[CHAR] The Things We Fight For

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[CHAR] The Things We Fight For

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara
[Callsign]Pegasus
[Gender]Female
[Age]26
[Rank and Designation]Main-Class Constellation
[Place of Birth]Core Territories; Okeanos
[Official Statement]"This odyssey, too, has a purpose."

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Anti-Barrier Sword]#15: Heaven & Earth Gauntlets
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]30%
[Physical Description]
Though possessing an ostentatious name, the Heaven & Earth Gauntlets are rather tame in their appearance. A series of AB-alloyed metal plates overlaid atop carbon nano-mesh fabric disguise a network of miniaturized internal servos, designed to provide their wielder with the manual dexterity of uncovered hands while encasing their limbs in a pair of weapons capable of withstanding blows launched at speeds approaching that of light. Though lacking decoration, the dark, smoky metal seems to have an almost cobalt coloration that shines through when its wielder channels the wrath of the heavens through it.
[Attributes]
The Heaven & Earth Gauntlets are so named because of their affinity for that which bridges the gap between: lightning. Those who possess Anomaly abilities within the purview of electricity find their abilities enhanced when channeled through them, increasing their output significantly. The gauntlets have a tendency to 'drink' in the power that flows through them, becoming increasingly iridescent as the charge within grows more and more powerful. Their metallic shells have been scorched more than once by impromptu flares of plasma caused by wielders spontaneously vaporizing enemy and surrounding alike once the energy within had reached a feverish peak.

[Anomaly]Two Heavens
[Origin]Polarity
[Phenomena]
Ostensibly an ability to manipulate one's own electromagnetic field, Two Heavens is an Anomaly steeped more heavily in philosophy than it is science. The concept of the internal and external, of activity and passivity, has a tradition in the martial world stretching back to the days of Old Earth. Those adept in the usage of Two Heavens take this tradition to heart, perfecting first their inner selves—the so-called esoterikós ouranós—through intense self-discipline and meditation, such that they might control the incredible power inherent to their lineage. The counterpart to this, the exoterikós ouranós, is honed through rigorous physical conditioning and training in the martial arts, such that their bodies might handle the incredible strain of what is to come. Only once a wielder has mastered both aspects might they move on to channeling the true strength of their ability. 

Combining their inner and outer worlds, Two Heavens adepts become a font of incredible energy, generating absurd amounts of electricity within themselves. Born from their own bodies, the lightning which courses through them does them no harm, but instead empowers them beyond their means. Their muscles produce a force that is inconceivable even amongst the lauded Warrior Families, their perception of the world slowing as they move at the speed of the electricity crackling along their very nerves. A master of the Two Heavens is a force of nature, the eye of the storm, power made flesh. Their fury is made known in brief, near-instant exchanges, obliterating their foes in brilliant flashes of light, and leaving only thunder and the lamentation of enemies in their wake.
[Limitation]
For many who possess an Anomaly, utilizing their power comes to them as second nature, commanding oceans of flame or tearing very fabric of space as easily as a bird takes to wing. Those whose blood carries the Two Heavens are not given such an easy path. Lightning is dangerous, fast and unpredictable. Merely directing it requires the utmost respect and precision, much less coursing it through one's self to force their body to achieve heights previous thought impossible. Two Heaven adepts must exercise the utmost focus when utilizing their abilities, carefully measuring their every move in the instant before it is made and only exerting themselves as much as precisely necessary. It is a taxing Anomaly to make use of, not only mentally, but also physically. As their cousins under the auspices of Limit might best understand, the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and those who channel the primordial might of the heavens through flesh and bone burn brighter than most could ever hope to.Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Odessa can best be described as reassuring, if not approachable. She is cool and collected, possessing a certain comforting serenity that belies the steely conviction beneath her unflappable exterior. Kind by nature, she often finds herself looking after the welfare of others, especially those comrades whom she has had the opportunity to fight beside before. Nurturing and stoic in equal parts, one might be forgiven for thinking her gentle. A notion that is quickly replaced when she enters the field of battle.

A seasoned veteran and warrior, the peaceful tranquility that underpins her behavior outside of battle turns to a cold fury in the face of the archenemy, like a deadly calm before the storm. She is as ruthless as she is fearless while fighting the enemies of mankind, efficiently dispatching her opponents with a dead-eyed composure that rattles even fellow Constellations. Woe be unto those who make themselves her enemies, for Odessa is a woman of absolute faith in both her sense of justice and the conviction to see that justice is done by her own hand, regardless of what their affiliation may be.

[Personal History]
Born amidst a terrible hurricane during the dog days of Okeanos' long summer, the howling winds and crack of lightning served as an omen for the tempestuous and stormy youth that Odessa was to lead. The child of a decorated Constellation and his beloved wife, there was little doubt that greatness would come to her in time—a notion backed up by rigorous testing when she grew old enough. With a high aptitude for the Anomaly latent in her genes and exceptional scores on her physical exams, it was a foregone conclusion that she would follow in the footsteps of her father and his father before him and become one of humanity's chosen defenders. 

Aptitude was not enough to guarantee her such a position of pride, however. Her line held itself to higher standards than more pragmatic families. She was brave and bold and strong and swift, yes, but also impetuous and reckless, more focused on playing at arms than refining herself in silent meditation and careful contemplation. An abundance of heat in her blood, an affinity for the exoterikós ouranós, would impede her hopes of mastering the Two Heavens which had propelled their family to prominence nearly a century before.

A course correction was required. When the time came for the wild young Odessa to enroll in training for the Constellation program, she was not placed with some off-worlder who might encourage such a cataclysmic lack of balance in the pursuit of martial excellence, but instead with an older, more prudent hand: her grandsire, the so-called Old Wolf of Okeanos. A seasoned warrior and survivor of many clashes against the archenemy, Autolycus, whose true name now sprawled into the dozens, was a harsh taskmaster who had little patience for his granddaughter's foolhardiness. He had seen firsthand what tragedies such impulsiveness wrought upon the battlefield mankind found itself ever losing ground upon, much less how disastrous it could be for those who thought to command the primal forces of the heavens. Something he vowed to teach her.

And something she learned. Bit by bit. Lesson by painful lesson. The fires in her never quite died out, but they did temper in time. She learned that if she was to master the world beyond her, she needed first to master the world within. Once she committed that principle to heart, once she found discipline within herself rather than outside herself, she excelled. Whatever progress might have been lost to the willful arrogance of youth was more than made up for under her grandfather's watchful eye. As she neared womanhood, and her official induction into the ranks of the lauded Constellations, her capricious nature reared itself for one final time, a parting shot to Okeanos. On the eve of her graduation, Odessa found herself with child.

Whether purposeful or not, the conception of her daughter halted any hopes of quickly progressing as a Constellation. The armies of humanity had little use for a woman with a child in her belly, and the precious bloodline the child bore was too valuable to potentially sacrifice in the hopes of an expedient promotion. The traditions of her family, still but fledglings compared to the storied ranks of the Sol's most prestigious, further compounded the issue. Their focus on strong foundations barred a child from being left by both parents in the first two years of life. As Odessa refused to name her daughter's sire, she was planet-bound for the foreseeable future. 

Some called her feckless. Others, a coward, using her child to escape her duties. She paid them little mind. The baby, Thelema, was born after many long months of such scorn. And in holding that smallest, most innocent soul in her arms, Odessa found within herself a font of something she had lacked for much of her life. She found prudence. She found restraint.

It was difficult to commit to danger and recklessness when someone so dear depended upon one. Raising her daughter for those precious few years was an eye-opening experience for a young woman who had, until that point, lived life for herself first and foremost, a woman of force and activity rather than consideration and thoughtfulness. As she watched her flesh and blood grow from a helpless infant to a bright, vibrant little girl eager to learn about the world, Odessa too learned. And in those lessons, she would find salvation when the call to war finally reached Okeanos. 

No longer forbidden from service as a Constellation, Odessa was gifted with the mantle of Pegasus. All the better prepared for the rigors of battle by her long rest, she remained a Stardust-class for only a few months, ascending to the rank of Proto just in time for a dire front to open in humanity's unending war against the Aberrations: the Battle of Planet Pray.

Until that point, Odessa had only dealt in skirmishes and clean-up operations in the wake of more experienced Constellations. The battle for Pray did not seem like it would be much more trying than those most minor of clashes she had known. The initial days of the conflict were tame. All went as expected for a mid-level incursion into occupied human space. Then the Crownguard arrived, and her baptism in battle rapidly devolved into a baptism by fire. 

The arrival of a Crownguard was a disaster for the world it landed upon. It was not uncommon for a single one to overpower an entire planet in a day and lay waste to dozens of humanity's best in the process. The surface of Pray was cursed not only with one but two Crownguards only days before its defenders could reach the princess' nest. In the span of a mere few days, they had carved a bloody swathe through the valiant defenders of the world. Forty-three Constellations perished, among them three separate Supernovas—each the veteran of a hundred such battles—and the Main-class Constellation that had taken Odessa under her wing. 

It was only a few weeks later, when the remaining Constellations managed to put down one of the beasts, and send its companion fleeing for its life with the Princess in tow, that salvation was in sight. With neither the incomprehensible strength of a Crownguard to support their offensive, or Princess to buoy their numbers, Pray was fully liberated from the Aberrant threat after a month non-stop fighting, much of its surface in ruin. It was a victory for humanity. A Pyrrhic victory, but a victory all the same. 

It was also an important experience for Odessa. Her first taste of true battle. Of true fear. Of true fury. Were she the same arrogant pup that came striding from the Old Wolf's den feeling all the invincibility of a young fool, she may yet have perished in that treacherous world. But thoughts of home, thoughts of her daughter, kept her disciplined when she otherwise wished to cave to instinct. Her love for Thelema kept her spirit strong when all seemed lost. Through care and experience, she learned wisdom, and through wisdom, she managed to leave the planet Pray on her own two feet and carry on to other battlefields across the domain of mankind.

The years that followed went swiftly. A survivor of Pray, she quickly found herself promoted to the rank of Main-class before year's end by virtue of how ferocious the fighting had been. Years bled into years as she bounced between active front to active front, honing her skills as a warrior and a leader of men. Every time a Constellation stepped onto the surface of a world, there were no guarantees of victory, of living on to see another day. Pray had taught her that much, and much earlier than most. With her beloved daughter coming of age and beginning her tutelage under that same steely Old Wolf that had molded her into a force of nature, however, the campaign to defend Alora seemed promising. It seemed hopeful.

And it seemed she would swiftly be proven wrong.

Home World

[Planet Description]
Okeanos is as lush and verdant a world as one is likely to find outside of the ancient gardens-worlds of the Milky Way. It is so named for the massive freshwater sea that bisects the planet in two, like the fabled river of Old Earth. As this ocean wraps around the length of the planet's equator, the waters are warm and rich with fauna, some of which reach truly monstrous sizes, supported by the abundance of oxygen in the atmosphere and the abundance of smaller prey. The ocean plays host to a series of archipelagos and island chains that dot its pristine waters, with two large, mountainous continents in the north and south where the majority of the population make their homes. Okeanos has a full four seasons thanks to its stable rotation, with hot summers and temperate winters separated by equally mild autumn and spring. Owing to its vast ocean and warm temperatures, Okeanos is wracked by intense storms throughout its hottest months, with some islands vanishing entirely into nation-sized hurricanes at the height of the storm season.

[Culture]
Okeanos, though welcoming on a surface level, is a planet of extremes. The floodplains along its coasts and larger archipelagos are fertile enough that, in combination with its rich sea, the planet's population has had little difficulty cultivating the necessary food supply to sustain itself. The seasons, barring summer, are mild and temperate enough that open-air settlements are the norm, defying the more advanced arcologies of other colonized worlds in its sector. But these things come at a cost. Summer brings with it violent storms capable of wiping out entire nation-states, and the primeval sea that produces innumerable aquatic sustenance also plays host to aggressive, monstrous mega-fauna capable of dragging the largest vessels to a watery grave. This duality has instilled a distinctive devil-may-care attitude in its populace. The world is a paradise with the potential for cruelty unimaginable. Therefore, the people reason, it is best to live well and to live boldly while one has the chance, and to seize every opportunity presented to them before the mercurial hands of fate twist the fortune against them. 

The relative plenty of Okeanos means that the populace needs not to trouble themselves over matters of food or energy security, giving rise to a culture of warrior-scholars the likes of which their ancient progenitors would be proud. Its government is organized into an aristocratic representative democracy, wherein members of its founding families are elected by the citizenry based on who will see to their needs the best and, increasingly, who can manage the demands of the UAS without jeopardizing their way of life.

[Warrior Family]
Descended from a black sheep of the Symtropantos line, the Perseid family are a relatively new arrival to Okeanos, appearing only after the defeat of Belle during the Chandra conflict of 268 IC. Having lost every comrade he had come to love throughout the war, Perseus found comfort and rest on the ocean planet's shores, charmed by the starkly optimistic views of the locals. It was on Okeanos that the experiences he had weathered—and the wisdom of the dead—that he formulated the doctrine that would go on to govern the family which would one day carry his name. Fathering a plethora of children on a dozen wives, it would only be after his death in 282 IC, and after those children rose to prominence in the fight against the Aberrations, that the Perseid line was formally acknowledged as a fledgling Warrior Family. By then, their code had been formalized. Sons and daughters of the Perseid line were to live courageously, but not recklessly. They were to act with wisdom and temperance, be just in deed and honest in word, and demonstrate a near fanatical loyalty to their comrades, not only those born of their blood but especially those born from battle. This dedication is best demonstrated by the tradition of enthýmisi, or remembrance.

A pariah for his lack of ability amongst the Symtropantos, Perseus cast off his birth name and vowed to become the most shining beacon of humanity, a Constellation, without them. He managed to achieve this feat in no small part the assistance of his fellows in the rigorous training process. These comrades of his, of whom he thought the world, answered the call to bring down the Hive-Mother Belle, and he so accompanied them. Yet to his despair, all but Perseus perished, one after another, in the fight to break the Queen's Crownguard and vanquish the foul beast for the good of man. When the monster was slain, the victory all mankind felt could only be pyrrhic for Perseus. New Constellations would file in to replace his dear companions, picking up their weapons and carrying on where they left off. 

Crushed by the thought they might yet be forgotten, Perseus began the tradition of enthýmisi, memorializing the dead by taking their names onto his own, replacing the stain of Symtropantos with those who cherished him and were cherished in kind. This tradition is carried on by his descendants, who begin their lives bearing only the name their mothers gift them. As they live and learn, love and lose, their names grow, and every sacrifice is immortalized as part of their very identity. The oldest Perseids have names that stretch into the dozens, each a beloved friend now lost to the archenemy, each a reminder of why they fight.

Perseids are therefore a proud and dependable family. They fight for their beliefs without regret, pursue their justice without pause, and defend their companions with unmatched ferocity. Their commitment to defeating the Aberrations goes beyond the simple desire for survival, but a deep and ingrained sense of duty, both to those who have been lost before them and those who will be lost long after they too have passed on. Only with the final defeat of the Hive-Mothers will their purpose, set out by Perseus himself, be fulfilled, and only then will their grim determination be halted.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Thelema

[Relation to Subject]
Daughter

[Analysis]
Odessa's only child and the light of her life. Thelema is a bright little girl of eight years old, and by all accounts, surpasses even her mother in potential as a Constellation. Precocious by nature, she lacks the fiery streak of Odessa's youth in favor of a curious intelligence that precedes her years. Like many from the more stable Warrior Families, Thelema idolizes her mother and great-grandfather, who serves as her primary guardian in Odessa's absence. She wishes to one day follow in their footsteps as a Constellation all her own, something that she has only just begun journeying towards as of the beginning of the year.



[Name]
Rudis Saint-Saëns

[Relation to Subject]
Comrade

[Analysis]
A fellow Main-class Constellation who made Odessa's acquaintance some time before the campaign to liberate Alora. Rudis' indomitable will and dedication to protecting her comrades quickly endeared her to Odessa, who found that she had more in common with the fiery redhead than not. Perhaps too much in common, even. While the relationship between the two can largely be described as that of a warrior kinship, forged in the heat of both real and mock battles, Odessa can not help but worry over Rudis. The image of a volatile young woman filled with an absolute confidence in herself is not one that is unfamiliar to Odessa, and she knows firsthand the folly of believing that one is absolute in their indestructibility: that the steel which never bends will eventually break under enough strain. She can only hope to be there when the weight grows too impossible to bear.

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Feyblue Lord of Floof

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 A L T O  V A L E N T I
A L T O  V A L E N T I

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Alto Valenti
[Callsign]Eight-Ball
[Gender]Male
[Age]19
[Rank and Designation]Apprentice Pilot, Designated Test Pilot for K.H.I.
[Place of Birth]Kabral III

[Official Statement]"My reason for fighting? Well, I mean, somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me, right? If I can't be the one wielding the sword, then the least I can do is clear the way for those who can. Haha. So yeah, that's...

Will he see this? No, no, of course not. Right. Right. Forget I asked."

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Mech Model]FTF-280x Corvo II-V
[Type]Limited-Production Multirole Fighter/Artillery
[Size]15.2 Meters/Approx. 50 Feet
[Unladen Weight]28.3 Metric Tons
[Max Weight]42.7 Metric Tons
[Core]Epsilon-Class
[Armaments]

KHI-44x-VSHPR "VESPER" ||The Corvo II-V's primary armament is the experimental "VESPER" Variable-Speed Heavy Plasma Rifle, purpose-built for the unit in partnership with Kabral Heavy Industries. With a total length of 16 meters, even exceeding the unit's own height, it is a formidable weapon with a yield comparable to a destroyer's main cannon.

As its designation implies, the weapon's primary feature is its flexibility. Top-loaded with a magazine of compressed gas canisters, it then uses its own internal reactor to charge and superheat this exotic fuel into a form of highly volatile plasma, which it then releases in steady streams for as long as the trigger is held down. In this mode, its most common use case is sweeping the beam across one or more targets to deal damage over a wide range.

Additionally, however, it is also capable of condensing this plasma into a singular mass, feeding extra energy directly from the Corvo II-V's reactor to supercharge and then magnetically accelerate one devastating shot into particularly tough enemies. In this configuration, the bolt it fires not only travels to its target near-instantaneously, but becomes capable of melting through the carapaces of even the most hardy Aberrant foe -- then disintegrating them with a massive explosion.

Unfortunately, firing the VESPER for maximum effect also depletes the currently active gas canister completely, requiring immediate reloading. Furthermore, throughout its testing and development, the weapon has suffered from insufficient cooling, often melting its heat sinks and barrel irreparably over the course of a single sortie. Some models even exploded outright, or caused reactor leaks in the unit that carried them. Due to the costs inherent to their production, and their less-than-stellar long-term performance, neither the VESPER, nor the improved Corvo II variant meant to wield it, ever saw mass production -- but a few models did see service in the frontier regions.

FTF-T28-MM "Tri-Talon" Multi-Missile Rack ||One of several modular back-mounted weapons packs designed for the Corvo-series chassis, the Tri-Talon carries a total of eighteen radar-guided missiles per pod, and can fire up to six of them in a single salvo. These missiles are as fast as they are accurate, and can additionally be armed on a delay, allowing them to be guided around potential obstacles before they begin seeking a target, making them supremely useful for chasing entrenched enemies out of cover and striking from unanticipated angles. However, the warheads' actual destructive power is somewhat lacking, meaning their utility is far greater against small, mobile adversaries that would be tricky to hit with the Corvo II's main gun than it is against larger, more heavily armored targets. These pods, additionally, can be purged from the unit once empty, reducing its weight so as to increase its speed.

FTF-S110-BB "Espada" Beam Blade ||The Corvo II's last resort is a one-handed beam sword stored in a charging rack underneath its left wrist. While not in use, its focusing emitter can be used to fire small-but-rapid laser blasts, serving as a sidearm or CIWS should the unit be pressured. Additionally, it can be released seamlessly from the charging rack into the unit's hand with a quick flick of the wrist, allowing the Corvo II to rapidly respond to threats that enter melee range. The beam blade, though small, concentrates an immense amount of energy into its edge, allowing it to cleave straight through even Aberrant armor in just one or two strikes. However, since the Corvo II lacks any other close-range countermeasures, this weapon is more meant to allow it to go down fighting when cornered than anything else, and it is not advised for pilots to seek to employ it regularly.

"Magni-Craft" A-EM Propulsion System ||Another proprietary technology of Kabral Heavy Industries added to the Corvo II-V to test viability for mass-production, the Magni-Craft system was an unintended breakthrough discovered during a failed project attempting to replicate Aberrant barriers. By drawing anomalous material from the unit's Aberrant core and shaping it with electromagnetic currents, a lattice structure can be formed around the unit equipped with the system. This structure, while unable to replicate the power of a true Aberrant barrier, nevertheless exerts a constant, steady repulsive force which can furthermore be focused or amplified by modulating the current flowing through it.

The most obvious use of this technology is to disrupt incoming energy-based attacks, or to slow physical projectiles and reduce their impact force. However, as researchers on the project soon discovered, the A-EM Fields produced by this system are a means not only of defense, but also propulsion. By projecting an A-EM Field beneath the unit, the Magni-Craft system serves to counteract the force of gravity, allowing the unit it is equipped to skate near-weightlessly atop a frictionless force-field instead of the ground itself. And, should the unit need to enter the air, the field can be momentarily expanded to violently repulse the ground, launching the machine airborne before stabilizing once again to slow its descent to a safe and controllable speed.

This system gives the Corvo II-V a great deal of mobility without sacrificing size or armor in exchange. However, it is also heavily fuel intensive, limiting its operational times compared to more conventional machines. This deficiency has been partially compensated for by attaching an external fuel tank containing a reserve of the exotic materials needed to create an A-EM Field, but this, in turn, increases the unit's weight and reduces its speed -- though it can be purged once emptied.

Additionally, the system is dependent on a network of emitters and stabilizers mounted all along the unit's frame, many of which are affixed to modular hardpoints not specifically designed to accommodate or protect them, as more customized fittings could not be procured due to budgetary constraints during the unit's brief production run. Due to this somewhat sloppy "proof of concept" placement, as the unit sustains damage, these stabilizers may fail, resulting in reduced A-EM Field integrity. The more hits the unit takes, the slower and the more fragile it will become, giving it a somewhat deserved reputation for falling apart all at once when things start going wrong.

[Anomaly]Telempathic Communication
[Origin]Limit

[Phenomena]
The Valenti family is known for its powerful psionic Anomalies, derived from an unstable union between Symtropantos and Eorman branch family members in their distant Ancestry.

Alto, however, only possesses a very weak offshoot of these abilities -- one which grants the user a form of extrasensory perception. This ESP is tuned specifically to the thoughts and feelings of those around the user -- particularly those directed towards Alto himself. Rather than words, general attitudes and sensations are conveyed with a great degree of fidelity, though some of the context pertaining to them can also be imparted if the person in question focuses on a specific memory, thought, or image while he is reading them. The more willing the subject to open up to him, the easier it is to form a psionic bridge connecting their two minds, increasing the accuracy with which he is able to understand their feelings, experiences, and wishes.

This connection can also work both ways, allowing Alto to exert his own psionic pressure on those around him, conveying his emotions, memories, or short thoughts to others who are nearby. Likewise, this ability works more effectively the more willing his target is to receive him.

Aside from giving him a great deal of natural charisma and a knack for pleasing and comforting others, Alto's ability does have a few, albeit limited uses in combat. For example, he can track the general positions of his allies and their general mental states even in the heat of battle, giving him above-average situational awareness. Sensing a comrade's alarm might tip him off to an imminent danger, while their anger or desperation might draw him to provide support where it's needed without even being asked. In particularly tense situations, an enemy's killing intent can give their attacks away just in time for him to evade them, making the difference between life and death.

[Limitation]
While Alto's ability is flexible, and comes at little cost to himself, it isn't without its drawbacks. As it exists outside of the five traditional senses, oftentimes attempting to transmit complex concepts will result in information overflow -- synesthesia bleeding into his other senses, losing some of the information entirely. Rather than peering through someone's memories, for example, he's more likely to just get flashes of specific sights, sounds, tastes, smells, or tactile sensations, disconnected from one another and deprived from the overall context.

And, while he can more or less control when his ability activates rather than just having it on all the time, it sometimes fires off without any conscious input from him -- particularly in moments of great stress, powerful emotion, and high tension. This can make it somewhat unreliable when he's under pressure, as he finds it much more difficult to control his Anomaly well enough to search for or focus on one specific thing in such cases -- and can additionally cause his own distress to be inadvertently shared with those around him.

Finally, due to the alien nature of their senses and thought patterns, his ability is extremely ineffective when employed against the Aberrant. Any successes he might have at sensing their presence or their killing intent are usually more dumb luck than the result of any conscious effort on his part -- and, in fact, attempting to actively focus his perceptions upon them can oftentimes result in a great deal of psychic strain, causing headaches, nausea, confusion, and even running the risk of making him pass out. Whatever thoughts might comprise it, the Aberrant mind is a terrible thing to read.

Notable Contacts

[Name]
Ricardo Valenti

[Relation to Subject]
Father

[Analysis]
You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in the galactic frontier regions who hasn't at least once heard the name Ricardo Valenti. One of few Singularity-Class Constellations in the entire UAS, he's renowned not only for his skill with his AB Lance, but also for his purported oracular ability to see even distant possible futures and chart a path to achieving them with his Anomaly -- though how much of this is truth and how much is his own exaggerated legend is a topic of frequent debate.

Regardless of how much of it is true, his tale has been told time and time again. In a time where humanity was suffering defeat after defeat, heroes were in short supply. Certain liberties were taken, perhaps, and certain responsibilities were piled on the shoulders of a tired man who had known only fighting since the days of his youth. He'd fled one home, found another, and then lost everyone who defended it with him. 

Yet still he remained.

Ricardo is not necessarily a cold man, but he's not a friendly man either. His eyes are too sharp, his heart too small. His dark humor and sardonic temperament are rather typical for a Kabralan, and his discipline, devotion to his people, and dedication to his duty are likewise as exemplary as one might expect. He's the kind of man who would shed no tears over a comrade's death, but would spill a sea of blood to avenge them -- cool-headed, proud, and resolute.

He is impartial in his treatment of others, dealing as bluntly with his own kin as he does with his subordinates. Not one to show affection or to openly express his feelings on any matter, it's no wonder his more emotionally sensitive son and he never saw eye to eye.

Presently, he's serving as a representative for the Frontier regions on the UAS council, in particular helping to guide and direct the deployment of defensive forces along the Frontier. His performance in this role has been, at worst, unremarkable -- he's successfully minimized losses while largely maintaining the status quo... for now. However, there are many on the council who dislike him for his rather meteoric rise of prominence, and who are all too eager to see him fall. As such, the position occupied both by him and the defensive forces under his command is precarious, and prone to changing should even the slightest mishap befall him...

[Name]
Dr. Nicole Renata

[Relation to Subject]
Kabral Heavy Industries Liaison, Attache to V-Type Test Pilot Alto Valenti

[Analysis]
When the refugees from Calidar first found Kabral III, the colonial cities upon its surface were abandoned, but not uninhabited.

As part of their efforts to draw tourists and immigrants to their new colony, SEM-Corp had commissioned a rather luxurious custom line of clones from the famed RENATUS Combine, hoping to employ them as concierges, aides, escorts, and domestic servants to VIPs in the luxury residences built atop the colony's hanging sky cities. As such, they were designed not only to be beautiful to look at, but also to possess an abnormally high level of mental acuity for a menial servant model. They would, after all, have been expected to serve as living encyclopedias of everything a guest would need to know -- and yet, they were also meant to be perfectly and unquestioningly obedient to those designated as their masters.

But those masters never arrived. And so, these costly mail-order maidens were left locked away in cryogenic slumber, set aside in one of the many lawsuits surrounding the colony's dissolution until countless appeals could be made to decide whose property, precisely, they now were. Needless to say, when the sector was evacuated on account of the emergent Aberrant menace, these insignificant issues were set aside and, eventually, forgotten.

Until the Calidar exodus came and woke them up.

Most of the RENATUS women ended up living lives of no consequence, and most likewise died in short order. Some were all-too-eagerly taken as concubines of the soldiers protecting the planet. Others were tasked with helping to crew and maintain the orbital defense platforms, and perished during the first wave of the Aberrant attack. A few were tasked with assisting in the manufacture of weapons and armaments as part of a joint initiative with military engineers from the exodus fleet, but by and large also are reported to have perished when a Knight-class Aberrant bombed one of the planet's primary weapons factories.

It is a deeply ironic and unpleasant fact to consider, that they possessed the intellect to be fully aware of themselves -- of their sentience, of the rights and dignity afforded to other such sentient beings, and, of course, of the souls they themselves lacked, which separated them from those "others." And yet, in spite of that awareness, they could not escape their programming -- all they could do was show their brightest smiles, meekly nod, and obey the orders they received, though it cost them their lives, their happiness, and their dignity.

Poor, innocent dolls -- the lot of them.

Of course, none of that has anything to do with the eccentric KHI liaison, Dr. Nicole Renata. A rising star among the corporation's ranks, she's gone from working on a factory line to designing product lines of her own, and is even rumored to have had a hand in the invention of several of the company's proprietary technologies. Needless to say, as one of the minds behind the new V-Type Corvo units, she's taking a direct role in analyzing the operational data from their early-stage deployments.

Her behavior is notoriously inscrutable, with her every waking moment fueled almost entirely by caffeine and other minor stimulants. She displays a flagrant disregard for authority and decorum in almost all forms, addressing everyone with equal familiarity and irreverence -- barging into conversations whenever she feels like, and tuning out the world to lose herself in her studies whenever she doesn't. The only thing she takes seriously is her work -- and if she wasn't so damned good at it, doubtless no one would be willing to put up with her many idiosyncrasies.

She gets along just fine with her unit's test pilot, though, treating Alto -- much to his chagrin -- as something of a kindred spirit, or perhaps a younger brother. She's all too willing to humor his high pride, and take pride in his low humor, teaching him newer, even worse puns to inflict upon his comrades during her free time. She still gets mad at him if he misuses her precious prototype, though.

Although her identification papers were tragically lost during the fall of Calidar and her subsequent flight from it, numerous KHI executives have stepped forward and vouched for her identity -- in no small part thanks to her insightful contributions to some of their most cutting edge designs. A resourceful academic and a living lexicon of scientific data, there have certainly been those detractors citing her resemblance to the now-deceased RENATUS clones, and some disproportionate fuss made over some unsightly burns from a broken cigarette lighter that just so happen to cover the patch of skin on her wrist where such a clone's barcode tattoo would be.

But those theories are, of course, ridiculous, and have long since been debunked. They're nothing more than the vitriolic babbling of those jealous of the young prodigy's many landmark achievements in the field of Aberrant studies, and the repurposing of their biology into technologies which can benefit the war effort. After all, even had one of the RENATUS women survived, she never would have been able to lie about her origins, let alone destroy her own identification number. Her programming would surely prevent it. After all, no matter how clever or strong-willed a menial clone might be, they're still subject to their core precepts.

Obey your betters. Go above and beyond what is asked of you, and always give 110% to your job. The company's prosperity is your prosperity. No matter how hard it gets, don't forget to smile.

...Well, at least one of them was good advice.

The serious ones only die tired and unhappy, so might as well at least pretend you're enjoying yourself, right? All the more so when this fleeting, insignificant life is the only time you have...

[Name]
Sabine Dassault-Delacroix

[Relation to Subject]
Service Acquaintance and Rival

[Analysis]
One of the few actively serving pilots Alto would consider himself acquainted with outside of those who went through basic with him and his drill instructors, Sabine happened to be traveling along with a Dassault supply convoy that Alto was briefly attached to as an escort. Nothing in particular came of the mission, with no hostile contacts sighted anywhere along the convoy's route, but over the course of the journey, the two of them became more or less friends... which is to say, Sabine taunted the rookie Alto relentlessly about his lack of real experience, and Alto channeled his frustration from the experience into doing his darnedest to scrap her in practice simulations when he wasn't out on maneuvers. If you asked him, he'd probably say that he won more than he lost, but if you asked her, she'd probably say that his unit's specs were higher and if it weren't for that, his performance wouldn't have been worth writing home about.

Either way, their spirited competition aside, the two did get along decently well, and he'd be the first to admit she's a good pilot. After all, if she wasn't, she wouldn't be worth viewing as a rival -- now would she?
Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
The first thing one is likely to notice about Alto Valenti is his exhuberant, sunny demeanor. Seldom seen without a cocky grin on his face, even when he's desperately trying to hide it while called to stand at attention, he's friendly, excitable, and, while occasionally awkward, generally a rather personable individual... provided you don't mind the occasional groanworthy pun, anyway.

The second thing one is likely to notice, on the other hand, is his reckless ambition. He doesn't exactly try to hide his aspirations of heroism or his at least somewhat justified pride in his skills, sure -- but it's a bit alarming how readily he puts those goals before his own well-being. Perhaps he thinks he's invincible, or perhaps he just doesn't know any better, but either way, while he's not necessarily a hazard to others, the same doesn't really hold true for himself. Constant supervision is advised.

[Personal History]
It might seem strange that a young master, raised in luxury, would throw away that life, his pride, and his entire fortune in pursuit of childish dreams. Born the son of a war hero, yet inheriting only a meager fraction of that famous power, Alto was just strong enough to sense the gulf between him and the father he so admired. That disappointment -- no, that *pity* -- was where it all began.

Then, the disgust of his fiance -- a Core-Worlder from a wealthy family he met only once, yet whose disdain might have crushed him at a glance. Was he really to live the rest of his life in the company of a woman who thought him a bumpkin and a useless imbecile, just so that her wealth might pay for the war his father continued to fight even now?

Staring down the barrel of a future in which he would remain just as insignificant as he always had been, Alto blinked. Instead of boarding the shuttle that would have taken him towards that future, he slipped away -- found passage on a different ship, and vanished into the celestial night. He only once looked back as his homeworld slipped away into the darkness of space -- then never looked back again.

It wasn't easy going. He did odd jobs, scrounged and scavenged, even begged just to survive. He questioned himself once or twice, but the pride within him was hurt less by the lowly state to which he had fallen than it was by the thought of returning home in disgrace. And then, at his lowest moment, he met a recruiter who saw that pride for what it was -- saw how to exploit it.

An unspoken agreement was formed. Alto faked his age, and the recruiter turned the other way -- a little lie that would fill his quota just a little sooner. Perhaps the man had been hoping that a boy gifted with an Anomaly would perform well enough to earn him a bonus -- though if he was, these hopes would go unfulfilled.

Alto's performance in training was a mixed bag. He demonstrated a great deal of situational awareness, lightning-quick reflexes, and a tremendous natural knack for piloting -- but also a reckless disregard for protocol, caution, and patience that cost him dearly in mock battles and simulations. Some of these faults were overlooked on account of his talent, others he managed to rein in just well enough to pass muster. But if basic training had taught him humility, it was a lesson swiftly undercut by the offer he received upon first donning the rank of apprentice.

An exclusive offer from Kabral Heavy Industries -- the premier manufacturer of weapons and war machines on his homeworld -- was placed before him, and he signed the waiver without so much as glancing at the fine print. A glamorous, elite position as a test pilot, getting first crack at weapons and tech nobody else had ever used in combat before was bait far too juicy for him to even consider passing up -- without ever even thinking of the risks that might be involved.

Even this status proved insufficient to whet his appetite for adventure, however. Half a year of running basic field tests and mock combat operations in the safety of core space felt hardly any different from the sim-skirmishes back in basic. But when, mid-transit, his unit happened to receive a distress signal from the nearby planet Alora, Alto at long last felt his fortunes changing. As he climbed eagerly into his cockpit, ready to beat the alien menace and save the day, the once-disgraceful young master found new dreams slipping into his mind -- ambitions he had scarcely dared to entertain ever since he had first become aware of his own inadequacy.

