthling cartoon characters.

Katya: A decent enough soldier. Our small band has unofficially looked to her and Solveig for leadership. It makes no matter to me, I'm not one for the spotlight anyway. She seems a little...cocky, at times. Whether or not that attitude is warranted, we shall have to see.

Janiri: Janiri is a fish out of water, as the humans like to say. She's built strongly and is obviously no stranger to physical work. But her soul is soft. She hasn't the heart for war. She is kind and helpful and probably the best of our little group. I only hope that Earth doesn't strip that from her.

Karnoc: There is a certain respect one has to have for krogan pride and perseverance. And Karnoc is about as krogan as it gets. He's a bit of a brute but despite that I can't help but find him amusing. Strangely, I would like to know him more. How odd it would be for a krogan and salarian to be friends!

Kysar: I'm unsure of what to make of this tattooed turian. His appearance is certainly unlike any other turian I've seen, especially the tattoos. He has more humor than some turians I've met, but it's usually at the expense of others. There's a coldness to his eyes, I feel. Only time will tell if he'll be someone I can trust.

Keslia: I thought I was reserved. It was a week after meeting her before I even learned Keslia's name. She tends to be short and angry with people who she thinks aren't worth her attention. Or not as quick as her, perhaps. I've kept my distance. I have enough trouble maintaining a conversation with people who want to talk.

Solveig: Perhaps the most dangerous out of all of us, even Karnoc. Solveig is a woman of few words and I doubt she even needs those. She and Katya seem to be close which makes sense. Both are former alliance from what I've gathered. Maybe they've served together before. In any case, I don't think her silence is malicious. I trust her quiet work more than I trust Kysar's bluster. Maybe I'll try to speak to her more if we go out on a scouting mission together.

Janiri looks strong. Rather than the lithe and agile forms of your average Asari, a life of farm labor without the use of biotics and technology have made her stout and broad with hands that are rough and covered in callouses. There is a knot of scar tissue on the back of her neck where her neck ends and her shoulders begin.

This starkly contrasts with Janiri's timid demeanor. She avoids meeting people's eyes and keeps herself hunched to make herself look smaller. She steps quietly, not from any skill in stealth but from fear of attracting attention. She's fidgety, her hands constantly messing with something. Whenever someone's voice is raised unexpectedly, particularly towards her, she flinches. When voices are raised, whether they are against her or not, she seems to shrink into herself. She pointedly does her best to keep as much distance as possible between her and anyone she may be working with, growing uncomfortable if the need arises for her to be in close proximity with another.

Janiri is driven by the need of safety. Safety from persecution. Safety from harm. Safety from causing harm to others. She just wants to live her life, safely away from everyone, and not have to constantly look over her shoulder wondering if the asari government is closing in on her, if something is getting ready to attack her, or if she might hurt someone. That was the whole reason for her coming to Sol in the first place. She figured it was the last place the asari government would look for her when they were doing a headcount for who they had lost. Now she's stuck here with everyone else, and a whole fleet of asari military. A fact that makes her incredibly nervous.

While she joined the SRN primarily out of a need to keep moving for her own reassurance, Janiri also has a strong need to help people. Partially out of the community values her family instilled in her over a century ago, and partially out of a need to prove that she isn't the monster that she has been treated as. Whether its to herself, the gods, or the universe at large is something she can't answer. She just needs to prove it.

Janiri strives to stay positive and optimistic, a lesson her parents taught her. Janiri clings to this lessons as a precious memory. "If you get caught in the rain, what good will getting upset do you? You'll still be wet! Just upset, wet, and having done nothing to fix the situation."

She's a very passive and timid person, tending to go with whatever she's told to do and just letting things happen unless under extreme circumstances. It is rare that she'll stand up for herself.

She's a kind and gentle person, speaking quietly and always willing to help at the drop of a hat.

Beneath all of her other wants, Janiri wants to experience having a close community again. She wants to experience having a family again, even if they aren't related to her by blood. Its been decades since she was taken from her family, and though she tries as hard as she can to cling to those cherished memories, they're beginning to slip away and become fuzzy. She's terrified that she'll forget them entirely, and forget what its like to be wanted by the people around you.

Janiri wants to be a farmer.

It's all she ever wanted to be. It's all her family has ever done, for thousands of years. Her parents were farmers, their parents were farmers, and their parents before them were farmers. To say that it is a family tradition is almost an understatement. It's all her family has ever done, and it's all that she wants to go back to. The simple days of caring for animals and plants and worrying about nothing else.

She was born on Thessia to a family of farmers on the holy day of Janiris. Her parents took they day of her birth as an obvious sign that she was blessed by the god of agriculture and named her after the god. A daughter of farmers being blessed by the god of agriculture was a fortuitous sign and they did everything the could to raise her to be worthy of that namesake. To have a strong respect for the land and animals under their care. To be honest and hard working. To be kind and friendly to your neighbors. To be there whenever people needed you, and to help freely. They taught her the ins and outs of farming, and all the tricks they had learned over thousands of years of agricultural experience. For forty years this was the only life she ever knew. A simple life of maintaining and caring for the land and animals under their care, and helping those around her when they needed it.

For those four decades, her schedule rarely varied. Get up early, feed and examine the animals before heading to the fields with her parents. Go to school in the middle of the day, finish the day by feeding and taking care of the animals. Go to bed early after a family dinner and repeat for the next day. It was simple, and she enjoyed it a great deal.

There was a joke amongst her family that the Danyas were wired differently when the gods made them than all other asari. Whereas other asari want to move about, leave the community, or even go off planet when their Maiden stage hits the Danyas simply stay home. When her Maiden stage hit, Janiri was no different. Rather than getting wanderlust and chaffing at the idea of doing the same thing in the same place for the rest of her life, Jan looked forward to that. She looked forward to eventually taking over and expanding her parent's farm, adding new crops and animals to it. She had no desire to go to the bigger cities of Thessia, or even off-planet at all. She had everything she needed right here, and no desire to see what else there might be.

Of course, she still had the same interests in potential partners that came with puberty. In particular another farmer's daughter named Morelle caught her eye, and she caught Morelle's eye. Jan had already had a conversation with her parents about sex, melding, and how to be safe while doing both for her own sake and her partner's sake. With the awkward confidence and shyness of the young, they began to court one another.

It is the single biggest regret of Janiri's life.

After much fumbling, when they finally did achieve melding it all went horribly wrong. Instead of the joined euphoria of two becoming one, the moment was interrupted by a agonized scream from Morelle. Ripped out of her own melding, Janiri came to the sight of Morelle lying on the ground in an apparent seizure. Panicking and terrified, Janiri did the only thing she could think to do: she ran to her parents for help.

With her parents help, Janiri was able to get Morelle to the hospital and calm herself. She was able to tell the doctors exactly what had happened. The carefully controlled looks on their faces didn't strike her as particularly unusual at the time. After all Morelle was laying unconscious in the hospital bed for an unknown reason, surely they didn't want to cause undue panic or guilt. Within an hour they had secluded her from her parents for testing. Within three they got the results back, and she was kept from her parents. She could hear both of them crying and arguing with the doctors outside the door, but they wouldn't let her out. It was another two hours before one of the doctors walked back in with two armed (Armed? Why were they armed?) guards.

The doctor very carefully, like she was talking to a wild animal, explained that Janiri was on the Ardat-Yakshi spectrum. For a moment, Janiri couldn't hear anything other than the blood rushing in her ears. An Ardat-Yakshi? A demon of the night winds? Those were myths! That wasn't possible! And even if it were, she was blessed by her namesake. Surely something like that couldn't happen to her! When she started listening again, the doctor was explaining that she was lucky (Lucky? She didn't feel lucky. She felt cursed. Her world was falling apart around her.) as she was only barely on the spectrum. Morelle would live (a fact for which Janiri fervently thanked Alune), and may even fully recover. Janiri herself, however, would have to go with the commandos next to her.

Janiri began to step back, fear beginning to overwhelm her again. She didn't want to go with them. She wanted to go home. The doctor tried to talk to her, to tell her she couldn't go home but Janiri ignored her. Where were her parents? She wanted to see them. She needed to see them. This was a mistake, all a big mistake. It had to be. Her protestations and pleas fell on deaf ears as the commandos stepped forward. Before she could even put up a fight, they had her pinned against the wall with biotics and a sedative injected into her. The last thing she saw was the disgust on the face of the commandos.

When Janiri awoke, she was in a small one bedroom apartment. The base of her neck ached, and she rubbed it as she stood and examined the apartment she was in. It was utilitarian and comfortable, but she didn't recognize it. This wasn't home. She stumbled to her feet and headed to the solitary door that she saw. It wouldn't open when she tried the handle. Panic began to fill her as she tried it again. It was locked. She began to call out, beating upon the door, for someone to let her out. This continued for what seemed like hours, until the door was opened and she fell forward into another asari. Before she could even get a word out, she was unceremoniously shoved back into the apartment.

She was told, in no uncertain terms, that she was to stop such a racket until role call in the morning and if she kept up such a racket they would give her another shot of sedative. Panicking, but more afraid of being sedated again, Janiri bit her tongue. The other asari shot her a contemptuous look, and then closed and locked the door once again. It was her first interaction with Zandra, the asari who would be assigned to guard her, but it would not be her last.

When the morning came after several hours (during which, Janiri investigated the apartment at least three times over, finding nothing but a computer to give her any indication that time was passing), Janiri almost sprinted out of the door as it opened, being stopped only by the same asari from before. She was instructed to step out carefully and walk with the others. The Disciple in her hands made it all too easy for Janiri to comply. She joined a quiet line of other asari and was lead out onto the mostly familiar sight of farmland. This one was different than her parents' farm, however. Rather than the modern and welcoming farm she was used to, they were in an almost archaic farm with high towers and fences off in the distance. They were surrounded by guards, each armed and staring them down. Another asari stood atop steps leading to a building opposite the one they had come out of.

After a few moments of staring at them, the asari atop the stairs began to speak. They were lucky (there's that word again. Janiri was certain that someone lucky wouldn't be there at all) that they were barely on the Ardat-Yakshi spectrum. Any higher and they would have been placed into prisons or sanitaria. Because of their fortune, they were allowed to repay society for their transgressions (what transgressions? She hadn't done anything!) with honest labor without the aid of machines. They were too work all day, and then return to their apartments and be locked in there for the night. They were also warned not to attempt to flee. Not only would the guards and fence stop them, even if they did manage to escape they would be tracked down by the trackers embedded in the base of the necks.

The Warden, as Janiri began calling her, then dictated them to their work. They went and, as Janiri found out, 'honest labor' meant unnecessarily physical labor. They were allowed almost no technology or biotics to aid their work on the farm. Janiri's first day was brutal. She quickly learned that no talking with the other Ardat-Yakshi was allowed, and that they were expected to work silently. The day passed in an exhausting blur until they were allowed to head back into their apartments.

Despite her exhaustion, Janiri got on the computer and began to search the internet to see if she could find out what had happened to Morelle. This was her first realization that she was dealing with a side of the powerful asari government that most never knew existed. The government that used its power to kidnap her from her family, ensure their silence, put her in a secluded government work program, chip her like an animal, and then wipe her existence from the face of Thessia.

When she finally found a news report about Morelle, it wasn't about how the girl was recovering. It was about how she was the only survivor of a farming accident that took the life of Janiri Danya.

Dumbfounded, Janiri read the article again. Then she desperately searched for her name. It was the same thing every time it popped up. She was dead to the rest of the world. Killed in a farm accident. She signed into her email and tried to send a message to her parents. A notification popped up telling her that her email had been sent to the Warden's office for review. She tried all of her previous social media accounts. She was locked out of all of them. The asari government had taken her from her home, killed her to the world, and was now ensuring that she couldn't contact the rest of the universe without their explicit approval.

It only got worse as Janiri's first month came and went. She found out quickly that she was being watched in the apartment, as when she attempted to continue the biotic training her school had started Zandra's voice came from seemingly nowhere to inform her to stop or that she would be punished. They gave her a strict ration of food for the month. All of her online activity was monitored, and if she attempted to send anything that wasn't preapproved the VI that monitored the whole system would flag it, stop it, and send it to the warden for approval. Even on instant messaging, the VI quickly scanned and determined if what she sent was a violation of any rules.

The asari government was deeply ashamed of the existence of Ardat-Yakshi, and they were going to make sure that no one knew about them who didn't have to.

Janiri and her fellow prisoners were, surprisingly, paid for their work. It was a paltry amount, but it was credits nonetheless. Out of a guilty conscience Janiri ensured that half of her earned credits were sent to Morelle and Morelle's family every time they were paid. Janiri had been allowed to know that the Morelle lived, but would never fully recover.

They were even allowed to make authorized purchases for themselves and their apartments, so long as it was ran by the warden first. Most of Janiri's initial requests were denied. She would not be allowed a pet for surely she would meld with and absorb its strength (an idea that Janiri visibly recoiled at). She would not be allowed to buy anything that could be useful in a fight (so no asari dance training videos, no omni-tools, etc etc). She was only allowed to order specific parts and schematics once the warden had confirmed that they couldn't be used to craft some weapon (and several times were rejected anyway).

The apartments weren't, technically speaking, prison cells. They were nicer than that, and Janiri and her fellow Ardat-Yakshi were able to customize the apartments to their liking. But it was hard to forget that the doors were always locked at night, and that they were under constant surveillance.

As the first month passed into the next seventy years, Janiri settled into a routine. She would work all day in near total silence, collecting and loading the produce onto ships for transport to the city, herding and feeding the animals, giving them medicine, whatever she was told to do. When she was finished, she would go back to her apartment and then get on the extranet to escape. She would research all there was to know about the agriculture of Thessia. When she got bored of that, it was the agriculture of Palaven. Then the agriculture of Sur'Kesh. Then Earth. Then Tuchanka. So on, so forth. Each planet provided its own wealth of flora and fauna for her to research and study. Some, like Earth and Palaven, she studied in depth. Others, like Sur'Kesh and Tuchanka, she only got the most well known animals from. When it became clear that the Warden would make them do without the help of any machines that broke, Janiri began to study how to repair machinery of all kinds. She would practice building things in her room, making small mechs and drones that did useless things for her entertainment.

To help with the fact that she wasn't getting any socialization from those around her Janiri, with the help of the extranet, designed a very simple VI that she installed into a small hologram on her desk. All it did was talk to her and respond to basic commands with jokes or random facts from the extranet. It wasn't much, but it helped.

By far the thing she looked forward to most when joining the extranet was interacting with people all over it. She had several anonymous accounts that she accrued a wide network of similarly anonymous friends from. She still had to be very careful with what she shared and said, but as long as she didn't reveal anything that the asari government didn't want her to reveal she was good to go. It was her only positive interaction with anyone over those seventy years, as she wasn't allowed to talk to the asari she worked with and Zandra, the guard whom she had the most experience with, reacted with contempt to every attempt Janiri made at conversation.

The extranet was the lens through which Janiri viewed the galaxy and any exciting event that happened within it. When the humans and turians clashed, she saw leaked helmet footage from the battles. When the batarians were getting their noses bloodied by the same humans, she was able to cheer on humanity through her chats. When Shepard was named the first human Specter and chasing down a rogue Specter in Saren, she was able to follow his movements through extranet rumors and videos. Talking about all of these things and countless other smaller things that happened in the galaxy with all of her online friends helped keep Janiri sane. It helped her deal with the sad thing her life had become.

Like with the rest of the galaxy, Janiri's life changed completely when the Reapers appeared. At first it was only the news reports that they were coming, that batarian space had been completely taken over. But then they hit Earth. Then Palaven. Then friends she had made over the extranet began to disappear. One day they would be online, discussing the threat that hung over them all or actively avoiding discussing it, and then they would never sign back on again. With a speed that terrified her, the majority of the friends Janiri had made went silent. Within three months she heard the news that she had been dreading. The Reapers were heading for Thessia.

The planetary defenses of Thessia would slow them down, but not stop them completely. Everyone knew that. If Palaven was being ravaged right now, what hope did Thessia's weaker defenses have of stopping them at all? The asari government reacted by consolidating all their forces onto major population centers. This meant even their small work farm had its numbers of guards cut drastically down. Where there was once dozens of guards to watch over them, now there was only Zandra and one other. Even the Warden had been recalled to the main cities. They were obviously banking on the idea that Janiri and her fellows would continue to be docile.

After a few days of reading reports of the Reapers' relentless advance towards Thessia, Janiri came to a decision. She wasn't going to die on this pitiful excuse for a farm. She wasn't going to die for a government that had imprisoned her for no other crime than being born. She was going to escape. Or at least try. Zandra would probably kill her without breaking a sweat, if she was being honest with herself. But better that than waiting for the Reapers to find her and turn her into a monster. She had seen enough videos of them swarming over defenses and dragging prisoners away to be converted to convince her of that.

So when the next morning arrived, and she was tasked with moving the Yevan with the stun net incase she was charged, she stopped what she was doing. This attracted Zandra's attention, obviously and the guard began to yell at Janiri. Janiri couldn't hear her. Her heart was pounding and the her hands were gripped white knuckled around the stun net. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what she had planned to do. All she could focus on was that disciple in Zandra's hands, held loosely as the annoyed guard came closer.

Without even thinking, Janiri aimed and fired the stun net at Zandra. Caught by surprise, the guard didn't even have time to react and went down with a thud. Janiri dropped the stun net and flailed, simultaneously reaching out to take back the net she had just fired and cringing away from the sight. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She blurted out, quickly going to Zandra's side and looking around. The other guard was out in the fields with the other Ardat-Yakshi, so they were alone. Zandra was out cold, and Janiri acted fast. She started going through Zandra's pockets, pulling out a thousand credits. "Why do you have so much money? How do you have so much money?"She was speaking aloud, partially out of the novelty of being able to do it out here and partially cause she was on the verge of having a panic attack. Having found all that she needed, Zandra grabbed the disciple (despite not having any idea at all of how to use it) and ran for the fences.

The disciple made short work of the lock on the gate, and then she was sprinting in the direction she had seen the ships come from. That week was mostly a blur of unreasonable fear that the asari government would spare the resources to track her down, exhaustion, and a need to constantly move. She immediately wept when she saw the city in the distance, and stumbled into its streets. She needed to get off planet, and fast. There had to be someone who would be willing to take her away from Thessia, no questions asked.

After a few hours, Janiri found herself in a seedy bar with an Eclipse recruiter calling out that Aria T'Loak was taking the fight to the Reapers across the galaxy and they were looking for people who wanted good pay and training to do so. No questions would be asked. Janiri leapt at the opportunity, and found herself on a ship leaving Thessia. She held her breath as the passed by the blockades, but apparently the government was too concerned with the impending genocidal invasion force to worry about her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The Eclipse shipped her to a very quick three weeks of training. At her request the Eclipse doctor removed the asari government chip from the base of her neck. He didn't believe her when she told him that it was a slaver chip that she wanted removed, but 1000 credits made him not care. When she awoke from the anesthesia, she had a scar on her neck and he assured her that it was gone. She was given no time to rest, given the dire nature of the war, and sent back immediately into training.

She picked up the basics of how to hold a gun and not shoot herself during their training, and then was sent to the coalition against the Reapers under the command of a salarian named Zevroth. They were to resist Reaper occupation, extract high value targets, and in general bring the fight to the enemy while Shepard and his crew figured out how to win the war. Her squad was small, no more than five members including herself and Zevroth, but she liked them. They didn't demand her silence, or look at her with contempt. All they wanted was for her to do her job, and that was something she could do. She didn't grow close to any of them, but she was more than thrilled with being able to simply talk to them.

The next two months almost made Janiri regret leaving Thessia. Prayers were seemingly endlessly falling from her lips as she fought against the Reapers. She had already known what they were like, having seen many of the hundreds of videos that popped up across the extranet. But it was one thing to see it and quite another to experience it. The only thing that kept her from freezing up and dying was the harsh voice of Zevroth in her ear, ordering her to move and to act. Seventy years of obeying whatever she was told to do kicked in, and she acted instinctively to do whatever he ordered. During the few moments of respite, he would often comment that she would have been the perfect soldier if she had had any biotic talent. Janiri kept silent and bore the dismissive comments, burning with shame.

When the Citadel was taken (a shock, as Janiri had been convinced it was impenetrable) they received new orders. They were to join the Hammer arm of the coalition and help fight a path through Reaper ground forces on earth so that Shepard could end the war for good.

The fighting was the most brutal she had so far experienced. The landing alone was nerve-wracking, with ships from Hammer being shot out of the sky around them, a constant litany of prayers being uttered by Janiri as they entered the atmosphere. She doesn't remember much of the fighting itself, just an exhausting blur of gunfire, working on mechs to keep them upright, and using what abilities she had over and over again in a desperate attempt to keep their position from being overrun like so many others were. It seemed like the Reapers had brought every monster in the galaxy to earth for this final confrontation.

She does remember one thing with clarity, they were pushing forward to help an asari commando squad that had gotten pinned down. Between the two of them they managed to eliminate the Reaper forces in the area and gain a brief breather. As she was resting, about to pull her helmet off to get some air, Janiri caught sight of the commander that was talking to Zevroth. It was Zandra, who had apparently survived Thessia. Janiri slammed her helmet back on and busied herself with trying to fix the broken bodies of the assault drones around them. Despite her absolute certainty that Zandra had seen her, the asari commando squad left without a word and Zevroth ordered them back into the fray.

When the Crucible was activated, Janiri was exhausted. Her avenger was jammed, her disciple was out of ammo, and every drone she had repaired had been destroyed. She and her squad were pinned in a building, a horde of husks tearing down the barricades they had set up. The crucible firing convinced her that the space battle had been lost, and the Reapers were destroying the ground forces with their ships. As she waited for the blast to reach them, she closed her eyes and muttered a prayer to Piares to guide her safely to the afterlife.

Only that never happened. When Janiri opened her eyes, the Reaper forces around them were all dead. The war was over.

The very same night, Janiri abandoned her squad. She didn't know what was going to happen next, but she was more than happy to stay on earth and help with the rebuilding efforts and start her own farm. It would be peaceful, quiet, and far away from the asari government. She didn't want to fight for the Eclipse, now that they were certainly going to go back to being a criminal organization.