He might not have been able to become a Constellation like his father, but he could still become a hero.

Home World

[Planet Description]
Kabral III is a large, barren world around twice the size of Earth, girdled by a thick belt of interstellar detritus and debris, and tidally locked in orbit around a Red Dwarf. Rich in minerals from centuries of constant asteroid impacts upon its surface, it was prospected and claimed shortly after its discovery 162 years ago by the Solari Exoplanet Mining Corporation.

Hoping to jump-start a colonial boom and reap the profits of the planet's lucrative natural resources, a great deal of investments were made and several expansive settlements were established. These ranged from luxurious floating resorts suspended above the day-night line where company managers and employee families could live in comfort to extensive subterranean mining cities on the night-side below. However, far from the influx of eager employees they had hoped for, the Kabral colony saw only a few thousand immigrants in its opening years.

Desperate to earn back their unwise initial investment, SEM-Corp instead turned to cloning and indentured service contracts as a way to populate their failing colonial venture. These attempts, however, ran afoul of a litany of human rights and labor mismanagement lawsuits following leaks revealing the staggering mortality rates among the first batch of disposable workers sent to the colony, leaving many of the planet's underground cities almost entirely unoccupied. "A ghost colony," one contemporary news source called it -- while less favorable outlets called it "a deathtrap." So it was that after numerous settlements, sanctions, and a disastrous government inquest, SEM-Corp was forced to declare bankruptcy and, in the years that followed, began to liquidate their colonial holdings. The Kabral III colony had its funding cut, and those few who still lived there gradually left the planet, seeking their fortunes elsewhere.

Though initially, several other companies expressed interest in purchasing the derelict colony, those efforts were soon abandoned when the Aberrant invaded. Countless frontier worlds fell into ruin, and Kabral III was entirely cut off from humanity for decades, abandoned as a tactically insignificant liability in the face of a vastly superior foe.

Systems were lost. Systems were won. The war waged on, unabated. Lines were drawn to contain the enemy, and subsequently broken through. And, in the disastrous aftermath of one such battle, the tattered remnants of an exodus fleet from the doomed neighboring Calidar colony made a blind jump through an unknown wormhole to escape their pursuers... and found the Kabral system just as it had been, still untouched by the Aberrant scourge.

Its star's light too weak, its planets too sparse and desolate, the horde had not bothered to divert their course to gobble up such a measly and insignificant sector when there were far more bountiful colonies spread out before them, all but defenseless against their wrath. And so it was that the Kabral colony's failure to thrive became its single greatest lucky break, as the fleet now found themselves in possession of an entire planet, fully furnished and developed, as though in preparation for their arrival. And, what was more important, they found that among the many ore veins SEM-corp had found there, there was a certain abundant mineral that they had dismissed as waste, but which was now more valuable than anything else in the galaxy.

The floating pleasure-cities above the equatorial line were converted to defense platforms. Unused worker drones were retrofitted into machines of war. Old foundries were fired once again, and almost a dozen Anti-Barrier swords were produced for use by the Constellations of the Exodus fleet, and those among the refugees who they chose in this time of crisis to study under them.

When the Aberrant finally found them there, they doubtless expected easy prey.

They were wrong.

The swarm's initial scouting force was completely destroyed in orbit over Kabral III. Realizing the extent of the planet's defenses, the Princess leading the attack changed its tactics, embedding itself in the outermost exoplanet of the Kabral system, no doubt attempting to birth a more powerful swarm that could overwhelm the defenders regardless of their entrenchment. However, the creature failed to account for one critical possibility -- that the planet might be defended by a large group of Constellations. 

Perhaps it was simple logic, reasoning that with the colony entirely cut off from the rest of humanity, they'd have no logistical means of obtaining such invaluable reinforcements. Or, perhaps, having faced nothing but easy victories for the last several years, the hive mind simply grew complacent. Regardless, once they knew the princess' location, the defenders came up with a bold plan. They broke from their defensive lines and launched an attack on the infested Kabral V, utilizing the main fleet as a distraction while the Constellations snuck into the hive along with an elite strike team, launching a devastating deep strike that succeeded in assassinating the Princess and decapitating her army.

But just when victory seemed assured, a new Aberrant entered the system, responding to the princess' dying screams. After all, it might have been taken by surprise -- but it still had more than enough time to notify its kind of what it had seen.

A dozen AB weapons and their users. Isolated. Undefended. An opportunity to deal a devastating blow to humanity's forces -- losses from which they might never recover.

And so, in the moment of their triumph, the heroes of Kabral were beset by a new enemy, as a Crownsguard descended upon them, and their hopes of an easy and decisive victory were dashed. Made up as they were largely of fresh recruits, and taken almost completely by surprise while they were still exhausted from their battle against the hive, most of the Constellations didn't last more than a few seconds. It was only through the sacrifice of the squad's commander, a seasoned Red Giant, that the Crownsguard's barrier was cracked for a moment -- but, in a break of luck, a moment was all it took.

With the hive's coordination disrupted by the death of their princess, the fleet had been able to regroup and rout the enemy's space forces -- and, in pursuing them, just so happened to be in the perfect position to take the shot when the opportunity arose. Transfixed by an orbital bombardment, the Crownsguard was left crippled and unable to restore its defenses -- and in that moment of weakness, the last survivor of Kabral's valiant defenders struck it down.

Of the noble dozen who ventured forth into battle that day, forever immortalized as the Twelve Knights of Kabral, only one survived -- one who had, perhaps, foreseen that this great sacrifice was the only way victory could be won. But when the dust of battle settled, the impossible had been achieved. The swarm had been broken, its princess slain, and her invincible guardian toppled -- its heart pierced by the spear of of the great Ricardo Valenti.

Kabral III is, in the modern day, known as the bulwark and unofficial capital system of the Frontier regions. With the death of the princess besieging it, the entire swarm collapsed, allowing the neighboring systems to regroup, and drive the Aberrant from their sectors. A new defensive line was established, and, when the news of what had occurred on Kabral came to light, the system was immediately heavily fortified, and operations undertaken to find and extract every last ounce of Anti-Barrier material from the planet's mines.

This alone wouldn't have been enough to turn Kabral into the commercial powerhouse that it is today. However, as news of the miraculous victory of the Twelve Knights spread across the galaxies, it became a rallying cry for patriots everywhere. Support for Kabral became a way of showing one's devotion to the cause of humanity universally, and entrepreneurs rode this wave of good publicity to draw investors to contribute to the development of the "unbreakable fortress" that had so soundly beaten the loathsome invaders.

Propaganda films were made. Monuments were established. Tourist attractions set up. Immigration boomed, and a few very lucky former subsidiaries of SEM-Corp found themselves unexpectedly holding the deed to all of it. These remnants banded together with the brave minds behind the defensive network erected during the first siege and with several other local enterprises merging to form a new industrial giant -- one that would honor the blood spilled to defend Kabral's red soil by harvesting every last scrap of material beneath it, and turning it into weapons fit to slaughter the Aberrants to the last. Thus was born Kabral Heavy Industries, a military-industrial powerhouse whose bold and deadly designs would take the Frontier by storm.

[Culture]
The culture of Kabral III is thus, in short, steeped in two things: militarism and patriotism. Hero worship is in the blood of every last man, woman, and child born there, who grow up surrounded by reminders of all that was sacrificed by their forebears to stop the horde in its tracks, and of their own duties to defend humanity from similar threats at any cost. They venerate their Twelve Knights with almost religious fervor, and, ironically for a colony that has spent almost its entire history cut off from the rest of humanity, feel an immense camaraderie with peoples from all other worlds and galaxies. No matter how different the cultures of any visitors to Kabral, a tourist will almost never be shunned, but met with almost fanatical acceptance and curiosity. The Kabralians will bend over backwards to welcome anyone as a brother, honoring them no matter how strange or foreign their customs might be -- just so long as that stranger is willing and able to hold a weapon and tear the bugs limb from limb, they'll fit right in.

[Warrior Family]
Tracing their ancestry only distantly back to branches of more distinguished clans, the Valenti family was basically unheard of until Ricardo Valenti's unprecedented rise from complete obscurity to Singularity-class, his creation as Lord of Kabral and Protector of the Frontier, and his appointment in this capacity to the UAS Council. While he is held in high regard as something of a folk hero, among established warrior houses and the blue-blooded oligarchs of the Milky Way, both he and his family are seen as upstarts, undeserving of the high status afforded to him. While he might have a seat on the council, he has yet to earn the dignity and respect afforded a proper master.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Alto Valenti` `[Callsign]` `Eight-Ball` `[Gender]` `Male` `[Age]` `19` `[Rank and Designation]` `Apprentice Pilot, Designated Test Pilot for K.H.I.` `[Place of Birth]` `Kabral III` `[Official Statement]` `"My reason for fighting? Well, I mean, somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me, right? If I can't be the one wielding the sword, then the least I can do is clear the way for those who can. Haha. So yeah, that's... Will he see this? No, no, of course not. Right. Right. Forget I asked."` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Mech Model]` FTF-280x Corvo II-V `[Type]` `Limited-Production Multirole Fighter/Artillery` `[Size]` `15.2 Meters/Approx. 50 Feet` `[Unladen Weight]` `28.3 Metric Tons` `[Max Weight]` `42.7 Metric Tons` `[Core]` `Epsilon-Class` `[Armaments]` `KHI-44x-VSHPR "VESPER" \|\|`The Corvo II-V's primary armament is the experimental "VESPER" Variable-Speed Heavy Plasma Rifle, purpose-built for the unit in partnership with Kabral Heavy Industries. With a total length of 16 meters, even exceeding the unit's own height, it is a formidable weapon with a yield comparable to a destroyer's main cannon. As its designation implies, the weapon's primary feature is its flexibility. Top-loaded with a magazine of compressed gas canisters, it then uses its own internal reactor to charge and superheat this exotic fuel into a form of highly volatile plasma, which it then releases in steady streams for as long as the trigger is held down. In this mode, its most common use case is sweeping the beam across one or more targets to deal damage over a wide range. Additionally, however, it is also capable of condensing this plasma into a singular mass, feeding extra energy directly from the Corvo II-V's reactor to supercharge and then magnetically accelerate one devastating shot into particularly tough enemies. In this configuration, the bolt it fires not only travels to its target near-instantaneously, but becomes capable of melting through the carapaces of even the most hardy Aberrant foe -- then disintegrating them with a massive explosion. Unfortunately, firing the VESPER for maximum effect also depletes the currently active gas canister completely, requiring immediate reloading. Furthermore, throughout its testing and development, the weapon has suffered from insufficient cooling, often melting its heat sinks and barrel irreparably over the course of a single sortie. Some models even exploded outright, or caused reactor leaks in the unit that carried them. Due to the costs inherent to their production, and their less-than-stellar long-term performance, neither the VESPER, nor the improved Corvo II variant meant to wield it, ever saw mass production -- but a few models did see service in the frontier regions. `FTF-T28-MM "Tri-Talon" Multi-Missile Rack \|\|`One of several modular back-mounted weapons packs designed for the Corvo-series chassis, the Tri-Talon carries a total of eighteen radar-guided missiles per pod, and can fire up to six of them in a single salvo. These missiles are as fast as they are accurate, and can additionally be armed on a delay, allowing them to be guided around potential obstacles before they begin seeking a target, making them supremely useful for chasing entrenched enemies out of cover and striking from unanticipated angles. However, the warheads' actual destructive power is somewhat lacking, meaning their utility is far greater against small, mobile adversaries that would be tricky to hit with the Corvo II's main gun than it is against larger, more heavily armored targets. These pods, additionally, can be purged from the unit once empty, reducing its weight so as to increase its speed. `FTF-S110-BB "Espada" Beam Blade \|\|`The Corvo II's last resort is a one-handed beam sword stored in a charging rack underneath its left wrist. While not in use, its focusing emitter can be used to fire small-but-rapid laser blasts, serving as a sidearm or CIWS should the unit be pressured. Additionally, it can be released seamlessly from the charging rack into the unit's hand with a quick flick of the wrist, allowing the Corvo II to rapidly respond to threats that enter melee range. The beam blade, though small, concentrates an immense amount of energy into its edge, allowing it to cleave straight through even Aberrant armor in just one or two strikes. However, since the Corvo II lacks any other close-range countermeasures, this weapon is more meant to allow it to go down fighting when cornered than anything else, and it is not advised for pilots to seek to employ it regularly. `"Magni-Craft" A-EM Propulsion System \|\|`Another proprietary technology of Kabral Heavy Industries added to the Corvo II-V to test viability for mass-production, the Magni-Craft system was an unintended breakthrough discovered during a failed project attempting to replicate Aberrant barriers. By drawing anomalous material from the unit's Aberrant core and shaping it with electromagnetic currents, a lattice structure can be formed around the unit equipped with the system. This structure, while unable to replicate the power of a true Aberrant barrier, nevertheless exerts a constant, steady repulsive force which can furthermore be focused or amplified by modulating the current flowing through it. The most obvious use of this technology is to disrupt incoming energy-based attacks, or to slow physical projectiles and reduce their impact force. However, as researchers on the project soon discovered, the A-EM Fields produced by this system are a means not only of defense, but also propulsion. By projecting an A-EM Field beneath the unit, the Magni-Craft system serves to counteract the force of gravity, allowing the unit it is equipped to skate near-weightlessly atop a frictionless force-field instead of the ground itself. And, should the unit need to enter the air, the field can be momentarily expanded to violently repulse the ground, launching the machine airborne before stabilizing once again to slow its descent to a safe and controllable speed. This system gives the Corvo II-V a great deal of mobility without sacrificing size or armor in exchange. However, it is also heavily fuel intensive, limiting its operational times compared to more conventional machines. This deficiency has been partially compensated for by attaching an external fuel tank containing a reserve of the exotic materials needed to create an A-EM Field, but this, in turn, increases the unit's weight and reduces its speed -- though it can be purged once emptied. Additionally, the system is dependent on a network of emitters and stabilizers mounted all along the unit's frame, many of which are affixed to modular hardpoints not specifically designed to accommodate or protect them, as more customized fittings could not be procured due to budgetary constraints during the unit's brief production run. Due to this somewhat sloppy "proof of concept" placement, as the unit sustains damage, these stabilizers may fail, resulting in reduced A-EM Field integrity. The more hits the unit takes, the slower and the more fragile it will become, giving it a somewhat deserved reputation for falling apart all at once when things start going wrong. `[Anomaly]` `Telempathic Communication` `[Origin]` `Limit` `[Phenomena]` The Valenti family is known for its powerful psionic Anomalies, derived from an unstable union between Symtropantos and Eorman branch family members in their distant Ancestry. Alto, however, only possesses a very weak offshoot of these abilities -- one which grants the user a form of extrasensory perception. This ESP is tuned specifically to the thoughts and feelings of those around the user -- particularly those directed towards Alto himself. Rather than words, general attitudes and sensations are conveyed with a great degree of fidelity, though some of the context pertaining to them can also be imparted if the person in question focuses on a specific memory, thought, or image while he is reading them. The more willing the subject to open up to him, the easier it is to form a psionic bridge connecting their two minds, increasing the accuracy with which he is able to understand their feelings, experiences, and wishes. This connection can also work both ways, allowing Alto to exert his own psionic pressure on those around him, conveying his emotions, memories, or short thoughts to others who are nearby. Likewise, this ability works more effectively the more willing his target is to receive him. Aside from giving him a great deal of natural charisma and a knack for pleasing and comforting others, Alto's ability does have a few, albeit limited uses in combat. For example, he can track the general positions of his allies and their general mental states even in the heat of battle, giving him above-average situational awareness. Sensing a comrade's alarm might tip him off to an imminent danger, while their anger or desperation might draw him to provide support where it's needed without even being asked. In particularly tense situations, an enemy's killing intent can give their attacks away just in time for him to evade them, making the difference between life and death. `[Limitation]` While Alto's ability is flexible, and comes at little cost to himself, it isn't without its drawbacks. As it exists outside of the five traditional senses, oftentimes attempting to transmit complex concepts will result in information overflow -- synesthesia bleeding into his other senses, losing some of the information entirely. Rather than peering through someone's memories, for example, he's more likely to just get flashes of specific sights, sounds, tastes, smells, or tactile sensations, disconnected from one another and deprived from the overall context. And, while he can more or less control when his ability activates rather than just having it on all the time, it sometimes fires off without any conscious input from him -- particularly in moments of great stress, powerful emotion, and high tension. This can make it somewhat unreliable when he's under pressure, as he finds it much more difficult to control his Anomaly well enough to search for or focus on one specific thing in such cases -- and can additionally cause his own distress to be inadvertently shared with those around him. Finally, due to the alien nature of their senses and thought patterns, his ability is extremely ineffective when employed against the Aberrant. Any successes he might have at sensing their presence or their killing intent are usually more dumb luck than the result of any conscious effort on his part -- and, in fact, attempting to actively focus his perceptions upon them can oftentimes result in a great deal of psychic strain, causing headaches, nausea, confusion, and even running the risk of making him pass out. Whatever thoughts might comprise it, the Aberrant mind is a terrible thing to read. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Ricardo Valenti` `[Relation to Subject]` `Father` `[Analysis]` You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in the galactic frontier regions who hasn't at least once heard the name Ricardo Valenti. One of few Singularity-Class Constellations in the entire UAS, he's renowned not only for his skill with his AB Lance, but also for his purported oracular ability to see even distant possible futures and chart a path to achieving them with his Anomaly -- though how much of this is truth and how much is his own exaggerated legend is a topic of frequent debate. Regardless of how much of it is true, his tale has been told time and time again. In a time where humanity was suffering defeat after defeat, heroes were in short supply. Certain liberties were taken, perhaps, and certain responsibilities were piled on the shoulders of a tired man who had known only fighting since the days of his youth. He'd fled one home, found another, and then lost everyone who defended it with him. Yet still he remained. Ricardo is not necessarily a cold man, but he's not a friendly man either. His eyes are too sharp, his heart too small. His dark humor and sardonic temperament are rather typical for a Kabralan, and his discipline, devotion to his people, and dedication to his duty are likewise as exemplary as one might expect. He's the kind of man who would shed no tears over a comrade's death, but would spill a sea of blood to avenge them -- cool-headed, proud, and resolute. He is impartial in his treatment of others, dealing as bluntly with his own kin as he does with his subordinates. Not one to show affection or to openly express his feelings on any matter, it's no wonder his more emotionally sensitive son and he never saw eye to eye. Presently, he's serving as a representative for the Frontier regions on the UAS council, in particular helping to guide and direct the deployment of defensive forces along the Frontier. His performance in this role has been, at worst, unremarkable -- he's successfully minimized losses while largely maintaining the status quo... for now. However, there are many on the council who dislike him for his rather meteoric rise of prominence, and who are all too eager to see him fall. As such, the position occupied both by him and the defensive forces under his command is precarious, and prone to changing should even the slightest mishap befall him... `[Name]` `Dr. Nicole Renata` `[Relation to Subject]` `Kabral Heavy Industries Liaison, Attache to V-Type Test Pilot Alto Valenti` `[Analysis]` When the refugees from Calidar first found Kabral III, the colonial cities upon its surface were abandoned, but not uninhabited. As part of their efforts to draw tourists and immigrants to their new colony, SEM-Corp had commissioned a rather luxurious custom line of clones from the famed RENATUS Combine, hoping to employ them as concierges, aides, escorts, and domestic servants to VIPs in the luxury residences built atop the colony's hanging sky cities. As such, they were designed not only to be beautiful to look at, but also to possess an abnormally high level of mental acuity for a menial servant model. They would, after all, have been expected to serve as living encyclopedias of everything a guest would need to know -- and yet, they were also meant to be perfectly and unquestioningly obedient to those designated as their masters. But those masters never arrived. And so, these costly mail-order maidens were left locked away in cryogenic slumber, set aside in one of the many lawsuits surrounding the colony's dissolution until countless appeals could be made to decide whose property, precisely, they now were. Needless to say, when the sector was evacuated on account of the emergent Aberrant menace, these insignificant issues were set aside and, eventually, forgotten. Until the Calidar exodus came and woke them up. Most of the RENATUS women ended up living lives of no consequence, and most likewise died in short order. Some were all-too-eagerly taken as concubines of the soldiers protecting the planet. Others were tasked with helping to crew and maintain the orbital defense platforms, and perished during the first wave of the Aberrant attack. A few were tasked with assisting in the manufacture of weapons and armaments as part of a joint initiative with military engineers from the exodus fleet, but by and large also are reported to have perished when a Knight-class Aberrant bombed one of the planet's primary weapons factories. It is a deeply ironic and unpleasant fact to consider, that they possessed the intellect to be fully aware of themselves -- of their sentience, of the rights and dignity afforded to other such sentient beings, and, of course, of the souls they themselves lacked, which separated them from those "others." And yet, in spite of that awareness, they could not escape their programming -- all they could do was show their brightest smiles, meekly nod, and obey the orders they received, though it cost them their lives, their happiness, and their dignity. Poor, innocent dolls -- the lot of them. Of course, none of that has anything to do with the eccentric KHI liaison, Dr. Nicole Renata. A rising star among the corporation's ranks, she's gone from working on a factory line to designing product lines of her own, and is even rumored to have had a hand in the invention of several of the company's proprietary technologies. Needless to say, as one of the minds behind the new V-Type Corvo units, she's taking a direct role in analyzing the operational data from their early-stage deployments. Her behavior is notoriously inscrutable, with her every waking moment fueled almost entirely by caffeine and other minor stimulants. She displays a flagrant disregard for authority and decorum in almost all forms, addressing everyone with equal familiarity and irreverence -- barging into conversations whenever she feels like, and tuning out the world to lose herself in her studies whenever she doesn't. The only thing she takes seriously is her work -- and if she wasn't so damned good at it, doubtless no one would be willing to put up with her many idiosyncrasies. She gets along just fine with her unit's test pilot, though, treating Alto -- much to his chagrin -- as something of a kindred spirit, or perhaps a younger brother. She's all too willing to humor his high pride, and take pride in his low humor, teaching him newer, even worse puns to inflict upon his comrades during her free time. She still gets mad at him if he misuses her precious prototype, though. Although her identification papers were tragically lost during the fall of Calidar and her subsequent flight from it, numerous KHI executives have stepped forward and vouched for her identity -- in no small part thanks to her insightful contributions to some of their most cutting edge designs. A resourceful academic and a living lexicon of scientific data, there have certainly been those detractors citing her resemblance to the now-deceased RENATUS clones, and some disproportionate fuss made over some unsightly burns from a broken cigarette lighter that just so happen to cover the patch of skin on her wrist where such a clone's barcode tattoo would be. But those theories are, of course, ridiculous, and have long since been debunked. They're nothing more than the vitriolic babbling of those jealous of the young prodigy's many landmark achievements in the field of Aberrant studies, and the repurposing of their biology into technologies which can benefit the war effort. After all, even had one of the RENATUS women survived, she never would have been able to lie about her origins, let alone destroy her own identification number. Her programming would surely prevent it. After all, no matter how clever or strong-willed a menial clone might be, they're still subject to their core precepts. Obey your betters. Go above and beyond what is asked of you, and always give 110% to your job. The company's prosperity is your prosperity. No matter how hard it gets, don't forget to smile. ...Well, at least one of them was good advice. The serious ones only die tired and unhappy, so might as well at least pretend you're enjoying yourself, right? All the more so when this fleeting, insignificant life is the only time you have... `[Name]` `Sabine Dassault-Delacroix` `[Relation to Subject]` `Service Acquaintance and Rival` `[Analysis]` One of the few actively serving pilots Alto would consider himself acquainted with outside of those who went through basic with him and his drill instructors, Sabine happened to be traveling along with a Dassault supply convoy that Alto was briefly attached to as an escort. Nothing in particular came of the mission, with no hostile contacts sighted anywhere along the convoy's route, but over the course of the journey, the two of them became more or less friends... which is to say, Sabine taunted the rookie Alto relentlessly about his lack of real experience, and Alto channeled his frustration from the experience into doing his darnedest to scrap her in practice simulations when he wasn't out on maneuvers. If you asked him, he'd probably say that he won more than he lost, but if you asked her, she'd probably say that his unit's specs were higher and if it weren't for that, his performance wouldn't have been worth writing home about. Either way, their spirited competition aside, the two did get along decently well, and he'd be the first to admit she's a good pilot. After all, if she wasn't, she wouldn't be worth viewing as a rival -- now would she?	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` The first thing one is likely to notice about Alto Valenti is his exhuberant, sunny demeanor. Seldom seen without a cocky grin on his face, even when he's desperately trying to hide it while called to stand at attention, he's friendly, excitable, and, while occasionally awkward, generally a rather personable individual... provided you don't mind the occasional groanworthy pun, anyway. The second thing one is likely to notice, on the other hand, is his reckless ambition. He doesn't exactly try to hide his aspirations of heroism or his at least somewhat justified pride in his skills, sure -- but it's a bit alarming how readily he puts those goals before his own well-being. Perhaps he thinks he's invincible, or perhaps he just doesn't know any better, but either way, while he's not necessarily a hazard to others, the same doesn't really hold true for himself. Constant supervision is advised. `[Personal History]` It might seem strange that a young master, raised in luxury, would throw away that life, his pride, and his entire fortune in pursuit of childish dreams. Born the son of a war hero, yet inheriting only a meager fraction of that famous power, Alto was just strong enough to sense the gulf between him and the father he so admired. That disappointment -- no, that pity -- was where it all began. Then, the disgust of his fiance -- a Core-Worlder from a wealthy family he met only once, yet whose disdain might have crushed him at a glance. Was he really to live the rest of his life in the company of a woman who thought him a bumpkin and a useless imbecile, just so that her wealth might pay for the war his father continued to fight even now? Staring down the barrel of a future in which he would remain just as insignificant as he always had been, Alto blinked. Instead of boarding the shuttle that would have taken him towards that future, he slipped away -- found passage on a different ship, and vanished into the celestial night. He only once looked back as his homeworld slipped away into the darkness of space -- then never looked back again. It wasn't easy going. He did odd jobs, scrounged and scavenged, even begged just to survive. He questioned himself once or twice, but the pride within him was hurt less by the lowly state to which he had fallen than it was by the thought of returning home in disgrace. And then, at his lowest moment, he met a recruiter who saw that pride for what it was -- saw how to exploit it. An unspoken agreement was formed. Alto faked his age, and the recruiter turned the other way -- a little lie that would fill his quota just a little sooner. Perhaps the man had been hoping that a boy gifted with an Anomaly would perform well enough to earn him a bonus -- though if he was, these hopes would go unfulfilled. Alto's performance in training was a mixed bag. He demonstrated a great deal of situational awareness, lightning-quick reflexes, and a tremendous natural knack for piloting -- but also a reckless disregard for protocol, caution, and patience that cost him dearly in mock battles and simulations. Some of these faults were overlooked on account of his talent, others he managed to rein in just well enough to pass muster. But if basic training had taught him humility, it was a lesson swiftly undercut by the offer he received upon first donning the rank of apprentice. An exclusive offer from Kabral Heavy Industries -- the premier manufacturer of weapons and war machines on his homeworld -- was placed before him, and he signed the waiver without so much as glancing at the fine print. A glamorous, elite position as a test pilot, getting first crack at weapons and tech nobody else had ever used in combat before was bait far too juicy for him to even consider passing up -- without ever even thinking of the risks that might be involved. Even this status proved insufficient to whet his appetite for adventure, however. Half a year of running basic field tests and mock combat operations in the safety of core space felt hardly any different from the sim-skirmishes back in basic. But when, mid-transit, his unit happened to receive a distress signal from the nearby planet Alora, Alto at long last felt his fortunes changing. As he climbed eagerly into his cockpit, ready to beat the alien menace and save the day, the once-disgraceful young master found new dreams slipping into his mind -- ambitions he had scarcely dared to entertain ever since he had first become aware of his own inadequacy. He might not have been able to become a Constellation like his father, but he could still become a hero. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` Kabral III is a large, barren world around twice the size of Earth, girdled by a thick belt of interstellar detritus and debris, and tidally locked in orbit around a Red Dwarf. Rich in minerals from centuries of constant asteroid impacts upon its surface, it was prospected and claimed shortly after its discovery 162 years ago by the Solari Exoplanet Mining Corporation. Hoping to jump-start a colonial boom and reap the profits of the planet's lucrative natural resources, a great deal of investments were made and several expansive settlements were established. These ranged from luxurious floating resorts suspended above the day-night line where company managers and employee families could live in comfort to extensive subterranean mining cities on the night-side below. However, far from the influx of eager employees they had hoped for, the Kabral colony saw only a few thousand immigrants in its opening years. Desperate to earn back their unwise initial investment, SEM-Corp instead turned to cloning and indentured service contracts as a way to populate their failing colonial venture. These attempts, however, ran afoul of a litany of human rights and labor mismanagement lawsuits following leaks revealing the staggering mortality rates among the first batch of disposable workers sent to the colony, leaving many of the planet's underground cities almost entirely unoccupied. "A ghost colony," one contemporary news source called it -- while less favorable outlets called it "a deathtrap." So it was that after numerous settlements, sanctions, and a disastrous government inquest, SEM-Corp was forced to declare bankruptcy and, in the years that followed, began to liquidate their colonial holdings. The Kabral III colony had its funding cut, and those few who still lived there gradually left the planet, seeking their fortunes elsewhere. Though initially, several other companies expressed interest in purchasing the derelict colony, those efforts were soon abandoned when the Aberrant invaded. Countless frontier worlds fell into ruin, and Kabral III was entirely cut off from humanity for decades, abandoned as a tactically insignificant liability in the face of a vastly superior foe. Systems were lost. Systems were won. The war waged on, unabated. Lines were drawn to contain the enemy, and subsequently broken through. And, in the disastrous aftermath of one such battle, the tattered remnants of an exodus fleet from the doomed neighboring Calidar colony made a blind jump through an unknown wormhole to escape their pursuers... and found the Kabral system just as it had been, still untouched by the Aberrant scourge. Its star's light too weak, its planets too sparse and desolate, the horde had not bothered to divert their course to gobble up such a measly and insignificant sector when there were far more bountiful colonies spread out before them, all but defenseless against their wrath. And so it was that the Kabral colony's failure to thrive became its single greatest lucky break, as the fleet now found themselves in possession of an entire planet, fully furnished and developed, as though in preparation for their arrival. And, what was more important, they found that among the many ore veins SEM-corp had found there, there was a certain abundant mineral that they had dismissed as waste, but which was now more valuable than anything else in the galaxy. The floating pleasure-cities above the equatorial line were converted to defense platforms. Unused worker drones were retrofitted into machines of war. Old foundries were fired once again, and almost a dozen Anti-Barrier swords were produced for use by the Constellations of the Exodus fleet, and those among the refugees who they chose in this time of crisis to study under them. When the Aberrant finally found them there, they doubtless expected easy prey. They were wrong. The swarm's initial scouting force was completely destroyed in orbit over Kabral III. Realizing the extent of the planet's defenses, the Princess leading the attack changed its tactics, embedding itself in the outermost exoplanet of the Kabral system, no doubt attempting to birth a more powerful swarm that could overwhelm the defenders regardless of their entrenchment. However, the creature failed to account for one critical possibility -- that the planet might be defended by a large group of Constellations. Perhaps it was simple logic, reasoning that with the colony entirely cut off from the rest of humanity, they'd have no logistical means of obtaining such invaluable reinforcements. Or, perhaps, having faced nothing but easy victories for the last several years, the hive mind simply grew complacent. Regardless, once they knew the princess' location, the defenders came up with a bold plan. They broke from their defensive lines and launched an attack on the infested Kabral V, utilizing the main fleet as a distraction while the Constellations snuck into the hive along with an elite strike team, launching a devastating deep strike that succeeded in assassinating the Princess and decapitating her army. But just when victory seemed assured, a new Aberrant entered the system, responding to the princess' dying screams. After all, it might have been taken by surprise -- but it still had more than enough time to notify its kind of what it had seen. A dozen AB weapons and their users. Isolated. Undefended. An opportunity to deal a devastating blow to humanity's forces -- losses from which they might never recover. And so, in the moment of their triumph, the heroes of Kabral were beset by a new enemy, as a Crownsguard descended upon them, and their hopes of an easy and decisive victory were dashed. Made up as they were largely of fresh recruits, and taken almost completely by surprise while they were still exhausted from their battle against the hive, most of the Constellations didn't last more than a few seconds. It was only through the sacrifice of the squad's commander, a seasoned Red Giant, that the Crownsguard's barrier was cracked for a moment -- but, in a break of luck, a moment was all it took. With the hive's coordination disrupted by the death of their princess, the fleet had been able to regroup and rout the enemy's space forces -- and, in pursuing them, just so happened to be in the perfect position to take the shot when the opportunity arose. Transfixed by an orbital bombardment, the Crownsguard was left crippled and unable to restore its defenses -- and in that moment of weakness, the last survivor of Kabral's valiant defenders struck it down. Of the noble dozen who ventured forth into battle that day, forever immortalized as the Twelve Knights of Kabral, only one survived -- one who had, perhaps, foreseen that this great sacrifice was the only way victory could be won. But when the dust of battle settled, the impossible had been achieved. The swarm had been broken, its princess slain, and her invincible guardian toppled -- its heart pierced by the spear of of the great Ricardo Valenti. Kabral III is, in the modern day, known as the bulwark and unofficial capital system of the Frontier regions. With the death of the princess besieging it, the entire swarm collapsed, allowing the neighboring systems to regroup, and drive the Aberrant from their sectors. A new defensive line was established, and, when the news of what had occurred on Kabral came to light, the system was immediately heavily fortified, and operations undertaken to find and extract every last ounce of Anti-Barrier material from the planet's mines. This alone wouldn't have been enough to turn Kabral into the commercial powerhouse that it is today. However, as news of the miraculous victory of the Twelve Knights spread across the galaxies, it became a rallying cry for patriots everywhere. Support for Kabral became a way of showing one's devotion to the cause of humanity universally, and entrepreneurs rode this wave of good publicity to draw investors to contribute to the development of the "unbreakable fortress" that had so soundly beaten the loathsome invaders. Propaganda films were made. Monuments were established. Tourist attractions set up. Immigration boomed, and a few very lucky former subsidiaries of SEM-Corp found themselves unexpectedly holding the deed to all of it. These remnants banded together with the brave minds behind the defensive network erected during the first siege and with several other local enterprises merging to form a new industrial giant -- one that would honor the blood spilled to defend Kabral's red soil by harvesting every last scrap of material beneath it, and turning it into weapons fit to slaughter the Aberrants to the last. Thus was born Kabral Heavy Industries, a military-industrial powerhouse whose bold and deadly designs would take the Frontier by storm. `[Culture]` The culture of Kabral III is thus, in short, steeped in two things: militarism and patriotism. Hero worship is in the blood of every last man, woman, and child born there, who grow up surrounded by reminders of all that was sacrificed by their forebears to stop the horde in its tracks, and of their own duties to defend humanity from similar threats at any cost. They venerate their Twelve Knights with almost religious fervor, and, ironically for a colony that has spent almost its entire history cut off from the rest of humanity, feel an immense camaraderie with peoples from all other worlds and galaxies. No matter how different the cultures of any visitors to Kabral, a tourist will almost never be shunned, but met with almost fanatical acceptance and curiosity. The Kabralians will bend over backwards to welcome anyone as a brother, honoring them no matter how strange or foreign their customs might be -- just so long as that stranger is willing and able to hold a weapon and tear the bugs limb from limb, they'll fit right in. `[Warrior Family]` Tracing their ancestry only distantly back to branches of more distinguished clans, the Valenti family was basically unheard of until Ricardo Valenti's unprecedented rise from complete obscurity to Singularity-class, his creation as Lord of Kabral and Protector of the Frontier, and his appointment in this capacity to the UAS Council. While he is held in high regard as something of a folk hero, among established warrior houses and the blue-blooded oligarchs of the Milky Way, both he and his family are seen as upstarts, undeserving of the high status afforded to him. While he might have a seat on the council, he has yet to earn the dignity and respect afforded a proper master.

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Aberrant Integration System, Subject 1 - AIS S1
[Callsign]Aissi
[Gender]Female
[Age]Early 20s
[Rank and Designation]Experimental Constellation, Stardust Rank
[Place of Birth]Kepler-195
[Official Statement]"AIS S1—Aissi...I—I was...made—born—built...? Built to fight. Built—made to kill. WIN. KILL."

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Anti-Barrier Sword]#236 - AB1 (Aberrant-integration Blade One) and #371 - AB2. But since they've been reforged into identical forms and serve as a single unit for Aissi, she refers to them much more personally, simply as her Wingblades.
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]21%

[Physical Description]
It's no wonder the Anti-Barrier Quotient of the Wingblades is so low; after all, they're unreasonably large, and there's only so much AB material to go around. Matte black with gleaming red bevels, these double-edged blades are roughly as long as Aissi is tall (about seven feet), and mounted on winglike struts grafted directly into her nervous system through her back. This unorthodox arrangement allows her to manipulate the Wingblades as though they were a third pair of limbs, leaving her hands free for more typical swords used almost exclusively for defense that are sheathed along the struts.

[Attributes]
In order to supplement the low AB Quotient caused by their large size, the Wingblades have been retrofitted with laser technology. They can ignite their blades in red light, significantly increasing their cutting force; and, even further, they are able to fire powerful, though short-ranged, laser blasts.

[Anomaly]Aberrant Integration System
[Origin]Aberrant Research Laboratory A2

[Phenomena]
Though it fills the same space as Anomaly typically would, this is quite explicitly very different. To put her on level with actual Constellations with Anomaly, Aissi's body is infested with an expansive suite of Aberrant technologies. From the system that controls her Wingblades, to magnetic clamps in her hands, her limbs more biomechanical than flesh now, antigravity systems in her feet, compact rocket engines in her legs along with stabilizers in her shoulders...and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Finally, it all connects to the most important of her modifications, the most powerful, and the most taboo: her core. A fully-intact Epsilon-tier Aberrant core harvested from a high-caste Bishop has been embedded into her back between where the Wingblades emerge, which powers all of her multifarious augmentations, coordinates them, and normalizes them in her nervous system so they feel as natural as whatever of her original body remains.

[Limitation]
The same way it doesn't function as Anomaly does, it doesn't have the same kind of cost on usage. What it does have, though, is quite an adverse affect on her mental state. The painful experiments that were done to her over the course of years, as well as the overtaxing of her brain as it attempts to manage far more than it was designed to and the Aberrant instincts that now lurk within her, have led to her being VERY unstable, especially during full-throttle combat where all of her augmentations and implants are working at maximum capacity. Perhaps not a clear-cut cost; but quite a cost nonetheless.Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
As mentioned, the experiments have left Aissi not quite in full control of herself at all times. Twitchy, relentlessly high-strung, and never overly far from fits of violent hysteria, Aissi's personality alone is proof positive that making a large amount of Constellations in the same way she was made isn't necessarily a good idea. Still, she's not always obviously unstable, clearly. Though during combat she veers way into the erratic, outside of it, she's a notably sensitive and anxious individual. Keenly aware that she looks very strange, and even more keenly aware that the reason she looks strange is that she's essentially half-Aberrant—the thing that's trying to kill everyone and everything—she's constantly fretting over the image that she has. When people look at her, do they see a Constellation? Or a monster?

And really, even she doesn't quite know. Paradoxically to her appearance and her position, Aissi knows very little about the world. All she really remembers is being in the lab. Granted, she was told something like what to expect when she went into the field. But being told what the world is like and actually living in the world are two very different things. She only has experience with the first of those two. She knows plenty about Aberrants and how to kill Aberrants...but that's mostly ALL she knows.


[Personal History]
The first thing Aberrant Integration System, Subject One remembers is waking up in the lab.

What age was she? Teenaged? She isn't sure, and she doesn't remember. What was her name before? Did she even have a name? She's not sure of that either. Only A.I.S-S1. That's it. Well...she remembered how to speak, and how to listen. She remembers language. That's something, right?

The second thing A.I.S-S1 remembers is pain.

Her first implantation was almost immediately after she awoke. She doesn't even remember what it is anymore; all of it has blurred together in her mind by now. Was it her leg engines? Her neuralware? Perhaps the magnetic clamps in her hands? it all feels so far away.

Time went on. Every so often, the procedure would repeat: she would be given an implant though a painful procedure. Then the technicians and scientists that handled her would monitor it. Sometimes, her body would reject the implant, and the pain would come back. The doctors would remove it, put it aside, and try and give it again later. They never gave up. If her body didn't reject it—if it accepted the Aberrant technology as a part of her now—then she'd have another few days, just to make sure. And then another implant would be brought to her, and the wheel would turn again. But it was fine. She'd volunteered for this, according to the doctors. This was what she'd wanted. To let herself be turned into something greater, even at sacrifice to herself. So she simply clung on.

But there was one great mercy. Because during all of this, she wasn't alone in the lab. There was another girl undergoing a similar—if much lesser—augmentation, and the two became something like friends. Hope, her name was. And that got A.I.S-S1 thinking about names. Every time she saw that designation emblazed near her, she would look at it, and think of names. And then one day, when she was still woozy from sedation, she saw it with blurry eyes, and she misread it. Not  A.I.S-S1. AISSI. 

Aissi. She would be Aissi.

Time went on more. Further. Hope left, and she was once again alone. More implants. More connections. And then the most prominent: the Bladewings. She rejected them three times before her body finally let them settle, and each rejection was more painful than the last, resulted in a longer wait. And then, after all that was done...she'd been in the lab for how long now? She didn't know, and she still doesn't quite; several years, at least. But now that all of the implants, all of the cybernetics, all of the prosthetics, were in place, it was time for the piece de resistance. The Core.

There is nothing Aissi can remember, before or since, that hurts as much as suddenly having every one of her augmentations fire into her nerves all at once. Sheer, gut-wrenching, mind-warping AGONY. And the pain, the nerves, all of it firing at once...it changed something in her. Turned from a sweet, sensitive girl to something where...well, sometimes you can see that underneath her. But not often. Not anymore. And once it was finally over...she was finished. More machine now than woman. And, really, more Aberrant than woman. Perhaps not even human at all anymore.

Another year went by. She had to acclimate, of course. Not only did she have so many new modifications and augmentations working all at once, but she had an entirely new set of limbs to figure out. It was around this time that she started running sims, to get her used to what combat might be like on a world being invaded b the Aberrant. But then, recently and finally...it was done. She was prepared. 

And now, the test runs begin.

Home World

[Planet Description]
Kepler-195 was a dry, arid moon, largely desert and scrubland broken by salt seas and crisscossing braided streams. One of—and the smallest of, in fact—numerous inhabited moons orbiting the gas giant Pele on the far frontier, it wasn't exactly well known, especially compared to its larger and more outgoing neighbors. Small and inconspicuous, the people enjoyed a fairly peaceful existence; though a select few eked out a nomadic lifestyle on the surface, most people lived in vast cities deep underground instead, so they felt quite insulated and far from any issues that might plague topside.

...And then the Aberrants came.

The multifarious moons of Pele were in possession of a great deal of resources, and many different varieties. They were hungry. And Kepler-195 was the first they came across.

And they glassed the entire moon. 

Though the Constellations came, only a scant few refugees escaped and fled far away from their desolated once-home as it was consumed. Many of the other moons around Pele were also ground to dust and ash. Only two escaped the grisly fate, and afterwards, they were so desolate that they could no longer support life. In the span of barely six months, the entire moon system of Pele was wiped clean of all human life.

[Culture] 
While Kepler-195 still existed, it had two 'factions' of people. A very few lived nomadic lives on the surface. Because water on the surface was a precious resource, they wore stillsuits, and traveled with their lives on their back to set up around any temporary watering hole that may emerge. 

The grand majority of the populace—which, mind you, wasn't large to begin with, only about 500 million people across the entire moon—lived in vast underground cities, tunneled out of the bedrock. Water was much more prevalent due to the presence of deep aquifers, and the native plant life grew readily. They lived a comfortable existence; though they were held in contempt by the surface nomads, they were largely happy to simply live in comfort underground.

But, of course, this moon no longer exists, and Aissi has no memories from before the lab, regardless.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Jacob "Jay" Tobias Brake

[Relation to Subject]
Aissi's "Medical Coordinator and Caretaker" (In so many words, her handler) - Checks for malfunctions in and maintains systems, performs routine psychiatric checks and monitors her sanity, serves as a point of stability for her, practiced at talking her down and reigning her in if she's starting to go sideways.

[Analysis]
Jay is tired. So very, very tired.

Essentially badgered into his position through only having the lowest standing at the laboratory that modified her, Jay is grumpy and world-weary middle aged man who firmly believes that he's not paid NEARLY enough to manage someone as unstable and chaotic as Aissi is. While it's obvious that he does have at least some measure of care for her—if he didn't, then he probably wouldn't still be doing this job—it tends to get drowned out in how overworked and overwhelmed he is, having to keep Aissi on as short a leash as she demands alongside everything else.


[Name]
Theo Howser

[Relation to Subject]
Older and sympathetic 'safe' person.

[Analysis]
As Aissi's freakishness tends to put off those around her and she knows it does, she finds great value in those who aren't put off, or at least don't let how off-putting she is stop them from relating to her. Granted, she's met very few people outside of the lab at this pint; but of them Theo happens to fill a similar place to Jay. As an older, stabilizing influence that can help calm her down, at least up to a point, she tends to stick nearish to him when he's around, ESPECIALLY if she's already feeling unstable.


[Theme]


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Aberrant Integration System, Subject 1 - AIS S1` `[Callsign]` `Aissi` `[Gender]` `Female` `[Age]` `Early 20s` `[Rank and Designation]` `Experimental Constellation, Stardust Rank` `[Place of Birth]` `Kepler-195` `[Official Statement]` `"AIS S1—Aissi...I—I was...made—born—built...? Built to fight. Built—made to kill. WIN. KILL."` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Anti-Barrier Sword]` `#236 - AB1 (Aberrant-integration Blade One) and #371 - AB2. But since they've been reforged into identical forms and serve as a single unit for Aissi, she refers to them much more personally, simply as her Wingblades.` `[Anti-Barrier Quotient]21%` `[Physical Description]` It's no wonder the Anti-Barrier Quotient of the Wingblades is so low; after all, they're unreasonably large, and there's only so much AB material to go around. Matte black with gleaming red bevels, these double-edged blades are roughly as long as Aissi is tall (about seven feet), and mounted on winglike struts grafted directly into her nervous system through her back. This unorthodox arrangement allows her to manipulate the Wingblades as though they were a third pair of limbs, leaving her hands free for more typical swords used almost exclusively for defense that are sheathed along the struts. `[Attributes]` `In order to supplement the low AB Quotient caused by their large size, the Wingblades have been retrofitted with laser technology. They can ignite their blades in red light, significantly increasing their cutting force; and, even further, they are able to fire powerful, though short-ranged, laser blasts.` `[Anomaly]` `Aberrant Integration System` `[Origin]` `Aberrant Research Laboratory A2` `[Phenomena]` Though it fills the same space as Anomaly typically would, this is quite explicitly very different. To put her on level with actual Constellations with Anomaly, Aissi's body is infested with an expansive suite of Aberrant technologies. From the system that controls her Wingblades, to magnetic clamps in her hands, her limbs more biomechanical than flesh now, antigravity systems in her feet, compact rocket engines in her legs along with stabilizers in her shoulders...and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Finally, it all connects to the most important of her modifications, the most powerful, and the most taboo: her core. A fully-intact Epsilon-tier Aberrant core harvested from a high-caste Bishop has been embedded into her back between where the Wingblades emerge, which powers all of her multifarious augmentations, coordinates them, and normalizes them in her nervous system so they feel as natural as whatever of her original body remains. `[Limitation]` The same way it doesn't function as Anomaly does, it doesn't have the same kind of cost on usage. What it does have, though, is quite an adverse affect on her mental state. The painful experiments that were done to her over the course of years, as well as the overtaxing of her brain as it attempts to manage far more than it was designed to and the Aberrant instincts that now lurk within her, have led to her being VERY unstable, especially during full-throttle combat where all of her augmentations and implants are working at maximum capacity. Perhaps not a clear-cut cost; but quite a cost nonetheless.	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` As mentioned, the experiments have left Aissi not quite in full control of herself at all times. Twitchy, relentlessly high-strung, and never overly far from fits of violent hysteria, Aissi's personality alone is proof positive that making a large amount of Constellations in the same way she was made isn't necessarily a good idea. Still, she's not always obviously unstable, clearly. Though during combat she veers way into the erratic, outside of it, she's a notably sensitive and anxious individual. Keenly aware that she looks very strange, and even more keenly aware that the reason she looks strange is that she's essentially half-Aberrant—the thing that's trying to kill everyone and everything—she's constantly fretting over the image that she has. When people look at her, do they see a Constellation? Or a monster? And really, even she doesn't quite know. Paradoxically to her appearance and her position, Aissi knows very little about the world. All she really remembers is being in the lab. Granted, she was told something like what to expect when she went into the field. But being told what the world is like and actually living in the world are two very different things. She only has experience with the first of those two. She knows plenty about Aberrants and how to kill Aberrants...but that's mostly ALL she knows. `[Personal History]` The first thing Aberrant Integration System, Subject One remembers is waking up in the lab. What age was she? Teenaged? She isn't sure, and she doesn't remember. What was her name before? Did she even have a name? She's not sure of that either. Only A.I.S-S1. That's it. Well...she remembered how to speak, and how to listen. She remembers language. That's something, right? The second thing A.I.S-S1 remembers is pain. Her first implantation was almost immediately after she awoke. She doesn't even remember what it is anymore; all of it has blurred together in her mind by now. Was it her leg engines? Her neuralware? Perhaps the magnetic clamps in her hands? it all feels so far away. Time went on. Every so often, the procedure would repeat: she would be given an implant though a painful procedure. Then the technicians and scientists that handled her would monitor it. Sometimes, her body would reject the implant, and the pain would come back. The doctors would remove it, put it aside, and try and give it again later. They never gave up. If her body didn't reject it—if it accepted the Aberrant technology as a part of her now—then she'd have another few days, just to make sure. And then another implant would be brought to her, and the wheel would turn again. But it was fine. She'd volunteered for this, according to the doctors. This was what she'd wanted. To let herself be turned into something greater, even at sacrifice to herself. So she simply clung on. But there was one great mercy. Because during all of this, she wasn't alone in the lab. There was another girl undergoing a similar—if much lesser—augmentation, and the two became something like friends. Hope, her name was. And that got A.I.S-S1 thinking about names. Every time she saw that designation emblazed near her, she would look at it, and think of names. And then one day, when she was still woozy from sedation, she saw it with blurry eyes, and she misread it. Not A.I.S-S1. AISSI. Aissi. She would be Aissi. Time went on more. Further. Hope left, and she was once again alone. More implants. More connections. And then the most prominent: the Bladewings. She rejected them three times before her body finally let them settle, and each rejection was more painful than the last, resulted in a longer wait. And then, after all that was done...she'd been in the lab for how long now? She didn't know, and she still doesn't quite; several years, at least. But now that all of the implants, all of the cybernetics, all of the prosthetics, were in place, it was time for the piece de resistance. The Core. There is nothing Aissi can remember, before or since, that hurts as much as suddenly having every one of her augmentations fire into her nerves all at once. Sheer, gut-wrenching, mind-warping AGONY. And the pain, the nerves, all of it firing at once...it changed something in her. Turned from a sweet, sensitive girl to something where...well, sometimes you can see that underneath her. But not often. Not anymore. And once it was finally over...she was finished. More machine now than woman. And, really, more Aberrant than woman. Perhaps not even human at all anymore. Another year went by. She had to acclimate, of course. Not only did she have so many new modifications and augmentations working all at once, but she had an entirely new set of limbs to figure out. It was around this time that she started running sims, to get her used to what combat might be like on a world being invaded b the Aberrant. But then, recently and finally...it was done. She was prepared. And now, the test runs begin. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` Kepler-195 was a dry, arid moon, largely desert and scrubland broken by salt seas and crisscossing braided streams. One of—and the smallest of, in fact—numerous inhabited moons orbiting the gas giant Pele on the far frontier, it wasn't exactly well known, especially compared to its larger and more outgoing neighbors. Small and inconspicuous, the people enjoyed a fairly peaceful existence; though a select few eked out a nomadic lifestyle on the surface, most people lived in vast cities deep underground instead, so they felt quite insulated and far from any issues that might plague topside. ...And then the Aberrants came. The multifarious moons of Pele were in possession of a great deal of resources, and many different varieties. They were hungry. And Kepler-195 was the first they came across. And they glassed the entire moon. Though the Constellations came, only a scant few refugees escaped and fled far away from their desolated once-home as it was consumed. Many of the other moons around Pele were also ground to dust and ash. Only two escaped the grisly fate, and afterwards, they were so desolate that they could no longer support life. In the span of barely six months, the entire moon system of Pele was wiped clean of all human life. `[Culture]` While Kepler-195 still existed, it had two 'factions' of people. A very few lived nomadic lives on the surface. Because water on the surface was a precious resource, they wore stillsuits, and traveled with their lives on their back to set up around any temporary watering hole that may emerge. The grand majority of the populace—which, mind you, wasn't large to begin with, only about 500 million people across the entire moon—lived in vast underground cities, tunneled out of the bedrock. Water was much more prevalent due to the presence of deep aquifers, and the native plant life grew readily. They lived a comfortable existence; though they were held in contempt by the surface nomads, they were largely happy to simply live in comfort underground. But, of course, this moon no longer exists, and Aissi has no memories from before the lab, regardless. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Jacob "Jay" Tobias Brake` `[Relation to Subject]` `Aissi's "Medical Coordinator and Caretaker" (In so many words, her handler) - Checks for malfunctions in and maintains systems, performs routine psychiatric checks and monitors her sanity, serves as a point of stability for her, practiced at talking her down and reigning her in if she's starting to go sideways.` `[Analysis]` Jay is tired. So very, very tired. Essentially badgered into his position through only having the lowest standing at the laboratory that modified her, Jay is grumpy and world-weary middle aged man who firmly believes that he's not paid NEARLY enough to manage someone as unstable and chaotic as Aissi is. While it's obvious that he does have at least some measure of care for her—if he didn't, then he probably wouldn't still be doing this job—it tends to get drowned out in how overworked and overwhelmed he is, having to keep Aissi on as short a leash as she demands alongside everything else. `[Name]` `Theo Howser` `[Relation to Subject]` `Older and sympathetic 'safe' person.` `[Analysis]` `As Aissi's freakishness tends to put off those around her and she knows it does, she finds great value in those who` `aren't` `put off, or at least don't let how off-putting she is stop them from relating to her. Granted, she's met very few people outside of the lab at this pint; but of them Theo happens to fill a similar place to Jay. As an older, stabilizing influence that can help calm her down, at least up to a point, she tends to stick nearish to him when he's around, ESPECIALLY if she's already feeling unstable.` `[Theme]`

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Sabine Dassault-Delacroix
[Callsign]Rabbit
[Gender]Female
[Age]24
[Rank and Designation]E-5 - Petty Officer second class
[Place of Birth]Atrebois
[Official Statement]<Miss Delacroix! Miss Delacroix! Please don't do aileron rolls while we have the recor- ksshk pffffffffffffff>

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y

[Mech Model]DTX-103 Wyverne Custom 'White Hare'
[Type]High-Mobility Assault, Armored Cavalry
[Size]45 ft tall, 35 tons
[Core]Epsilon
[Armaments]
 DPW-12 Beam Rifle - Primary, Right- Dassault's DPW-12 is a 1.9 MW, semi-automatic beam rifle. The DPW-12 is designed to be a priemer beam weapon option for next-gen mecha troopers, combining both high accuracy and high punching power, limited mainly by sustained rate of fire and the cost of production. Charging directly from its own Beta core, the weapon's battery 'banks' up to 20 shots, allowing for effectively limitless ammunition- provided the pilot is conservative with their rate of fire. The weapon is designed to combat well armored foes, such as Rooks or Knights, or particularly well armored Pawns, though the power of its beam allows it to penetrate through multiple lightly armored or smaller targets. A second pre-charged battery 'magazine' is kept in a compartment underneath the rifle's stock in case the primary overheats or is damaged in some way. A 'bayonet lug' on underneath the main barrel allows a beam sabre to be mounted. A magnetic clamp mount is located behind the shoulder when the rifle needs to be stowed.
 DKWx-31 45mm Smartcannon - Primary, Left- Fresh from the forges or Artebois and in the final stages of development, the brand new DKWx-41 Smartcannon uses specialized 'Smart' ammunition, bridging the gap between micro missiles and autocannon shell used by conventional forces. Using the agile and precise micro-missile as a base, the rocket propelled 45mm 'Smart' shells have built-in guidance systems and can self correct mid-course, allowing it to effectively shoot around cover, chase down targets, or even differentiate between targets. The Smartcannon is capable of multi-locking, and in a pinch can be fired in unguided mode. The weapon has a 60 shell external box magazine, with reloads stored in the ammunition compartments across the body. Due to its smaller size, it can be stored on the small of the back when not in use.
 Dassault Estoc-15 Missile Launcher - Shoulder, Left, Right - Mounted on each shoulder of the Wyverne is a Estoc-15 missile launcher, capable of loosing a flurry of high powered airburst explosives. These missiles pack a decent punch and effect a larger area than their size would suggest, making them effective against numerous and tightly packed, or lightly armored targets, but suffer against more heavily armored foes.
 E-21 Plasma Beam Saber - Secondary, Left - A standard pattern plasma beam saber used by the Wyverne in close combat. The blade length can be adjusted, and its high energy output allows it to be a deadly close ranged weapon. The weapon comes pre-charged prior to launch, though can be charged from the mech core if needed during long sorties. One is carried on a hip case on the side of the Wyverne.
DPW-02 Particle-Pulse Vulcan - Secondary, Right - A low powered energy weapon imitating the shape of a rotary cannon, the DPW-02 PB Vulcan was designed to utilize the efficiency of Aberrant core energy production to combat ammunition limitations in drawn out battles, and is slowly being phased in, in place of traditional aircraft based rotary cannons. Mounted on the forearm of the Wyverne, this weapon dispenses a high volume of plasma bolts with power comparable to that of standard 20mm autocannons and is rated for dealing with Pawn class Aberrants, but in a pinch can be used to harass stronger foes. A battery banking system stores around 2000 charges at a time, for about a full minute of firing before needing to recharge. The PB Vulcan's charge system can be manually disabled when needing to shunt power to other systems.
 Wyverne High-Mobility Mode - The default 'mode' of the Wyverne in its bipedal mech form. While in this form, large directional thrusters give it incredible lateral movement, and substantial- though not groundbreaking top speeds. Meant for close-in fighting, the High-Mobility mode can change directions practically on a whim, built in G-force absorbing fields preventing its pilot from blacking out in its extremely acrobatic maneuvers.
 Wyverne Flight Mode - When speed is required over mobility, the Wyverne can fold its legs and arms to transform into a more compact 'Flight' mode. While in flight mode, the Wyverne both acts and is visually more like an aerospace fighter, and can reach considerably top speeds- often higher than most other mechs thanks to its more aerodynamic shape. While in Flight mode however, the Wyverne loses its ability to turn on a dime or drastically adjust its angle of fire. Used for covering long distances, strafing enemy targets, or quickly maneuvering to a new position.
 Emergency Countermeasures - A holdover from aerospace craft designs. A small combination of chaff, flares and smoke for defensive purposes.
Constellation Carry Handle- Affectionately referred to as 'the strap' , the standard issue CCH is included on all Dassault Aerospace mechs. What more or less amounts to a harness, straps and grab bars mounted on a cutout embedded in the back of the Wyverne. Provides minimal protection from G-forces during flight, but a small shroud of armor plating protects the rider from thruster backwash. A quick release function allows a rider to detach at will. Note from the user manual: 'It ishighlyrecommended that a Constellation notify their pilot before release, so the pilot can momentarily cut thrusters to prevent severe plasma burns.'
Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Energetic and snarky, Sabine is for the most part fairly easygoing and playful. Despite being casually flirtatious with practically everyone she meets, Sabine shows little interest in actual romantic relationships. Regarded by many as an adrenaline junky, Sabine seems to love the thrill of flying and fighting, and has a reputation for being a bit of a thrillseeker and capable- if reckless, pilot. She trends towards sarcasm when faced with serious situations, and will regularly tease friends, coworkers and foes alike. Though not a stereotypical 'rich girl', Sabine has absolutely no issue throwing money around, especially if it can solve immediate problems. Sabine seems to have a soft spot for those displaced by the war- particularly children, and reacts aggressively in their defense. 

On the rare, chance encounter with Sabine's more 'serious' side, it can be assumed that a lot of Sabine's more casual, devil-may-care attitude can be attributed as a way of dealing with the stresses of combat and warfare. Those particularly close to Sabine note that while she's still friendly, she tends to be far more reserved when in the presence of those she's comfortable around. She avoids being 'mopey' when possible, often hiding behind vices or vaguely related stories when pressed.


[Personal History]
Born to a pair of unknown parents, Sabine Delacroix and her sister Sera's earliest memories were of an orphanage in the Capitol city of Artebois. Soon after, Sabine and Sera were adopted by Lucien Dassault, a widower, a veteran of the ongoing conflict and the current head of the Dassault Aerospace Core Worlds branch. As newly minted heirs, Sabine was afforded practically any and every luxury she could want for. The best things, tutors, schools and education available in the Core Worlds. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, a young Sabine- like many a youth in these trying times, spent much of her formative years inundated by news and stories of the war, the heroic tales of larger-than-life Constellations fending off the Aberrants and the brave soldiers who supported them. Countless holo feeds of real-to-life superheroes riding into battle on the backs of the machines her father made, and the exciting and death defying feats they accomplished. From a young age, she was hooked. 

While possessing no otherworldly powers of her own, Sabine, like most Artebois natives, took great interest and pride in their burgeoning mech industry. She learned how to move a mech before she learned how to drive a car, and even among Artebois youths, she was a natural at it. By the age of 13, she was a test pilot on Dassault's production lines, and by 15- along with a the hefty backing of her father, was put into the Artebois Military Academy. 

The Academy was a hard adjustment for Sabine- while a gifted pilot and a decent academic, her instructors always found her a little difficult to control, a little too foolhardy and eager for a fight. Despite these setbacks, Sabine graduated from the Academy with high marks and was assigned her desired role: Pilot. 

The next several years would see Sabine deployed to various fronts along the Frontier Worlds, holding back the inexorable tide of Aberrants. She'd discover that, unlike the holos, the war against the Aberrants was not nearly as glamorous and exciting as she'd originally thought it to be. On her first sortie, half of her unit was destroyed, and she'd barely made it through her second sortie alive. The horrors of war broke the spirits of many rookies, but somehow Sabine managed to keep her sanity in spite of what she'd witnessed. She proved to be a natural, regarded as a top performing apprentice by her peers by the end of her first tour, and an ace by the end of her second. 

During her third tour of duty, Sabine would earn some noteriety for both her recklessness and her daring prowess. During the Siege of Cerol, a garden world in the frontier region, the planet came under surprise attack by a massive number of Aberrant forces. The sheer speed of the assault caught the MHA Fleet in orbit around the planet with their pants down, and a vicious fight ensued. During the opening stages of the battle, Sabine's squadron leader was shot down, along with their Constellation as they were overwhelmed by large numbers of Aberrant forces. Managing to rally the remains of her squadron, Sabine would regroup with another depleted squadron and their surviving Constellation and go on a counter offensive. Running out of ammunition in most of their weapons, the remaining pilots would scavenge the destroyed bodies of their comrades, using the cores within the mech husks as impromptu bombs to hurl into groups of Knights, managing to clear a path for the Constellation to assault the Bishop. Against the warnings of her squadmates, Sabine flew in the direction of the dying Bishop to extract the Constellation from the collapsing Aberrant and the remaining Knights around it. Though finishing the battle heavily injured, Sabine would earn a commendation of valor for her efforts. 

Now on her fourth tour of duty, Sabine brings her skills and devil-may-care attitude to the next front, kitted out with the latest in next-gen mech technology- courtesy of Dassault Aerospace.


Home World

[Planet Description]
Arbetois is a boreal planet in the Serpent's Eye system in the heart of the Core Worlds. Artebois has overall cool temperatures, its warmest regions near the equator about on par to Earth's more temperate climates, with the vast majority of the planet featuring boreal or subartic climates. Depending on who is asked, Artebois is either 'blessed' or 'plagued' by both megafauna and megaflora in vast quantities, the forests of its northern and southern hemispheres filled with trees the size of buildings, with creatures and animals often reaching the size of vehicles or larger. Vast mountain ranges and gorges in the central areas of the planet allow for easier access to the planet's considerable natural resources. The vast majority of the planet's population centers are built within or nearby the equator belt, with more remote settlements hidden deep within the cold forests. The twin moons that orbit the planet are covered with all manner of factories and production plants, with only small amounts of industry still found on the planet proper these days.

[Culture]
Artebois holds history as one of the earlier Core Worlds to be settled when humanity began expanding beyond the Milky Way. Steeped in an old tradition of hunters and gatherers, from it's earliest days the people of Artebois utilized mechs to both clear the land of dense and titanic foliage and to hunt and defend themselves from massive beasts. As a result, it is not uncommon for denizens of the planet to be proficient- or at least familiar with the use of mechs. Unsurprisingly, Artebois attracted the interests of corporations and companies capable of building and maintaining these machines, eager to exploit the bounty of raw materials the planet held. Artebois- or more specifically it's moons are now one of the largest manufacturers of mechs and mech parts in the Core Systems. While the people nowadays put an emphasis on industry and manufacturing as opposed to their old hunter/gatherer ways, they still maintain a somewhat cautious respect for nature.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Sera Dassault-Delacroix

[Relation to Subject]
Sister

[Analysis]
The current Chief Engineer of the Dassault Aerospace R&D Division, for the Core Systems branch, and local company representative. Like her sister, Sera has always had an interest in mechs, though unlike Sabine who likes to fly them, Sera's interest lie more in the creation of them, and is a talented inventor and mechanic. She's constantly tinkering on equipment and is knowledgeable enough about even the most obscure models of mech to perform maintenance and repairs on them, though obviously she prefers to work with Dassault models. 

A large producer for the war effort, Dassault mechs make up almost 20% of all of the mechs seen on the frontlines, and have a reputation for reliability and performance. The current flagship design of Dassault is the versatile DTX-101 Chevalier, and its variants. Directly improving upon the Chevalier, Sera spearheaded the development and creation of the DTX-103 Wyverne, a next generation mech trooper and a marked improvement over the original frame, emphasizing mobility and striking power. Unfortunately, the Wyverne has been slow to mass adoption and currently only sees use with elite units, squadron leaders, and those with special privileges, on account of its rather high production costs. Sera was quite disappointed when Sabine 'took her baby' and promptly damaged it on its first sortie.

Though she prefers solid land, Sera can make do with most available workspaces if given the time or resources. Though not military herself, she is currently attached to the same unit as her sister as a representative engineer from Dassault to maintain and gather combat performance data on Sabine's Wyverne.
[Name]
Solomon 'Dunkirk' Howe

[Relation to Subject]
Wingman- on and off duty

[Analysis]
Somewhat unflappable in the face of Sabine's constant comments, the two were assigned to the sortie a while back and perhaps due to the nature of their equally aggressive and foolhardy flight tendencies, quickly became fast friends- at least according to Sabine. Howe is a quiet, somber sort of guy, and for some reason makes an excellent drinking buddy. Constantly attempting to get a rise out of him, Sabine regularly pulls Solomon along with whatever antics she feels up to at any given time, and can usually expect him to follow along- if grumbling the whole way. In a way, Sabine finds the constant grumbling endearing- plus, dragging him along means she never has to drink alone.

[Name]
Alto 'Eight-Ball' Valenti

[Relation to Subject]
Squadmate, Rival??