Things didn't play out the way she had hoped over the next month. While she was able to find human survivors in the rural areas and send them to the refugee camps to begin rebuilding, the Eclipse and the asari forces didn't leave like she had hoped. In fact, no one could leave. The Mass effect relays were destroyed. Eager to keep on the move and not attract any attention from what was effectively the local asari government, Janiri leapt at the Sol Restoration Network's offer.

Anything to keep her moving.

Timid: After 70 years of not being allowed to do anything without permission and oversight, and often being rejected out of hand, Janiri struggles immensely to even assert herself, much less stand her ground against others who disagree with her (even if she knows she's right) and voice her opinion. Often times she'll simply go along with whatever she's been told out of sheer habit.

Naïve: Janiri has spent the majority of her life either in a small, tight knit, community or in a forced seclusion with a constant watcher on her. Her experience with the real universe is negligible. Her experience with people who will lie or manipulate her is even less. It isn't difficult to convince of her of something, as her experience people are upfront and honest, even if they're mean. This also means she has no experience lying. She's essentially an open book, whether she wants to be or not. Throw in the fact that she's had next to no interactions that were in person for decades (and even less positive interactions) and she's easily fooled and trusting.

Untrained: Janiri is not a fighter. She has received very basic training from the Eclipse organization, but she still finds herself freezing in terror. She is an okay shot in the best of situations, and would much prefer to be in the back of the fight providing support. She relies heavily on her tech, Kuri, and allies to make up for this.

Ardat-Yakshi: Janiri is a Demon of the Night Winds. She can never meld with anyone, lest she ravage their nervous system. Should she ever be found out by any asari, it is almost certain that they will never trust her again and may even try to kill her. Any non-asari who find out are likely to view her as a threat once they are informed what an Ardat-Yakshi is. As such, Janiri does her best to keep this a secret.

Weak Biotic: Despite being an Ardat-Yakshi, or perhaps because of it, Janiri is a weaker biotic than the majority of asari. Even if she develops her talents, its unlikely that she'll be able to even develop more than one skill.

Tech Armor
Overload
Damping
Submission Net (her farm net from Thessia)

Accomplishments: Participation in the Reaper war, Liberation of Earth.

Crimes: Being an Ardat-Yakshi, she is technically a fugitive of the asari government.

Eclipse deserter.

Zevroth: Her salarian Eclipse captain.

Zandra: Her asari overseer on Thessia.

Shala, Tazun, and Mark: Her asari, salarian, and human eclipse squad mates respectively.

An impressively statured krogan, Karnoc is a powerful figure of above-average proportions and mass that serve him well as a shock trooper, physically dominating the battlefield and an absolute nightmare in close-quarters fighting. Other than his heavily-muscled frame and towering stature, he has a tan hide and dark grey crest that tapers off to a yellow. Under his crest a pair of piercing amber eyes that always seem to be darting about, looking for threats and challenges. No obvious scarring or markings are present in his frame due to the regeneration factor present with krogan.

Karnoc makes no effort to be subtle or subdued, he is a presence to be known wherever go goes. Heavy footfalls, a confident and boisterous attitude, and a ferocious determination make him impossible to miss, although behind the explosive exterior is a quick-thinking and introspective mind that has served him and his comrades well through a lifetime of war.

Karnoc is motivated by a sense of pride in krogan potential and overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles to better himself and his species. He sees the trials and challenges that himself and the krogan face as yet another Rite to overcome, and the difference between simply being born and overcoming the genophage and giant monsters is a trivial distinction; it proves an individual’s worth.

Karnoc believes in what the krogan are capable of under the guidance and leadership of krogan who have their best interests at heart and he believes for the krogan to thrive, they need to rise up to be equals to other species in the galaxy. To him, the genophage and the Krogan Rebellions were the result of his people being “uplifted” by manipulative aliens who never understood what they were dealing with and weaponized a people who were still struggling to find their own path. The Reaper War was a chance to kill off old grudges and bad blood and forge a new path for all people, and it is his determination to see that the krogan don’t make the same mistakes as before while ensuring that others learn to treat them with understanding and respect, or history will repeat itself in a galaxy that will not be ready for the repercussions.

Within a clutch of krogan eggs, the viability of a live-birth is exceptionally low; only about 1 in 2,000 eggs will hatch, and for a mother who had tried for years to produce an offspring, her fortunes finally changed. Among the dozen or so eggs in her latest clutch, one began to stir. With hopeful eyes upon it, a pair of amber eyes matching the mother broke free of its confinement, and the infant boy had passed his first Rite of Passage; the Rite of Life. His mother picked him up from the dead and invalid remains encased in the tombs of their shells, never to know Tuchanka’s sun and hardships. The first word he ever heard would be his name; Karnoc.

The young krogan was immediately thrust into a world where violence and survival were a way of life. Tuchanka was a planet scorched by nuclear hellfire, any signs of vegetation or peace were fleeting, but Karnoc was raised to know that his people were warriors, survivors, and that life was a constant hardship that you had to rise against. Those who withstood the challenges survived and became powerful, and those who did not perished. It was a fatalistic outlook shared by all krogan that reflected that they were a people on the decline; the krogan would be a brilliant flash of light before succumbing to the dark the way they were going, but none seemed willing to change their trajectory. Karnoc certainly wasn’t; all that mattered to him was bettering himself and focusing on each day’s trials than some lofty impossible dream of the future. After all, he had a Rite of Passage to survive.

Having assembled a krantt of trusted comrades who were also seeking to undergo their own Rite of Passage for Clan Urdnot, Karnoc prepared for a battle of proportions he could have scarcely prepared for. A thresher maw was a colossal creature capable of pulling a tomkah armoured fighting vehicle under the surface, quite a far cry from battling packs of varren or the klixen hordes that dotted Tuchanka’s landscape, and the Rite of Passage demanded a krogan survive five minutes battling the beast. It was the fight of a lifetime, fending off beasts attracted by the mechanical percussion of pistons that served to agitate and draw in a thresher maw, and when Karnoc was becoming convinced that it wasn’t going to show, it burst from the ground before him, taking a pair of varren that threatened to overwhelm him.

Bellowing a defiant war cry, the krantt unleashed hell into the serpent-liked monstrosity, visceral chunks of flesh and fluid being ripped from its massive frame with high-caliber munitions… for all the good it did. No matter how many shotguns were shot to overheating, how many heavy rifles began to misfire from near-constant fire, no matter how many grenades were tossed at the thresher maw, it barely seemed to notice the harm inflicted on it and by the time the Ritesmaster called the krogan off from the proving grounds, it felt like they had barely escaped with their lives. However, with damaged equipment and an assortment of wounds, including a mangled arm from a varren that had latched onto Karnoc while he was trying to fix a malfunction with his shotgun, the four krogan in the krantt emerged victorious as new members of Clan Urdnot. Fashioning the varren’s fangs into a necklace and painting his armour with paint mixed with the blood of the thresher maw that had covered Karnoc, the newly blooded warrior kept with him reminders of what he had risen above and what he would have to face.

It wasn’t long after that Karnoc found himself pulled into the mercenary life, following an Urdnot Battlemaster named Urgar who was looking for warriors to earn credits and infamy for their clan that simply wasn’t going to happen fighting other krogan clans. “Keep hitting a blade against a rock and it dulls, keep at it and it breaks. We krogan have broken so many blades on each other; we’re better than that.” Urgar explained. It resonated with Karnoc; despite his belief that right made right, it was impossible not to look upon the ruins on Tuchanka and diminishing numbers of their species with distain. The krogan had been heroes once upon a time to the galaxy, and instead of overcoming adversity, allowed themselves to grow into weak and squabbling savages on a dying world that seemed incapable of healing.

While most krogan perhaps rightfully held deep seated animosity towards the salarians and turians for their role in the genophage, Karnoc held a somewhat more philosophical view towards it; was it not just another Rite that the krogan had to pass? Nothing in life was meant to be easy; everything needed to be a challenge to overcome. Being a sole survivor of a clutch of eggs or undergoing any other rite was a dangerous and often fatal experience. Did the shamans of the tribes not subject themselves to physical and mental trials that pushed them to their very limits to earn their right to be the clans’ spiritual leaders? Karnoc saw no glory or purpose in spilling the blood of other krogan for scraps. To him, fighting alongside a krantt to defeat an enemy was an honour. His Rite of Passage would have been impossible to survive alone, and the deafening silence of his unborn brothers and sisters never was far from his mind. When the krogan fought the rachni, they were heroes that the galaxy heralded. Too many krogan brooded over what was done to the species instead of uniting to overcome it and their enemies.

Karnoc would be better. It was time for the ideas of the old battlemasters to die with their stubbornness; he would lead by example.
For decades, Karnoc fought in Urgar’s mercenary band, even being named to Urgar’s personal krantt. The band fought pirates and slavers, protected fringe colonies, protected VIPs, and clashed with other mercenary bands. For each new enemy faced, Karnoc went through a Rite of Firsts, and he would incorporate a part of that enemy into his armour or weapons, adding beasts’ teeth and claws to his necklace, welding dog tags to his pauldrons, and the like. If a better piece of technology came into his possession, he would incorporate it into his equipment, although his krogan-manufactured firearms still were his primary weapons. Over the years, Karnoc had begun to earn a reputation distinct from Urgar, he was seen as a reliable and honourable warrior, albeit one capable of shocking brutality if need be.

When humanity was discovered in 2157CE, Karnoc recalled he was in a bar on a station out in volus space that seemed positively abuzz with equal parts fear and excitement about the new first contact in centuries that their turian benefactors were off to war with. Although, “war” seemed to be an overly generous way to describe the conflict; Karnoc felt like he barely had time to finish one of several rounds of drinks before the ceasefire was called, although it was in reality a conflict that lasted about a month. Certainly not enough time to get riled up over, let alone travel the expanse of space to go take part in. Karnoc watched humanity’s rapid progression with equal parts interest and envy; they were the Citadel’s new favorite pets that would be tossed down like the krogan when their ambition outran their rope. When tensions flared between humans and batarians, Karnoc watched on as the batarians whined and left the Citadel and subsequently attacked human colonies, only serving to further humanity’s interests. They were an interesting people; they seemed to have a knack of knowing when to push and when to restrain themselves to their benefit. The krogan could have learned a thing or two from humanity following the Rachni Wars, Karnoc decided. Restraint was something krogan lacked, and clearly foresight.

And besides, the humans seemed to really annoy the turians. That was reason enough to like them.

After the geth attack on the Citadel, Karnoc found a newfound purpose in the form of Urdnot Wrex leading the clan. He spoke of reconciliation and alliances with the various krogan clans, focusing on strengthening the species and actually doing something about managing the genophage. Karnoc returned to Tuchanka and pledged himself to Wrex’s reforms, enforcing them with force when need be.

It wasn’t long after that the Reaper invasion took the galaxy by storm and for Karnoc, it felt like it was the ultimate Rite that had no name; this war would determine the fate of every single living soul in the galaxy. It felt like that old blood feuds were largely forgotten in the face of the unfathomable foe they faced. When Karnoc heard that turians would be coming into an alliance with the krogan in exchange for a cure for the genophage, brokered by Commander Shepard, the Primarch of Palavan, and Urdnot Wrex himself, he was skeptical at best, and he’d believe it when he seen it.