[Analysis]
Sabine met Alto during long haul escort mission across space, the two attached to her family's convoy- Alto to test the flight capabilities of his machine, and Sabine to make sure nothing actually went wrong with the journey. Being relatively similar in age, and without any action to speak of, the two quickly became friends- more specifically, Alto quickly became the regular target for most of Sabine's teases and taunts, his reactions to which helped keep her entertained for the entire trip. A bit like a younger sibling, Sabine finds Alto both easy to get along with, and occasionally aggravating. While often surprised with his capabilities, Sabine is also quick to point out the younger pilot's lack of experience, and though she won't say it out loud, she occasionally worries about his safety. Interestingly, Valenti looks not too dissimilar to a famed Constellation of the same name, though lacking much of the fame and dashing looks. While Alto failed to answer directly when asked, Sabine suspects a familiar connection.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Sabine Dassault-Delacroix` `[Callsign]` `Rabbit` `[Gender]` `Female` `[Age]` `24` `[Rank and Designation]` `E-5 - Petty Officer second class` `[Place of Birth]` `Atrebois` `[Official Statement]` `<Miss Delacroix! Miss Delacroix! Please don't do aileron rolls while we have the recor- ksshk pffffffffffffff>` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Mech Model]` `DTX-103 Wyverne Custom 'White Hare'` `[Type]` `High-Mobility Assault, Armored Cavalry` `[Size]` `45 ft tall, 35 tons` `[Core]` `Epsilon` `[Armaments]` DPW-12 Beam Rifle - Primary, Right- Dassault's DPW-12 is a 1.9 MW, semi-automatic beam rifle. The DPW-12 is designed to be a priemer beam weapon option for next-gen mecha troopers, combining both high accuracy and high punching power, limited mainly by sustained rate of fire and the cost of production. Charging directly from its own Beta core, the weapon's battery 'banks' up to 20 shots, allowing for effectively limitless ammunition- provided the pilot is conservative with their rate of fire. The weapon is designed to combat well armored foes, such as Rooks or Knights, or particularly well armored Pawns, though the power of its beam allows it to penetrate through multiple lightly armored or smaller targets. A second pre-charged battery 'magazine' is kept in a compartment underneath the rifle's stock in case the primary overheats or is damaged in some way. A 'bayonet lug' on underneath the main barrel allows a beam sabre to be mounted. A magnetic clamp mount is located behind the shoulder when the rifle needs to be stowed. DKWx-31 45mm Smartcannon - Primary, Left- Fresh from the forges or Artebois and in the final stages of development, the brand new DKWx-41 Smartcannon uses specialized 'Smart' ammunition, bridging the gap between micro missiles and autocannon shell used by conventional forces. Using the agile and precise micro-missile as a base, the rocket propelled 45mm 'Smart' shells have built-in guidance systems and can self correct mid-course, allowing it to effectively shoot around cover, chase down targets, or even differentiate between targets. The Smartcannon is capable of multi-locking, and in a pinch can be fired in unguided mode. The weapon has a 60 shell external box magazine, with reloads stored in the ammunition compartments across the body. Due to its smaller size, it can be stored on the small of the back when not in use. Dassault Estoc-15 Missile Launcher - Shoulder, Left, Right `- Mounted on each shoulder of the Wyverne is a Estoc-15 missile launcher, capable of loosing a flurry of high powered airburst explosives. These missiles pack a decent punch and effect a larger area than their size would suggest, making them effective against numerous and tightly packed, or lightly armored targets, but suffer against more heavily armored foes.` E-21 Plasma Beam Saber - Secondary, Left `- A standard pattern plasma beam saber used by the Wyverne in close combat. The blade length can be adjusted, and its high energy output allows it to be a deadly close ranged weapon. The weapon comes pre-charged prior to launch, though can be charged from the mech core if needed during long sorties. One is carried on a hip case on the side of the Wyverne.` DPW-02 Particle-Pulse Vulcan - Secondary, Right - A low powered energy weapon imitating the shape of a rotary cannon, the DPW-02 PB Vulcan was designed to utilize the efficiency of Aberrant core energy production to combat ammunition limitations in drawn out battles, and is slowly being phased in, in place of traditional aircraft based rotary cannons. Mounted on the forearm of the Wyverne, this weapon dispenses a high volume of plasma bolts with power comparable to that of standard 20mm autocannons and is rated for dealing with Pawn class Aberrants, but in a pinch can be used to harass stronger foes. A battery banking system stores around 2000 charges at a time, for about a full minute of firing before needing to recharge. The PB Vulcan's charge system can be manually disabled when needing to shunt power to other systems. Wyverne High-Mobility Mode `- The default 'mode' of the Wyverne in its bipedal mech form. While in this form, large directional thrusters give it incredible lateral movement, and substantial- though not groundbreaking top speeds. Meant for close-in fighting, the High-Mobility mode can change directions practically on a whim, built in G-force absorbing fields preventing its pilot from blacking out in its extremely acrobatic maneuvers.` Wyverne Flight Mode - When speed is required over mobility, the Wyverne can fold its legs and arms to transform into a more compact 'Flight' mode. While in flight mode, the Wyverne both acts and is visually more like an aerospace fighter, and can reach considerably top speeds- often higher than most other mechs thanks to its more aerodynamic shape. While in Flight mode however, the Wyverne loses its ability to turn on a dime or drastically adjust its angle of fire. Used for covering long distances, strafing enemy targets, or quickly maneuvering to a new position. Emergency Countermeasures `- A holdover from aerospace craft designs. A small combination of chaff, flares and smoke for defensive purposes.` Constellation Carry Handle`- Affectionately referred to as 'the strap' , the standard issue CCH is included on all Dassault Aerospace mechs. What more or less amounts to a harness, straps and grab bars mounted on a cutout embedded in the back of the Wyverne. Provides minimal protection from G-forces during flight, but a small shroud of armor plating protects the rider from thruster backwash. A quick release function allows a rider to detach at will. Note from the user manual: 'It is`highly`recommended that a Constellation notify their pilot before release, so the pilot can momentarily cut thrusters to prevent severe plasma burns.'`	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` Energetic and snarky, Sabine is for the most part fairly easygoing and playful. Despite being casually flirtatious with practically everyone she meets, Sabine shows little interest in actual romantic relationships. Regarded by many as an adrenaline junky, Sabine seems to love the thrill of flying and fighting, and has a reputation for being a bit of a thrillseeker and capable- if reckless, pilot. She trends towards sarcasm when faced with serious situations, and will regularly tease friends, coworkers and foes alike. Though not a stereotypical 'rich girl', Sabine has absolutely no issue throwing money around, especially if it can solve immediate problems. Sabine seems to have a soft spot for those displaced by the war- particularly children, and reacts aggressively in their defense. On the rare, chance encounter with Sabine's more 'serious' side, it can be assumed that a lot of Sabine's more casual, devil-may-care attitude can be attributed as a way of dealing with the stresses of combat and warfare. Those particularly close to Sabine note that while she's still friendly, she tends to be far more reserved when in the presence of those she's comfortable around. She avoids being 'mopey' when possible, often hiding behind vices or vaguely related stories when pressed. `[Personal History]` Born to a pair of unknown parents, Sabine Delacroix and her sister Sera's earliest memories were of an orphanage in the Capitol city of Artebois. Soon after, Sabine and Sera were adopted by Lucien Dassault, a widower, a veteran of the ongoing conflict and the current head of the Dassault Aerospace Core Worlds branch. As newly minted heirs, Sabine was afforded practically any and every luxury she could want for. The best things, tutors, schools and education available in the Core Worlds. Perhaps unsurprisingly, a young Sabine- like many a youth in these trying times, spent much of her formative years inundated by news and stories of the war, the heroic tales of larger-than-life Constellations fending off the Aberrants and the brave soldiers who supported them. Countless holo feeds of real-to-life superheroes riding into battle on the backs of the machines her father made, and the exciting and death defying feats they accomplished. From a young age, she was hooked. While possessing no otherworldly powers of her own, Sabine, like most Artebois natives, took great interest and pride in their burgeoning mech industry. She learned how to move a mech before she learned how to drive a car, and even among Artebois youths, she was a natural at it. By the age of 13, she was a test pilot on Dassault's production lines, and by 15- along with a the hefty backing of her father, was put into the Artebois Military Academy. The Academy was a hard adjustment for Sabine- while a gifted pilot and a decent academic, her instructors always found her a little difficult to control, a little too foolhardy and eager for a fight. Despite these setbacks, Sabine graduated from the Academy with high marks and was assigned her desired role: Pilot. The next several years would see Sabine deployed to various fronts along the Frontier Worlds, holding back the inexorable tide of Aberrants. She'd discover that, unlike the holos, the war against the Aberrants was not nearly as glamorous and exciting as she'd originally thought it to be. On her first sortie, half of her unit was destroyed, and she'd barely made it through her second sortie alive. The horrors of war broke the spirits of many rookies, but somehow Sabine managed to keep her sanity in spite of what she'd witnessed. She proved to be a natural, regarded as a top performing apprentice by her peers by the end of her first tour, and an ace by the end of her second. During her third tour of duty, Sabine would earn some noteriety for both her recklessness and her daring prowess. During the Siege of Cerol, a garden world in the frontier region, the planet came under surprise attack by a massive number of Aberrant forces. The sheer speed of the assault caught the MHA Fleet in orbit around the planet with their pants down, and a vicious fight ensued. During the opening stages of the battle, Sabine's squadron leader was shot down, along with their Constellation as they were overwhelmed by large numbers of Aberrant forces. Managing to rally the remains of her squadron, Sabine would regroup with another depleted squadron and their surviving Constellation and go on a counter offensive. Running out of ammunition in most of their weapons, the remaining pilots would scavenge the destroyed bodies of their comrades, using the cores within the mech husks as impromptu bombs to hurl into groups of Knights, managing to clear a path for the Constellation to assault the Bishop. Against the warnings of her squadmates, Sabine flew in the direction of the dying Bishop to extract the Constellation from the collapsing Aberrant and the remaining Knights around it. Though finishing the battle heavily injured, Sabine would earn a commendation of valor for her efforts. Now on her fourth tour of duty, Sabine brings her skills and devil-may-care attitude to the next front, kitted out with the latest in next-gen mech technology- courtesy of Dassault Aerospace. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` Arbetois is a boreal planet in the Serpent's Eye system in the heart of the Core Worlds. Artebois has overall cool temperatures, its warmest regions near the equator about on par to Earth's more temperate climates, with the vast majority of the planet featuring boreal or subartic climates. Depending on who is asked, Artebois is either 'blessed' or 'plagued' by both megafauna and megaflora in vast quantities, the forests of its northern and southern hemispheres filled with trees the size of buildings, with creatures and animals often reaching the size of vehicles or larger. Vast mountain ranges and gorges in the central areas of the planet allow for easier access to the planet's considerable natural resources. The vast majority of the planet's population centers are built within or nearby the equator belt, with more remote settlements hidden deep within the cold forests. The twin moons that orbit the planet are covered with all manner of factories and production plants, with only small amounts of industry still found on the planet proper these days. `[Culture]` Artebois holds history as one of the earlier Core Worlds to be settled when humanity began expanding beyond the Milky Way. Steeped in an old tradition of hunters and gatherers, from it's earliest days the people of Artebois utilized mechs to both clear the land of dense and titanic foliage and to hunt and defend themselves from massive beasts. As a result, it is not uncommon for denizens of the planet to be proficient- or at least familiar with the use of mechs. Unsurprisingly, Artebois attracted the interests of corporations and companies capable of building and maintaining these machines, eager to exploit the bounty of raw materials the planet held. Artebois- or more specifically it's moons are now one of the largest manufacturers of mechs and mech parts in the Core Systems. While the people nowadays put an emphasis on industry and manufacturing as opposed to their old hunter/gatherer ways, they still maintain a somewhat cautious respect for nature. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Sera Dassault-Delacroix` `[Relation to Subject]` `Sister` `[Analysis]` The current Chief Engineer of the Dassault Aerospace R&D Division, for the Core Systems branch, and local company representative. Like her sister, Sera has always had an interest in mechs, though unlike Sabine who likes to fly them, Sera's interest lie more in the creation of them, and is a talented inventor and mechanic. She's constantly tinkering on equipment and is knowledgeable enough about even the most obscure models of mech to perform maintenance and repairs on them, though obviously she prefers to work with Dassault models. A large producer for the war effort, Dassault mechs make up almost 20% of all of the mechs seen on the frontlines, and have a reputation for reliability and performance. The current flagship design of Dassault is the versatile DTX-101 Chevalier, and its variants. Directly improving upon the Chevalier, Sera spearheaded the development and creation of the DTX-103 Wyverne, a next generation mech trooper and a marked improvement over the original frame, emphasizing mobility and striking power. Unfortunately, the Wyverne has been slow to mass adoption and currently only sees use with elite units, squadron leaders, and those with special privileges, on account of its rather high production costs. Sera was quite disappointed when Sabine 'took her baby' and promptly damaged it on its first sortie. Though she prefers solid land, Sera can make do with most available workspaces if given the time or resources. Though not military herself, she is currently attached to the same unit as her sister as a representative engineer from Dassault to maintain and gather combat performance data on Sabine's Wyverne. `[Name]` `Solomon 'Dunkirk' Howe` `[Relation to Subject]` `Wingman- on and off duty` `[Analysis]` Somewhat unflappable in the face of Sabine's constant comments, the two were assigned to the sortie a while back and perhaps due to the nature of their equally aggressive and foolhardy flight tendencies, quickly became fast friends- at least according to Sabine. Howe is a quiet, somber sort of guy, and for some reason makes an excellent drinking buddy. Constantly attempting to get a rise out of him, Sabine regularly pulls Solomon along with whatever antics she feels up to at any given time, and can usually expect him to follow along- if grumbling the whole way. In a way, Sabine finds the constant grumbling endearing- plus, dragging him along means she never has to drink alone. `[Name]` `Alto 'Eight-Ball' Valenti` `[Relation to Subject]` `Squadmate, Rival??` `[Analysis]` Sabine met Alto during long haul escort mission across space, the two attached to her family's convoy- Alto to test the flight capabilities of his machine, and Sabine to make sure nothing actually went wrong with the journey. Being relatively similar in age, and without any action to speak of, the two quickly became friends- more specifically, Alto quickly became the regular target for most of Sabine's teases and taunts, his reactions to which helped keep her entertained for the entire trip. A bit like a younger sibling, Sabine finds Alto both easy to get along with, and occasionally aggravating. While often surprised with his capabilities, Sabine is also quick to point out the younger pilot's lack of experience, and though she won't say it out loud, she occasionally worries about his safety. Interestingly, Valenti looks not too dissimilar to a famed Constellation of the same name, though lacking much of the fame and dashing looks. While Alto failed to answer directly when asked, Sabine suspects a familiar connection.

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Bio

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Rudis Saint-Saëns
[Callsign]Rho Ophiuchi
[Gender]Female
[Age]28
[Rank and Designation]Main-Class
[Place of Birth]Forgeship Papillon
[Official Statement]"It's just duty, baby. Born into it. Gonna die out of it."

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Anti-Barrier Sword]#44: Hard Luck
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]80%
[Physical Description]
The 44th sword is cursed--that's what anyone who worked on it would say. No matter how they constructed it, the blade was a failure. Dozens of reworks made little headway. The more they had attempted to fix the sword or recycle the materials, the more issues it had. All attempts were failures. Even reclaiming the material and utilizing it in other blades was impossible; anything that had even touched the raw material seemed to fail. In a last ditch effort, its final incarnation was formed: a beyond simple zweihander, if you could even call it that. It would be more accurate to call it a sharpened cross.

Of course, that's only its base form. When utilized by Rudis, the blade is little more than a core designed to crack barriers. Buried within layers of pyretic stone, the goal of the weapon is simple: to create the ultimate defense and offense. A single blow that, while revealing the brittle core, is designed to annihilate anything ahead of her.
[Attributes]
None.

[Armaments]
Acceleration Kit - A set of various mental stimulants designed to push mental processing and reaction time to their absolute limits. A simple answer to combat the more evasive aberrations. Kept on her left hip.
Anchor Wire - A system of high-tensile microchains integrated onto her right arm. Allows for the rapid deployment of a grappling wire for rapid transit or retrieval.


[Anomaly]Tectoniconesis
[Origin]Symtropantos
[Phenomena]
Fundamentally, Rudis can melt down, collect, reform, and supercool nearby stone and earth. Simply put, she can form durable barriers around her weapon and herself. These stones can easily vary in temperature.

Typically, Rudis uses her phenomenon to cover her weapon. However, she can also form larger barriers of stone nearby to both limit movement and defend against attacks.

These barriers can, with some effort, stop most attacks from bishop-class aberrants. However, more focused attack require constant unkeep as Rudis must constantly rebuild the defensive layers around her weapon.
[Limitation]
Ultimately, their phenomena requires earth and stone. Rudis is significantly weakened when outside of these environments as she's forced to recollect the stones that typically cover her blade. As her phenomena focuses on the collection rather than acceleration of mass, she is extremely limited in range. In addition, her power consumes a significant amount of energy. It's not uncommon to see her completely on the verge of collapse whenever she goes all out, nor is it uncommon to see her devour enough food for three constellations.Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Rudis is a simple person to understand. She's someone who wears her heart on her sleeve; that heart also happens to be beating hard at all times. While hot-blooded, she's a woman of inscrutable will. When she needs to achieve something, she'll risk life and limb to achieve it. To her, dealing with risky situations comes just as easily as breathing. There is no subtext to her actions; to do so is cowardly. She'll openly state what's on her mind regardless of tact. 

Emotionally, it's rare to see her angry or sad. She's more commonly some mixture of excited, joyous, and satisfied. Only during the most dire situations does she ever opine a more serious nature.

Like her people, she has a great pride in keeping with tradition--especially with the traditions of her people. Also like her people, she has a characteristic denseness to her understanding. Playful remarks are seen entirely at face value.

[Personal History]
The sole daughter of her parents, one would expect a sheltered upbringing for such traditional ideals. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Her father had passed early, so the typical upbringing of someone of her lineage was abandoned. Born into a Forgeship, Rudis had spent her learning of the duties of the ship. She practiced operating the hammers and played in their few training mecha. However, her duty was not of the ship. No, being from a warrior family, she was tested like all other constellations. They found her aptitude was enough. It would appear that her duty would be among the stars.

She had easily taken to conscription. It was her duty she was born to, so it would seem. Her training was noticeably harsh even for a constellation. She pushed herself to collapse every night. Not a single word of complaint came from her lips. She endured--no, she enjoyed it. No matter how much she sweat, no matter how much she bled, she pushed further. Her training was accelerated to the point of early combat merits. She had seen and participated in battles long before her training was completed.

Her career as a constellation was built on this same determination. However, her career was not one of pure success. No, her failings were obvious. Her weaknesses were apparent. But no matter what, she'd always return home. Ending a mission with critical vitals was common for her. When on the verge of collapse, she'd shatter the aberrant before collapsing. Even when nearly bisected, she'd hold her guts in until medical arrived. One thing was clear throughout all of her missions: not a single constellation or pilot had died while fighting alongside her.

And such was her career. Not one of mounting success and accolades, but one of survival and narrow victories.

Home World

[Planet Description]
Penal flagships. Forgeships. Planet crackers. No matter what you call them, their role is the same: to support the war effort. The forgeships move through the stars with this single goal in mind. Forgeships are honoured for their contributions. Without them, the war effort would be crushed under megacorps.

Of course, forge ships were not always this venerated. Long ago, they had a simple purpose without honour. They were penal labour. Debtors, exiles, and other such rabble were sentenced to mine the stars without regard to their health. That wouldn't last forever--especially when convicts sought any comfort available. As generations of children who had only known the metal and stars lived and died, they began to seek determination. The right to grasp their freedom.

Thus began the rebellions. With no regard to their life, they staged mutinies and raised their own flag. Few were convicts. Most were born on the ship. They fought with mining equipment. To call it a losing battle would be an understatement. One thing stopped their simple annihilation: aberrants. With a newfound common enemy, their former wardens had decided that perhaps a mutual solution could be found. 

The children only knew of the forges and stars. As such, they'd continue their work. But they'd have their freedom. 

The Papillon was the flagship of the rebellion. Industrial and utilitarian, there are few besides the star born who could call it home. It's a brutal ship, but the children of the forge have an intense pride for it. It's their home among the stars. With grand forges and mining, the ship traverses space to ensure that their war effort is fulfilled.

[Culture] 
Filled with the descendants of exiles, criminals, and debtors, the mining clans are highly influenced by their past. Fragmented and anachronistic, their culture is filled with artifacts of their convicted heritage.

Those of forgeships are driven by duty: an inalienable purpose given by one's birth. To not fulfill one's duty is to lose one's purpose.

Remnants of their criminal past remain at the forefront of their culture. While explosive collars have long since been outlawed as apart of the Forgeship Accords, those of the Papillon still wear a variety of strings around their neck. Their recreation is typically mind-altering. Those of the Forgeships are known for their consumption of narcotics and booze--and their ability to carry them on any restricted planet.

Their culture, while not formal in the slightest, is highly traditional. They prefer doing things the old ways, good and bad. Their beds are hard as stone. Children are raised in the opposite of safety. How they strip planets bare for rare ores, ensuring that no terraforming will ever be conducted, is never questioned. Their drive to complete their duty at any cost is dogma. 

Traditional arts had long since been abandoned. Instead, focus had been put on the quality of one's creation and ability. Performance had been replaced by athletics. The only painting they conduct is on their mining mechs. Their philosophy focuses on the relationship of body and reality rather than mind. As a result, those of Forgeships are often considered even more of dullards than those the frontiers.

Society on Forgeships is highly stratified in accordance to their duties. One is born or conscripted into a job and barring exemplary service, are expected to retire and die in the same role. Few will ever leave the Forgeships, but fewer wish to leave. However, their society remains communal. All of them understand the necessity of each other's role.

[Warrior Family] 
One would not typically expect a warrior family on a Forgeship. But, love finds a way. The Saint-Saëns had married into the Forgeship Papillon. The young master of the Saint-Saëns, a weak and timid man, was immediately beset with infatuation upon seeing his future wife. Of course, his attempt at noble courtship and romance had been met with a quick response as she (quite literally) swept him off his feet.

The Saint-Saëns are itinerants known for their logistical support of the war effort. Though, their lifestyle is not of choice but instead a requirement to understand the logistical needs of the frontier first hand. As such, they have a reputation of being warrior-academics. It was once said that there is no greater planetary administrator than a Saint-Saëns who had decided to settle--someone who could ensure prosperity in times of peace and war.


Notable Contacts



[Name]
Jean "Okab" Rasker

[Relation to Subject]
Retired constellation, trainer.

[Analysis]
It was a surprise when the infamously reclusive Jean Rasker had chosen to train a recruit. A retired Red Giant-Class constellation, Jean had been known for his sheer combat intelligence and agility. His career was devastating. It was expected that he would become one of few Supernovas, if not for his first failure. An unexpected attack on a frontier world that had served as a logistics hub. Jean was permanently disabled. Even the best medical technology could not return his agility and his intelligence could not compensate.

He's a harsh and stern mentor. Brutal, but with foresight and acting in Rudis' best interests. While he had taught Rudis his fighting method using anchor wires, he quickly adapted it to be more suited towards his trainee.

In truth, Rudis' ever timid and cowardly father had passed saving Jean.



[Name]
Dr. Arvi Malvis

[Relation to Subject]
Personal Physician

[Analysis]
It's no surprise that a constellation would have a personal physician, especially one that gets as injured as Rudis. Dr. Malvis is likely one of the few doctors who can properly deal with people from Forgeships. Curt, rude, and uncaring, Dr. Malvis isn't exactly the picture of a good doctor. Despite this, her talent and skill make her a useful.

A hobbyist pharmacologist, Dr. Malvis often develops concoctions to be utilized by Rudis to shore her weaknesses.



[Name]
Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara

[Relation to Subject]
Comrade

[Analysis]
A damn good fighter.

On the field, Odessa is someone Rudis can leave her back to. Off the field, it's fairly hard for a constellation to find a good sparring partner considering that most of their expertise revolves around the usage of specialized techniques and weaponry. Finding someone whose modus operandi is to pummel the shit out of things with their fists? Now that's something that Rudis likes. Of course, Rudis takes no issue with her personality. Sure, she ain't like the roughnecks Rudis can call family. But she's nice and is willing to spare a snack from the occasional meal kit.

Though, the fact that Odessa is younger is something that always catches Rudis by surprise, no matter how many times she hears it.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Rudis Saint-Saëns` `[Callsign]` `Rho Ophiuchi` `[Gender]` `Female` `[Age]` `28` `[Rank and Designation]` `Main-Class` `[Place of Birth]` `Forgeship Papillon` `[Official Statement]` "It's just duty, baby. Born into it. Gonna die out of it." `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Anti-Barrier Sword]` `#44: Hard Luck` `[Anti-Barrier Quotient]` `80%` `[Physical Description]` The 44th sword is cursed--that's what anyone who worked on it would say. No matter how they constructed it, the blade was a failure. Dozens of reworks made little headway. The more they had attempted to fix the sword or recycle the materials, the more issues it had. All attempts were failures. Even reclaiming the material and utilizing it in other blades was impossible; anything that had even touched the raw material seemed to fail. In a last ditch effort, its final incarnation was formed: a beyond simple zweihander, if you could even call it that. It would be more accurate to call it a sharpened cross. Of course, that's only its base form. When utilized by Rudis, the blade is little more than a core designed to crack barriers. Buried within layers of pyretic stone, the goal of the weapon is simple: to create the ultimate defense and offense. A single blow that, while revealing the brittle core, is designed to annihilate anything ahead of her. `[Attributes]` `None.` `[Armaments]` `Acceleration Kit - A set of various mental stimulants designed to push mental processing and reaction time to their absolute limits. A simple answer to combat the more evasive aberrations. Kept on her left hip.` `Anchor Wire - A system of high-tensile microchains integrated onto her right arm. Allows for the rapid deployment of a grappling wire for rapid transit or retrieval.` `[Anomaly]` `Tectoniconesis` `[Origin]` `Symtropantos` `[Phenomena]` Fundamentally, Rudis can melt down, collect, reform, and supercool nearby stone and earth. Simply put, she can form durable barriers around her weapon and herself. These stones can easily vary in temperature. Typically, Rudis uses her phenomenon to cover her weapon. However, she can also form larger barriers of stone nearby to both limit movement and defend against attacks. These barriers can, with some effort, stop most attacks from bishop-class aberrants. However, more focused attack require constant unkeep as Rudis must constantly rebuild the defensive layers around her weapon. `[Limitation]` Ultimately, their phenomena requires earth and stone. Rudis is significantly weakened when outside of these environments as she's forced to recollect the stones that typically cover her blade. As her phenomena focuses on the collection rather than acceleration of mass, she is extremely limited in range. In addition, her power consumes a significant amount of energy. It's not uncommon to see her completely on the verge of collapse whenever she goes all out, nor is it uncommon to see her devour enough food for three constellations.	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` Rudis is a simple person to understand. She's someone who wears her heart on her sleeve; that heart also happens to be beating hard at all times. While hot-blooded, she's a woman of inscrutable will. When she needs to achieve something, she'll risk life and limb to achieve it. To her, dealing with risky situations comes just as easily as breathing. There is no subtext to her actions; to do so is cowardly. She'll openly state what's on her mind regardless of tact. Emotionally, it's rare to see her angry or sad. She's more commonly some mixture of excited, joyous, and satisfied. Only during the most dire situations does she ever opine a more serious nature. Like her people, she has a great pride in keeping with tradition--especially with the traditions of her people. Also like her people, she has a characteristic denseness to her understanding. Playful remarks are seen entirely at face value. `[Personal History]` The sole daughter of her parents, one would expect a sheltered upbringing for such traditional ideals. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Her father had passed early, so the typical upbringing of someone of her lineage was abandoned. Born into a Forgeship, Rudis had spent her learning of the duties of the ship. She practiced operating the hammers and played in their few training mecha. However, her duty was not of the ship. No, being from a warrior family, she was tested like all other constellations. They found her aptitude was enough. It would appear that her duty would be among the stars. She had easily taken to conscription. It was her duty she was born to, so it would seem. Her training was noticeably harsh even for a constellation. She pushed herself to collapse every night. Not a single word of complaint came from her lips. She endured--no, she enjoyed it. No matter how much she sweat, no matter how much she bled, she pushed further. Her training was accelerated to the point of early combat merits. She had seen and participated in battles long before her training was completed. Her career as a constellation was built on this same determination. However, her career was not one of pure success. No, her failings were obvious. Her weaknesses were apparent. But no matter what, she'd always return home. Ending a mission with critical vitals was common for her. When on the verge of collapse, she'd shatter the aberrant before collapsing. Even when nearly bisected, she'd hold her guts in until medical arrived. One thing was clear throughout all of her missions: not a single constellation or pilot had died while fighting alongside her. And such was her career. Not one of mounting success and accolades, but one of survival and narrow victories. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` Penal flagships. Forgeships. Planet crackers. No matter what you call them, their role is the same: to support the war effort. The forgeships move through the stars with this single goal in mind. Forgeships are honoured for their contributions. Without them, the war effort would be crushed under megacorps. Of course, forge ships were not always this venerated. Long ago, they had a simple purpose without honour. They were penal labour. Debtors, exiles, and other such rabble were sentenced to mine the stars without regard to their health. That wouldn't last forever--especially when convicts sought any comfort available. As generations of children who had only known the metal and stars lived and died, they began to seek determination. The right to grasp their freedom. Thus began the rebellions. With no regard to their life, they staged mutinies and raised their own flag. Few were convicts. Most were born on the ship. They fought with mining equipment. To call it a losing battle would be an understatement. One thing stopped their simple annihilation: aberrants. With a newfound common enemy, their former wardens had decided that perhaps a mutual solution could be found. The children only knew of the forges and stars. As such, they'd continue their work. But they'd have their freedom. The Papillon was the flagship of the rebellion. Industrial and utilitarian, there are few besides the star born who could call it home. It's a brutal ship, but the children of the forge have an intense pride for it. It's their home among the stars. With grand forges and mining, the ship traverses space to ensure that their war effort is fulfilled. `[Culture]` Filled with the descendants of exiles, criminals, and debtors, the mining clans are highly influenced by their past. Fragmented and anachronistic, their culture is filled with artifacts of their convicted heritage. Those of forgeships are driven by duty: an inalienable purpose given by one's birth. To not fulfill one's duty is to lose one's purpose. Remnants of their criminal past remain at the forefront of their culture. While explosive collars have long since been outlawed as apart of the Forgeship Accords, those of the Papillon still wear a variety of strings around their neck. Their recreation is typically mind-altering. Those of the Forgeships are known for their consumption of narcotics and booze--and their ability to carry them on any restricted planet. Their culture, while not formal in the slightest, is highly traditional. They prefer doing things the old ways, good and bad. Their beds are hard as stone. Children are raised in the opposite of safety. How they strip planets bare for rare ores, ensuring that no terraforming will ever be conducted, is never questioned. Their drive to complete their duty at any cost is dogma. Traditional arts had long since been abandoned. Instead, focus had been put on the quality of one's creation and ability. Performance had been replaced by athletics. The only painting they conduct is on their mining mechs. Their philosophy focuses on the relationship of body and reality rather than mind. As a result, those of Forgeships are often considered even more of dullards than those the frontiers. Society on Forgeships is highly stratified in accordance to their duties. One is born or conscripted into a job and barring exemplary service, are expected to retire and die in the same role. Few will ever leave the Forgeships, but fewer wish to leave. However, their society remains communal. All of them understand the necessity of each other's role. `[Warrior Family]` One would not typically expect a warrior family on a Forgeship. But, love finds a way. The Saint-Saëns had married into the Forgeship Papillon. The young master of the Saint-Saëns, a weak and timid man, was immediately beset with infatuation upon seeing his future wife. Of course, his attempt at noble courtship and romance had been met with a quick response as she (quite literally) swept him off his feet. The Saint-Saëns are itinerants known for their logistical support of the war effort. Though, their lifestyle is not of choice but instead a requirement to understand the logistical needs of the frontier first hand. As such, they have a reputation of being warrior-academics. It was once said that there is no greater planetary administrator than a Saint-Saëns who had decided to settle--someone who could ensure prosperity in times of peace and war. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Jean "Okab" Rasker` `[Relation to Subject]` `Retired constellation, trainer.` `[Analysis]` It was a surprise when the infamously reclusive Jean Rasker had chosen to train a recruit. A retired Red Giant-Class constellation, Jean had been known for his sheer combat intelligence and agility. His career was devastating. It was expected that he would become one of few Supernovas, if not for his first failure. An unexpected attack on a frontier world that had served as a logistics hub. Jean was permanently disabled. Even the best medical technology could not return his agility and his intelligence could not compensate. He's a harsh and stern mentor. Brutal, but with foresight and acting in Rudis' best interests. While he had taught Rudis his fighting method using anchor wires, he quickly adapted it to be more suited towards his trainee. In truth, Rudis' ever timid and cowardly father had passed saving Jean. `[Name]` `Dr. Arvi Malvis` `[Relation to Subject]` `Personal Physician` `[Analysis]` `It's no surprise that a constellation would have a personal physician, especially one that gets as injured as Rudis. Dr. Malvis is likely one of the few doctors who can properly deal with people from Forgeships. Curt, rude, and uncaring, Dr. Malvis isn't exactly the picture of a good doctor. Despite this, her talent and skill make her a useful. A hobbyist pharmacologist, Dr. Malvis often develops concoctions to be utilized by Rudis to shore her weaknesses.` `[Name]` `Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara` `[Relation to Subject]` `Comrade` `[Analysis]` A damn good fighter. On the field, Odessa is someone Rudis can leave her back to. Off the field, it's fairly hard for a constellation to find a good sparring partner considering that most of their expertise revolves around the usage of specialized techniques and weaponry. Finding someone whose modus operandi is to pummel the shit out of things with their fists? Now that's something that Rudis likes. Of course, Rudis takes no issue with her personality. Sure, she ain't like the roughnecks Rudis can call family. But she's nice and is willing to spare a snack from the occasional meal kit. Though, the fact that Odessa is younger is something that always catches Rudis by surprise, no matter how many times she hears it.

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Bio

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Theodore Howser
[Callsign]Teddy Bear
[Gender]Male
[Age]41
[Rank and Designation]Master Chief Petty Officer
[Place of Birth]New Halcyon
[Official Statement]"Why'd I join up? 'Cause I've got a bunch of people back home countin' on me: I put food on the table n' keep them safe. 'S more than that, though. There's the kiddos I met out here, too. Teenagers puttin' themselves in the line of fire, seein' things nobody their age ever should. Breaks my heart. They need me. I wanna be the place they can hunker down when things get bad, y'know?"

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Mech Model]MBM-78 'Grizzly'
[Type]Direct Fire Support
[Size]60 ft tall, 225 tons
[Core]Epsilon
[Description]
The Main Battle Mech-78 Grizzly began development by Union General Mechanics in 3006 to replace its last generation of mech, the MBM-60 series. They hoped their 70s series could replicate the reliability of the last generation while taking advantage of advances in weapons technology. The greatest of these advances was the 'SmartWorks' Autofactory System which- if successful- would allow a mechanized unit to forgo resupply entirely, instead relying fully on scavenging the battlefield for material to replace lost ammunition and even damaged mech parts. The latter function still eludes the 70 series, but the MBM-78 makes full use of the former with its ammo-guzzling Prometheus cannon. When firing on full bore, the Prometheus can empty its 30,000 round magazine in less than two minutes. This is not recommended as it will assuredly damage the cannon's barrels if not outright destroy them.

The Grizzly remains an unpopular model in the MHA for its expensive Smartworks technology and inflexible weapons selection. The Prometheus is a powerful tool for shredding soft targets from an advantageous position but lacks the penetrative power to effectively combat unshielded rooks and knights; though its Guardian shield and heavily armored hide allow it to take no small amount of punishment from those larger combatants. Given the weight of its weapons load and backpack, the Grizzly is also considered slow and unwieldy compared to other models on the market.
[Armaments]
The X-66 Prometheus is an eight-barrel rotary cannon with a variable firing rate, with four distinction RPM settings that max out at 16,000 rounds per minute. It utilizes a magnetic accelerator in each barrel in conjunction with traditional propellant to launch its 30mm rounds at hypersonic speeds.
The SmartWorks Autofactory System (SAS) is a backpack mounted on the Grizzly's rear. It utilizes bleeding edge matter replication technology to recycle discarded battlefield material and convert it into ammunition for the Prometheus, extending combat effectiveness near indefinitely. While originally designed to manufacture a wide variety of parts, the complicated fabrication process of the Magnetic Accelerator Assisted rounds made that goal unrealistic at best.
There are two Augsburg Arsenal Auto Shotguns built into each of the Grizzly's forearms for close quarters combat. They are loaded with 'Krakenshot' flechettes, four inch long daggers shoved into a shell and fired into the soft bits of a target at close range. These completely annihilate lightly or unarmored Aberrants.
Included with the SAS backpack is the scavenger drone, designed for retrieving high quality construction material for the autofactory. Guided by the SAS's patented 'PAL' A.I assistant it ranges the battlefield up to eight miles away, and comes equipped with several a full suite of tools for cutting into, prying open or even hacking fallen tech. It has a small personal defense turret mounted on its underside for fending off Aberrant pawns.
Optionally, the Grizzly can carry a 'Guardian' tower shield in its offhand for assaulting fortified positions. The Guardian shield has its own Beta-class Aberrant core to power an energized barrier.
Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
The universe is a dark place and worth fighting for. Theo's life hasn't been an easy one. He lost his ancestral homeworld when he was born and has spent the last twenty years at war. Slipping into nihilism would be all too simple; natural, even, some might say. Theo couldn't disagree more. He's always tried to look hold out hope for a brighter future- to a future without the Aberrants or their genocidal hate. The road ahead is long, however, and in meantime he embraces the little victories of life: a battle survived, a night out with friends, a cool beer and a starry night. He mourns lost squadmates and embraces new ones as friends with equal fervor. Every month he has video calls scheduled with his family, his mentor and some of his old comrades who rotated off the front.

[Personal History]
Theodore Howser was born on a refugee barge fleeing New Halcyon as it was consumed by Abberants. Life on barge 117-Beta was harsh: food supplies were thin and medicine supplies even thinner. People died in the hundreds every day. those who worked earned more rations than those that didn't, so Theo spent his childhood repairing oxygen scrubbers and cleaning out waste recyclers. Unlike some ships, the refugee barge wasn't a permanent settlement. It was part of a larger fleet that flew ahead of Aberrant incursions, rescued as many people as they could, and then fled for safer waters. 117-Beta spent seventeen years in transit before Theo's boots touched soil for the first time in his life on a planet called Kabral III.

Poverty loomed over the Howser family even here. 

Levi Howser, Theo's father, was paralyzed during the invasion. The cybernetics necessary to repair his spine cost far more than they can afford. Even with minimum medical attention, his bills are astronomical. He's trying to make a career out of dictating novels with a speech-to-text program, but it isn't going well. 

Asmara Howser worked for a non-profit education advocacy group before her planet was destroyed. She works fifty hours a week as a public educator and another fifteen as a private tutor. Its enough to scrape by even if it leaves her children to fend for themselves most days. 