Perhaps it was seeing turian fighters in the skies above Tuchanka raining munitions into towering Reaper monstrosities that began to give Karnoc pause, at least enough to lead search parties to rescue downed pilots from Reapers. Perhaps it was seeing Kalros take down a Reaper using the same sorts of pistons that drew his own thresher maw during his Rite of Passage that suggested that unity was possible. However, it was when the cure for the genophage emerged from the Shroud, a climate control tower, that Karnoc felt something that the krogan were missing as a people long before even his ancestors walked Tuchanka’s surface; hope. The horrors of the genophage was undone, and its perpetrators atoned for it. Karnoc had survived what he would call the Rite of Redemption. With renewed vigor and determination, Karnoc was among the first of the krogan to step foot on Palavan to fight alongside the turians against the Reapers, an alliance that proved to be surprisingly effective.

Even Karnoc had to admit that it was preferable to not have experienced what it was like on the receiving end of turian firepower like his ancestors had during the Krogan Rebellions, and he admired their discipline and courage to face overwhelming odds with superior training and tactics that never waned even as entire units were wiped out. The turians never complained that their homeworld was being destroyed; it was simply another war to fight no matter the cost. This commitment to total war and unshakable resolve endeared the turians to Karnoc, and he even befriended a young Lieutenant named Regalus over the course of the war, saving one another’s lives on a number of occasions and taking a genuine interest in each other’s lives and dreams. It was perhaps the first time Karnoc had befriended a member of another species, and was able to see the person despite all of that.

As the war raged on and losses mounted, Karnoc found pride in this galactic coalition. Krogan were honoured companions in battles, and they were becoming the heroes they were in the Rachni Wars in the galaxy’s eyes. As the war came to its conclusion on Earth, Karnoc landed upon the human homeworld as a liberator, not as a conqueror and crushed Reaper forces with his new krantt. As the Crucible fired and the Reapers crumbled before his eyes, Karnoc felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. The greatest enemy the krogan had ever faced had been vanquished and under Urdnot Wrex’s leadership, the krogan had reclaimed their place as galactic saviours and heroes. Only one problem remained, however.

How the hell was he getting back home?

Fear of Heights
Susceptible to Biotics
Stealth is “optional”

Fortification
Adrenalin Rush
Ballistic Blades
Incendiary Ammo
Concussive Shot

Rite of Life
Several Rite of Firsts
Rite of Redemption
Liberation of Palaven
Liberation of Earth

Decades of mercenary work, sometimes falling on the side of what would be considered illegal in Citadel space.

Urdnot Wrex, Clan Leader
Urdnot Urgar, Former Krantt Leader
Lt Regalus, Turian Comrade

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)

Kysar is wide for a Turian. Broad shouldered and heavy set with muscles, he is a bit of a daunting figure to look at. His bone white face tattoos only serve to compound that intimidating presence. Tattooed lovingly by humans during his time in Purgatory Prison, Kysar sees them as a spit in the face to all whoever called him barefaced. His mandibles fall long, and his razor-sharp spikes cut the air at the turn of a head. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, are capable of boring holes into even the thickest of Krogan heads. A detail the female of his species are often quick to remind him of, as they faun over the Turian. Despite not being there for long, Kysar has proved to be popular with the ladies around camp. Easy on the eyes and a bit of a mean streak, he’s the type of Turian you want to bring home if you want to piss off your Dad.

As with most Turians, Kysar’s posture has been built by the military. Unrelenting in his stance, the Turian moves with powerful strides and can stand still for hours on end. During combat, he glides over terrain without so much as a peep, striking with absolute precision. The armour given to him is state of the art. Despite being a criminal and part of a suicide squad, Turians are still a practical bunch. They do want the mission to be successful and so, outfit Kysar with some serious gear. Made to measure, the medium plated armour is cybernetic in appearance (only), offering as much protection as possible without hindering stealth or power capabilities. Kysar was also lucky enough to choose the decal finish of his suit, specifically requesting that ‘the carpet matched the drapes’.

Life is hard, it’s the thing that kills you and boy howdy has it tried to kill Kysar. The Turian can scarcely remember a time when something or someone wasn’t at his throat. It’s only of late that he’s started to feel a lot better about that fact. Watching the galaxy gasp for air while being relentlessly assaulted has got him believing that maybe the humans were right, Karma really is a thing. Sarcastic, dry and quick witted, it’s hard to catch Kysar off guard when it comes to slights, usually beating those around him to the punch with some type of asshole-ish one liner. Surprisingly the guy isn’t winning any popularity contests and is a bit of a loner.

Kysar also feels no particular way when it comes to killing. He’s killed a lot of men in his time, some good, some bad, some that just needed killing. He can be both ruthless and ruthlessly efficient. He even sees the Turians current predicament as nothing to fret over. Sure, try to survive but if they didn’t and every Turian starved to death, then it was in service to the galaxy. As such, he offers no respite for their position and freely will tell people of it.

Though he still backs the Hierarchy, even he’s unsure why. Maybe it’s to prove them wrong, maybe it’s the memory of his father or the love he has for his mother, or maybe he just doesn’t see an alternative, until Sarah. Saving that woman and her family has got the Turian thinking for the first time in his life; it’s even kept him up at night once or twice. It’s possible that his mum was right and there’s more to life than being a cog in the machine or a lacky for the government. Perhaps love does exist and it’s worth the trouble. Maybe it’s high time to see one last mission through and get off this rock to find something worth having. Maybe.

Kysar tolerates the name barefaced from the higher ups in the Hierarchy but he is unafraid to challenge anyone else. This, however, leaves him with a weakness to name calling and can be exploited. The flaw has gotten into trouble many times, with some of those times ending with him getting his ass-kicked for messing with the wrong crowd. When it comes to other species finding out and mentioning the name, the Turian is somehow even less kind. Willing to kill for the mere mention of it.

Though he serves the Hierarchy loyally and has shown to be so on many occasions, he’s still knows that he can never truly live a peaceful life among Turian society. This gives way to a deep seeded fear of loneliness. Listening to his mother’s stories of her and his father as a boy has left him wanting. While he has done his best to quash these feelings, they still linger somewhere deep down inside. He is afraid he’ll never experience love because of who he was born as. He is also susceptible to children, finding himself unable to say no and instantly throwing all thought of self-preservation out the window to protect them. Initially he believed it to just be Turian children but given what happened with Sarah and the kids, he now knows better.

- Armour Piercing Ammo speciality
- Lift grenades
- Slam
- Overload

Purgatory Rap Sheet

- Numerous Accounts of Treason
- Numerous Accounts of Smuggling
- Numerous Accounts of Sale of Illegal Goods
- Numerous Accounts of Grand Larceny
- 1 Count of 1st Degree Murder
- 1 Count of Murder of a Military Official
- Numerous Accounts of Assault
- Numerous Accounts of Manslaughter
- Numerous Accounts of 2nd Degree Murder

War Accolades

- Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Manae x2
- Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Aephus
- Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of London, Earth

- General Invectus - Alive
- Atticus Basilic, ETIS Squadmate - MIA
- Refugee Sarah Parker - Alive
- Refugee Wendy Parker - Alive
- Refugee Matthew Parker - Alive
- Savita Proctus - Status Unknown

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)

The young Asari commando has feminine facial features, with high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes are a striking shade, near violet in their coloration. This gives Keslia an especially piercing gaze. She has a set of red facial markings above her eyes and dotting the sides of her head. Her figure is sleek and slim, more akin to a runner's body than a weight lifter's. She does have wiry muscle definition from constant exercise and field combat. Her bust is on the smaller side, while her hips are somewhat shapely. She's lacking in any scarring on her face, though on her body is a different tale. Several scars mark her complexion, mostly notably several healed cuts on her right ribcage and left shoulder. Another distinguishable mark is a healed burn wound above her left breast. She possesses no tattoos or piercings.

Keslia is a survivor, like many on the battlefields across the galaxy she has seen the true horrors of war. Her homeworld demolished and obliterated, family slaughtered, friends cut down before her eyes and her people turned into Reaper engineered freaks. She is often haunted by recent visions of the war, insomnia a too frequent enemy for the young Asari. As she is often unable to fall asleep at night due to haunting night terrors of the battles lost. Its evident by peering into her eyes that she is tormented by the past, as many are, but her own internal conflicts strike painfully deep. She does not speak of the things that haunt her, keeping it pent up out of fear of being judged or seen as weak. In her worst moments thoughts of self destruction ripple their way into her thoughts, beckoning to take her own life and end the internal suffering that refuses to leave her. She does her best to beat back all of this spiraling negativity with some hope for the future, but with the current state of life around her she is beginning to question if such hope is even worth keeping.

Her exterior is cold and unflinching, another bit brought on by the demons which haunt her inside. She rarely begins conversations, nor answers anything beyond the most simple, concise of wordings. Keslia finds herself shorter tempered than before, if met with idiocy or incompetence its not beyond her to lash out in frustration. Inner pressures boiling over. Though most the time she is more unemotional than anything else, finding it difficult to put much care in many things in her life. She rarely smiles or laughs, but when she does its very noticeable. The biotic flinches and cringes at physical touch, often keeping her space more evident from people than others. In social situations she'll often push to withdraw herself from them. She is not a cruel person though, simply so battered by horrors that they've essentially broken her. She does hold care in her heart for others, but most of those she cared for are either dead or missing from her life. She has a soft spot for children in her heart, as well as animals. Lia has been so stricken by tragedy that she finds it incredibly difficult to even think of opening up to others, or trying to trust people. She'd be endlessly terrified they too would die or disappear, then blame herself.

The Asari is chiefly motivated by returning to her homeworld and helping her people. If it were her choice the most important decision would be to fix the relays, allowing her and her people to return home as well as the other races. Keslia holds little regard for Earth, and little care for the Citadel. She never spent much time on the space station and sees the human homeworld as utterly alien and primitive compared to Thessia.

Keslia was born on the Asari homeworld of Thessia, the youngest of three sisters. Her father was Deius Fauslius, a proud Turian soldier. Her mother, Miarlia was a nurse when she met Deius. The two settled down together on Thessia and had three children, Riena, Vaedra and Keslia. Lia's childhood was not that out of the ordinary from other Asari, her family was comfortably middle class and she was a shy, but sweet young girl. Her father was a strict, but caring parent to his and Miarlia's daughters. A fiesty, devoted warrior in his younger years this seemed to rub off more on Keslia's two older sisters than the youngest child. Nevertheless he never lacked in showering Keslia with fatherly love. Lia would have never guessed she would end up one day taking up arms like her father did in his youth. Her mind seemed to be shifted towards a more peaceful future. Deius would pass away peacefully while Keslia was in her sixties, the tough Turian given a proper military funeral. Their father's passing would affect each of the daughters deeply, and be the catalyst for Keslia's decision to become an Asari commando, to make her father proud from beyond the grave. A shocking decision to her family considering her docile nature.

Still early in her maidenhood the young Lia was thrown into a new world of intense Asari military life. To become a proficient commando an Asari has to dedicate decades to training both the mind and body. She was separated from her family for twenty five years, a microcosm in the long lived race's lifespan but still a difficult adjustment. Nevertheless Keslia refused to show any weakness or allow herself to fail, even as she screamed at endlessly and run until she collapsed on the ground in a heap. She had dedicated herself to this, to making her father proud and continuing the proud military legacy which he'd always spoken so fondly of. She was molded from a gentle minded young lady into a fearsome warrior, devoting countless hours to perfecting the Asari martial arts and her biotic powers. Keslia was not the most physically imposing fighter, so extra emphasis was placed on her biotics. She couldn't blast enemies away with a shotgun but she could send them flying with her powers.

Once her training was deemed complete and Keslia passed the rigorous testing she was officially deemed worthy of bearing the title of Asari commando. Now a changed woman, she felt an intense wave of accomplishment overflowing her. Lia could feel her father smiling down upon her, but her duty had only just begun. She would then be sent right into field work, paired with a small group of four other commandos serving the Asari Republics. Her early combat operations often pit her against the truly vile scum of the galaxy such as slavers, raiders and terrorists. Field work was a far cry from the intense training but she fought with sheer determination. Her squadmates became like family to her, as they often tackled intensely complex situation which threw them against larger forces. The backbone of the Asari commandos was guerilla warfare, highly detailed tactics which allowed them to take down greater numbers with precision. For decades she did this in various worlds across the galaxy, striking against the wretched wherever command sent them. When one of Lia's fellow huntresses fell in battle she let herself cry for the first time since her father's death, as the wave of emotion overcame her and shook her to the core she only came out with deeper resolve.

The Reaper War is when things once more changed for the hardened commando. The rogue spectre Saren's betrayal sent shockwaves through the galaxy, as did his assault on the Citadel. The revered Asari Matriarch Benezia aligning herself with the turian sent further rattles through the Asari Republic. Keslia's unit had been far from the Citadel when the conflict occured, still focused on wiping out criminal forces which stood against the Asari. As the Reapers arrived to the galaxy her squad's missions changed drastically. The Reapers were a foe unlike any other opponent in the galaxy. The towering war machines which could obliterate entire cities and take on entire fleets, the sound of their laser cannons firing echoing within her mind on repeat. Even more terrifying may have been their reanimated ground forces which required a far different approach than a 'living' target. The twisted, horrific monstrosities were far more frightening to face down than any outlaw in past operations. Keslia and her commando unit were recalled to Thessia, a particularly personal mission for many Asari as their home planet was besieged by the Reaper forces.

The image of the landscape of her homeworld forever changed by the Reaper onslaught was burnt into her brain. Once towering skyscrapers brought to the ground in rubble, corpses lining seemingly every inch of the city streets, the forests and plains ablaze in flames as the horrifying machines assault did not spare those on the outskirts. It became near impossible for Keslia to even sleep, shaken awake with night terrors as the war invaded her subconscious. For some time her squad operated on the besieged world, often disconnected from the broader Asari military as they executed hit and run missions against the enemy forces. These included raids on Reaper processing centers, where civilians were detained before horrifically turned into husks. No matter how many of these operations here team undertook they never seemed to be doing enough.

The Reapers were unlike any enemy, their ground forces did not require sleep or eating, they had no concern for their own safety and were unaffected by mounting allied loses. They simply marched on forward slaughtering any who came in their path. She'd witnessed horrors which only seemed to grow worse with each passing day. If not for her intense training and psychological condition it was certain she would have broken and given up all hope of fighting the foe. Her squad's tactics grew more desperate, often resulting in explosive assaults. Her 'sisters' fell more and more around her, new faces rotated in often did not last long either. The entire conflict was only the start of Keslia's internal terrors.

During her time in this battle she had received little information regarding the whereabouts of her mother and two older sisters. The Reapers were eerily effective at cutting off communications and tearing apart families. Though Keslia did later receive word that her mother and Vaedra were slain by Reaper forces, her older sister trying to protect their mother as the enemy chased them through the streets. These two deaths simply piled on the harrowing depression ripping at Keslia's soul. She'd lost so many friends and family that she'd started to become numb to it all. Meanwhile, the whereabouts of her eldest sister, Riena were still unknown. Riena had gone on to become a doctor, likely on an Asari world somewhere helping the injured, beaten masses. She made a vow to link back up with her, when this war ended. Though she questioned if it truly ever would end or if she would survive long enough to witness an end.

As the situation on Thessia grew more and more hopeless Keslia and her team were pulled from the Asari homeworld. Much to the dismay of her and her fellow commandos. They wanted to keep fighting to save their home, instead their focus shifted towards the human homeworld of Earth, the unlikely center of the war. Word spread of the Crucible's creation, a tool which was said to defeat the Reapers and bring an end to the galaxy spanning conflict. Lia truthfully believed such a thing was impossible, so beaten and bruised by it all. Her squad's focus on Earth was similar to that on Thessia, guerilla operations against Reaper held centers. She held no care for the human homeworld yet fought without question in hopes of ending the war.

Upon the Crucible's activation the Asari huntress found herself stranded in the Sol system alongside many of her kind. The relay had been severely damaged by the firing of the Crucible. They were essentially stuck on the devastated human homeworld, refugees of the final battle of the war. She has spent much of the month since then trying to collect her mind and compose her frantic, fleeting sanity. A wave of relief had overcome her when the war finally ended, but an even more intense wave of unknowing concern had rippled through her. She had no way to return home.

Keslia is a distinguished Asari commando, having served in this capacity for several decades. She has a very long list of successful operations and missions against different enemy forces. Her most distinguishing efforts being her actions taken against rogue terrorist groups, planetary raiders, intergalactic criminals and slaver bands. The exact details of these pre-Reaper war operations are frequently classified. Her fierce efforts during the Reaper war are also of note, taking part in strike operations against Reaper forces on numerous occasions.

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)

Tall, sturdy, and cybernetically-enhanced, Sig is built to take as much of a beating as he can deliver. His face has been smashed apart and reconstructed half a dozen times, and even the best docs would struggle to work with the surviving material. Heavily scarred and bruised original tissue stands out next to off-color skin grafts. A crooked nose saddles between two glowing cybernetic eyes. To top it all off his hairline's already receding and going grey before he's even forty. And that's only what's immediately visible- just below the neck is a canvas of outdated prosthetics, old wounds and bad ink. In short: he's an ugly motherfucker.

He dresses as poorly as he looks, too, preferring ratty military surplus with all function and no form. The only decent piece in his collection is his armor, which he upkeeps according to company regulations just to avoid the fines.

The galaxy is not a gentle place. She is a harsh mistress whose whims can change as easily as the wind, so you'd best be sure to get everything you can out of her before she crushes you like the insignificant, up-jumped ape you are. Beauty comes as easily to her as brutality. She can give you decades of friendship and companionship only to suddenly rip it away and never give you a chance to say goodbye. Don't count on any kind of cosmic power to be on your side- nothing happens for a reason, its all just chaos and carnage and a mad dash for any kind of satisfaction before the end.

Bauer learned a long time ago to take as much as he could out of life. Never a second to be wasted, though being wasted certainly wasn't a waste. He was always on the move, coming into people's lives like a hurricane and leaving once he'd gotten all he could out of them. Life was fast. Life was brutal. There was never time to slow down and reflect, never a moment to settle down and just enjoy someone's company- there was always something he was meant to be doing. Anybody who tried to stop him, tried to take the choice away from him, was met with either a lifetime of resentment- for those too far away or too abstract- or a slug round to the chest- for everyone else.

He got good at finding humor in everything. Laughter helped him process all the horrible shit he was doing and seeing. Kept it all at arms length, like he was watching a surreal comedy that looked a lot like his own life yet certainly wasn't.

The war gave Bauer something he'd never had: perspective. For his whole life he'd only ever looked out for himself. After all, nobody else was going to. He'd only ever been a tool to be used and discarded or a rival to be put in the dirt; why would he treat anyone else any different? People were selfish. They were cruel. Then came the war, and he saw some of the worst scum in the galaxy pulling families from collapsed building, patching up injured old men and comforting frightened children. Fragile as people turned out to be, wicked as they could be, they were capable of tremendous good, too. The road to atonement was long and steep, but it was climb he was willing to undertake.

John Siegfried Bauer was the second child of John and Ariel Bauer, a pair of starship maintenance technicians employed at one of the largest space ports in Europe. An engine leak at the maintenance depot exposed Ariel and her unborn child to Element Zero, resulting in two things: John Jr developing biotic abilities as a pre-teen, and Ariel contracting terminal cancer. Her death broke her husband, leaving him all-too vulnerable when agents of Conatix Industries showed up at his door 'requesting' to take his son away for his own safety. Dad had no fight left in him and let the boy go.

They carted him off to Gagarin Station, an isolated outpost at the edge of the Sol system, to participate in the 'BAaT' program: Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training. Or, as the kids liked to call it, Brain Camp. It was a cruel, grueling environment where children were treated as weapons to be honed rather than people. It broke many of them, even killed a few. Those that survived the ordeal would have to live with the unstable, pain-inducing implants the program had forced on them. Sig was only nineteen when BAaT shutdown. With no home worth going back to, he hitched a ride on the first boat out of system.

Fate found him wandering the stars not long after. A cargo freighter he was working on came under attack by Eclipse mercenaries. They boarded the vessel and made quick work of its security detail, rounding up its occupants in the lower holds until they identified their target. Sig made the stupid decision to attack them rather than go quietly, lashing out with biotic power and nearly blowing a hole in the side of the ship. That display of violence impressed the boarding party's leader, a human woman by the name of Captain Baines, enough to keep her from executing him; and instead she offered him a place on her crew. It meant a bunk of his own, warm food, a chance to earn some credits and a steady supply of punching bags to loose all that pent up anger on: Bauer never even considered saying no.

Eclipse wasted no time in molding him into their image. Their training was as brutal as BAaT's, putting him through every horrific test they could imagine. They pushed his biotics, his body and his mind to their absolute limit, and then kept pushing after that until Bauer broke. Then they'd take up those pieces and put him back together again, only to throw him through the wringer once more. Hard as it was, it didn't fill him with the same rage and hate that BAaT had- Eclipse was ruthless, but Bauer had chosen them. Joining that company was the first real choice he'd ever been given and he wasn't about to give up on it.

Sigma fought under Eclipse for the next eighteen years. They brought him all across the galaxy, from the Terminus Systems to the Attican Traverse and back again. He saw wonders beyond imagination, horrors beyond words: ancient Prothean artifacts stolen from researchers on Illium, his own near-death in the Skyllian Blitz, turian dignitaries kidnapped on the Citadel. Watched a sun burn itself out. He dueled Blood Pack krogan on distant moons. Honed his biotics with an asari matron in a hidden monastery. Salvaged usable parts from a graveyard of broken starships and floating bodies after a battle wiped out both sides. Won a bet that he could spend a night with every species in the galaxy. He took hits, stopped hits and paid for a few hits of his own.

It was a strange thing. On his own time he felt like an explorer. One of those adventuring types from old vids who delved into strange new places and saw things no other human being ever had. He experienced the incredible, witnessed acts of natural wonder so beautiful that he marveled at just their memory. Met people with gifts that inspired him to better himself. The galaxy was far bigger than the steel prisons that made up his youth back in the Sol system. In ways he was making up for lost time.