Theo decided he needed to ease the burden on his mom, so he decided to pitch in. His application to military service was accepted near instantly- the machine always needed more bodies- and he was shipped off world to Camp Triton for training two weeks later.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. The regiment's doctor nearly failed him out after he vomited all over himself and passed out during a run. The human body could only take so much punishment and he was already malnourished when he showed up; Theo wasn't ready. Be it luck or providence, it just so happened that the chief medical practitioner at Camp Triton was a Halcyonite too. Major Russom Samir prescribed an expensive physo-gene therapy program that built Theo back better than he'd ever been, and two months later Samir cleared Theo for service.

Theo earned the callsign 'Teddy Bear' at Camp Triton both because of his affinity for the MBM-78 Grizzly and for his soft nature; he was 'too soft for war,' his bunkmates would mock. When they took bets on which of them would run or die first, the majority settled on gentle, soft Theodore.

He was determined to prove them wrong.

Thanks to recommendations of Major Samir and Lt. Colonel Strutzheim, the base commander, Theodore was accepted into the pilot program. No one would've called the boy a prodigy: he made more mistakes than most every single time he climbed into the cockpit. But none could deny his passion. There was a fire in his heart that drove him harder than anyone would've thought possible.

The flame followed him through his next two decades of service: he fought on the moons of Pele, liberated Calypso IV, dug in around Rao City for the Hundred Day Siege, rescued the battleship Benevolence from an Aberrant boarding action, and so much more.

One of his more notable tours of duty saw him aid in the defense of Thrax in 376. Teddy was grievously wounded when he attempted to engage a Bishop still protected by its barrier. Without a Constellation present, his unit had no hope of stopping it from massacring the tribe of Cain. Still, Theo refused to retreat, and had his men carry out delaying tactics: mine the ground to slow its advance, fainting charges to drag its attention backward; split the retreating tribes people into small groups so it had no easy target. Despite their efforts, Teddy fell. The creature cracked his mech open like an egg, split his head nigh in twain and left him for dead. It was a miracle Teddy survived, though he still has the scar to show for it.

He never let the tragedies of his life define him. He never let himself dull to the little pleasures of life, like a hot cup of terrible coffee or a night dancing with a pretty woman. Even at forty-one years old he lives every day with the same passion of his youth, for he knows full well it could be his last. A universe cursed with the Aberrants was a harsh one- but life was about more than its darkest hours.

Home World

[Planet Description]
New Halcyon was a garden world on the frontier of human-controlled space. Its terrain is as varied as Earth's, though the planet itself was slightly smaller and orbited by twin moons rather than one. It was settled hundreds of years ago by Neo-Reformist Liberation Theology pilgrims fleeing the coreworlds from persecution. Over the centuries it developed an average economy stifled by sanctions and isolationism. Most of its settlements were clustered around the original landing site, though some adventurous sorts crossed the ocean to settle other continents and islands. Its population hovered around eighty million when the planet was conquered by Aberrants.

[Culture]
The first settlers of New Halcyon considered it a paradise gifted to them by God. They christened their landing spot as the Rock of Mercy, and built upon it a massive cathedral. The first settlers were all canonized as saints, and hundreds of statues were erected in the halls of the cathedral to remember their sacrifices. Reformist influence promoted government and economy policy based on their religious teachings, including: the elimination of poverty, equitable distribution of resources and a reform-first criminal justice system. Anti-coreworld sentiment was common enough that the Halcyon government faced regular censor by federal authorities.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Commander Russom Samir

[Relation to Subject]
Mentor

[Analysis]
Russom Samir is a military doctor and Commander (0-5) in the Navy of the Mobilized Human Alliance. Originally educated as a doctor, he signed up for officer's school after spending fifteen years in civilian medicine for one reason: he'd lost his son to an Aberrant attack. He's hopped between dozens of postings over the decades, including a few on the front, but it was during his time as the chief medical officer at Camp Triton that he met Teddy Howser.

Russom is a native of the planet New Halcyon, a world lost to Aberrant invasion over forty years ago. It was his shared ancestral homeworld that drew him to Theodore Howser. When they met Theo was a young firebrand with a failing body- broken by the death of their world. The kid wanted nothing more than to join the fight against the things that took a home from him that he'd never seen. That warmed Samir's cold heart enough to stick his neck out for the kid. He ensured Howser received the best medical care available so he could complete his training at Camp Triton.

Many of Russom's peers consider him a sardonic man that is difficult to work with, with utterly terrible bedside manner. Still, he cares deeply for his charges, and tries to maintain relationships with those few people willing to put up with his bitterness. He has a service record longer than his arm and has earned many a favor from higher ups by saving their lives. 

Teddy is one of those friends- the two trade messages frequently and make plans to share a drink or two whenever their paths cross. Theo owes Samir everything for saving his career when he was only a teenager, and he does whatever he can to pay Samir back for his...unique brand of kindness.

A critical lack of experienced medical personnel on the front saw him transferred again. Russom's too old to fight on the line, but he can mend wounds and command a small army of orderlies on the deck of a destroyer or in the back of a tent if he has to. God knows he has the steel for it.




[Name]
Aissi

[Relation to Subject]
Friend, sympathy magnet

[Analysis]
Over the last twenty years Theo's met plenty of teenage constellations with the misfortune to be born 'special.' Handed a sword by their fathers and told to die for the human race, just like their ancestors. Aissi was of a kind with those honored dead in only the fact that she was young and doomed to die: augmented with the mechanical bones of the great enemy, picked apart in some godforsaken lab as her humanity was stripped away from her piece by rotten piece. Theo's blood boils at the very thought. No one deserves such a fate. 

He doesn't know Aissi half as well as he wished he did. Part of him finds her deeply unsettling. But he knows there's a young woman trapped beneath that alien steel and she must feel desperately alone.




[Name]
Joab of Thrax, 'Lictor'

[Relation to Subject]
Aspirational celebrity, acquaintance

[Analysis]
The Siege of Thrax left its mark on Theo in more ways than one. It was one of his first true brushes with death and a reality check for a younger man that thought himself invincible whenever he climbed into his suit of iron. Theo vividly remembers waking up in his bunk in the pouring rain to watch grainy video footage of Lictor singlehandedly holding off Aberrant bioforms thrice his size. Thraxans talked about Joab with reverence. He was a war hero, of course, but he was more than that: he was the living symbol of Thrax's defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. 

The two only spoke a few times during the Siege, and Theo lost contact with Joab after that. Scuttlebutt was that Lictor had gone into retirement, if he wasn't just dead and the MHA was covering it up. Theo was ecstatic when he learned Lictor wasn't just alive- he was back.


xxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Theodore Howser` `[Callsign]` `Teddy Bear` `[Gender]` `Male` `[Age]` `41` `[Rank and Designation]` `Master Chief Petty Officer` `[Place of Birth]` `New Halcyon` `[Official Statement]` `"Why'd I join up? 'Cause I've got a bunch of people back home countin' on me: I put food on the table n' keep them safe. 'S more than that, though. There's the kiddos I met out here, too. Teenagers puttin' themselves in the line of fire, seein' things nobody their age ever should. Breaks my heart. They need me. I wanna be the place they can hunker down when things get bad, y'know?"` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Mech Model]` `MBM-78 'Grizzly'` `[Type]` `Direct Fire Support` `[Size]` `60 ft tall, 225 tons` `[Core]` `Epsilon` `[Description]` The Main Battle Mech-78 Grizzly began development by Union General Mechanics in 3006 to replace its last generation of mech, the MBM-60 series. They hoped their 70s series could replicate the reliability of the last generation while taking advantage of advances in weapons technology. The greatest of these advances was the 'SmartWorks' Autofactory System which- if successful- would allow a mechanized unit to forgo resupply entirely, instead relying fully on scavenging the battlefield for material to replace lost ammunition and even damaged mech parts. The latter function still eludes the 70 series, but the MBM-78 makes full use of the former with its ammo-guzzling Prometheus cannon. When firing on full bore, the Prometheus can empty its 30,000 round magazine in less than two minutes. This is not recommended as it will assuredly damage the cannon's barrels if not outright destroy them. The Grizzly remains an unpopular model in the MHA for its expensive Smartworks technology and inflexible weapons selection. The Prometheus is a powerful tool for shredding soft targets from an advantageous position but lacks the penetrative power to effectively combat unshielded rooks and knights; though its Guardian shield and heavily armored hide allow it to take no small amount of punishment from those larger combatants. Given the weight of its weapons load and backpack, the Grizzly is also considered slow and unwieldy compared to other models on the market. `[Armaments]` `The X-66 Prometheus is an eight-barrel rotary cannon with a variable firing rate, with four distinction RPM settings that max out at 16,000 rounds per minute. It utilizes a magnetic accelerator in each barrel in conjunction with traditional propellant to launch its 30mm rounds at hypersonic speeds.` `The SmartWorks Autofactory System (SAS) is a backpack mounted on the Grizzly's rear. It utilizes bleeding edge matter replication technology to recycle discarded battlefield material and convert it into ammunition for the Prometheus, extending combat effectiveness near indefinitely. While originally designed to manufacture a wide variety of parts, the complicated fabrication process of the Magnetic Accelerator Assisted rounds made that goal unrealistic at best.` `There are two Augsburg Arsenal Auto Shotguns built into each of the Grizzly's forearms for close quarters combat. They are loaded with 'Krakenshot' flechettes, four inch long daggers shoved into a shell and fired into the soft bits of a target at close range. These completely annihilate lightly or unarmored Aberrants.` `Included with the SAS backpack is the scavenger drone, designed for retrieving high quality construction material for the autofactory. Guided by the SAS's patented 'PAL' A.I assistant it ranges the battlefield up to eight miles away, and comes equipped with several a full suite of tools for cutting into, prying open or even hacking fallen tech. It has a small personal defense turret mounted on its underside for fending off Aberrant pawns.` `Optionally, the Grizzly can carry a 'Guardian' tower shield in its offhand for assaulting fortified positions. The Guardian shield has its own Beta-class Aberrant core to power an energized barrier.`	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` The universe is a dark place and worth fighting for. Theo's life hasn't been an easy one. He lost his ancestral homeworld when he was born and has spent the last twenty years at war. Slipping into nihilism would be all too simple; natural, even, some might say. Theo couldn't disagree more. He's always tried to look hold out hope for a brighter future- to a future without the Aberrants or their genocidal hate. The road ahead is long, however, and in meantime he embraces the little victories of life: a battle survived, a night out with friends, a cool beer and a starry night. He mourns lost squadmates and embraces new ones as friends with equal fervor. Every month he has video calls scheduled with his family, his mentor and some of his old comrades who rotated off the front. `[Personal History]` Theodore Howser was born on a refugee barge fleeing New Halcyon as it was consumed by Abberants. Life on barge 117-Beta was harsh: food supplies were thin and medicine supplies even thinner. People died in the hundreds every day. those who worked earned more rations than those that didn't, so Theo spent his childhood repairing oxygen scrubbers and cleaning out waste recyclers. Unlike some ships, the refugee barge wasn't a permanent settlement. It was part of a larger fleet that flew ahead of Aberrant incursions, rescued as many people as they could, and then fled for safer waters. 117-Beta spent seventeen years in transit before Theo's boots touched soil for the first time in his life on a planet called Kabral III. Poverty loomed over the Howser family even here. Levi Howser, Theo's father, was paralyzed during the invasion. The cybernetics necessary to repair his spine cost far more than they can afford. Even with minimum medical attention, his bills are astronomical. He's trying to make a career out of dictating novels with a speech-to-text program, but it isn't going well. Asmara Howser worked for a non-profit education advocacy group before her planet was destroyed. She works fifty hours a week as a public educator and another fifteen as a private tutor. Its enough to scrape by even if it leaves her children to fend for themselves most days. Theo decided he needed to ease the burden on his mom, so he decided to pitch in. His application to military service was accepted near instantly- the machine always needed more bodies- and he was shipped off world to Camp Triton for training two weeks later. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. The regiment's doctor nearly failed him out after he vomited all over himself and passed out during a run. The human body could only take so much punishment and he was already malnourished when he showed up; Theo wasn't ready. Be it luck or providence, it just so happened that the chief medical practitioner at Camp Triton was a Halcyonite too. Major Russom Samir prescribed an expensive physo-gene therapy program that built Theo back better than he'd ever been, and two months later Samir cleared Theo for service. Theo earned the callsign 'Teddy Bear' at Camp Triton both because of his affinity for the MBM-78 Grizzly and for his soft nature; he was 'too soft for war,' his bunkmates would mock. When they took bets on which of them would run or die first, the majority settled on gentle, soft Theodore. He was determined to prove them wrong. Thanks to recommendations of Major Samir and Lt. Colonel Strutzheim, the base commander, Theodore was accepted into the pilot program. No one would've called the boy a prodigy: he made more mistakes than most every single time he climbed into the cockpit. But none could deny his passion. There was a fire in his heart that drove him harder than anyone would've thought possible. The flame followed him through his next two decades of service: he fought on the moons of Pele, liberated Calypso IV, dug in around Rao City for the Hundred Day Siege, rescued the battleship Benevolence from an Aberrant boarding action, and so much more. One of his more notable tours of duty saw him aid in the defense of Thrax in 376. Teddy was grievously wounded when he attempted to engage a Bishop still protected by its barrier. Without a Constellation present, his unit had no hope of stopping it from massacring the tribe of Cain. Still, Theo refused to retreat, and had his men carry out delaying tactics: mine the ground to slow its advance, fainting charges to drag its attention backward; split the retreating tribes people into small groups so it had no easy target. Despite their efforts, Teddy fell. The creature cracked his mech open like an egg, split his head nigh in twain and left him for dead. It was a miracle Teddy survived, though he still has the scar to show for it. He never let the tragedies of his life define him. He never let himself dull to the little pleasures of life, like a hot cup of terrible coffee or a night dancing with a pretty woman. Even at forty-one years old he lives every day with the same passion of his youth, for he knows full well it could be his last. A universe cursed with the Aberrants was a harsh one- but life was about more than its darkest hours. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` New Halcyon was a garden world on the frontier of human-controlled space. Its terrain is as varied as Earth's, though the planet itself was slightly smaller and orbited by twin moons rather than one. It was settled hundreds of years ago by Neo-Reformist Liberation Theology pilgrims fleeing the coreworlds from persecution. Over the centuries it developed an average economy stifled by sanctions and isolationism. Most of its settlements were clustered around the original landing site, though some adventurous sorts crossed the ocean to settle other continents and islands. Its population hovered around eighty million when the planet was conquered by Aberrants. `[Culture]` The first settlers of New Halcyon considered it a paradise gifted to them by God. They christened their landing spot as the Rock of Mercy, and built upon it a massive cathedral. The first settlers were all canonized as saints, and hundreds of statues were erected in the halls of the cathedral to remember their sacrifices. Reformist influence promoted government and economy policy based on their religious teachings, including: the elimination of poverty, equitable distribution of resources and a reform-first criminal justice system. Anti-coreworld sentiment was common enough that the Halcyon government faced regular censor by federal authorities. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Commander Russom Samir` `[Relation to Subject]` `Mentor` `[Analysis]` Russom Samir is a military doctor and Commander (0-5) in the Navy of the Mobilized Human Alliance. Originally educated as a doctor, he signed up for officer's school after spending fifteen years in civilian medicine for one reason: he'd lost his son to an Aberrant attack. He's hopped between dozens of postings over the decades, including a few on the front, but it was during his time as the chief medical officer at Camp Triton that he met Teddy Howser. Russom is a native of the planet New Halcyon, a world lost to Aberrant invasion over forty years ago. It was his shared ancestral homeworld that drew him to Theodore Howser. When they met Theo was a young firebrand with a failing body- broken by the death of their world. The kid wanted nothing more than to join the fight against the things that took a home from him that he'd never seen. That warmed Samir's cold heart enough to stick his neck out for the kid. He ensured Howser received the best medical care available so he could complete his training at Camp Triton. Many of Russom's peers consider him a sardonic man that is difficult to work with, with utterly terrible bedside manner. Still, he cares deeply for his charges, and tries to maintain relationships with those few people willing to put up with his bitterness. He has a service record longer than his arm and has earned many a favor from higher ups by saving their lives. Teddy is one of those friends- the two trade messages frequently and make plans to share a drink or two whenever their paths cross. Theo owes Samir everything for saving his career when he was only a teenager, and he does whatever he can to pay Samir back for his...unique brand of kindness. A critical lack of experienced medical personnel on the front saw him transferred again. Russom's too old to fight on the line, but he can mend wounds and command a small army of orderlies on the deck of a destroyer or in the back of a tent if he has to. God knows he has the steel for it. `[Name]` `Aissi` `[Relation to Subject]` `Friend, sympathy magnet` `[Analysis]` Over the last twenty years Theo's met plenty of teenage constellations with the misfortune to be born 'special.' Handed a sword by their fathers and told to die for the human race, just like their ancestors. Aissi was of a kind with those honored dead in only the fact that she was young and doomed to die: augmented with the mechanical bones of the great enemy, picked apart in some godforsaken lab as her humanity was stripped away from her piece by rotten piece. Theo's blood boils at the very thought. No one deserves such a fate. He doesn't know Aissi half as well as he wished he did. Part of him finds her deeply unsettling. But he knows there's a young woman trapped beneath that alien steel and she must feel desperately alone. `[Name]` `Joab of Thrax, 'Lictor'` `[Relation to Subject]` `Aspirational celebrity, acquaintance` `[Analysis]` The Siege of Thrax left its mark on Theo in more ways than one. It was one of his first true brushes with death and a reality check for a younger man that thought himself invincible whenever he climbed into his suit of iron. Theo vividly remembers waking up in his bunk in the pouring rain to watch grainy video footage of Lictor singlehandedly holding off Aberrant bioforms thrice his size. Thraxans talked about Joab with reverence. He was a war hero, of course, but he was more than that: he was the living symbol of Thrax's defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. The two only spoke a few times during the Siege, and Theo lost contact with Joab after that. Scuttlebutt was that Lictor had gone into retirement, if he wasn't just dead and the MHA was covering it up. Theo was ecstatic when he learned Lictor wasn't just alive- he was back.

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Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird

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Fading Memory

The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Joab of Thrax
[Callsign]Lictor
[Gender]Male
[Age]64
[Rank and Designation]White Dwarf - Main Class
[Place of Birth]The rubble field formerly known as Thrax
[Official Statement]”Can you look someone weaker— someone more vulnerable— than you in the eye and tell them to go get hurt because you don’t want to fight?”

Mood Playlist

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Anti-Barrier Sword]XIII - Carnifex
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]30%
[Physical Description]
Depleted Uranium alloyed with AB materials, rendering the blade pyrophoric and flexible despite its immense density and weight. Provided a blow lands with sufficient force, the blade burns along its edge and maintains sharpness through prolonged confrontations. Stylized as an archaic Germanic executioner's blade, when paired with its lead-lined shroud and sheathe the full package of this ill-fated sword exceeds fifty pounds. It is worn over the shoulder on a sling, meant to be shrugged free before clearing the sheathe. In a world of high technology and incredible genetic capability, this is a weapon of deliberation and unmitigated devastation.
[Attributes]
Carnifex's capabilities are well regarded as accursed among the known AB weaponry. 'Unlucky Thirteen' has been its unofficial title for as long as the weapon has been in operation, for all who have wielded the weapon save for Lictor himself have died from the sword's unnatural radioactive emanations. It produces a latent level of radiation that is lethal within minutes for those who wield the blade. Thankfully, Lictor can handle this and the weapon only serves to enhance his natural capabilities immensely; his inherent resistance to Radiation can be channeled by the blade into his own retaliatory beams and waves of lethal energy.

In other words, while in the hands of Lictor, Carnifex is capable of absorbing and deflecting laser weaponry as well as producing its own long ranged counterstrikes. In nearly anyone else's hands, it is merely an obscenely heavy blade for the short breadth of time it permits them to live.

[Anomaly]Thraxian Grit
[Origin]Line of Eorman - Splinter bloodline
[Phenomena]
Lictor's Anomaly has manifested in a duality of traits. The first is an uncanny and impressive inherent resistance to radiation, which went unnoticed the entirety of his young life until his enrollment as a Constellation. The second is an immense physical strength and prowess, which was believed to simply be uncanny genetic good fortune and favorable results from physical training... Until it exceeded human expectation. He is quite capable of dealing with lower caste Aberrants in hand-to-hand combat without the aid of Carnifex, and his immense strength makes wielding the obscenely heavy blade seem effortless in the moments where the blade must be drawn.
[Limitation]
Lictor's body burns an excessive quantity of energy. His metabolism is off the charts, his dietary requirements are staggering, and when pushed to the limits his recovery times can become prolonged. He is a candle that blazes like a forge, but should one withstand the inferno of his wrath then he is ultimately doomed to concede any prolonged, attrition based, campaigns if unaided. 

He eats a lot, he sleeps a lot, and while he may be a juggernaut in a fight he must pace himself.Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Lictor is a tool, a vessel for a blade, the only means of transportation for the sole item that has defined his existence for two thirds of his life. A grim man, dutiful and critical in equal parts. A man who has witnessed too much death. A man inured to horror and blood. A man who struggles to exist on his own two feet, so entwined is his identity with that of a blade. A man to whom retirement could not stop the nightmares. A man who is not whole without a sword in his hand. 

A man whose emotions run deep, but dare not to reach the surface.

[Personal History]
Thrax was a harsh, cruel, uncaring mother world. And yet, the peoples from there were strong. The higher gravity ensured of that, but so too did an environment that would have made old Darwin dizzy with theory after theory on specialized evolutionary traits. Humanity came to Thrax chasing metals; humanity had to bend to Thrax's primal energy to reach them. The violent, tribal, peoples of Thrax became as feral and wild as the world itself. Joab was born amongst these savage and proud people. Joab was born the son of a miner and a hunter. Joab learned to shoot before he learned to read. Joab learned to split the earth before he learned algebra. Joab learned to kill a man before his fifteenth standard year of age.

By the age of eighteen, he had conquered six of his planet's eight rites of passage. He had swum to the bottom of the great lake basin; he had wrestled with the humongous spider-like predators of the southern jungle; he had been stung by the man-sized scorpions of the northern deserts; he had drunk of the nectar of the hypnotic honey-flower and seen visions beyond report; he had scaled the dizzying heights of the thick Tesla-Trees, who stormed with lightning eight months out of the year, to claim the egg of the razorbeak birds. The only two rites left to him were the easiest and the hardest of them all. Most by his age had already killed a man, but leaving Thrax on a vessel was almost impossible for most of the denizens of Thrax.

Joab was a man, respected, with influence and power among the tribes of Thrax. Joab, three named, strong and proud. Joab wanted more. The military had often come to Thrax to take conscription, to run blood tests, to harvest the youth of Thrax before the planet could break them. Joab had watched his entire life as ship after ship came down to the great space ports, protected fiercely by rival tribes, as his people were forced to eke out a meagre existence trading their resources to those who had the right and capability to ship product offworld. Joab wanted more.

His clan went to war. The battles were bloody, but over swiftly and decisively. By the time his clan's colors rose over the spaceport of Thrax's Throat, high on a mountain overlooking the equatorial jungle, Joab was only of two names. When the next military cruiser came through seeking conscripts, Joab was twenty. When he filled out the recruitment forms, it was to the applause of his people that he signed himself to the Constellation program as merely 'Joab of Thrax'. He excelled in the initial training, surpassing other candidates by sheer physical prowess and capability. Later tests cemented his enrollment and bestowal of an Anti Barrier weapon; a mutation in his bloodline marked Joab as the first to express an inherent resistance to harmful radiation.

He spent days in sealed rooms experiencing blasts of unseen radiation, exposure to Aberrant cores, proximity to laser blasts, and the ultimate test of being tasked to draw Unlucky Thirteen from its lead shroud. Ten minutes later he was officially a Constellation, at the age of twenty two. The horrendous history of the blade was impressed upon him, as was the astronomically unlikely existence of his unique anomaly. The blade was renamed, but its form left unchanged. Thus was Lictor, the bearer of Carnifex, given his sacrosanct task to execute the enemy's command structure.

Two terms. Lictor served for two full terms. His career was thirty years of trawling the void from operation to operation, heralding Carnifex to his sanctioned targets, bringing low the Aberrant foe, and surviving to get to the next battlefield. As colorful and decorated as his career may be, all acts of service or war are shadowed by the Siege of Thrax. Aberrant invasions are either repelled, or the world dies. Thrax lasted longer than most. For four months the planet itself, as it always had in its history, resisted the devouring hunger of its invasive predators. For four months Lictor commanded warriors from jungle trees, river banks, mud huts, desert dunes, and ocean vessels in a ceaseless resistance to the planet's destruction. Every day the jungles he had called home withered more. Every day the roots of the mountains cracked. For every Aberrant he slew, two more high caste entities were revealed. The planet was too rich in biomass, raw resources, and water for the Aberrants to be worn down.

They could not find the Princess, and that meant that each day Thrax weakened and the Aberrants grew stronger. The natural might of the planet slowly turned against Lictor with each passing day. Eventually he was on the back foot, racing from defensive effort to defensive effort trying to hold the line. Inevitability struck like a guillotine. The Siege of Thrax was dubbed 'The Massacre of Thrax'. Lictor's name and career were bloodied with the failure to hold the resource rich planet as well as the blame for the loss of several billion lives. The survivors of Thrax know him as a hero; the rest of humanity knows him only as a red handed butcher who failed to secure the only kill that mattered.

Lictor did not sign for a third term. His fifty third birthday was spent on transit to a mobile Anti-Barrier armory, where he relinquished Carnifex into its leaden vault. He was discharged with honor, but little fanfare. His fifty fourth birthday found him on a boat, under the sun, on the paradise planet of Maui Covenant. For ten years the ageless warrior fished, swam, avoided official news of the war effort, doted upon his god-children, and sought answers to all his unanswered emotions at the bottom of a liquor bottle or in the blackened vestiges of a pipe.

When men in unmarked suits, walking in unmistakable military spook goose-step, approached him one year ago it was to find him filleting a massive fish. They spoke as he descaled the catch. He silently listened as he worked with knife and hand to remove gamey flesh from white bone. A long silence reigned as he cleaned his tools and packed the harvest away. When the spooks turned away from him, he finally spoke.

"I'll carry the sword again. You said it yourselves, I'm the only one that can."

Thrax

The World Rent Asunder
Thrax was once a lush planet dominated by a Pangaea continent, with incomprehensibly dense and tall rainforest jungles crossing the entirety of the equatorial latitude. The far southern pole of the continent was a permanent tundra, but the northern hemisphere was temperate by comparison with the ice pole distant from land. It was a dense planet that was larger than Earth, bestowing it a slightly higher gravitational quotient than humanity-standard.

Higher levels of oxygen on the planet meant that plantlife grew rampant, grew large, and grew strong. Thrax's native wildlife consisted of insectoid creatures of immense size, as well as vicious predators that turned the primary jungle biome that spanned most of the continental mass into a blender of life and death. And yet deep within the planetary surface, rich ores hid. Humanity came, and where the iron boot of conquest and terraforming failed- adaptation succeeded. For much of Thrax's history, it was ruled by a confederation of intermingling tribal societies that fought one another for control of principle spaceports to amass wealth and import rights over their competitors.

When the Aberrants came, the war for Thrax was brutal and long for invasion standards. Now all that remains of Thrax is the fragments of a planet that collapsed upon itself and shattered apart. A ruin left adrift in the void.

Deathworld Tribalism
Thrax was a brutal planet, ill-suited to human habitation. Hostile fauna, deadly plant-life, but ludicrously rich in raw metals and ores needed in nearby systems. The fierce world bred fierce settlers. The nature was so hostile that the only way to survive was to adapt rather than conquer. The peoples of Thrax were almost tribal in their organization, and superstitious as well, crafting myths about their world to rationalize the horrors of their existence. Most of these myths revolved around a prolonged coming of age ritual practiced on the planet, involving eight great trials of planetary feats of bravery and strength.

The people of Thrax are given nine names at birth, and for each trial overcome they lose a name. Most adults of Thrax achieve satisfaction and respect with three or four names remaining. To achieve the full rite and be rendered singly-named is to become legend to Thraxians.

The Line of Joab
Of the known bloodline of Joab, following his enlistment as a Constellation, he is the first to express the key radiation resistance that defines his Anomaly.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Kyra Newman

[Relation to Subject]
Kyra Newman is the fresh recruit that the top brass have hoodwinked into being Lictor's battlefield chauffeur (Read: Pilot); she's allegedly an ace at maneuvering a battlefield in simulations, but she's green. Very, very, green. She has yet to see her first true combat scenario...

The brass promised she'd hold up under pressure.

[Analysis]
Prodigy of a military recruitment drive emphasizing virtual and augmented reality 'gaming' rigs; champion of multiple tournaments throughout her teenaged years, the military compensation package that came to her and her family's mailbox one day was almost impossible to say no to. Her training continued in physical spectrums from the age of eighteen to twenty, and she has just been assigned to the newly un-retired Lictor as personal pilot.



[Name]
Jocasta Dorcas Mary Lilith

[Relation to Subject]
A fellow survivor of Thrax, one of humanity's best reconnaissance and scouting squadron leaders. Has refused promotion countless times, wishing to remain on the direct field of conflict with the Aberrant foe. Her recklessness and wrath are second only to her knack for surviving to paint a target on a critical Constellation target another day. Often outlives her squads. Her target acquisition capabilities often directed Lictor into key Aberrant kills.

[Analysis]
Jocasta D.M.L. and Joab shared a physically intimate relationship that was born with the siege of Thrax and died with the planet's destruction. They found each other in an opportune time, but their personalities could not truly mesh beyond physical attraction. Instead of a romance, they found a profound friendship that was forged into something indestructible as they watched Thrax break apart in their retreat. Lictor pursued retirement, Jocasta pursued revenge.



[Name]
Beornwulf Kantor

[Relation to Subject]
Beornwulf helms the mighty vessel known as 'The Dream of Dawn'; prior to Lictor's retirement, he and Beornwulf shared a grim comradery. The Dream of Dawn served as Lictor's primary transport and support ship during his official career as a Constellation.

[Analysis]
Kantor is the only person from his career that Joab kept in contact with during his retirement. Their regular communiques kept Joab apprised of the frontline developments, and in return Joab would pay regular visits to the captain's family; Joab's retirement was on the same paradise world that Kantor's family lived on, after all. According to official record, Joab is the registered god parent to the three youngest grandchildren of the Kantor clan, who all see him as brother to Beornwulf.