Yet when Sig was working he was barely awake. Mind was a blur. Fingers numb. Every battle he ever fought was a haze, distinct yet somehow all the same. It was like something else occupied his body when the time came. His limbs were not his own. His actions not his own. He saw cruelty beyond human reckoning. Pain given to the undeserving over a couple measly credits. Old friends indulging in their worst impulses. He was a gun and Eclipse was his wielder. Whatever was asked of him had to be done, for who knew a weapon that refused its owner? It was never his responsibility, no matter how gruesome or cruel it got. They had given Sig everything, he reasoned. He owed them his body, even if it damned his soul.

The Reapers changed all that. They descended on the Milky Way in a fury, butchering whole worlds. Countless people were lost in indiscriminate culling: not a single soul was spared. It was madness. He never understood the true depths of evil until he witnessed the desolation of the batarian colonies. Numerous mercenary companies were hired by what was left of the Hegemony to fill in for its decimated military: they performed everything from search and rescue to escort duty for refugees to emergency triage. They fought running battles against the advancing Reaper fleets, hoping to buy enough time for the colonies to evacuate as many people as they could. Sig could never put to words how those days changed him. He began to reflect.

Batarian civilization was shattered in less than a week. Eclipse retreated from their cluster, scattering to lick their wounds and decide what to do next. One truth became readily apparent: no one could sit out this fight; not Eclipse, and not Sig. His crew joined in on the massive, multi-species coalition set to fight the Reapers. He found himself shipped across the galaxy, fighting shoulder to shoulder with many of his worst enemies from his previous life. The war effort brought him back home. Besieged earth, having suffered long under Reaper occupation, would be the site of the final battle for the Milky Way.

Victory came at a high cost. Earth was in ruins, the survivors were divided and scattered, and loss of the relay had left the system totally isolated from outside help. Sig has spent the last month just trying to survive the harsh conditions, offering a helping hand wherever he could. The hope is to reconnect with the rest of the Eclipse on Earth and find out what their plan is, but thus far he's been unsuccessful.

It seems he's on his own again.

An overwhelming guilt complex
Suffers from biotic-induced night terrors and acute migraines
tech illiterate
poor people skills

Biotic Charge
Shockwave
Barrier
Warp

John Siegfried Bauer has been charged with numerous accounts of: piracy, smuggling, kidnapping, murder and operating a shuttle without a license. He is wanted across several jurisdictions. Sigma has a reputation in the underworld for shooting first and forgetting to ask questions; yet paradoxical to his brutality he's been known to reject contracts on 'moral grounds,' refusing to go after underage, unarmed or otherwise 'innocent' targets. Those that've mocked him for his supposed weakness have been met with a headbutt to the nose or worse.

Longtime member of Eclipse, a 'private security organization'
Subordinate to Captain Baines
Former BAaT student
Estranged son of John Bauer Sr

ur all stinky poopy haha

Solveig suffers quite terribly from what is known as "resting bitch face", meaning, that she is often found with a less than neutral, neutral expression. It's hardly lightened by the trademark sweeps of black eyeshadow and purple smudged waterline that frame her smoke-coloured eyes, always observing, always bright. Gaunt cheeks add to the sharp intensity to her face, and her pale, freckled skin speaks to her Scandinavian heritage.

Naturally blonde hair is turned black with dye, and worn unkempt in messy waves, and tightened into a braid across the side of her head, just above her ear - revealing heavy black and grey tattooing down her neck. The woman is tall and slender, standing at 5'7", taller still by a further 3 inches in the heavy heeled boots she opts to wear in her everyday activities.

When meeting Solveig, your eye may be persuaded at first by the arm. The silver cybernetic left arm. The alloy is shaped into prominent muscles. It doesn't quite suit the woman, and she regards it as an attached weapon, as opposed to a limb. Expertly crafted, and intimidating to look at for too long. What the arm has done...

What her appearance shows, betrays the nature she is desperately trying to unearth again - under her unintentional scowls, twitching nervousness, and shrinking posture is a warm personality, a kind heart, and a giving spirit - somewhere.

Solveig is a soldier, through and through. Motivated by justice, peace, and proving her worth. On the battlefield, her mindset is as solid as a rock and as sharp as a razor. To her, pain, stress, climate, and just about any situation can be survived and endured when victory is on the horizon, and victory is always glimmering on the horizon. There is always hope. She is incredible at her job, as an N7 Special Ops, she had to be.

Outside of the field, Solveig will over-analyse situations and holds an extremely critical eye on herself. Solveig will go through all possible elements of thinking before making a decision. One of those elements will be to consult her tarot deck, to literally look to the skies for an astrological reason. Perhaps, by looking up, she doesn't have to look ahead so much.

She is as supportive of people in her life as she can be from a distance. While near silent when in recreation, Solveig enjoys that silence, and her impressive skill affords her a break from the teasing for being so introspective. She is respected as she is, even if others do wonder who she really is.

Truthfully she cannot answer that question, she doesn’t know who she is either and so she is elusive when in personally confronting situations. She lacks the emotional intelligence her father was raising her to have, she oversteps boundaries socially because she does not know that they exist. She is awkward, impatient, tactless, and her energy can rub others the wrong way.

But she is trying, to be better.

Solveig was born as Leo lay to the east, and Libra to the west. She came into the world under the sign of Virgo as the last strokes of summer melted away in Vaxjo, Sweden.

Born to a soldier mother, and a spiritual father, she was to be raised in the centre of two ideals. Her mother, who knew the stars to simply be stars; and her father, who knew the stars to be the pathway of humanity's past, present, and future. Solveig was born, as her mother described "wrong". The left arm smaller than the right, fingers too small and too few. To her father, his daughter was born perfectly as she was meant to.

Solveig, it seemed, fell to the view of her father. Her arm was never something that held her back, and even as a toddler, she managed just fine. She was intuitive in the ways that she would get around situations that otherwise would prevent her from reaching her goal. She had the precision focus of her mother, and the faith in herself that her father continued to pour into her. She was an unstoppable and unruly child. He loved that about her.

At night they would discuss the stars, mythology, philosophy and the ways in which the Earth could heal us - old ways that were becoming lost as the future continued to usher in answers for everything.

At 12, her father sat with Solveig to give her first reading; pulling the cards that would mark their way for her future. In her mind, she focused on what she should do - and who she should become. Slowly, she picked her way through that old deck carefully.

The High Priestess - her divine feminine. The High Priestess was how she saw herself, intuitive and conscious, attuned to her destiny and only in need of a guide to carry her forward.

The Hanged Man stood before her as the blockage. He who represented victimisation and emotional blackmail. He who held out the expectations she had to adhere to. Her mother, the shadow, always at play in her mind.

For her future, she had pulled Death. That at some point, an abrupt ending would come, followed by rebirth.

For years, Death hovered in her mind. She was priming herself to her mother's wishes. To join the Alliance just like she had. Her quiet nature and intense focus had meshed well to the line of Infiltrator. This had been a surprise to her mother, who was a powerful Soldier of the front line. Unrelenting in combat, still, she was proud of her daughter and becoming more and more impressed with her growth - even with the disfigured arm. Still, she was growing impatient. A soldier's whole body had to be primed for battle. Solveig was imperfect, and so she got to work.

By the eve of Solveig's 20th birthday, her mother had finished. A true feat of technology in the form of a cybernetic prosthetic solution to her daughter's disability. All silver and rippling with metal corded muscle, emblazoned with the Systems Alliance insignia.

In an event entirely orchestrated by her mother, Solveig found herself manipulated onto the operating table - her father had been suspiciously sent away on other errands days prior. As she lay on the table, and looked up at the glass ceiling, she saw in her reflection the image of The Hanged Man. The last thing that she saw as she was anaesthetised was the image of the card that had always been blocking her. It was too late to fight back.

She dreamt of being the greatest sniper in the Alliance. Her mother had promised her that with the arm she would become an N7 one day, that she could bring justice to those who needed her.

When she woke up, everything felt wrong. Suddenly, there was something that was now a part of her that hadn’t been before - and what had been a part of her was gone. Long gone. It took her weeks to be able to move the fingers of the arm. It was alien to have five on one hand. More alien to have ten altogether. It started with wagging them, and letting her nerves connect to the technology. Her own mind, the biggest block.

Some nights, she would feel searing pain within the new limb - like her actual arm was trapped and encased inside, bleeding into the prosthesis. She would wake up screaming, clawing at the arm to free herself from it. Only then did she find out the strength of the thing when she punched a hole through the wall in desperate frustration. Worse yet, she was stuck there - bleeding inside and stuck. She was claustrophobic in her own skin.

It took months longer to get used to it. The coldness of it, the weight, the sensations. But she did. She channelled her focus, and with the help of her father and his spiritual support, she overcame the challenge. She grieved for the loss of her body, for the agency she had handed to her mother. Slowly but surely she began to work with the arm, and not against it. It wasn’t a part of her - but it was her tool - and it was making her a better soldier.

Her trigger finger was faster, more precise, and more deadly. She began to climb the ranks at an alarming rate - an N5 by the time she was 27 and credited with over 60 successful assassinations.

A lone ranger. A ghost story. The Wraith.

When a team of good men couldn’t bring down a ring of slavers. The Alliance would send in their bionic staring machine.

This track record of success kept her going through her career, further isolating her from any kind of social life. She became one of the Alliance’s greatest weapons, indoctrinated for the pursuit of violent honour. Point and shoot. Rinse and repeat. Solveig forgot what it was like to be home, to be calm, to be present. To look up to the stars.

The silence of being off-mission haunts her. She thinks of all that she has done, those she has killed, and when the wonder and curiosity of the why of human existence became replaced with such a hunger for justice at any cost, and why she was always starving for it, no matter her successes.

At her cousin’s wedding, she read the palm of his new wife in a perhaps completely overzealous and awkward fashion. She thought about it for months afterwards, a cold shudder of cringe gnawing at her when she did. She didn’t think about such things in the field. Her skin didn’t crawl when she was crouched in hiding, set to kill. Solveig went back into hiding.

Only when she is with her father can she fully relax. Only in his presence does her true nature present itself and almost as if it were never buried to begin with. In following Tarot reads, The High Priestess has never again shown herself to Solveig.

During the Reaper War, Solveig was recruited into the N7 Special Ops - finally realised the promise her mother had made to her, even if it wasn’t quite the way it had been intended. The promise felt… Shallow now, transparently insincere.

Even as the Reaper War ended, Solveig knew there was much to do, much to fix and mend, systems to be rebuilt. As a weapon, she couldn’t do that. Knowing that she needed to find herself as the echoes of violence ran through her still, she reached out to her in-law, to the Sol Restoration Network. The cards and the stars told her to. The stars told her to humble herself and heal, and the cards told her that Katya was waiting.

She could shed her ghostly skin and find her heart again.

The arm grew heavier, the fingers felt numb, a black hole opened up inside like a wound. She could no longer be a lone ranger; humanity, and the galaxy, needed her for a mission more important than any other before it.

Absolute God-Awful Personality.
Will go to any length for Justice.
Psychological body trauma issues.
Frequent neuropathic pain.

Languages - Swedish/English/Russian.
Operative/Operational Mastery.
Tactical Cloak.
Sabotage.
Cryo Ammo.

Cybernetic Arm // Increased strength/mobility/defense.