Relationship Map

Critical PC connection - Aissi 


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Joab of Thrax` `[Callsign]` `Lictor` `[Gender]` `Male` `[Age]` `64` `[Rank and Designation]` `White Dwarf - Main Class` `[Place of Birth]The rubble field formerly known as Thrax` `[Official Statement]` `”Can you look someone weaker— someone more vulnerable— than you in the eye and tell them to go get hurt because you don’t want to fight?”` _{Mood Playlist} `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Anti-Barrier Sword]` `XIII - Carnifex` `[Anti-Barrier Quotient]` `30%` `[Physical Description]` Depleted Uranium alloyed with AB materials, rendering the blade pyrophoric and flexible despite its immense density and weight. Provided a blow lands with sufficient force, the blade burns along its edge and maintains sharpness through prolonged confrontations. Stylized as an archaic Germanic executioner's blade, when paired with its lead-lined shroud and sheathe the full package of this ill-fated sword exceeds fifty pounds. It is worn over the shoulder on a sling, meant to be shrugged free before clearing the sheathe. In a world of high technology and incredible genetic capability, this is a weapon of deliberation and unmitigated devastation. `[Attributes]` Carnifex's capabilities are well regarded as accursed among the known AB weaponry. 'Unlucky Thirteen' has been its unofficial title for as long as the weapon has been in operation, for all who have wielded the weapon save for Lictor himself have died from the sword's unnatural radioactive emanations. It produces a latent level of radiation that is lethal within minutes for those who wield the blade. Thankfully, Lictor can handle this and the weapon only serves to enhance his natural capabilities immensely; his inherent resistance to Radiation can be channeled by the blade into his own retaliatory beams and waves of lethal energy. In other words, while in the hands of Lictor, Carnifex is capable of absorbing and deflecting laser weaponry as well as producing its own long ranged counterstrikes. In nearly anyone else's hands, it is merely an obscenely heavy blade for the short breadth of time it permits them to live. `[Anomaly]` `Thraxian Grit` `[Origin]` `Line of Eorman - Splinter bloodline` `[Phenomena]` Lictor's Anomaly has manifested in a duality of traits. The first is an uncanny and impressive inherent resistance to radiation, which went unnoticed the entirety of his young life until his enrollment as a Constellation. The second is an immense physical strength and prowess, which was believed to simply be uncanny genetic good fortune and favorable results from physical training... Until it exceeded human expectation. He is quite capable of dealing with lower caste Aberrants in hand-to-hand combat without the aid of Carnifex, and his immense strength makes wielding the obscenely heavy blade seem effortless in the moments where the blade must be drawn. `[Limitation]` `Lictor's body burns an excessive quantity of energy. His metabolism is off the charts, his dietary requirements are staggering, and when pushed to the limits his recovery times can become prolonged. He is a candle that blazes like a forge, but should one withstand the inferno of his wrath then he is ultimately doomed to concede any prolonged, attrition based, campaigns if unaided. He eats a lot, he sleeps a lot, and while he may be a juggernaut in a fight he must pace himself.`	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` Lictor is a tool, a vessel for a blade, the only means of transportation for the sole item that has defined his existence for two thirds of his life. A grim man, dutiful and critical in equal parts. A man who has witnessed too much death. A man inured to horror and blood. A man who struggles to exist on his own two feet, so entwined is his identity with that of a blade. A man to whom retirement could not stop the nightmares. A man who is not whole without a sword in his hand. A man whose emotions run deep, but dare not to reach the surface. `[Personal History]` Thrax was a harsh, cruel, uncaring mother world. And yet, the peoples from there were strong. The higher gravity ensured of that, but so too did an environment that would have made old Darwin dizzy with theory after theory on specialized evolutionary traits. Humanity came to Thrax chasing metals; humanity had to bend to Thrax's primal energy to reach them. The violent, tribal, peoples of Thrax became as feral and wild as the world itself. Joab was born amongst these savage and proud people. Joab was born the son of a miner and a hunter. Joab learned to shoot before he learned to read. Joab learned to split the earth before he learned algebra. Joab learned to kill a man before his fifteenth standard year of age. By the age of eighteen, he had conquered six of his planet's eight rites of passage. He had swum to the bottom of the great lake basin; he had wrestled with the humongous spider-like predators of the southern jungle; he had been stung by the man-sized scorpions of the northern deserts; he had drunk of the nectar of the hypnotic honey-flower and seen visions beyond report; he had scaled the dizzying heights of the thick Tesla-Trees, who stormed with lightning eight months out of the year, to claim the egg of the razorbeak birds. The only two rites left to him were the easiest and the hardest of them all. Most by his age had already killed a man, but leaving Thrax on a vessel was almost impossible for most of the denizens of Thrax. Joab was a man, respected, with influence and power among the tribes of Thrax. Joab, three named, strong and proud. Joab wanted more. The military had often come to Thrax to take conscription, to run blood tests, to harvest the youth of Thrax before the planet could break them. Joab had watched his entire life as ship after ship came down to the great space ports, protected fiercely by rival tribes, as his people were forced to eke out a meagre existence trading their resources to those who had the right and capability to ship product offworld. Joab wanted more. His clan went to war. The battles were bloody, but over swiftly and decisively. By the time his clan's colors rose over the spaceport of Thrax's Throat, high on a mountain overlooking the equatorial jungle, Joab was only of two names. When the next military cruiser came through seeking conscripts, Joab was twenty. When he filled out the recruitment forms, it was to the applause of his people that he signed himself to the Constellation program as merely 'Joab of Thrax'. He excelled in the initial training, surpassing other candidates by sheer physical prowess and capability. Later tests cemented his enrollment and bestowal of an Anti Barrier weapon; a mutation in his bloodline marked Joab as the first to express an inherent resistance to harmful radiation. He spent days in sealed rooms experiencing blasts of unseen radiation, exposure to Aberrant cores, proximity to laser blasts, and the ultimate test of being tasked to draw Unlucky Thirteen from its lead shroud. Ten minutes later he was officially a Constellation, at the age of twenty two. The horrendous history of the blade was impressed upon him, as was the astronomically unlikely existence of his unique anomaly. The blade was renamed, but its form left unchanged. Thus was Lictor, the bearer of Carnifex, given his sacrosanct task to execute the enemy's command structure. Two terms. Lictor served for two full terms. His career was thirty years of trawling the void from operation to operation, heralding Carnifex to his sanctioned targets, bringing low the Aberrant foe, and surviving to get to the next battlefield. As colorful and decorated as his career may be, all acts of service or war are shadowed by the Siege of Thrax. Aberrant invasions are either repelled, or the world dies. Thrax lasted longer than most. For four months the planet itself, as it always had in its history, resisted the devouring hunger of its invasive predators. For four months Lictor commanded warriors from jungle trees, river banks, mud huts, desert dunes, and ocean vessels in a ceaseless resistance to the planet's destruction. Every day the jungles he had called home withered more. Every day the roots of the mountains cracked. For every Aberrant he slew, two more high caste entities were revealed. The planet was too rich in biomass, raw resources, and water for the Aberrants to be worn down. They could not find the Princess, and that meant that each day Thrax weakened and the Aberrants grew stronger. The natural might of the planet slowly turned against Lictor with each passing day. Eventually he was on the back foot, racing from defensive effort to defensive effort trying to hold the line. Inevitability struck like a guillotine. The Siege of Thrax was dubbed 'The Massacre of Thrax'. Lictor's name and career were bloodied with the failure to hold the resource rich planet as well as the blame for the loss of several billion lives. The survivors of Thrax know him as a hero; the rest of humanity knows him only as a red handed butcher who failed to secure the only kill that mattered. Lictor did not sign for a third term. His fifty third birthday was spent on transit to a mobile Anti-Barrier armory, where he relinquished Carnifex into its leaden vault. He was discharged with honor, but little fanfare. His fifty fourth birthday found him on a boat, under the sun, on the paradise planet of Maui Covenant. For ten years the ageless warrior fished, swam, avoided official news of the war effort, doted upon his god-children, and sought answers to all his unanswered emotions at the bottom of a liquor bottle or in the blackened vestiges of a pipe. When men in unmarked suits, walking in unmistakable military spook goose-step, approached him one year ago it was to find him filleting a massive fish. They spoke as he descaled the catch. He silently listened as he worked with knife and hand to remove gamey flesh from white bone. A long silence reigned as he cleaned his tools and packed the harvest away. When the spooks turned away from him, he finally spoke. "I'll carry the sword again. You said it yourselves, I'm the only one that can." `Thrax` `The World Rent Asunder` Thrax was once a lush planet dominated by a Pangaea continent, with incomprehensibly dense and tall rainforest jungles crossing the entirety of the equatorial latitude. The far southern pole of the continent was a permanent tundra, but the northern hemisphere was temperate by comparison with the ice pole distant from land. It was a dense planet that was larger than Earth, bestowing it a slightly higher gravitational quotient than humanity-standard. Higher levels of oxygen on the planet meant that plantlife grew rampant, grew large, and grew strong. Thrax's native wildlife consisted of insectoid creatures of immense size, as well as vicious predators that turned the primary jungle biome that spanned most of the continental mass into a blender of life and death. And yet deep within the planetary surface, rich ores hid. Humanity came, and where the iron boot of conquest and terraforming failed- adaptation succeeded. For much of Thrax's history, it was ruled by a confederation of intermingling tribal societies that fought one another for control of principle spaceports to amass wealth and import rights over their competitors. When the Aberrants came, the war for Thrax was brutal and long for invasion standards. Now all that remains of Thrax is the fragments of a planet that collapsed upon itself and shattered apart. A ruin left adrift in the void. `Deathworld Tribalism` Thrax was a brutal planet, ill-suited to human habitation. Hostile fauna, deadly plant-life, but ludicrously rich in raw metals and ores needed in nearby systems. The fierce world bred fierce settlers. The nature was so hostile that the only way to survive was to adapt rather than conquer. The peoples of Thrax were almost tribal in their organization, and superstitious as well, crafting myths about their world to rationalize the horrors of their existence. Most of these myths revolved around a prolonged coming of age ritual practiced on the planet, involving eight great trials of planetary feats of bravery and strength. The people of Thrax are given nine names at birth, and for each trial overcome they lose a name. Most adults of Thrax achieve satisfaction and respect with three or four names remaining. To achieve the full rite and be rendered singly-named is to become legend to Thraxians. `The Line of Joab` `Of the known bloodline of Joab, following his enlistment as a Constellation, he is the first to express the key radiation resistance that defines his Anomaly.` `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Kyra Newman` `[Relation to Subject]` `Kyra Newman is the fresh recruit that the top brass have hoodwinked into being Lictor's battlefield chauffeur (Read: Pilot); she's allegedly an ace at maneuvering a battlefield in simulations, but she's green. Very, very, green. She has yet to see her first true combat scenario... The brass promised she'd hold up under pressure.` `[Analysis]` `Prodigy of a military recruitment drive emphasizing virtual and augmented reality 'gaming' rigs; champion of multiple tournaments throughout her teenaged years, the military compensation package that came to her and her family's mailbox one day was almost impossible to say no to. Her training continued in physical spectrums from the age of eighteen to twenty, and she has just been assigned to the newly un-retired Lictor as personal pilot.` `[Name]` `Jocasta Dorcas Mary Lilith` `[Relation to Subject]` `A fellow survivor of Thrax, one of humanity's best reconnaissance and scouting squadron leaders. Has refused promotion countless times, wishing to remain on the direct field of conflict with the Aberrant foe. Her recklessness and wrath are second only to her knack for surviving to paint a target on a critical Constellation target another day. Often outlives her squads. Her target acquisition capabilities often directed Lictor into key Aberrant kills.` `[Analysis]` `Jocasta D.M.L. and Joab shared a physically intimate relationship that was born with the siege of Thrax and died with the planet's destruction. They found each other in an opportune time, but their personalities could not truly mesh beyond physical attraction. Instead of a romance, they found a profound friendship that was forged into something indestructible as they watched Thrax break apart in their retreat. Lictor pursued retirement, Jocasta pursued revenge.` `[Name]` `Beornwulf Kantor` `[Relation to Subject]` `Beornwulf helms the mighty vessel known as 'The Dream of Dawn'; prior to Lictor's retirement, he and Beornwulf shared a grim comradery. The Dream of Dawn served as Lictor's primary transport and support ship during his official career as a Constellation.` `[Analysis]` `Kantor is the only person from his career that Joab kept in contact with during his retirement. Their regular communiques kept Joab apprised of the frontline developments, and in return Joab would pay regular visits to the captain's family; Joab's retirement was on the same paradise world that Kantor's family lived on, after all. According to official record, Joab is the registered god parent to the three youngest grandchildren of the Kantor clan, who all see him as brother to Beornwulf.`

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name][Selen̍e͊]
[Callsign]Selene
[Gender]F
[Age]Early 20s
[Rank and Designation]Main-Class Constellation
[Place of Birth]Luna-1
[Official Statement]"I like to think we'll get along."
T̥̘̬̪̼ͣ̒ͭḪĬ̘̳͙S̱̻̮̼ͯ̀ͥ͒̚ ͩ̌ͩỈ̌̍̉ͬS̗̘̯̼ͬ̍ ͮͨNO̯̮͎̞̐ͩͣT ͛͛M͙͓̹̗̋ͯͩͦ̾Ÿ̰́ͮ̅ ̏̌ͥF̰̯̱̼͉͂͊̇Ă͉͙͎͈ͪͤC̀ͨ̽E̩̻̬̫
C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y
[Anti-Barrier Sword]#29 "Pleiades"
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]70% (10% per fragment)

[Physical Description]
An ancient greatsword with a chipped and broken blade, too brittle for true combat. Once wielded by the legendary Constellation known as [C͌͛͂a͊llist̘̘͊̚ȯ], its obsidian edge never promised salvation, but meted doom in abundance.

[Attributes]
In its prime, Pleiades would engulf itself in ghostly AB energy. Now shattered, its fragments still thrum with power, which when channeled can manifest minor projections of its former glory. While the blade itself may be useless, each of the seven fragments can form its own copy at the cost of a diminished AB ratio.
[Anomaly]Nebulae
[Origin]Space [Ca͉ͮ̀͒̎ͤͅl͊l̗̒i͚̳̜͊sto Unit̿yͬ]

[Phenomena]
[Sele͊n̑̏ͩ̔̆e͊]’s anomaly presents as expected: psychokinetic force mimicking the nascent strength of the Unity’s [fo̭̤r͓̥̈́êb̮̼̠e̙̹a̚r̯̜̭͍͊̊͆̓]. In reality, it manifests not as a direct telekinetic power, but rather as a multitude of long, invisible limbs. Able to fluctuate at will along the spectrum of intangibility, these hands can simulate the effects of psychokinetic phenomena, from simple pushes and pulls, to complex, dexterous maneuvers. Individually they display modest strength, but working in [un͚͈̗̦î̝̞̺͈̋̔s̪̲͕̳on] their impact can be much more devastating. Most often, [S̥̺̦̲͆ė̫̱̮̥ͅlene] utilizes her anomaly to wield her many AB sword projections at once.

[Limitation]
Nebulae suffers from some predictable psychokinetic drawbacks. The mental and physical cost of her Anomaly increases with the number of ethereal limbs summoned, and this makes her more prone to rapid fatigue and exhaustion. However, at the same time it also presents its own unique challenges.

Firstly, while the limbs generally follow [Selḛ͆̐ͫne]’s will, they have also been shown to act independently, as if [r̞̖̩̾̉ͭ̃e̹̣̤̙ͫm̠e͋m̥̏̅̒̅b̌ͥe̼̠͈͌r̮̲̻̅ͯ̌ͅi̲̙͆ͅn̅̾g͍̯̔ͧ o͕̱͎̳͆ͩͯu͔̠̔ͫ̆̆r͚̫̹̝̘̓ͣs̒eͭ̃l̖͓͒ve̜ͫsͭ]. This occurs most regularly in relation to the amount of limbs summoned, with more limbs meaning less direct control. Sometimes this works in her favor, as the Anomaly seems intent on protecting her, but as early incident reports detail, sometimes there is unintended collateral damage.

Secondly, and most concerning, is the effect the use of Nebulae has on her amnesia. In most cases, activation results in some degree of mental agitation, manifesting as incomplete and often incomprehensible memories. These effects intensify with prolonged use, which can exacerbate the loss of control of Nebulae’s limbs, and trigger periods of dissociation.
T̳H̝̦̰ͩ̏̔̚E̲̫̳ͮͧ̎̽̂S͍ͯ̿E͇͕̰͊͋ ͉̣͚̓̋͊̄ͨA̟̬̍̒ͬ̉R͍͓̙̣͖ͧͥ͑E̳̊ͣ͗̔̑ ̬̜̰̘̗ͣ̆ͮN͋ͧO̻Tͬ ̩͙̺̈̚M͇̔̚Y̖͔̮̯̮ ̠͓͇͔͌͌H̺̙̗̊A̖̩͖̳̮̔ͫ̉́̚N̥͓ͯ͛D͓̲̻͆ͤ͋ͮ̀S͙̤̱̬̦ͦͬ͊̌͌
Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Patient is:
* Sociable
* Soft-spoken
* Conflict-averse
* [Sě̬̏́l̳̯̤͛̔ͅe͎͔̭̥̱͆͌̆̎nȇ̫͕̑̂̉]
* Trusting 
* Compassionate 
* [███, ████████, ███, █████, █████, ████, ██]

[Personal History]
[S̭̐̎̚he͍͋̓ ̣̹ẉäs͊] quiet as the void between stars, but not silent.

Nor frigid, though in her wake was [c̭̞ͅȍ͖̀ͦl͛d̔ and͌ s̽t̝̀̔̓̓i̖̗͓ͥ̋̑͆l͖ͤl̰̯͔ness̬̰].

Her [l͊͆o̬̮̾v͉̠͉̿ͬ̐eͦ͋] was gentle. Those who mistook it for indifference saw also [fur͓y̝̩̦] in her passion. 

She never mourned, for [g̣̱̰r͕͍̿ͩ̑ie̓f̻̩̺̣ͪ̃̂ would have anchored o͑̔ǔ̙͊r͇̪̤̭] feet. 

[He̐ͬr̬͚ ͔̦ͥ͆͊̆n̚a͖̺̗me̹͗̇ a̹͚ͫ̓͒n̜̓d̪ ͓͚͍̠̿̊̒̀f̩̩͋̓̀ͨ̋ả̬͕̬̲̆̓ͯc̾̂ẻͮ] were lost in the unmarked graves of the Pleiades.

There is a plaque above the door they can’t open, the door to an outside they’ll never see again — some of them never saw it at all. It reads:

[The ảs͚ͬ͐͆h̽ͣes of a th͍̑ͬousan̦̤ͦ͊̉d stars, adrift in H͓̫̆e̯͈̺̣̤͑ͣr̞͙ͦ image͍̬̮ͩ.]
Words they cannot escape. Words whispered to them in their dreams.

Yesterday at approximately 18:00, a cluster of Aberrant ships entered the Juno-29 system, disrupting the warp gate and passing harmlessly by several mining stations on a direct course for Megisto. Upon reaching the planet, the small fleet changed course and established a blockade around its smaller moon, Selene. 

Selene was briefly host to a private mining operation in 120 IC, which was quickly abandoned due to a lack of actionable resources. Megisto itself has launched no lunar operations on its lesser moon, and Selene was assumed to have remained cold ever since.

However, at 19:23 a distress signal was intercepted from an installation presumably beneath the surface, identified as [L̦̣̥͙ṳ̝̰̿́͋̄n͖̰̝ͨa-1]. 

The Callisto Unity’s system-headquarters has begun evacuation procedures on Megisto and sent an armed repair team to the warp gate, but has otherwise made no comment on the station and its distress signal.New Euclidia Times, Archived Issue Dated: 01/01/276 IC

They scratch their names into the walls. At first there is plenty of room, but as the years go by, the etchings crowd and overlap and connect together in looping portmanteaus. A handful of names become dozens, become hundreds, become innumerable and inextricable. The letters are brushstrokes of a mural, their own conception of a 'family name.' There is no way to tell the ones who had been brought from the ones who were born, so they called themselves together what they were—what the caretakers called them.

Daughters of Callisto.

Aberrant fleet retreated from Juno-29 approximately ten system-hours prior to the warp gate’s repair. UAS Reconnaissance team encountered no resistance upon arrival, or en route to Megisto.

Distress signal intercepted by satellites on 01/01/276 IC was still active. Detected signs of life on Selene from orbit, which decreased rapidly when approaching Luna-1 Station.

Found destroyed Pawn-class Aberrants, which appear to have engaged with the installation’s automated defense systems, as well as assumed members of staff. Station suffered severe structural damage, as well as a 90% failure in life-support systems. 

Recovered bodies of presumed inhabitants. Remains suggest a population of both children and adults, and multiple sealed dormitories show signs of long-term habitation. 

Aberrant damage tapers off midway into the facility, suggesting the defense was partially successful. However, more damage and deceased were discovered beyond the blockade. Core data systems and all physical archives appear to have been destroyed by surviving staff members. It is unclear at this time how much was lost to Aberrant forces, and how much to sabotage. No identifying material remains, neither regarding the deceased, nor the owner of the installation.

One survivor found barricaded in what appears to be a crematorium. Teenage female, unconscious upon discovery. Numerous hand-prints and indents in the walls, floor and ceiling, but rapid scans detected no severe injuries. Retrieved without incident, but regained consciousness en route to the flagship and was unresponsive. 

All samples and remains are being catalogued. Initial assessments indicate the installation was likely some sort of research center, but no conclusive answers regarding its purpose, anachronistic interior, or the attack can be given at this time.

There is no ceremony for death. They cast her ashes into Selene’s depths, to the desert of those who died before, where she will wait to accept the ones who will die after. Already, another sleeps in her bed, and eats at her table, and perhaps will carve a name into the wall over her own, connecting them in life until they meet in the Daughter’s Sea.

Initial regimen of anti-psychotics and behavioral conditioning proved counter-productive (which, I remind, Command was warned about — by me.) However, [Sel͉͔̇̈e̻͈͂̓n̤̘͒ͅe̞͙̺’s] lucidity has improved exponentially over the past nine months, I believe as a direct result of the altered treatment. As such, liberty was taken to conduct an impromptu re-evaluation, which I have summarized below.

Patient [Sel̩̮̘̤ēͫ̓ne] possesses the composed demeanor expected of a soldier. Field tests indicate she is capable of both following orders and working cohesively in a unit of Constellations and Mechanized Infantry. Socialization has caused a marked improvement in stability, consistent with records of other successfully rehabilitated Constellations. (See ‘On Anomalies and the Mind’, Konners et al, 275 IS)

During reintegration she was noted to take a keen interest in the physical and mental well-being of her squad mates, even under temporary conditions. Frequently applied self-sufficiency skills learned during therapy to cook, clean, and otherwise care for those in her vicinity. Cynical interpretations of this behavior deride it as ‘compulsory,’ but this diagnosis was unsubstantiated. 

Symptoms relating to [S̼͓̖͔ͬ͐̍̀̈elene's a̿m͈̙̟̈́n̘e͈̠̙ͬs͆͊̾ȋ͉̪a̭] have not improved, but have also ceased to degrade as of the change in treatment. Concerns regarding frequent hallucinatory episodes should be tempered; these instances are often so minor they are only reported afterwards and by her, voluntarily. Severe cases have not impacted her performance, in fact I would point to ‘Incident Report 6,’ as well as the lack of incident reports since, as evidence that she is perfectly capable of navigating them without endangering [o̓ǔ̄͗ͬr̪̻͍ͤs͎̘̣͎͌̋͛̿eͪ̏ͮlv̠̱̏̂ͫ̑e̺͍̣ͬ͊ͪ́̋s͈̣̬ͭ] or those around her. 

I will reiterate what I said upon her retrieval from [Lun̰̠̗̹̰ͬ̏͊a-̘͖̽ͩ̓̇1͔̻̪̙̯ͪ̾ ]: I do not believe these behavioral anomalies are symptomatic of any neurological disorder. Scans show no damage, and anomalous activity has yet to produce any tangibly harmful effects. 

In light of these advancements, I am recommending she be folded officially into the UAS’ Constellation Branch while her treatment continues. 

Signed,
Dr. Reom

She doesn’t know what they find, when they do find her. What they take from the moon is not her, or rather it is only one of her, but she doesn’t know which. Images, sensations, places, people, all plague her mind from the first. She doesn’t know where the memories come from, or when, or to who — or how many whos — they belong. 

The caretakers here are much different. They don’t poke and prod at her mind, or her soul, only her body. They ask her questions she can’t answer. They want to know what she is, and who she is. They want to know about her home, but she doesn’t have one anymore.

So they name her after it, her cradle and her grave, and she is a Daughter no longer. Now, they tell her, she is a Constellation.

It feels right.
T̥̘̬̪̼ͣ̒ͭḪĬ̘̳͙S̱̻̮̼ͯ̀ͥ͒̚ ͩ̌ͩỈ̌̍̉ͬS̗̘̯̼ͬ̍ ͮͨNO̯̮͎̞̐ͩͣT ͛͛M͙͓̹̗̋ͯͩͦ̾Ÿ̰́ͮ̅ ̏̌ͥN͉͕͍̟̩À͙͚̭̺̞̎̈́M͔̻͙̌Ȇ̟̠͓̉͋
Home World

[Luna-1]
Nearly a century ago, Meridian Corp. abandoned its short-lived mining project on Megisto’s smaller moon, Selene, before being promptly liquidated in the ensuing financial collapse. Authorities now believe that no true mining effort was ever made, and that instead Meridian constructed the research installation known as Luna-1 using a largely automated workforce, before its owners vanished. 

Built nearly a mile down into a man-made chasm, Luna-1 is separated into two main sections: the laboratory, and the estate. As the name implies, the laboratory sat on the upper level, and was presumably home to a host of scientific equipment. Laid out like a research park, there were multiple divisions whose purposes cannot be identified—in fact, in the wake of the Aberrant attack almost no machinery remained. All records, both digital and physical, were lost. Dormitory layouts suggest a modest population of potential researchers, as well as a small security staff. 

Beneath several layers of reinforced plating and military-grade blast-doors, lies the estate, [h͓̯͉̼̉ͯͧ̈́o̹͗̔ͪ̉m͇̠͔͓̪̊͛e̗͑͒̃̒̉] so named for its anachronistic appearance. Here the architecture shifts entirely from clinical to Victorian. The vertical atrium sports a wide, spiral staircase traveling down a cylindrical hall of bookcases, filled with material ranging from educational textbooks and encyclopedias to fantasy epics. None were published later than Meridian’s departure, some appear to have been written by the estate’s occupants. Also found were piles of burned paintings, carvings, smashed statues, musical instruments, and many other recreational products, seemingly destroyed during the Aberrant attack. 

At the bottom of the stairwell, the estate branches off into multiple rooms, including sleeping quarters, two gyms, a cafeteria, and enclosures which appear to have been used for some sort of combat training or [h͇̰̘̩̯̉ͥ̒͗å͆r͕̱̖̓̓ͭͭm̹̜͕̻̼͂͑̓o͉̦̠͔̥̍̈́ͨ͂͑ṉ̙͖̈́̈́ͨy̮͔̬̑͗̄̂]. 

Of note are the dormitory walls, which are marked with what at first appears to be meaningless scratching, but upon further examination, are in fact a collective mass of letters, presumably [n̾a̪̣̘̿ḿ̑͒̾͋e̞͔̯̠͆s͇͂͛]. Very few are legible, and none appear to connect to any established family or missing persons reports. 

The area below the estate is only accessible via the laboratory. An elevator shaft runs down to the bottom face of the installation, beneath which is the pressurized depth of the chasm. Found what was believed to be a massive reservoir of sand, or moondust leftover from when the chasm was made. 

Further analysis determined these were human ashes.


[THEWALLTHEWA͇ͧ̈ͫ̌LLTHEWALLTHEW̜͍͉̜̑̍A̰̞͎̝LL̯̫͗̉̓̃THEWALL̬̮͍͎T̺̍ͧH͚̙͈ͫ̾̈̒͒EͤW̖̘͇̋A͕ͭ̒ͩL̟̠̭̭͓͆L͇̓Ṱ̯̦̒̄̇ͥḦ̜̯̝̦́̚E͉̲͍͑̓W͇̩ͧͦA̜̅̑͗ͅĽ̟̓̏L͖͖͕ͭ̋͌T̮͔̖̹̖͗͐Ḫ͉̮̑̅ͬE͂̈̈́̊W̺͚A͎͈̰̮͔͋̄ͩḺ̻ͧL̙̺]
███ ██████ ███ ████ ███ ████ ███████ ████ ██ ████ █████ ███ ██ █████ █████ ██████ ████ ███████ ████ ██████ ██████ ███ ████ ██████ █████ ████ █████ ████ █████ █████ ████ ███ ██████ █████████ ███ ████ █████ █████ ███████ ████ ██████ ████ ███████ ████ ██████ ██████ ████ █████████ ██████ █████ █████ ██████ ████ █████ █████ ████ █████ ██████ █████ ████████ ████ ████ ██████ ███████ ████ ██ ████████ ██████ ████ ██████ ███████ █████ █████ ████ ████ ███████ ████ ███████ ████ █████ ███████ ██████ ███████ █████ ███ ████████ ███ ██████ ███ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ █████ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ ████ ██████ ████ ██████ █████ ███ ██████ █████ █████ ███ █████ ███ ██████ █████ ████ ███████████ ████ ██████ ██████ ████ ███ ██████ ██ ██████ ██ ██████ ██ ███████ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ ███ █████ ███ ████ ██████ ██████████ ████ ██ ███████████ █████ ████
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[The Callisto Unity] 
As Progenitors rose from the ashes of their fellows to lead humanity into a new age of war, the doomed world of Lycaon prepared for its end. Overwhelmed by Aberrant forces, its cities burned, its mountains crumbled, its oceans boiled, and its people were culled with unimaginable cruelty. On the precipice of obliteration, they say, it was not the survivors who cried out for salvation, but the innumerable dead. 

None know why She answered. [Callͨ̎ͭi̦̦̒͐̉̄s̱̫͗ͧ͆ͦ̐t̮͕̯ỏ̾͊̅̎,̙͓͖̈́̉ͅ ͛̅͌ͮ͂tḧ̠̝eͨ̅ͩͯͬ ̻̗̠͙͔͛ͥ̋̇Mot͔ͤ͋̏ͬ̚h̋͂̍eͦͯ͒rͧ ͨM͙̬̖ͪö̦͕͇͓on̗͎̠̭̹ͨ̀], wreathed in silver and fury. She descended like a verdict upon the Aberrants, cutting with a ghostly blade, rending with powers strange and occult. From ruin to ruin, across broken landscapes, barren seabeds, through a crust of blood and body, merciless and unyielding, She never stopped. Those saved by Her slaughter could only follow behind, glimpsing from afar the calamity she visited upon the Aberrant invaders. They became revolutionaries, reclaiming inch by inch what was lost.

When it was done, Lycaon was quiet as if in mourning for its people, and for itself. There was no preserving a thing so utterly ruined. The survivors knew there had been no salvation, only vengeance for the death of their home. They left it behind, fleeing to distant stars where, eventually, they managed to forget what had happened. Lycaon, like so many lost worlds, faded from history. Some, however, chose to [r͇̗̪̀͂͐̉ͧḛ̳̼ͨ̎̂̽̾m͉͎ͪ̄̃̀̇ẻm͔̽̽ͬ̅̽bͣe̅̏̑ͦr̾̾̂͌]. 

Callisto vanished, never known by a [t̯̺̭̩͗ͣͥ̉̏r͎̍̆̄͊ú̙̩ͫ̉̽e̤͚̿ͧ ͎͈͔̤͐̈ͦ̓n̞̳̺͛̄́a͔̒͊m͎̟̦̍ĕ̥̦̪͎̆̈ͯͣ,̠̗̜͚ͅ ͌̿ȍ̺̜̠͙͇ͩr̀͗͊ ̻͉̼̥̈́̐ͦf̱̫̜͔ͅa̗̥͉̭ͬ͗͑c̎̀ͯ̃ë̖̻̙͖̻́], nor was She ever seen again. But at the site of Her final, pyrrhic victory over the Aberrants, She left one thing—three, things. Children. Infants, swaddled and silent as dead Lycaon. Her followers took them up and left with the rest of the survivors. But they did not forget. 

The Callisto Unity formed in the shadow of the progenitors; the UAS and the MHA expanded their reach, while the Unity focused inward. They did not truly emerge until decades later, not as some cultish antagonist, but as a scientific organization bursting with medical innovations. Helmed by the descendants of their [forebe͔̜̤ͦ̉a̫̤ͫr͓], the Unity established itself in the human effort as a force for good. They sought to ensure no world suffered as Lycaon had, producing both powerful Constellations, and critical advancements in medical technology. 

Some whisper that such altruism is merely a façade for a more nebulous cause. They say the Unity is still steeped in the [O̞̮̗̮ͮͅl͉̤̑ͪd͐̃̒ͪ Way̲̖̦̬̌͆s̝̼̱̪̠͊͑], that its highest echelons are driven by occult impetus, and that beneath their calm, collected exterior is a fanatical devotion to their lost Goddess. 

But these are mere rumors. Lycaon may remember the cries of the dead, but it lays silent and bereft. The Mother Moon is gone, and now Her children bring cold, gentle love to humanity. They are a thousand stars across the sky, working in unison, and even in death their ashes scatter together, with purpose.

In [H̩̳̓̈́e͚͔̘̱̍͋r̖̞͊] image.


Notable Contact



[Name]
Dr. E͈̗̲ͩ̄ͅ Reom

[Relation to Subject]
Dr. Reom has been [S̉̄e̥̪͙͉ͪ͊ͥ̏̏l̲̗ͥͥe̘̤̿n̟̟̺͌͐͛̾e͂̇̔̒̑]'s MHA-assigned psychiatrist since her retrieval from Luna-1.

[Analysis]
Reom is a clone, registered to a Megisto-based agency located in New Euclidia. Neither the first nor, likely, the last of his line, Reom's generational work with Constellations has made him indispensable in his field. He has, quite literally, written the book on many subjects relating to Anomalies and their effects on a Constellation's mental state.


Ally Contact



[Name]
Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara

[Relation to Subject]
A fellow Main-Class Constellation and Selene's senior.

[Analysis]
Though new to Main-Class, Selene has known Odessa for a while. The two have worked together and in teams on a number of missions, none of which bore much note in comparison to the greatest struggles occurring elsewhere on the war front. Regardless, Selene respects the senior Main very much, and upon discovering Odessa had a daughter, makes a habit of asking after often. Whenever Selene gives her post-mission thank-you gifts to her team, she always includes little treats or trinkets for Thelema in Odessa's. 