N5 Operative Infiltrator
Expert Sniper
N7 Special Ops during Reaper War

Mother - Agnes Wistrom
Father - Lars Wistrom
Cousin - Nils Wistrom
Cousin-in-Law - Yekaterina Feodorovna Serova

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)

Being of average height and weight,the form of Sevipia is nothing to write home about, coming across as painfully average when comparing her to another of her species. Yet, despite this tall and lithe Turian form, is a pale reddish tint to her skin that is said to have been found attractive by those of her species, not that she has any care for her looks. Additionally, her eyes carry a deep yellow, holding a haze similar to that of an owl or other such raptor native to Earth, though it’s hardly what denotes her form. After all, her face is barren of any marking and painting, anything to denote where she had come from or what planet she had been born to. For all intents and purposes, she is a self-made ‘bare-face’.

That said, the rest of her exoskeleton is littered with scratches, denoting her time of digging people out of holes and rubble. Though, these ‘scars’ are few and far between as she keeps a clean look about her and is known to buff away some of the lighter blemishes on her exoskeleton.

She is commonly seen in dark red thermal armor, armor that is still adorned with her rank from her time in the Turian military. This armor has a belt going around her waists which can typically be seen sporting medical supplies like bandages and other emergency equipment. Lastly, she carries with her a leather backpack, old and seemingly with one strap about to break which she uses to haul around further medical supplies.

Sev is someone who aims to always be helping someone, always looking out for all the others that might be in dire need. When there are those who are lost and scared, Sev will always be the first person to go volunteer for braving the wilderness to find this person. Those who are injured, Sev will be by their side to comfort them and care for them for that is the person that she is, the person that could not save the scores of the dying nor lost during the Reaper War. It is the person that her family would have wanted her to be and it is the person that she will continue to be, so long as she knows that she can help someone who truly needs this help. She must help others as she knows that what the galaxy has fought for was in the name of survival and Sev knows that all people need help, especially in these times following a period of such massive loss of life with names still being recorded and found to be dead or still missing.

Yet, despite this kindness and love for life, she is haunted by the terrifying nightmares with the visions and vestiges of scores of dead and indoctrinated people. The sight of having to personally leave behind the people she loved out of her unwillingness to give them the final mercy they deserved before they had been taken by the Reapers. It broke her when she saw the forms of her loved ones twisted beyond recognition, leading to her, when she is no longer around others, to weep in pain or to silently sulk as she tries to move forwards.

This has led to her swearing off violence, no longer seeing the need for herself to fight now that the galaxy was no longer dealing with the threat that was the Reapers. No longer does she need to raise a gun when now she must raise another up from the rubble to usher them back to a family, back to a life where they deserve to be. Even those who did not get along with society will find the kind figure of Sev moving to help them if they are hurt, not because she agrees with them but because she knows that the galaxy has endured enough. Sev helps others based on principle, she would not be herself if she denied anyone an aid that she could provide.

Sevipia’s inadequacies lie not with any physical detriment but wholly mental, as the War on Taetrus and the Reaper War have worn her down. The days in which she has had to stand and shoot other living beings, those days on Taetrus where she was ordered into gunning down others and likewise seeing her own comrades shot and killed has made her dislike guns. Not only has she sworn off guns, but the reasoning is not pacifism but instead a crippling PTSD that sends her hyperventilating and reliving memories she is suppressing as much as she can. Granted this does little to stop her trusting and motherly attitude from shining through when it matters most.

Yet, Sev’s own trusting nature is another flaw as she can be deceived into trusting someone when she truly should not, taking the words of others on face value. Trust may be one of her greatest assets, but is also the most exploitable one for those who are truly wicked and conniving.

Born into a standard family on Palaven, Sevipia was the youngest of three daughters and one brother, a family that by all means seemed to match the ideals of what a Turian society was to be about. They gave themselves to the Hierarchy and did everything they could to make a better collective, hence where Sevipia had been taught to think of the collective people and not oneself. Additionally the military world revolved around her family, her father having been a part of the police and her mother a part of the merchant marine, her brother going into service as a rifleman with all her sisters becoming administrators. Although, the path of an administrator or a soldier was not something that Sevipia particularly fancied. All throughout school, all throughout her early life, she remained a soul that wanted to help others of all kinds and eventually settled into the idea of becoming a doctor, specifically she wanted to become a part of physical therapy.

However, this was subject to change upon her fifteenth birthday and thus her subsequent entry into the Turian bootcamps, and while she wasn’t unprepared for it, the harshness of military life was one that did not meld with her gentle mind. Yet, she made it through that boot camp before being placed under one of her preferred roles as a combat medic, though luckily she did not see much combat for a time being. Sevipia was deployed for small skirmishes against criminals but nothing ever major where she ever had to fire a shot or ever have to harm any. In fact, most of her squad members would occasionally poke fun that her ammo would never dip below what she went in with. Though, that would change when her assignment to the War on Taetrus in 2185 CE, a short war but an enlightening one to her as she got to see what a “total war” truly was. It was a type of fighting that thoroughly disgusted her, systematically eliminating separatists and terrorists, some of which being civilians who merely sided against the Heirarchy. Yet, she did her duty and fought, albeit as little as she had to, which was already substantially low given her role as a combat medic.

After the conflict, Sevipia requested to be changed to Emergency Search and Rescue, a job where she would not have to do fighting or have to pull a trigger against those she did not want. Her first request was denied but by her fourth, her superior put it for her reassignment. There was no way she could have been happier, at least then she was able to help people without having to pull a gun on someone for firing a machine gun over her head. It was a blissful few months before the Reaper attacks came in 2186 CE, Taetrus being the first Turian planet to fall, but by then she had been put on standby on Palaven. Given her family home was on Palaven, and not too far from where she was stationed, she was able to see her family again, or rather her father and mother. Sevipia was thrilled to finally be United with her parents, who had still remained a part of her life through messaging and the likes but it wasn’t the same.

When the attack had actually come, she hadn’t expected what had followed.

Death on a mass scale, cities made into ruins, torrents of gunfire, the sounds of a desperate defense. These sounds would come to plague Sevipia’s existence as she would consistently find herself navigating ruined city blocks, avoiding confrontation and the swarms of husks, as she pulled citizens from the burning carcasses of their homes. Where in the War on Taetrus, she had only fired when she had to, this Battle on Palaven made her exchange clip after clip of ammunition to shoot down husks, indoctrinated, anything the Reapers had. It was only a week into the conflict and yet she knew that sleep would become something to treasure but also a curse as the images of the dead followed her. In her own home city, she would remember even seeing those who would have been off to boot camp fighting to protect their homes, only to be subdued and turned into the mindless machines of the Reapers. However, her home was but a graveyard with nothing truly left to defend as it became disparate and sporadic fighting, occasionally giving way to more as reinforcements from adjacent living made their way to the tomb.

Her time there was hell. Sevipia once had to fight a husk with her bare hands as ammo had become scarce, only to scavenge what she could from the dead before reporting back to her superior, despite command being in utter disarray. Most of the time she’d act of her own accord, foraying into the wastes of the city to reconnect with survivors or to discover the fates of forces that had failed to report back. One such trip took place near her old home. Sometimes she wished that she had not bothered to return, for the sight she’d see would send her already fragile mind into a fracture. It was the sight of her deceased father, sitting slumped against the wall, cradling her mother, after a last stand against a band of husks that sent her mind into a whirlwind of anger, grief, and despair. Nothing made sense to her in her psychotic break, she doesn't even remember anything that happened in the brief period of time where she was not herself. However, according to those who found her, she had dragged the bodies of her parents all the way back to command but she was beaten, battered, and she was devoid of weapons and ammo. They assumed she fought tooth and nail to bring her parents back to their base camp, insisting that a doctor see them even though they were clearly dead, only for herself to fall unconscious.

She had awoken upon a spaceship, in a fleet inbound to Earth, having had been shoved in a medivac with the stipulations that she’d be of more use after the final assault on Earth, assuming the plan even worked. Sevipia had little say, and little true recovery time, not that she was tremendously injured, but she was still coping with the loss of her parents. Yet, Sevipia was still pushed into a shuttle, handed a rifle, and given her orders, though focus was far from her mind as she had all but given up. The landing, the fighting, they were all hazes to her, unable to focus and come back to a reality where her parents had not miraculously survived. We’re the situation not so dire and every man and woman being needed, she likely would have been put in a mental ward for her to cope. Though, the fighting was won, and when the fighting was over, all she could feel was a sudden elation to know that she was alive and had somehow made it through the horrors of the fighting. She remembered that she had partied as if she had just gotten out of boot camp again, smiling and crying with her brothers-and-sisters-in-arms.

Though, there was much rebuilding to do in the days following the events of the battle and subsequent end of the war. With communication cut off, there was no way for her to tell what had happened to her sisters and brothers, but given that they had not answered any of her messages since the start of the conflict that made her know that they were gone as well. So, she took it upon herself to wipe her face clean of the paint that she had worn for years, wiping away the ties to her family and from Palaven. She was now AWOL, abandoning her post within the Hierarchy and going to help others on her own terms. Sevipia then threw herself upon helping to rebuild Earth and was amongst one of the first to follow the SRN when it had sprung to life.

For she knew that even if she had no one with her, she’d help any people that she could.

Former Soldier of the Hierarchy

Mother- Vitepilia Paetmus -Deceased
Father- Procvius Paetmus -Deceased
Brother- Tiberus Paetmus -Missing
Sister- Fadilia Paetmus -Missing
Sister- Destibia Paetmus -Missing

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)

Tamás had the avenge height and weight for a human male, but his looks came primarily from his father's side. He earned a scar on his right hand during the Reaper invasion of the Citadel. He also liked to wear his Janissary Armor since it made him feel protected. The armor still looked battle-worn, with the olive green hiding most of the damages; but, there were hints of dried blood on it to serve as a reminder. Besides the armor, his clothing choices were limited to hand-me-downs since the Reaper invasion. So, he wore whatever made him feel comfortable.

And while the injured leg healed on its own, doctors required that Tamás wore a full leg orthotic brace to help maintain his balance while using it. Thanks to medical advances (and enough credits), the brace was surgically inserted into the leg with no problems. Fortunately, it appeared to be still functioning normally after the Reaper Wars.

Tamás became hyperfocused on saving his home, The Citadel, from critical life support failure. It was really the only thing that had his undying attention. But for a moment, he did reflect on the hell he experienced only a month ago. He also thought about Canlius too often for his own good, wondering if he was alive or dead. The worst part was thinking if he died for Reapers or no breathable air. And he thought about his family on Earth, wondering if they somehow survived the decimation. Or at least knowing if they died peacefully or painfully. Thinking about them hurt Tamás more than he wanted to admit.

For now, the survival of his home needed his attention, and it might have done him some good in the long run.

Shortly after the Battle of the Citadel, Tamás was diagnosed with PTSD for his time underneath the rubble. He began having nightmares about it and developed claustrophobia for that traumatic experience. With the proper medications and therapy, he was able to regain control of his life, stopped having nightmares constantly, and made some sense of his trauma. But then the Reapers invaded the Citadel and unleashed hell. What Tamás experienced permanently broke him mentally. It was one thing to hear about the atrocities committed by the Reapers and another to witness it and survive.

And without medication or therapy, Tamás suffered heavily from severe nightmares and flashbacks to hyperarousal. Recently, he found that smoking cigarettes somewhat helped control his symptoms and to cope with his traumas.

Tamás, the fourth child of the Zsolt-Cox family, was born a year before humanity made contact with other life. But prior to that cathartic event, Márton and Eduard Zsolt-Cox were benefactors to the Systems Alliance despite the disapproval of their friends. Both of them recognized that expanding beyond the Sol System was the only path forward for humanity. The discovery of other species in the galaxy secured their judgment on the matter. However, it wasn't driven by a sense of supremacy or hatred. Instead, their drive was the betterment of tomorrow for others, especially their children.

Their contribution to the Alliance only increased two-fold after the First Contact War. So naturally, they fully committed to the newly established Parliament. Yet, instead of moving over to Arcturus Station, they chose to remain on Earth in their hometown of Budapest. Márton wanted her children to grow up in their homeworld before deciding to leave it for the galaxy. Still, it didn't stop their curiosity for life beyond the planet—especially Tamás.

At a young age, Tamás Zsolt-Cox dreamt of escaping to the wondrous galaxy and living in one of the colonies. To him, living on Earth wasn't exciting as his parents made it out to be. So, he began making the dream a reality. Once high school ended with high grades, Tamás found himself pursuing a career in civil engineering with help from the Systems Alliance. Unlike his older siblings, he chose not to remain in the military after graduating from university. Regardless, he appreciated the lessons taught and even found a use for them later on in his life.

The first thing that Tamás did was book a frigate to the Citadel before bidding farewell to his friends and family. When he set foot on the station, he immediately fell in love with it. It was everything that he dreamed of since he was only a child. And even though there were struggles to survive another day, he still fell in love with his new home. Tamás eventually found stable work at a construction company, thanks to his degree, and met Canlius Falion on his first day.

The two of them began hanging out while on breaks and eventually off-work hours. And before long, Tamás realized that he had fallen in love with Canlius. He really didn't know what to do or how to react to his feelings for his friend. But, rather than wait for a long time, he took his time and slowly gave him hints. It wasn't until three years later that Tamás confessed his love to Canlius during dinner. He didn't even have time to finish his thoughts before being kissed for the first time in his life. Both of them started dating shortly after the dinner, but they decided to take things slowly.

But not long after, the Battle of the Citadel took place. Tamás was at work, finishing up repairs to an apartment unit, when Sovereign made its presence known. Even though the geth were sieging only the Presidium, C-Sec still advised civilians to seek shelter for the threat. The alert forced Tamás to hide out at a nearby restaurant along with other civilians. Tamás tried to send a message out to Canlius, but communications were being jammed. Then, the last thing he remembered was witnessing the dreadnought's destruction followed by cheers for the crowd and then silence.

That was when pieces of it began raining down on the Citadel.

By the time the shelter-in-place order ended, Tamás was buried underneath rubble for the apartment, which collapsed after a piece of the dreadnought crashed into it. Canlius joined the rescue effort as he refused to believe that his boyfriend was dead. It took fourteen hours before tools had even arrived on site due to the chaos that followed after the attack—and an additional thirteen hours before workers rescued Tamás. He was taken to a hospital and immediately went into surgery to save his legs. Fortunately, thanks to modern medicine, they were never amputated; however, extensive physical therapy was required.

Upon regaining consciousness, Tamás was caught off-guard by his family's arrival but grateful to be alive. If it weren't for his parents, then his life would've been more difficult. He had the best physical therapy available given to him despite the distant relationship in recent years. So, after leaving the hospital, he began working to reconnect with his family as payment. Meanwhile, his relationship with Canlius only got stronger after overcoming the struggle of rebuilding their lives. Tamás was still haunted by the time spent underneath the rubble but seemed to have enough inner strength and a stable support system to overcome it.

Two years passed, and with damages to the Citadel repaired, Canlius proposed to Tamás over a private dinner at their newly restored home. Their first stop was Oma Ker to tell the news to Canlius' family, which was positive. And then, after two days on the planet, they ultimately left for Earth to inform Tamás' family. Everything was going smoothly until the news came in via the extranet: Earth was under attack. At first, Tamás assumed it was a joke until their transport shuttle detoured to the Citadel. That was when he started to panic.

Upon returning home, Tamás spent the entire day trying to contact his family in Budapest, praying they were safe and sounds. But then, it became weeks without any answers. He had thought that all of them had died on Earth. Fortunately, his younger sister, Hegedüs, arrived at the Citadel upon receiving his message. But, she came with bad news: Gale, their oldest sibling, was killed in action. The news absolutely devastated him.

And when it was time for Hegedüs to leave, she offered her brother reinstatement into the Alliance and a position in her unit. However, Tamás refused and instead chose to remain in the Citadel. It didn't mean he wasn't going to help out with the war. With Canlius and other construction workers, they provided their services to build temporary housing for the influx of refugees, among other amenities (bathrooms, daycare centers, and more). There was always something to repair or build every day in one of the dozen refugee camps.

Then, out of nowhere, Cerberus stormed the Citadel and began their killing spree. Tamás and Canlius worked in one of the docking bays designated to be a refugee camp when the coup began. The C-Sec officers stationed at the local security checkpoint were unaware of the threat until it was too late. Several Cerberus soldiers took them out with ease and rounded everyone else up for identification. Tamás started to feel the sensations that he had while under the rubble. And suddenly, picking up a pistol next to a dead officer, he opened fire at the soldiers without hesitation.

By the time C-Sec reinforcements had arrived, Tamás had killed half of them before the rest of them were neutralized. Everyone called him a hero on that day, but he felt sick to his stomach for killing someone. It took a few days for him to realize that there was no going back. There was only forward. So, once the Civilian Militia was created in response to the coup attempt, Tamás, Canlius, and several of his friends joined.

Thousands of citizens joined the Citadel Civilian Militia to defend their home from invaders after The Cerberus Coup. Those civilians were split up and assigned a C-Sec officer to train them in the basics of combat and warfare. Often, citizens with military training and/or service were asked to share their knowledge with others. And while C-Sec allowed someone to use their weapons and armors, credit pools were encouraged to buy their own equipment instead of taking up C-Sec resources. In addition, the civilian militia was briefly taught about Reaper forces just as a precaution instead of necessity.

In the end, however, all of the training didn't prepare them for a sudden Reaper invasion. It didn't take long for the Citadel Civilian Militia to assemble and respond to the immediate threat. Everything was going smoothly with defense positions established and the rather inadequate Reaper force being pushed back. Then, the Citadel's arms began closing on their own. Everyone was starting to get anxious and tense while watching the darkness creaking in. And once the arms were closed entirely was when the slaughter began.

In a matter of seconds, the Citadel Civilian Militia collapsed entirely.

Tamás witnessed an asari nightmarishly transformed into a banshee and sliced his commanding officer in half. And then, husks began to pounce on individuals attempting to flee. For the first time, he had felt and seen genuine fear in his life. His body was telling him to run faster than ever before, and so he did. About everyone else was doing the same thing: running for their lives. Some chose to stand their ground, but that usually didn't last long. Eventually, Tamás found shelter to hide from the ongoing massacre with citizens and other "soldiers."

Tamás listened to the remaining command structure ordering a full retreat to C-Sec headquarters for a final stand. Instead, he was going to look for Canlius, assigned to one of the defense positions before hell itself arrived. When he eventually ventured outside, he was terrified by the silence alone; however, he kept pressing forward. In the distance, he saw the remaining resistance force getting overwhelmed by the Reapers. Tamás' heart was utterly crushed, but he kept going for his husband. Soon after, he met up with another group of citizens and volunteers; however, he stayed with them since they were heading in the same direction.

In the following days, most of the group had been killed and hunted down by the Reapers. Yet, the remaining individuals, including Tamás, were holding their position when they saw the arms slowly reopening. And what they saw was both beautiful and horrifying at the same time: Earth. But, all of them kept on fighting as a massive device connected itself to the tower. And then, minutes later, it began charging before releasing a red beam of energy. Tamás watched as that red wave made its way towards him and embraced it.

But, nothing happened to him. Tamás watched as the Reaper forces were dissolved from the battlefield entirely. He and the other survivors had no idea what happened or if the universe had just ended. Regardless, survival was the only main concern. The group made their way to C-Sec headquarters and saw the pile of bodies defending the entranceway defensives till the last person. Inside wasn't any better, but there were survivors. The lucky few that endured were either injured, mentally broken, or both. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Tamás didn't see Canlius amongst the dead.

Yet, there were more concerning matters.

It was evident that the blast brought severe damage to the wards; however, it also affected life support systems for the various districts on the wards. The Citadel was going to be their coffins unless the problem was solved. Tamás decided to volunteer to look for possible solutions to the critical problem while getting communications reestablished, hoping that life still existed beyond this dying station. As the days passed, some of the survivors started to help out around. Within four days, power inside was restored, and efforts to identify the bodies began. The week passed, and all bodies inside were identified, remembered, and then burned.

It wasn't until week two that Earth responded to the Citadel's SOS signal. Tamás was exhilarated that the entire galaxy managed to beat the Reapers and survived to tell generations. He had high hopes for his home being saved. Instead, the leaders on Earth refused to commit resources and manpower to fix the failing life support system on the station. Tamás understood straight away that the Citadel was being sidelined while the leaders focused their efforts on Earth. Meanwhile, he and the survivors managed to restore communications within the station, but it was rather ineffective due to the lack of power in all wards.

In the third week, Admiral Nitesh Singh contacted headquarters to get the status of the Citadel and its life support. Having the provisional allied commander on line, Tamás attempted to get Admiral Singh's plead to aid the station. But, he was largely avoided until asked a question or two. And then, the commander was gone without saying anything else. Tamás knew that his home was essentially sacrificed in favor of Earth and rebuilt on top of their corpses. He wasn't going down without a bloody fight.

So when he was offered a spot on the Sol Restoration Network, Tamás accepted without hesitation, knowing that it was his only way to help save his home from certain doom.

Combat Drone
Sentry Turret
Electronics
Cryo Blast

▪ Alliance training during university
▪ Worked for CitiBuild on the Citadel
▪ Aided the refugees during The Reaper War
▪ Joined the Citadel Civilian Militia

Flavitus Molaril - Commanding Officer - Killed in Action
Inès Gobeli - Volunteer - Alive
Che Yeong-Gi - Volunteer - Killed in Action
Urato Dhasmaroh - Volunteer - Alive
Zrartak Kruzki - Volunteer - Alive
Vitenaria Acilrian - Volunteer - Killed in Action

Márton Zsolt-Cox - Mother - Missing
Eduard Zsolt-Cox - Father - Missing
Gale Zsolt-Cox - Oldest Sibling - Killed in Action
Illés Zsolt-Cox - Second Oldest - Missing
Hegedüs Zsolt-Cox - Third Oldest - Missing
Quinn Zsolt-Cox - Second Youngest - Missing
Orbán Zsolt-Cox - Youngest - Missing

Nitiria Falion - Mother - Missing
Lucivius Falion - Father - Deceased
Canlius Falion - Tamás' Husband - Missing
Gaius Falion - Youngest Sibling - Missing

(For group members and NPCs; fill after IC introduction)