Selene does not expect they'll share a rank for very long. Of all the Constellations she's fought alongside, Odessa seems like a clear candidate for promotion. She only hopes they can keep in touch once she becomes a Red Giant.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `[Selen̍e͊]` `[Callsign]` `Selene` `[Gender]` `F` `[Age]` `Early 20s` `[Rank and Designation]` `Main-Class Constellation` `[Place of Birth]` `Luna-1` `[Official Statement]` "I like to think we'll get along." T̥̘̬̪̼ͣ̒ͭḪĬ̘̳͙S̱̻̮̼ͯ̀ͥ͒̚ ͩ̌ͩỈ̌̍̉ͬS̗̘̯̼ͬ̍ ͮͨNO̯̮͎̞̐ͩͣT ͛͛M͙͓̹̗̋ͯͩͦ̾Ÿ̰́ͮ̅ ̏̌ͥF̰̯̱̼͉͂͊̇Ă͉͙͎͈ͪͤC̀ͨ̽E̩̻̬̫ `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Anti-Barrier Sword]` `#29 "Pleiades"` `[Anti-Barrier Quotient]` `70% (10% per fragment)` `[Physical Description]` `An ancient greatsword with a chipped and broken blade, too brittle for true combat. Once wielded by the legendary Constellation known as [C͌͛͂a͊llist̘̘͊̚ȯ], its obsidian edge never promised salvation, but meted doom in abundance.` `[Attributes]` `In its prime, Pleiades would engulf itself in ghostly AB energy. Now shattered, its fragments still thrum with power, which when channeled can manifest minor projections of its former glory. While the blade itself may be useless, each of the seven fragments can form its own copy at the cost of a diminished AB ratio.` `[Anomaly]` `Nebulae` `[Origin]` `Space [Ca͉ͮ̀͒̎ͤͅl͊l̗̒i͚̳̜͊sto Unit̿yͬ]` `[Phenomena]` [Sele͊n̑̏ͩ̔̆e͊]’s anomaly presents as expected: psychokinetic force mimicking the nascent strength of the Unity’s [fo̭̤r͓̥̈́êb̮̼̠e̙̹a̚r̯̜̭͍͊̊͆̓]. In reality, it manifests not as a direct telekinetic power, but rather as a multitude of long, invisible limbs. Able to fluctuate at will along the spectrum of intangibility, these hands can simulate the effects of psychokinetic phenomena, from simple pushes and pulls, to complex, dexterous maneuvers. Individually they display modest strength, but working in [un͚͈̗̦î̝̞̺͈̋̔s̪̲͕̳on] their impact can be much more devastating. Most often, [S̥̺̦̲͆ė̫̱̮̥ͅlene] utilizes her anomaly to wield her many AB sword projections at once. `[Limitation]` Nebulae suffers from some predictable psychokinetic drawbacks. The mental and physical cost of her Anomaly increases with the number of ethereal limbs summoned, and this makes her more prone to rapid fatigue and exhaustion. However, at the same time it also presents its own unique challenges. Firstly, while the limbs generally follow [Selḛ͆̐ͫne]’s will, they have also been shown to act independently, as if [r̞̖̩̾̉ͭ̃e̹̣̤̙ͫm̠e͋m̥̏̅̒̅b̌ͥe̼̠͈͌r̮̲̻̅ͯ̌ͅi̲̙͆ͅn̅̾g͍̯̔ͧ o͕̱͎̳͆ͩͯu͔̠̔ͫ̆̆r͚̫̹̝̘̓ͣs̒eͭ̃l̖͓͒ve̜ͫsͭ]. This occurs most regularly in relation to the amount of limbs summoned, with more limbs meaning less direct control. Sometimes this works in her favor, as the Anomaly seems intent on protecting her, but as early incident reports detail, sometimes there is unintended collateral damage. Secondly, and most concerning, is the effect the use of Nebulae has on her amnesia. In most cases, activation results in some degree of mental agitation, manifesting as incomplete and often incomprehensible memories. These effects intensify with prolonged use, which can exacerbate the loss of control of Nebulae’s limbs, and trigger periods of dissociation. T̳H̝̦̰ͩ̏̔̚E̲̫̳ͮͧ̎̽̂S͍ͯ̿E͇͕̰͊͋ ͉̣͚̓̋͊̄ͨA̟̬̍̒ͬ̉R͍͓̙̣͖ͧͥ͑E̳̊ͣ͗̔̑ ̬̜̰̘̗ͣ̆ͮN͋ͧO̻Tͬ ̩͙̺̈̚M͇̔̚Y̖͔̮̯̮ ̠͓͇͔͌͌H̺̙̗̊A̖̩͖̳̮̔ͫ̉́̚N̥͓ͯ͛D͓̲̻͆ͤ͋ͮ̀S͙̤̱̬̦ͦͬ͊̌͌	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` `Patient is: * Sociable * Soft-spoken * Conflict-averse * [Sě̬̏́l̳̯̤͛̔ͅe͎͔̭̥̱͆͌̆̎nȇ̫͕̑̂̉] * Trusting * Compassionate * [███, ████████, ███, █████, █████, ████, ██]` `[Personal History]` [S̭̐̎̚he͍͋̓ ̣̹ẉäs͊] quiet as the void between stars, but not silent. Nor frigid, though in her wake was [c̭̞ͅȍ͖̀ͦl͛d̔ and͌ s̽t̝̀̔̓̓i̖̗͓ͥ̋̑͆l͖ͤl̰̯͔ness̬̰]. Her [l͊͆o̬̮̾v͉̠͉̿ͬ̐eͦ͋] was gentle. Those who mistook it for indifference saw also [fur͓y̝̩̦] in her passion. She never mourned, for [g̣̱̰r͕͍̿ͩ̑ie̓f̻̩̺̣ͪ̃̂ would have anchored o͑̔ǔ̙͊r͇̪̤̭] feet. [He̐ͬr̬͚ ͔̦ͥ͆͊̆n̚a͖̺̗me̹͗̇ a̹͚ͫ̓͒n̜̓d̪ ͓͚͍̠̿̊̒̀f̩̩͋̓̀ͨ̋ả̬͕̬̲̆̓ͯc̾̂ẻͮ] were lost in the unmarked graves of the Pleiades. `There is a plaque above the door they can’t open, the door to an outside they’ll never see again — some of them never saw it at all. It reads:` `[The ảs͚ͬ͐͆h̽ͣes of a th͍̑ͬousan̦̤ͦ͊̉d stars, adrift in H͓̫̆e̯͈̺̣̤͑ͣr̞͙ͦ image͍̬̮ͩ.]` `Words they cannot escape. Words whispered to them in their dreams.` Yesterday at approximately 18:00, a cluster of Aberrant ships entered the Juno-29 system, disrupting the warp gate and passing harmlessly by several mining stations on a direct course for Megisto. Upon reaching the planet, the small fleet changed course and established a blockade around its smaller moon, Selene. Selene was briefly host to a private mining operation in 120 IC, which was quickly abandoned due to a lack of actionable resources. Megisto itself has launched no lunar operations on its lesser moon, and Selene was assumed to have remained cold ever since. However, at 19:23 a distress signal was intercepted from an installation presumably beneath the surface, identified as [L̦̣̥͙ṳ̝̰̿́͋̄n͖̰̝ͨa-1]. The Callisto Unity’s system-headquarters has begun evacuation procedures on Megisto and sent an armed repair team to the warp gate, but has otherwise made no comment on the station and its distress signal. New Euclidia Times, Archived Issue Dated: 01/01/276 IC They scratch their names into the walls. At first there is plenty of room, but as the years go by, the etchings crowd and overlap and connect together in looping portmanteaus. A handful of names become dozens, become hundreds, become innumerable and inextricable. The letters are brushstrokes of a mural, their own conception of a 'family name.' There is no way to tell the ones who had been brought from the ones who were born, so they called themselves together what they were—what the caretakers called them. Daughters of Callisto. Aberrant fleet retreated from Juno-29 approximately ten system-hours prior to the warp gate’s repair. UAS Reconnaissance team encountered no resistance upon arrival, or en route to Megisto. Distress signal intercepted by satellites on 01/01/276 IC was still active. Detected signs of life on Selene from orbit, which decreased rapidly when approaching Luna-1 Station. Found destroyed Pawn-class Aberrants, which appear to have engaged with the installation’s automated defense systems, as well as assumed members of staff. Station suffered severe structural damage, as well as a 90% failure in life-support systems. Recovered bodies of presumed inhabitants. Remains suggest a population of both children and adults, and multiple sealed dormitories show signs of long-term habitation. Aberrant damage tapers off midway into the facility, suggesting the defense was partially successful. However, more damage and deceased were discovered beyond the blockade. Core data systems and all physical archives appear to have been destroyed by surviving staff members. It is unclear at this time how much was lost to Aberrant forces, and how much to sabotage. No identifying material remains, neither regarding the deceased, nor the owner of the installation. One survivor found barricaded in what appears to be a crematorium. Teenage female, unconscious upon discovery. Numerous hand-prints and indents in the walls, floor and ceiling, but rapid scans detected no severe injuries. Retrieved without incident, but regained consciousness en route to the flagship and was unresponsive. All samples and remains are being catalogued. Initial assessments indicate the installation was likely some sort of research center, but no conclusive answers regarding its purpose, anachronistic interior, or the attack can be given at this time. `There is no ceremony for death. They cast her ashes into Selene’s depths, to the desert of those who died before, where she will wait to accept the ones who will die after. Already, another sleeps in her bed, and eats at her table, and perhaps will carve a name into the wall over her own, connecting them in life until they meet in the Daughter’s Sea.` `Initial regimen of anti-psychotics and behavioral conditioning proved counter-productive (which, I remind, Command was warned about — by me.) However, [Sel͉͔̇̈e̻͈͂̓n̤̘͒ͅe̞͙̺’s] lucidity has improved exponentially over the past nine months, I believe as a direct result of the altered treatment. As such, liberty was taken to conduct an impromptu re-evaluation, which I have summarized below.` Patient [Sel̩̮̘̤ēͫ̓ne] possesses the composed demeanor expected of a soldier. Field tests indicate she is capable of both following orders and working cohesively in a unit of Constellations and Mechanized Infantry. Socialization has caused a marked improvement in stability, consistent with records of other successfully rehabilitated Constellations. (See ‘On Anomalies and the Mind’, Konners et al, 275 IS) During reintegration she was noted to take a keen interest in the physical and mental well-being of her squad mates, even under temporary conditions. Frequently applied self-sufficiency skills learned during therapy to cook, clean, and otherwise care for those in her vicinity. Cynical interpretations of this behavior deride it as ‘compulsory,’ but this diagnosis was unsubstantiated. Symptoms relating to [S̼͓̖͔ͬ͐̍̀̈elene's a̿m͈̙̟̈́n̘e͈̠̙ͬs͆͊̾ȋ͉̪a̭] have not improved, but have also ceased to degrade as of the change in treatment. Concerns regarding frequent hallucinatory episodes should be tempered; these instances are often so minor they are only reported afterwards and by her, voluntarily. Severe cases have not impacted her performance, in fact I would point to ‘Incident Report 6,’ as well as the lack of incident reports since, as evidence that she is perfectly capable of navigating them without endangering [o̓ǔ̄͗ͬr̪̻͍ͤs͎̘̣͎͌̋͛̿eͪ̏ͮlv̠̱̏̂ͫ̑e̺͍̣ͬ͊ͪ́̋s͈̣̬ͭ] or those around her. I will reiterate what I said upon her retrieval from [Lun̰̠̗̹̰ͬ̏͊a-̘͖̽ͩ̓̇1͔̻̪̙̯ͪ̾ ]: I do not believe these behavioral anomalies are symptomatic of any neurological disorder. Scans show no damage, and anomalous activity has yet to produce any tangibly harmful effects. In light of these advancements, I am recommending she be folded officially into the UAS’ Constellation Branch while her treatment continues. Signed, Dr. Reom She doesn’t know what they find, when they do find her. What they take from the moon is not her, or rather it is only one of her, but she doesn’t know which. Images, sensations, places, people, all plague her mind from the first. She doesn’t know where the memories come from, or when, or to who — or how many whos — they belong. The caretakers here are much different. They don’t poke and prod at her mind, or her soul, only her body. They ask her questions she can’t answer. They want to know what she is, and who she is. They want to know about her home, but she doesn’t have one anymore. So they name her after it, her cradle and her grave, and she is a Daughter no longer. Now, they tell her, she is a Constellation. It feels right. T̥̘̬̪̼ͣ̒ͭḪĬ̘̳͙S̱̻̮̼ͯ̀ͥ͒̚ ͩ̌ͩỈ̌̍̉ͬS̗̘̯̼ͬ̍ ͮͨNO̯̮͎̞̐ͩͣT ͛͛M͙͓̹̗̋ͯͩͦ̾Ÿ̰́ͮ̅ ̏̌ͥN͉͕͍̟̩À͙͚̭̺̞̎̈́M͔̻͙̌Ȇ̟̠͓̉͋ `Home World` `[Luna-1]` Nearly a century ago, Meridian Corp. abandoned its short-lived mining project on Megisto’s smaller moon, Selene, before being promptly liquidated in the ensuing financial collapse. Authorities now believe that no true mining effort was ever made, and that instead Meridian constructed the research installation known as Luna-1 using a largely automated workforce, before its owners vanished. Built nearly a mile down into a man-made chasm, Luna-1 is separated into two main sections: the laboratory, and the estate. As the name implies, the laboratory sat on the upper level, and was presumably home to a host of scientific equipment. Laid out like a research park, there were multiple divisions whose purposes cannot be identified—in fact, in the wake of the Aberrant attack almost no machinery remained. All records, both digital and physical, were lost. Dormitory layouts suggest a modest population of potential researchers, as well as a small security staff. Beneath several layers of reinforced plating and military-grade blast-doors, lies the estate, [h͓̯͉̼̉ͯͧ̈́o̹͗̔ͪ̉m͇̠͔͓̪̊͛e̗͑͒̃̒̉] so named for its anachronistic appearance. Here the architecture shifts entirely from clinical to Victorian. The vertical atrium sports a wide, spiral staircase traveling down a cylindrical hall of bookcases, filled with material ranging from educational textbooks and encyclopedias to fantasy epics. None were published later than Meridian’s departure, some appear to have been written by the estate’s occupants. Also found were piles of burned paintings, carvings, smashed statues, musical instruments, and many other recreational products, seemingly destroyed during the Aberrant attack. At the bottom of the stairwell, the estate branches off into multiple rooms, including sleeping quarters, two gyms, a cafeteria, and enclosures which appear to have been used for some sort of combat training or [h͇̰̘̩̯̉ͥ̒͗å͆r͕̱̖̓̓ͭͭm̹̜͕̻̼͂͑̓o͉̦̠͔̥̍̈́ͨ͂͑ṉ̙͖̈́̈́ͨy̮͔̬̑͗̄̂]. Of note are the dormitory walls, which are marked with what at first appears to be meaningless scratching, but upon further examination, are in fact a collective mass of letters, presumably [n̾a̪̣̘̿ḿ̑͒̾͋e̞͔̯̠͆s͇͂͛]. Very few are legible, and none appear to connect to any established family or missing persons reports. The area below the estate is only accessible via the laboratory. An elevator shaft runs down to the bottom face of the installation, beneath which is the pressurized depth of the chasm. Found what was believed to be a massive reservoir of sand, or moondust leftover from when the chasm was made. Further analysis determined these were human ashes. `[THEWALLTHEWA͇ͧ̈ͫ̌LLTHEWALLTHEW̜͍͉̜̑̍A̰̞͎̝LL̯̫͗̉̓̃THEWALL̬̮͍͎T̺̍ͧH͚̙͈ͫ̾̈̒͒EͤW̖̘͇̋A͕ͭ̒ͩL̟̠̭̭͓͆L͇̓Ṱ̯̦̒̄̇ͥḦ̜̯̝̦́̚E͉̲͍͑̓W͇̩ͧͦA̜̅̑͗ͅĽ̟̓̏L͖͖͕ͭ̋͌T̮͔̖̹̖͗͐Ḫ͉̮̑̅ͬE͂̈̈́̊W̺͚A͎͈̰̮͔͋̄ͩḺ̻ͧL̙̺]` ███ ██████ ███ ████ ███ ████ ███████ ████ ██ ████ █████ ███ ██ █████ █████ ██████ ████ ███████ ████ ██████ ██████ ███ ████ ██████ █████ ████ █████ ████ █████ █████ ████ ███ ██████ █████████ ███ ████ █████ █████ ███████ ████ ██████ ████ ███████ ████ ██████ ██████ ████ █████████ ██████ █████ █████ ██████ ████ █████ █████ ████ █████ ██████ █████ ████████ ████ ████ ██████ ███████ ████ ██ ████████ ██████ ████ ██████ ███████ █████ █████ ████ ████ ███████ ████ ███████ ████ █████ ███████ ██████ ███████ █████ ███ ████████ ███ ██████ ███ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ █████ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ ████ ██████ ████ ██████ █████ ███ ██████ █████ █████ ███ █████ ███ ██████ █████ ████ ███████████ ████ ██████ ██████ ████ ███ ██████ ██ ██████ ██ ██████ ██ ███████ █████ ██████ ███ ███████ ███ █████ ███ ████ ██████ ██████████ ████ ██ ███████████ █████ ████ `████ ██████ ████ ███████ ███ █████ █████ ████ ██████ ██ ███████ ███ █████ █████ ██████ ████ █████ ██████ ██ █████ ████ █████ ████` `[The Callisto Unity]` As Progenitors rose from the ashes of their fellows to lead humanity into a new age of war, the doomed world of Lycaon prepared for its end. Overwhelmed by Aberrant forces, its cities burned, its mountains crumbled, its oceans boiled, and its people were culled with unimaginable cruelty. On the precipice of obliteration, they say, it was not the survivors who cried out for salvation, but the innumerable dead. None know why She answered. [Callͨ̎ͭi̦̦̒͐̉̄s̱̫͗ͧ͆ͦ̐t̮͕̯ỏ̾͊̅̎,̙͓͖̈́̉ͅ ͛̅͌ͮ͂tḧ̠̝eͨ̅ͩͯͬ ̻̗̠͙͔͛ͥ̋̇Mot͔ͤ͋̏ͬ̚h̋͂̍eͦͯ͒rͧ ͨM͙̬̖ͪö̦͕͇͓on̗͎̠̭̹ͨ̀], wreathed in silver and fury. She descended like a verdict upon the Aberrants, cutting with a ghostly blade, rending with powers strange and occult. From ruin to ruin, across broken landscapes, barren seabeds, through a crust of blood and body, merciless and unyielding, She never stopped. Those saved by Her slaughter could only follow behind, glimpsing from afar the calamity she visited upon the Aberrant invaders. They became revolutionaries, reclaiming inch by inch what was lost. When it was done, Lycaon was quiet as if in mourning for its people, and for itself. There was no preserving a thing so utterly ruined. The survivors knew there had been no salvation, only vengeance for the death of their home. They left it behind, fleeing to distant stars where, eventually, they managed to forget what had happened. Lycaon, like so many lost worlds, faded from history. Some, however, chose to [r͇̗̪̀͂͐̉ͧḛ̳̼ͨ̎̂̽̾m͉͎ͪ̄̃̀̇ẻm͔̽̽ͬ̅̽bͣe̅̏̑ͦr̾̾̂͌]. Callisto vanished, never known by a [t̯̺̭̩͗ͣͥ̉̏r͎̍̆̄͊ú̙̩ͫ̉̽e̤͚̿ͧ ͎͈͔̤͐̈ͦ̓n̞̳̺͛̄́a͔̒͊m͎̟̦̍ĕ̥̦̪͎̆̈ͯͣ,̠̗̜͚ͅ ͌̿ȍ̺̜̠͙͇ͩr̀͗͊ ̻͉̼̥̈́̐ͦf̱̫̜͔ͅa̗̥͉̭ͬ͗͑c̎̀ͯ̃ë̖̻̙͖̻́], nor was She ever seen again. But at the site of Her final, pyrrhic victory over the Aberrants, She left one thing—three, things. Children. Infants, swaddled and silent as dead Lycaon. Her followers took them up and left with the rest of the survivors. But they did not forget. The Callisto Unity formed in the shadow of the progenitors; the UAS and the MHA expanded their reach, while the Unity focused inward. They did not truly emerge until decades later, not as some cultish antagonist, but as a scientific organization bursting with medical innovations. Helmed by the descendants of their [forebe͔̜̤ͦ̉a̫̤ͫr͓], the Unity established itself in the human effort as a force for good. They sought to ensure no world suffered as Lycaon had, producing both powerful Constellations, and critical advancements in medical technology. Some whisper that such altruism is merely a façade for a more nebulous cause. They say the Unity is still steeped in the [O̞̮̗̮ͮͅl͉̤̑ͪd͐̃̒ͪ Way̲̖̦̬̌͆s̝̼̱̪̠͊͑], that its highest echelons are driven by occult impetus, and that beneath their calm, collected exterior is a fanatical devotion to their lost Goddess. But these are mere rumors. Lycaon may remember the cries of the dead, but it lays silent and bereft. The Mother Moon is gone, and now Her children bring cold, gentle love to humanity. They are a thousand stars across the sky, working in unison, and even in death their ashes scatter together, with purpose. In [H̩̳̓̈́e͚͔̘̱̍͋r̖̞͊] image. `Notable Contact` `[Name]` `Dr. E͈̗̲ͩ̄ͅ Reom` `[Relation to Subject]` `Dr. Reom has been [S̉̄e̥̪͙͉ͪ͊ͥ̏̏l̲̗ͥͥe̘̤̿n̟̟̺͌͐͛̾e͂̇̔̒̑]'s MHA-assigned psychiatrist since her retrieval from Luna-1.` `[Analysis]` `Reom is a clone, registered to a Megisto-based agency located in New Euclidia. Neither the first nor, likely, the last of his line, Reom's generational work with Constellations has made him indispensable in his field. He has, quite literally, written the book on many subjects relating to Anomalies and their effects on a Constellation's mental state.` `Ally Contact` `[Name]` `Odessa Ulani Thaddeus Isabella Samara` `[Relation to Subject]` `A fellow Main-Class Constellation and Selene's senior.` `[Analysis]` Though new to Main-Class, Selene has known Odessa for a while. The two have worked together and in teams on a number of missions, none of which bore much note in comparison to the greatest struggles occurring elsewhere on the war front. Regardless, Selene respects the senior Main very much, and upon discovering Odessa had a daughter, makes a habit of asking after often. Whenever Selene gives her post-mission thank-you gifts to her team, she always includes little treats or trinkets for Thelema in Odessa's. Selene does not expect they'll share a rank for very long. Of all the Constellations she's fought alongside, Odessa seems like a clear candidate for promotion. She only hopes they can keep in touch once she becomes a Red Giant.

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Solomon Howe
[Callsign]Dunkirk
[Gender]Male
[Age]29
[Rank and Designation]Petty Officer 2nd Class
[Place of Birth]New Alexandria, Alexandria Colonial System
[Official Statement]"Doesn't matter if we're surrounded. Reactors good, still got ammo, means we get to take a few more with us. Lucky us."

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y

[Mech Model]Brose Arsenal Mk VI Victoria Universal Chassis
[Type]Modular Vanguard Unit
[Size]45' Tall, 35 Tons with heaviest Armament Package.
[Core]N/A (See Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor)
[Armaments]
Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor - Designed as an answer to a question no one else is asking, no official Brose Arsenal designed and manufactured Mech mounts any sort of Aberrant Core power system. They continue to, rather stubbornly, maintain conventional power sources despite the drawbacks they entail. One upside, however, was that not needing any sort of Aberrant material meant they had literally no restraint on production, not that it was an issue due to the overwhelming Aberrant war on humanity as a whole. Lacking the longevity of Aberrant cores, the Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor is none the less capable of maintaining combat levels of energy output for extended periods of time compared to almost any other conventional source of energy, being commonly referred to as "The best of second place" by anyone who examines the blueprints for a Brose Arsenal design. Confoundingly, the entire chassis was designed explicitly to draw from a conventional Fusion reactor, ideally Brose Arsenal design, meaning attempts to retrofit Mk VI chassis that survived the fall of New Alexandria have not been worth the effort.
External Co-Pilot Module (ECPM) - Originally a trainer module, then modified for field use when Aberrants began their all out extermination of humanity, the Co-Pilot module allows for a second pilot, soldier, or later on Constellation deployment, the ECPM has two modes. Co-Pilot mode allows the rider to operate the secondary weapon that is typically mounted to the ECPM, provide targeting data, and otherwise support the pilot in operations. VIP mode locks out all controls except the hatch and comms to the pilot, though the latter can be shut off if need be, to prevent interference if the passenger is not trained in either piloting or mech combat overall.
Modularity - The Mk VI was designed to, either prior to deployment or, when circumstances allow, at forward operating bases and other secure locations that a hot swap can be performed. While the original founderies have long since stopped designing and producing Packages for the Victoria line of mechs, mostly due to their loss to Aberrant advances on humanity, it is possible that other packages can be salvaged or produced. Below are the current options available to Howe's Mk VI. Without a package loaded, the frame lacks any innate weaponry besides the force a mech can produce throwing punches or grabbing and slamming threats, though all package armaments can be ejected if speed is needed.
CQB Package - A standard go to for Howe, the CQB Package up armors the Mk VI in anticipation of urban and close quarters combat not allowing room to evade attacks. Weapons wise, the primary weapon is a combat shotgun loaded with buckshot, although the package supports bringing specialty ammunition should the need arise. Secondary weapons include reinforced manipulators for close quarters fighting, and a backpack mounted 20mm autocannon for suppressing and bringing down large numbers of lower grade Aberrants. The package has several Fragmentation Grenades that are hip mounted, lacking impact against targets with sufficient protection but can provide breathing room when Aberrants or other targets lack sufficient protection.
Assault Package - The original universal package, the Assault package is the lightest current package, giving it the highest innate speed without jettisoning weapons. Its primary weapon is a belt fed heavy assault rifle, ammo stored in an ejectable compartment mounted below the ECPM, removing the need to reload mid fight but running the risk of overheating. The secondary weapon is an air burst mortar system, capable of either detonating based on proximity or on a timed fuse, as set by either pilot or, if available, co-pilot. This package has several adhesive grenades, latching onto a target before detonating with sheer explosive force, lacking shrapnel or anything otherwise unusual.
Recce Package - Designed for observation and longer range support, the Recce package sees less use than the other two and mounts an enhanced suite of sensors and targeting systems, specifically designed to assist other mechs in targeting and tracking enemies. The primary weapon is a large Designated Marksman Rifle, rounds originally an attempt to overpower Barriers prior to AB materials that, while a complete and total failure, have been repurposed for defeating more conventional defenses and protections. The secondary weapon is a Point Defense machine gun, while the weight saved from other, heavier weapons and ammunition storage taken up instead by data analysis and scanning systems, heavily reliant on a co-pilot to take full advantage of.
Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Petty Officer Solomon Howe finds himself always more at ease behind the controls of his Mk VI Mech, nicknamed "Vickie", than he does almost any other time. He is professional on duty, always pushing himself and his frame harder and harder in combat scenarios and while carrying out his duties in support of the Constellations. Under fire he is calm and collected, more concerned about getting the job done than earning glory or going out of his way to cause trouble for himself or others. He has no regard for his own safety, however, having zero qualms with putting his Mech directly in the line of fire if it means accomplishing the mission.

Off duty, Howe struggles a great deal with a cocktail of survivor's guilt and a general lack of hope in the future of mankind. He smokes heavily, drinks constantly, and does little to foster connections with his fellow service members. He doesn't go out of his way to alienate or drive them off, but his dreary outlook can be difficult to breach. Under the alcohol and tobacco abuse, he doesn't enjoy thinking the only way out is dying on his feet, but doesn't see any other way that this ends. The Constellations are too few and far between, the Aberrant numerous to the point of absurdity, and as far as he can tell Earth doesn't seem to care. It is always the colonial holdings that suffer the consequences, something that does very much rub him the wrong way. He is willing to get into fights for his fellow service members, especially when its people who haven't ever seen a combat zone.

[Personal History]
Solomon Howe was born on the world of New Alexandria, part of a family who had regular career presence in the military. Unlike some families, however, they never particularly cared for or even discussed it as anything else as just another part of living on the world they did. You were either a soldier or a worker, and the Howe family were always soldiers. Solomon was raised with the expectation that he would be a soldier as well, and sure enough once of age he would enlist into the Mech piloting program the planet maintained, assigning him to ride as a co-pilot during training operations with the then Petty Officer First Class Boyd Hancock. Three years into his training and efforts to become a Mech pilot the Aberrant would arrive in the Alexandria Colonial System, sparking a sudden rush to defend against the incoming horde of monstrous invaders. The system would be caught off guard, no signs of Aberrant interest having been shown before their arrival, delaying the response of the Constellations that were available. 

The planetary garrisons organized evacuations to New Alexandria itself, condensing all available military might there. Emergency authorization allowed experienced trainees to join their instructors in live combat, and Howe would remember vividly, often when trying to sleep, the comms chatter and panic as he manned the co-pilot seat of Hancock's Mk VI Mech. Constellations arrived on New Alexandria, the most senior Mech pilots joining to escort and guard them in an effort to stem the tide. The effort to condense all available military resources in the system turned out to be a double edged sword. While it concentrated the military capabilities, it also surrendered most of the system to the Aberrant and concentrate [i]their[/i] efforts against New Alexandria. It was here that Howe saw just how hopeless things were. Even with concentrated Mech support, Constellations were getting slowly overrun and dragged down, Mechs often going down alongside their charges, trying to buy them scant seconds more to escape. No AB weapons were lost, the military forces were able to see to that, but the time came to evacuate all remaining combat personnel, as civilians were long since evacuated after the first Constellation death. Howe was among those evacuating, alongside Hancock, who had promised that Howe would finish his training and inherit the man's Mk VI while he moved on to another Mech. Howe agreed, despite the sinking feeling of having watched the grandest heroes of humanity ground into the mud like common infantry. Still, he didn't bring it up during evaluations, and was approved to continue Mech pilot training.

Petty Officer Howe, after finishing the formality of training, would spend the next nine years volunteering for the most dangerous missions he could get authorized to go on. The memory of his home world getting overrun and torn to shreds and some thought he wanted to prevent that from happening again. His off duty life proved to be rather unremarkable, concerns that he got into a few fights but no charges were ever pressed and disciplinary action never came up after the fact. Howe would defend the fights he got into as defending fellow service members, though the recently promoted Chief Hancock would usually keep things more on the hush hush, as losing a good pilot over nonsense off duty would be a damn waste. Still, Howe kept pushing further and further into more dangerous missions.

Each time he returned, he registered more damage than other pilots, on average, something that was noted in his service record. Howe refused any sort of psychological evaluation, pointing out time and again they couldn't afford to have pilots taken off the line just because they were aggressively carrying out orders. His on duty actions never warranted enough concern to have him evaluated, some people mistaking the zeal for making up for a lost home world, and was quick to accept when the next volunteer only mission came up that he was offered a position on. It was how he ended up supporting Constellations directly, not caring about the details of his next assignment, just caring it put him further towards the next battlefield. He was informed it would be escort duty for Constellations responding to another system that had been caught off guard by the Aberrant, a cold pit of Deja Vu in his heart as he reported for transfer and deploy. Maybe he could keep New Alexandria from happening again, or die trying.

New Alexandria

[Planet Description]
A desert world rich in mineral resources, New Alexandria had massive wormlike creatures that violently protected any of the rich mineral veins present in the sand sand rocky outcroppings. Mechs would spend many days hunting down these Rockworms, drawn to mining operations, leading to running battles to not only protect the mining operations, but put down the massive worms for the resources and research their corpses also yielded. The need for flexibility in all approaches, both mining unusual locations and fighting Rockworms and other, lesser in scale but not in threat, creatures meant that any native design was, first and foremost, heavily modular. An entire design philosophy of "Why build an entirely new thing when you can just modify a working frame" meant that one could see similarities across entire spectrums of machines and equipment.

[Culture]
The culture of New Alexandria has two distinct groups of people. The workers, and the military. The workers form a significant majority of the population of New Alexandria and the supporting worlds in the system, spending most of their lives working and manufacturing, designing in coordination with the military, and keeping the engines of not just their system but surrounding ones fueled and running smoothly. The military pervades all life, that each person has their place in the system and they should be proud to serve. Be it hunting threats across the planet, or as the Aberrants came and overran garrison after garrison, fighting for the very survival of their people, soldiers who weren't present or forced to evacuate continue to prove an innate professionalism and stubborn pride. As a whole they are hard to convince to withdraw or back down, leading to higher than necessary casualties during the fall of New Alexandria.

Notable Contacts



[Name]
Senior Chief Boyd Hancock

[Relation to Subject]
Long Term Superior, Mentor

[Analysis]
Senior Chief Boyd Hancock is a career Mech pilot. Also originating from New Alexandria, Hancock would first meet Howe as he was training to become a pilot himself. Hancock, a Petty Officer at the time, agreed to let Howe ride along for training purposes, and took a shine to the inexperienced recruit. The fall of New Alexandria did not rest easily on Hancock, but he could see it did far worse to Howe, who he recommended be accelerated through the remainder of the Mech training program and kept a close eye on him as they initially spent deployments in the same squad. Hancock would receive promotion to Chief Petty Officer, and from there Senior Chief Petty Officer while Howe would eventually throw himself into increasingly dangerous deployments. Hancock did not deploy nearly as often anymore, his senior rank relegating him to more rearguard and reserve positions, a just in case incredibly experienced pilots were needed in a hurry and all other elements were committed.

Hancock is often described as a 'cunning old rat', having told off the last person who called him a fox. Having spent his long career in the military, Hancock knows the ins and outs of how to work the system to get things done, navigating deftly enough that its a running gamble whether he is more dangerous on or off the battle field. Officially he acts above board, but in practice, Hancock spends plenty of time cutting deals and organizing things to actually get done, red tape be damned. He looks out for Howe when he can, feeling for the younger pilot and wanting to see him last long enough to see things turn around at least. Until then, however, Senior Chief Hancock will keep doing his best to keep everything in his reach moving and running as smoothly as possible, and give the Aberrant as much resistance as can be mustered.



[Name]
Petty Officer Sabine Dassault-Delacroix

[Relation to Subject]
Fellow Pilot, (Reluctant) Drinking Buddy

[Analysis]
Howe first crossed paths with Petty Officer Sabine during mech born operations, maneuvering and keeping up with her dare devil tactics and engagement methods, both of which suited the aggressive, danger seeking nature of Howe just fine. He had not paid the comm chatter much mind, maintaining a professional demeanor throughout the operation. What caught him off guard was getting, in his words, ambushed outside the hanger by Sabine, who promptly dragged him off to celebrate the victory with a shopping spree. The fact he had no money for such was apparently overlooked as he was not given the opportunity to even offer to pay for his own drinks, let alone anything else. It was a very confusing experience, even if it was a rare night that didn't end up with his balance dangerously low from heavy drinking, and started what seemed to be a trend of crossing paths, either on or off duty, and ending up following the eccentric and high energy Sabine around as she insisted he come along with her latest spree, be it spending or pub crawl, and while he continues to make obligatory complaints, does not make any significant attempts to really fend off the free drinks.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Solomon Howe` `[Callsign]` `Dunkirk` `[Gender]` `Male` `[Age]` `29` `[Rank and Designation]` `Petty Officer 2nd Class` `[Place of Birth]` `New Alexandria, Alexandria Colonial System` `[Official Statement]` `"Doesn't matter if we're surrounded. Reactors good, still got ammo, means we get to take a few more with us. Lucky us."` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Mech Model]` `Brose Arsenal Mk VI Victoria Universal Chassis` `[Type]` `Modular Vanguard Unit` `[Size]` `45' Tall, 35 Tons with heaviest Armament Package.` `[Core]` `N/A (See Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor)` `[Armaments]` Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor - Designed as an answer to a question no one else is asking, no official Brose Arsenal designed and manufactured Mech mounts any sort of Aberrant Core power system. They continue to, rather stubbornly, maintain conventional power sources despite the drawbacks they entail. One upside, however, was that not needing any sort of Aberrant material meant they had literally no restraint on production, not that it was an issue due to the overwhelming Aberrant war on humanity as a whole. Lacking the longevity of Aberrant cores, the Brose Arsenal Fusion Reactor is none the less capable of maintaining combat levels of energy output for extended periods of time compared to almost any other conventional source of energy, being commonly referred to as "The best of second place" by anyone who examines the blueprints for a Brose Arsenal design. Confoundingly, the entire chassis was designed explicitly to draw from a conventional Fusion reactor, ideally Brose Arsenal design, meaning attempts to retrofit Mk VI chassis that survived the fall of New Alexandria have not been worth the effort. External Co-Pilot Module (ECPM) - Originally a trainer module, then modified for field use when Aberrants began their all out extermination of humanity, the Co-Pilot module allows for a second pilot, soldier, or later on Constellation deployment, the ECPM has two modes. Co-Pilot mode allows the rider to operate the secondary weapon that is typically mounted to the ECPM, provide targeting data, and otherwise support the pilot in operations. VIP mode locks out all controls except the hatch and comms to the pilot, though the latter can be shut off if need be, to prevent interference if the passenger is not trained in either piloting or mech combat overall. Modularity - The Mk VI was designed to, either prior to deployment or, when circumstances allow, at forward operating bases and other secure locations that a hot swap can be performed. While the original founderies have long since stopped designing and producing Packages for the Victoria line of mechs, mostly due to their loss to Aberrant advances on humanity, it is possible that other packages can be salvaged or produced. Below are the current options available to Howe's Mk VI. Without a package loaded, the frame lacks any innate weaponry besides the force a mech can produce throwing punches or grabbing and slamming threats, though all package armaments can be ejected if speed is needed. CQB Package - A standard go to for Howe, the CQB Package up armors the Mk VI in anticipation of urban and close quarters combat not allowing room to evade attacks. Weapons wise, the primary weapon is a combat shotgun loaded with buckshot, although the package supports bringing specialty ammunition should the need arise. Secondary weapons include reinforced manipulators for close quarters fighting, and a backpack mounted 20mm autocannon for suppressing and bringing down large numbers of lower grade Aberrants. The package has several Fragmentation Grenades that are hip mounted, lacking impact against targets with sufficient protection but can provide breathing room when Aberrants or other targets lack sufficient protection. Assault Package - The original universal package, the Assault package is the lightest current package, giving it the highest innate speed without jettisoning weapons. Its primary weapon is a belt fed heavy assault rifle, ammo stored in an ejectable compartment mounted below the ECPM, removing the need to reload mid fight but running the risk of overheating. The secondary weapon is an air burst mortar system, capable of either detonating based on proximity or on a timed fuse, as set by either pilot or, if available, co-pilot. This package has several adhesive grenades, latching onto a target before detonating with sheer explosive force, lacking shrapnel or anything otherwise unusual. Recce Package - Designed for observation and longer range support, the Recce package sees less use than the other two and mounts an enhanced suite of sensors and targeting systems, specifically designed to assist other mechs in targeting and tracking enemies. The primary weapon is a large Designated Marksman Rifle, rounds originally an attempt to overpower Barriers prior to AB materials that, while a complete and total failure, have been repurposed for defeating more conventional defenses and protections. The secondary weapon is a Point Defense machine gun, while the weight saved from other, heavier weapons and ammunition storage taken up instead by data analysis and scanning systems, heavily reliant on a co-pilot to take full advantage of.	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` Petty Officer Solomon Howe finds himself always more at ease behind the controls of his Mk VI Mech, nicknamed "Vickie", than he does almost any other time. He is professional on duty, always pushing himself and his frame harder and harder in combat scenarios and while carrying out his duties in support of the Constellations. Under fire he is calm and collected, more concerned about getting the job done than earning glory or going out of his way to cause trouble for himself or others. He has no regard for his own safety, however, having zero qualms with putting his Mech directly in the line of fire if it means accomplishing the mission. Off duty, Howe struggles a great deal with a cocktail of survivor's guilt and a general lack of hope in the future of mankind. He smokes heavily, drinks constantly, and does little to foster connections with his fellow service members. He doesn't go out of his way to alienate or drive them off, but his dreary outlook can be difficult to breach. Under the alcohol and tobacco abuse, he doesn't enjoy thinking the only way out is dying on his feet, but doesn't see any other way that this ends. The Constellations are too few and far between, the Aberrant numerous to the point of absurdity, and as far as he can tell Earth doesn't seem to care. It is always the colonial holdings that suffer the consequences, something that does very much rub him the wrong way. He is willing to get into fights for his fellow service members, especially when its people who haven't ever seen a combat zone. `[Personal History]` Solomon Howe was born on the world of New Alexandria, part of a family who had regular career presence in the military. Unlike some families, however, they never particularly cared for or even discussed it as anything else as just another part of living on the world they did. You were either a soldier or a worker, and the Howe family were always soldiers. Solomon was raised with the expectation that he would be a soldier as well, and sure enough once of age he would enlist into the Mech piloting program the planet maintained, assigning him to ride as a co-pilot during training operations with the then Petty Officer First Class Boyd Hancock. Three years into his training and efforts to become a Mech pilot the Aberrant would arrive in the Alexandria Colonial System, sparking a sudden rush to defend against the incoming horde of monstrous invaders. The system would be caught off guard, no signs of Aberrant interest having been shown before their arrival, delaying the response of the Constellations that were available. The planetary garrisons organized evacuations to New Alexandria itself, condensing all available military might there. Emergency authorization allowed experienced trainees to join their instructors in live combat, and Howe would remember vividly, often when trying to sleep, the comms chatter and panic as he manned the co-pilot seat of Hancock's Mk VI Mech. Constellations arrived on New Alexandria, the most senior Mech pilots joining to escort and guard them in an effort to stem the tide. The effort to condense all available military resources in the system turned out to be a double edged sword. While it concentrated the military capabilities, it also surrendered most of the system to the Aberrant and concentrate [i]their[/i] efforts against New Alexandria. It was here that Howe saw just how hopeless things were. Even with concentrated Mech support, Constellations were getting slowly overrun and dragged down, Mechs often going down alongside their charges, trying to buy them scant seconds more to escape. No AB weapons were lost, the military forces were able to see to that, but the time came to evacuate all remaining combat personnel, as civilians were long since evacuated after the first Constellation death. Howe was among those evacuating, alongside Hancock, who had promised that Howe would finish his training and inherit the man's Mk VI while he moved on to another Mech. Howe agreed, despite the sinking feeling of having watched the grandest heroes of humanity ground into the mud like common infantry. Still, he didn't bring it up during evaluations, and was approved to continue Mech pilot training. Petty Officer Howe, after finishing the formality of training, would spend the next nine years volunteering for the most dangerous missions he could get authorized to go on. The memory of his home world getting overrun and torn to shreds and some thought he wanted to prevent that from happening again. His off duty life proved to be rather unremarkable, concerns that he got into a few fights but no charges were ever pressed and disciplinary action never came up after the fact. Howe would defend the fights he got into as defending fellow service members, though the recently promoted Chief Hancock would usually keep things more on the hush hush, as losing a good pilot over nonsense off duty would be a damn waste. Still, Howe kept pushing further and further into more dangerous missions. Each time he returned, he registered more damage than other pilots, on average, something that was noted in his service record. Howe refused any sort of psychological evaluation, pointing out time and again they couldn't afford to have pilots taken off the line just because they were aggressively carrying out orders. His on duty actions never warranted enough concern to have him evaluated, some people mistaking the zeal for making up for a lost home world, and was quick to accept when the next volunteer only mission came up that he was offered a position on. It was how he ended up supporting Constellations directly, not caring about the details of his next assignment, just caring it put him further towards the next battlefield. He was informed it would be escort duty for Constellations responding to another system that had been caught off guard by the Aberrant, a cold pit of Deja Vu in his heart as he reported for transfer and deploy. Maybe he could keep New Alexandria from happening again, or die trying. `New Alexandria` `[Planet Description]` A desert world rich in mineral resources, New Alexandria had massive wormlike creatures that violently protected any of the rich mineral veins present in the sand sand rocky outcroppings. Mechs would spend many days hunting down these Rockworms, drawn to mining operations, leading to running battles to not only protect the mining operations, but put down the massive worms for the resources and research their corpses also yielded. The need for flexibility in all approaches, both mining unusual locations and fighting Rockworms and other, lesser in scale but not in threat, creatures meant that any native design was, first and foremost, heavily modular. An entire design philosophy of "Why build an entirely new thing when you can just modify a working frame" meant that one could see similarities across entire spectrums of machines and equipment. `[Culture]` The culture of New Alexandria has two distinct groups of people. The workers, and the military. The workers form a significant majority of the population of New Alexandria and the supporting worlds in the system, spending most of their lives working and manufacturing, designing in coordination with the military, and keeping the engines of not just their system but surrounding ones fueled and running smoothly. The military pervades all life, that each person has their place in the system and they should be proud to serve. Be it hunting threats across the planet, or as the Aberrants came and overran garrison after garrison, fighting for the very survival of their people, soldiers who weren't present or forced to evacuate continue to prove an innate professionalism and stubborn pride. As a whole they are hard to convince to withdraw or back down, leading to higher than necessary casualties during the fall of New Alexandria. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Senior Chief Boyd Hancock` `[Relation to Subject]` `Long Term Superior, Mentor` `[Analysis]` Senior Chief Boyd Hancock is a career Mech pilot. Also originating from New Alexandria, Hancock would first meet Howe as he was training to become a pilot himself. Hancock, a Petty Officer at the time, agreed to let Howe ride along for training purposes, and took a shine to the inexperienced recruit. The fall of New Alexandria did not rest easily on Hancock, but he could see it did far worse to Howe, who he recommended be accelerated through the remainder of the Mech training program and kept a close eye on him as they initially spent deployments in the same squad. Hancock would receive promotion to Chief Petty Officer, and from there Senior Chief Petty Officer while Howe would eventually throw himself into increasingly dangerous deployments. Hancock did not deploy nearly as often anymore, his senior rank relegating him to more rearguard and reserve positions, a just in case incredibly experienced pilots were needed in a hurry and all other elements were committed. Hancock is often described as a 'cunning old rat', having told off the last person who called him a fox. Having spent his long career in the military, Hancock knows the ins and outs of how to work the system to get things done, navigating deftly enough that its a running gamble whether he is more dangerous on or off the battle field. Officially he acts above board, but in practice, Hancock spends plenty of time cutting deals and organizing things to actually get done, red tape be damned. He looks out for Howe when he can, feeling for the younger pilot and wanting to see him last long enough to see things turn around at least. Until then, however, Senior Chief Hancock will keep doing his best to keep everything in his reach moving and running as smoothly as possible, and give the Aberrant as much resistance as can be mustered. `[Name]` `Petty Officer Sabine Dassault-Delacroix` `[Relation to Subject]` `Fellow Pilot, (Reluctant) Drinking Buddy` `[Analysis]` Howe first crossed paths with Petty Officer Sabine during mech born operations, maneuvering and keeping up with her dare devil tactics and engagement methods, both of which suited the aggressive, danger seeking nature of Howe just fine. He had not paid the comm chatter much mind, maintaining a professional demeanor throughout the operation. What caught him off guard was getting, in his words, ambushed outside the hanger by Sabine, who promptly dragged him off to celebrate the victory with a shopping spree. The fact he had no money for such was apparently overlooked as he was not given the opportunity to even offer to pay for his own drinks, let alone anything else. It was a very confusing experience, even if it was a rare night that didn't end up with his balance dangerously low from heavy drinking, and started what seemed to be a trend of crossing paths, either on or off duty, and ending up following the eccentric and high energy Sabine around as she insisted he come along with her latest spree, be it spending or pub crawl, and while he continues to make obligatory complaints, does not make any significant attempts to really fend off the free drinks.

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B A S I C  I N F O
[Name]Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV
[Callsign]Cygnus
[Gender]Female
[Age]28
[Rank and Designation]Stardust
[Place of Birth]Niǎndào
[Official Statement]"I am not here to give you pithy quotes for your highlight reels. Get me out there so I can drive 光辉虚空 into the hearts of our foes!"

C O M B A T  A B I L I T Y

[Anti-Barrier Sword]A.B. Sword 光辉虚空(Guānghuī xūkōng)/Brilliant Void
[Anti-Barrier Quotient]29%
[Physical Description]
Brilliant Void is an odd weapon for an AB sword. A long spear with minimal decoration along it's shaft, mostly the flowing aniconic designs common to the Mortuus-Orbitae trace themselves down it's jet black body, representing the planets and stars of the system where it's ore was found. These markings are marred by some odd discolorations that appear all along the weapon as if exposed to a fearsome heat, blemishing it's simple beauty. 

At base of the leaf-shaped blade, where in ancient antiquity a red tassel would be based to disoriented foes and absorb their blood, lays the marker of the 離(Lí)trigram. It serves as a stylized representation of it's Number among the many A.B. Swords the sword mother has made, but also as a symbol of Clarity, of Humanity's strength of will. To some whispered naysayers, however, the designation is an insult,as the AB material of the blade is made from the discarded run off of another blade that has been handed to the Hua Sect. 

An unwanted 'second daughter', a vapid black sheep. . . how fitting a weapon for it's current wielder.
[Attributes]
Brilliant Void, despite its simplicty, is a weapon deeply intwined with the anomaly of those descending from the Hua sect. When wielded by one of the Hua, it feels as light as the very air and strikes as quick as a cobra, like it knows where its blade needs to be before the wielder. So connected are the two that not even the illusion of distance can keep them apart, allowing the wielder to will the weapon to their hands with barely a thought regardless of how far away it seems to be.

When a wielder of Brilliant Void passes, it is said that the spear often vanishes from sight, rumored to even travel across the cosmos to appear before the last person their wielder thought of as the Void Mother closes her eyes on them one final time. A grim portent, and a somewhat troublesome aspect at times when it comes to the needed retrieval of the weapon to keep the true extent of the ar effort underwraps. Some have considered scrapping the rebellious weapon and repurposing the AB to a more compliant weapon, but the Mortuus-Orbitae argue desperately against such actions. After so much time on the frontier, a not insignifcant number of the A.B. swords lost in this war belong to members of their sect, so even a risky blade like Brilliant Void is considered to precious to give up.

[Anomaly]Void
[Origin]Space-Between
[Phenomena]
"The Mother grants those so blessed to walk in her domain, traveling distances both grand and small 
 as if they were not there at all. For in truth, there is no distance between things, only the belief in it's truth"

The Anomaly of House Mortuus-Orbitae is that of Void, allowing users to summon portals of various sizes, shapes, and properties into being with but a thought. The use of such a power in combat with Aberrants requires quick reaction time, decision making skill, and an ability to reorient oneself in an instant in three dimensional space in order to take full adavantage of the freedom of movement it gives them. For users of a scertain skill level, the very portals themselves can be used as a weapon to sheer through unwrothy flesh and bone, or to allow access to ur foes internals when their armor proves to thick to penetrate. Zhegiang has even heard tales of users who have opened up the Void Mother's true domain within the palm of their hands, a window to the pressureless depths of space, pressed right up against an abberrant's form. The results, if the stories ring true, are as impressive in effectiness as they are distrubing to witness. 

To compliment this ability, the Constellations of Mortuus-Orbitae tend to practice a modified form of Baguazhang, adapting the styles focus on evasive circular movements and redirections into a style that often excels when one is not bound totally to the whims of gravity, but allowed to travel freely in the fullness of three dimensional space. Known as the 虚卦掌(Xū guà zhǎng), or Void Trigram Palm, its practice tends to unleash a sense of uninhibited Thrill in its wielders, especially when in the midst of life-threatening situations. They report senses of heightened awareness of the space around them, better senses of coordination, improved reflexes, even improved control over their Anomaly. And through it all, they feel as if they are being watched over by a presence. . . just out of sight. Whether this is just a strange coincidence or truly the eye of the Void Mother watching over her most blessed of children is a matter of much debate within the family,but whatever the case, it is an attribute of the Void Trigrams that must be managed carefully. The thrill of battle is a dangerous siren to lose oneself to, after all.
[Limitation]
Zhegiang herself has a long way to go from reaching such lofty heights of Anomaly Mastery. 

As she is currently, Zhejiang's only skill with her anomaly power is to walk the mother's domain and send non-living objects through it, though her formation of such portals is alarmingly fast for how recently she has gained her abilities. Taken to them like a fish to water, she can near effortlessly flit through the portals she creates, but due to her inexperience, they portals lack the stability to resist contat with living material, often causing them to disperse. POrtal dispersal launches both the offending organism and Trace if she is within one out of the Mother's domain with no small amount of force. That said such a limitation can be a benefit as she learns, making the act of slamming a half-formed portal into a foe an effective method of gaining distance. Still, it makes for a very clear weakness to her ability to escape from dangerous situations if properly accounted for.Profile

[Surface-level Impression]
Proud.

More than anything else, Zhegiang is a proud person, to the point of flippant arrogance. In the face of any and all adversities or obstacles, her response is to take it head on and beat it into submission. She does not mince her words or hold her tongue around those who are, objectively, her lessers. Hers is a noble bloodline and thus, the only ones worthy of considering as equals are those of similar noble birth. . . or those who have proven themselves as worthy of respect.

[Personal History W.I.P.]
Broken More than anything else, Zhegiang is a broken person. Perhaps she always has been, only deluding herself through naive youth that she felt as others felt, walked as others walked, could be as others could be. But her father, Dingxiang, never let her forget what she was. Ever since she stole his wife from him though the mistake of her birth, she was never anything more than an inconvient parasite. A thing, to be kept at a distance, a thing to be addressed only when necessary for the sake of propriety. Not a moment sooner nor a second longer.

It was Zhegiang, not her father, who pushed to enter the constellation program when the time came. While the readings of her Anomaly skill were somewhat low, in every other metric she seemed to excel among her peers. She never needed any assistance from her teachers, taking to the rigorous training with a fervor and a natural talent that left near speechless. . . and yet, it wasn't enough to let Zhegiang shine. For  with every accolade she tried to illuminate for the world to say, it merely made her elder sister Meixiu seem all the greater. 

Meixiu, the one born to her parent's in the traditional way through science and safe external gestation.

Meixiu, whose shining skill with her anomaly earned her the title of "the Mother's own hand".

Meixiu, who tried her best to make her little sister's life joyous despite their father's stern hand.

Meixiu, the reason that Zhegiang abandoned the constellation program after 5 years of serving as a vessel to heap further praise on her. She hated her sister as much as she loved her, and that thought made her feel dirty and sick. She had only been kind and descent to Zhegiang, yet when the younger sister looked at the elder, only stern judgemental eyes tared back. Not just those of her father, but her teachers. Her uncles, her cousins, everyone she had ever known in her life looked at her the exact same way. All saying the same thing. . . 

"Parasite"

Blood When Zhejiang thinks back to that day, sometimes all she can remember is the blood, the screams, and the overwhelming panic that took her over that day. Running through the halls with a rifle in hand, trying to guide civilians and non-combat to evacuation points, barely hearing any of the questions they asked as the beating of her own heart pounded in her ears.

There had been no warning

No alert called to get the thousands of combat personel on the Hēi xīng Station to their battle stations, no warning that Aberrant forces had even entered the system yet from the patrols. One moment, her and Duccia had been catching up on old times when they were both constellation-trainees and Zhejiang's coming tests to become a Pilot only to be interrupted by a strange garbled music to start playing through the station's intercoms. Disjointed and arrythymic, it didn't sound like anything Zhejiang had heard before. . . and then, a voice dripping with excitement whispered out among the discordant notes.

We Have Come For You

Then the screams started. . . and even hours later, as Zhejiang tried her best to lead any civilians she came across to the safety bays as was protocol, she'd yet to hear them stop. In constellation training, she'd been taught to see pawns as little more than an annoyance to be swatted aside individually and only proved dangerous in greater numbers. Such thoughts seem arrogant now as she saw bio-metallic carapaces skittering behind every corner, hounding her flock like wolves no matter how much she tried to fend them off with rifle fire. Through some hallways, she could hear the tearing of metal and the crunch of meat and bone. Others held the scent of blood and dead flesh so thick it mad her and those following her gag. The sounds of fighting was all arounded her, and she'd lost count of how many of the pawns she'd managed to put down, but it was never enough. There was always another pair of eyes watching from the shadows. Waiting. Watching.

Hunting.

It was her final return trip, an attempt to get to a group of survivor's holed up in one of the habitation blocks, when she encountered that thing. It was in the large food hall where her footsteps echoed in the relative silence and stillness. She tried to ignore the blood and the bodies, rifle raised and head ona swivel. She was fully aware of her surroundings, ears open and eyes wide.

She should've seen it enter. Should've heard it cross the floor towards her.  But it wasn't until she felt those clawed fingers wrap around her throat ever so gently, that she noticed it standing over her. A towering shadow of nothingness cut against the backdrop of flickering lights stained red, as if her eyes were refusing to let any of the light that bounced off this monster to be properly observed. She couldn't move, so strong was her fear. Even as it slowly dragged the claws across her chest and dug them into her shoulder, the pain could not get her too move, as the knowledge that she was about to die to this [i]Monster[/i] gripped. It had come for her. This . . . was the end.

And yet, it was not to be.

A light to her side presede Meixiu, bursting through a portal to swing at the shadow, forcing it away from Zhejiang as Brilliant Void's blade sparked with dimensional fury. She would have fallen over entirely, her knees turned to jelly from panic, if not for Meixiu catching her. It was only now that Shejiang would realize that. . . she couldn't hear anything. 

What followed happened in a blur too fast to really comprehend, as Meixiu grabbed Zhejiang and tossed her through a portal sending her back the way she came towards the escape pods. As she looked at her sister the last time, Zhegiang could see that she seemed to mouth something to her before slamming a fist on the control panel near by, slamming the airlock doors shut as two more constellations appeared behind Meixiu as the three turned to face the lightless void of a monster that had brought ruin to their lives.

As she made her way back to the escape pods, collecting another ten civilians along the way to save, she tried to convince herself that everything would be fine, that there was no way that Meixiu would be beat. She was the best, she was the prodigy, the Constellation that everyone wanted to be. 

And yet, as she boarded and piloted the last escape vessel, her flock in hand, she heard something clatter to the floor by her side, followed by the now all to familiar iron smell of blood. But she didn't look. Not when the passengers started crying, not when the ship started to explode and burn around them while going through the flight procedues. Not even during the long travel to the nearest warp gate, now flooded with ohter escape craft from the doomed station. It was only when they were finally docked  and she was no longer in control of the ten lives aboard that she dared to look down to her side in the cockpit, seeing the familiar weapon lying there. . . with a hand still holding onto it.

The tears came freely and in great numbers that day, and for many days after that, as she finally realized what her sister had tried to tell her before they parted.

"I love you"

Void That was what left in Zhejiang's heart after the attack on Hēi xīng, amidt the blood and the horror that played themselves again and again in her nightmares. They might have taken he over completely, subjecting herself to the Cold Mother's touch if not for Duccia. In the months that followed, Duccia never left her side if she could help it, never stop giving encouragement, never stopped watching over Zhejiang. She was her guiding star, the one thing she coudl turn to for some source of stability, comfort, or compassion in a world of pitieous looks or hidden disdain. 

Despite getting a medal for her actions, saving a total of 40 people from that massacre all on that own, it porved a bitter comfort when the number of the dead rose was several thousands and the whole system had to be evacuated because the U.A.S. command in the sector could not figure out how the abberrant's had managed to bypass every safeguard. 

And while the bloody dreams and shadowy figure never left her mind in those dark cold knights where the woman by her side proved her one and only comfort, something else finally began to match it. It did not fill the void in her soul, it aggravated it. Filled her with an overpowering itch to *Do* something.

So, using her family's name and her actions as collateral, she reapplied to the constellation program. The fear hurt her badly, made her weak, made her struggle more so than she had ever done before in her life. She had come face to face with the horrid realities of death and it scared her to her core. . . But she chose to fight on regardless, even as her father sought to blcok her path.

But with Duccia's support, she made iot past every oobstacle, turning her fear into burning passion and desire to not only uphold her family's honor and name, but to avenge her sister. To make sure their sacrifice wasn't for nothing. As such, when she finally earned her place amongst the stars, it was Brillaint Void that she chose to be her weapon. To carry on her sister's legacy.

The irony was so bitter she might have choked on it.

Home World

[Planet Description]
Niǎndào{The Imperial Passage way)

Rumored to be the first exploration vessel by their sect founder in the early days of Earth's expansion, the Niǎndào is a huge vessel from pre-civil war times that stands as a testament to the Mortuus Orbitae's ability to adapt and repurpose things to fit their needs. Home to millions of citizens, military ersonell, and the heads of the Family, it is a rather haphazard spacecraft, its hull covered in various repairs and structures to denote the many differing eras of Mortuus design philiosphies it has bore wtiness to, though the main design is an extremely boxy function over form design that still holds a somewhat rugged form to it.

Despite its. . . unconventional appearance, however, you'll find few spacebound structures in the U.A.S. more structurally stable or well-defended. Armed with the latest in energy-based weaponry and Core-power shielding integrated into old-earth kinetic weapon, holding in it's depths an untold number of crusiers, fighters, and artillery ships that it can unleash at a moment with it's standing battle force. A veritable flying fortess, it has always been the speartip of the Void Mother's faithful, and was one of the few spacecraft able to repel Abberant assault in the early days of the war, though not without extensive damage and loss  of life.

[Culture]
The Way of Void [W.I.P]
To walk this path is to know that your end is inevitable, but it is in the inevitability that the followers of the Void Mother find their reason to keep persisting anyway. For they know that despite the cruel indifference she shows to them with the face of the Cold Mother, she does love and care for her children. We must prove ourselves worthy of her gaze.

The followers of the Way believe in several aspects of Divinity:

 The Stone Father, who imbues the Universe with passion and crafts the planets to act as either examples of his genius or to serve as cozy Cradles for life(mainly humanity) to use while they figure how to wonder the stars.

The Vlid Mother, the principle figure of worship whose love surronds and coddles us so delicately. Yet this is a harsh love, for she does not offer guidance but the chances and struggles needed to show us how to become worthy of her gaze. She knows thst all life will ultimately end, but it is in that ending that kne cam find fufilment and joy.

And finally, the Cold mother. The second face of the Void, she is thr ceaseless vacuum, the creeping chill that boils blood and steals breath. She is the harsh death and disdain saved for.those who give in to.their fears, there sorrows,their woe. She who sets the Cold apathy on unworthy shoulders and forbids them the Void's kindness till rhey prove themselves worthy once more

[Warrior Family]
Mortuus-Orbitae

A "warrior" family that draws a direct connection the the Hua sect, most that do not make a habit of serving along the frontier have likely never heard of this most reclusve of Warrior clans. Believers in a fringe religion(sporting only a few million registered believers across the expanse of frontier space stations they contro), many find them a bunch of esoteric fanatics that the Hua sect should denounce entirely. To these voices, the Mortuus-Orbitae have accomplished no great accomplishments, have offered no boon to Humanity's empire, merely sitting in their celestial space stations and looking down on those who dare to live planet side where they belong.

Those who have a deeper knowledge of this sect, however, know that they form the very *foundation* of Humanity's expansion across the cosmos. From the early days of conquest, through the turbulent period of civil war, amidst the painful rebuilding of empire, and even during this most brutal of wartime struggle against the abberrant tides, the Mortuus-Orbitae have sought to expand the hand of HUmanity into the vast void. Like the main sect itself, they have fingers in multiple industries related to the goal of galactic expansion and space travel.They manage the maintaince and construction of Space lanes and warp gates, they test, refine, and improve the standard quality of spaceflight technology, help run both colonization and evacuation efforts, and boast perhaps one of the deadliest and most coordinated starfleet armadas among any organization.

To the family itself, however, these are not reasons for accolades. These accomplishments are, in fact, the standard and focus that all of humanity should strive for. To explore the stars in the name of the goddess they call the Void Mother, they throw themselves into the study of technologies to not only better travel her empty depths, but to better their ability to survive it. Strict controls over-reproductive rights, generational genetic manipulation to lower the energy and oxygen needs of their people, and many shifts in doctrine have led to a culture that faces death as not an end, but an inevitability to embrace and accept. 

They were the blacksheep of the Hua sect, and may have even been disbanded eventually despite their achievements . . . but then, the abberrants came. The first years of the war were blooyd and terrible, but for some, they praise the tactics and fearless bravery of the Mortuus for humanity's survival to the point where they could begin a counter offensive. In every engagement, the mortuus would never retreat, would never surrender, would never even waver in their formations. Fighters streakign across space to their deaths to buy escape ships just a few minutes more, troops, manning atmospheric rail cannons and firing down at invasion forces even as abberant troops breaking into the the sealed firing rooms, even turning entire space stations into nuclear bombs 
 to take out an invading swarm fleet. 

The Mortuus Orbitae was not afraid to put their everything in resisting the aberrant threat in every front they found themselves in. As such, many Frontier planets will often treat them with some level of respect, though their odd mannerisms and tendency to distance themselves from 'stonedwellers' as they called those living planetside continued to keep a barrier between them and those they fought to protect. And despite their efforts, the cost of their tactics has long sense taken a toll on the Family who has focused the bulk of it's forces along the frontier planets and galaxies. Of the many sects and sub-sects, none ould be said to have lost more than the Mortuus to the Abberant fleets, nor can the depths of their hatred and outrage towards the Swarm be over-stated.

Notable Contacts

[Name]
Duccia

[Relation to Subject]
Duccia Is Trace's Voidbound, her true partner in life while she is legally married to a man she's never met who knows how many light years away for some political favor or the other. Her guiding star, the light which has brought her back from the celestial edge of Apathetic wasting, the one true death that awaits those who find life's futiltiy too much to bear.

[Analysis]
A fellow constellation, albeit one of Main rank, Duccia is the hearth that tempers Trace's roaring flame of fanatical passion. Possessed of an infectious energy and enthusiasm for life in all it's forms and features, but possessing a warrior's honor through and through. Duccia proves to be a steadying hand against the baser desires that drive her Voidbound's self-destructive behavior.

In battle, she fights like a Knight of old, energy shield on one hand an a grand lance known as the Venusian Star granting her a control over intense waves of arid heat and superheated gases. Launching herself into the thick of battle, she maintains a more defensive style while exuding waves of heat to exhaust her foes, though 
 this does make her a hazardous ally to those ill-prepared to work with her.

Out of battle, she is a woman of a grand empathy for those with less, having become a true believer of the Mother's Kindess despite being from a seperate family entirely, the 3rd daughter of some fifth son. Unimportant in the grand scheme of noble power plays, which is more than fine by her.

Also, absolutely horrid with money and finances, and banned from handling their shared accounts by Trace after falling for a interstellar phone scam one time too many. Did I mention she's a tad gullible too?

Aissi- Insert Excali-bruh face
Lictor: And old uncle-type she has some old fond memories of, a man who made her father act almost passable to her whenever he was around and someone who didn't seem to blame her for her failings. She respects him deeply, especially after   he sponsored her continued Constellation training following the 'accident' as the Sects have chosen to refer to her father's actions when in the public eye. Critical PC connection
Aalto: This kid is either good or he's gonna die. 
Teddy: A veteran of many battles, and thus due some measure of respect. Could have even been a colleague if she continued training as a pilot. Dissapointed in his behavior towards the thing, however.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx `B A S I C I N F O` `[Name]` `Zhejiang Erica Teteh Almark Trace Aeolia Julianne Nova Trine Alzmille Lenore Chandra Ral Shagia Kycilia Lucille Jacqueline Agrippa Elysia Paraya Verlaine Haro Tieria Kelly Sune Stabity Drasso Visch Milla Romanof Rosso Christine Sys Lichtendahl al Mortuus-Orbitae LXXXV` `[Callsign]` `Cygnus` `[Gender]` `Female` `[Age]` `28` `[Rank and Designation]` `Stardust` `[Place of Birth]` `Niǎndào` `[Official Statement]` `"I am not here to give you pithy quotes for your highlight reels. Get me out there so I can drive 光辉虚空 into the hearts of our foes!"` `C O M B A T A B I L I T Y` `[Anti-Barrier Sword]` `A.B. Sword 光辉虚空(Guānghuī xūkōng)/Brilliant Void` `[Anti-Barrier Quotient]` `29%` `[Physical Description]` Brilliant Void is an odd weapon for an AB sword. A long spear with minimal decoration along it's shaft, mostly the flowing aniconic designs common to the Mortuus-Orbitae trace themselves down it's jet black body, representing the planets and stars of the system where it's ore was found. These markings are marred by some odd discolorations that appear all along the weapon as if exposed to a fearsome heat, blemishing it's simple beauty. At base of the leaf-shaped blade, where in ancient antiquity a red tassel would be based to disoriented foes and absorb their blood, lays the marker of the 離(Lí)trigram. It serves as a stylized representation of it's Number among the many A.B. Swords the sword mother has made, but also as a symbol of Clarity, of Humanity's strength of will. To some whispered naysayers, however, the designation is an insult,as the AB material of the blade is made from the discarded run off of another blade that has been handed to the Hua Sect. An unwanted 'second daughter', a vapid black sheep. . . how fitting a weapon for it's current wielder. `[Attributes]` Brilliant Void, despite its simplicty, is a weapon deeply intwined with the anomaly of those descending from the Hua sect. When wielded by one of the Hua, it feels as light as the very air and strikes as quick as a cobra, like it knows where its blade needs to be before the wielder. So connected are the two that not even the illusion of distance can keep them apart, allowing the wielder to will the weapon to their hands with barely a thought regardless of how far away it seems to be. When a wielder of Brilliant Void passes, it is said that the spear often vanishes from sight, rumored to even travel across the cosmos to appear before the last person their wielder thought of as the Void Mother closes her eyes on them one final time. A grim portent, and a somewhat troublesome aspect at times when it comes to the needed retrieval of the weapon to keep the true extent of the ar effort underwraps. Some have considered scrapping the rebellious weapon and repurposing the AB to a more compliant weapon, but the Mortuus-Orbitae argue desperately against such actions. After so much time on the frontier, a not insignifcant number of the A.B. swords lost in this war belong to members of their sect, so even a risky blade like Brilliant Void is considered to precious to give up. `[Anomaly]` `Void` `[Origin]` `Space-Between` `[Phenomena]` "The Mother grants those so blessed to walk in her domain, traveling distances both grand and small as if they were not there at all. For in truth, there is no distance between things, only the belief in it's truth" The Anomaly of House Mortuus-Orbitae is that of Void, allowing users to summon portals of various sizes, shapes, and properties into being with but a thought. The use of such a power in combat with Aberrants requires quick reaction time, decision making skill, and an ability to reorient oneself in an instant in three dimensional space in order to take full adavantage of the freedom of movement it gives them. For users of a scertain skill level, the very portals themselves can be used as a weapon to sheer through unwrothy flesh and bone, or to allow access to ur foes internals when their armor proves to thick to penetrate. Zhegiang has even heard tales of users who have opened up the Void Mother's true domain within the palm of their hands, a window to the pressureless depths of space, pressed right up against an abberrant's form. The results, if the stories ring true, are as impressive in effectiness as they are distrubing to witness. To compliment this ability, the Constellations of Mortuus-Orbitae tend to practice a modified form of Baguazhang, adapting the styles focus on evasive circular movements and redirections into a style that often excels when one is not bound totally to the whims of gravity, but allowed to travel freely in the fullness of three dimensional space. Known as the 虚卦掌(Xū guà zhǎng), or Void Trigram Palm, its practice tends to unleash a sense of uninhibited Thrill in its wielders, especially when in the midst of life-threatening situations. They report senses of heightened awareness of the space around them, better senses of coordination, improved reflexes, even improved control over their Anomaly. And through it all, they feel as if they are being watched over by a presence. . . just out of sight. Whether this is just a strange coincidence or truly the eye of the Void Mother watching over her most blessed of children is a matter of much debate within the family,but whatever the case, it is an attribute of the Void Trigrams that must be managed carefully. The thrill of battle is a dangerous siren to lose oneself to, after all. `[Limitation]` Zhegiang herself has a long way to go from reaching such lofty heights of Anomaly Mastery. As she is currently, Zhejiang's only skill with her anomaly power is to walk the mother's domain and send non-living objects through it, though her formation of such portals is alarmingly fast for how recently she has gained her abilities. Taken to them like a fish to water, she can near effortlessly flit through the portals she creates, but due to her inexperience, they portals lack the stability to resist contat with living material, often causing them to disperse. POrtal dispersal launches both the offending organism and Trace if she is within one out of the Mother's domain with no small amount of force. That said such a limitation can be a benefit as she learns, making the act of slamming a half-formed portal into a foe an effective method of gaining distance. Still, it makes for a very clear weakness to her ability to escape from dangerous situations if properly accounted for.	`Profile` `[Surface-level Impression]` `Proud. More than anything else, Zhegiang is a proud person, to the point of flippant arrogance. In the face of any and all adversities or obstacles, her response is to take it head on and beat it into submission. She does not mince her words or hold her tongue around those who are, objectively, her lessers. Hers is a noble bloodline and thus, the only ones worthy of considering as equals are those of similar noble birth. . . or those who have proven themselves as worthy of respect.` `[Personal History W.I.P.]` `Broken` More than anything else, Zhegiang is a broken person. Perhaps she always has been, only deluding herself through naive youth that she felt as others felt, walked as others walked, could be as others could be. But her father, Dingxiang, never let her forget what she was. Ever since she stole his wife from him though the mistake of her birth, she was never anything more than an inconvient parasite. A thing, to be kept at a distance, a thing to be addressed only when necessary for the sake of propriety. Not a moment sooner nor a second longer. It was Zhegiang, not her father, who pushed to enter the constellation program when the time came. While the readings of her Anomaly skill were somewhat low, in every other metric she seemed to excel among her peers. She never needed any assistance from her teachers, taking to the rigorous training with a fervor and a natural talent that left near speechless. . . and yet, it wasn't enough to let Zhegiang shine. For with every accolade she tried to illuminate for the world to say, it merely made her elder sister Meixiu seem all the greater. Meixiu, the one born to her parent's in the traditional way through science and safe external gestation. Meixiu, whose shining skill with her anomaly earned her the title of "the Mother's own hand". Meixiu, who tried her best to make her little sister's life joyous despite their father's stern hand. Meixiu, the reason that Zhegiang abandoned the constellation program after 5 years of serving as a vessel to heap further praise on her. She hated her sister as much as she loved her, and that thought made her feel dirty and sick. She had only been kind and descent to Zhegiang, yet when the younger sister looked at the elder, only stern judgemental eyes tared back. Not just those of her father, but her teachers. Her uncles, her cousins, everyone she had ever known in her life looked at her the exact same way. All saying the same thing. . . "Parasite" `Blood` When Zhejiang thinks back to that day, sometimes all she can remember is the blood, the screams, and the overwhelming panic that took her over that day. Running through the halls with a rifle in hand, trying to guide civilians and non-combat to evacuation points, barely hearing any of the questions they asked as the beating of her own heart pounded in her ears. There had been no warning No alert called to get the thousands of combat personel on the Hēi xīng Station to their battle stations, no warning that Aberrant forces had even entered the system yet from the patrols. One moment, her and Duccia had been catching up on old times when they were both constellation-trainees and Zhejiang's coming tests to become a Pilot only to be interrupted by a strange garbled music to start playing through the station's intercoms. Disjointed and arrythymic, it didn't sound like anything Zhejiang had heard before. . . and then, a voice dripping with excitement whispered out among the discordant notes. We Have Come For You Then the screams started. . . and even hours later, as Zhejiang tried her best to lead any civilians she came across to the safety bays as was protocol, she'd yet to hear them stop. In constellation training, she'd been taught to see pawns as little more than an annoyance to be swatted aside individually and only proved dangerous in greater numbers. Such thoughts seem arrogant now as she saw bio-metallic carapaces skittering behind every corner, hounding her flock like wolves no matter how much she tried to fend them off with rifle fire. Through some hallways, she could hear the tearing of metal and the crunch of meat and bone. Others held the scent of blood and dead flesh so thick it mad her and those following her gag. The sounds of fighting was all arounded her, and she'd lost count of how many of the pawns she'd managed to put down, but it was never enough. There was always another pair of eyes watching from the shadows. Waiting. Watching. Hunting. It was her final return trip, an attempt to get to a group of survivor's holed up in one of the habitation blocks, when she encountered that thing. It was in the large food hall where her footsteps echoed in the relative silence and stillness. She tried to ignore the blood and the bodies, rifle raised and head ona swivel. She was fully aware of her surroundings, ears open and eyes wide. She should've seen it enter. Should've heard it cross the floor towards her. But it wasn't until she felt those clawed fingers wrap around her throat ever so gently, that she noticed it standing over her. A towering shadow of nothingness cut against the backdrop of flickering lights stained red, as if her eyes were refusing to let any of the light that bounced off this monster to be properly observed. She couldn't move, so strong was her fear. Even as it slowly dragged the claws across her chest and dug them into her shoulder, the pain could not get her too move, as the knowledge that she was about to die to this [i]Monster[/i] gripped. It had come for her. This . . . was the end. And yet, it was not to be. A light to her side presede Meixiu, bursting through a portal to swing at the shadow, forcing it away from Zhejiang as Brilliant Void's blade sparked with dimensional fury. She would have fallen over entirely, her knees turned to jelly from panic, if not for Meixiu catching her. It was only now that Shejiang would realize that. . . she couldn't hear anything. What followed happened in a blur too fast to really comprehend, as Meixiu grabbed Zhejiang and tossed her through a portal sending her back the way she came towards the escape pods. As she looked at her sister the last time, Zhegiang could see that she seemed to mouth something to her before slamming a fist on the control panel near by, slamming the airlock doors shut as two more constellations appeared behind Meixiu as the three turned to face the lightless void of a monster that had brought ruin to their lives. As she made her way back to the escape pods, collecting another ten civilians along the way to save, she tried to convince herself that everything would be fine, that there was no way that Meixiu would be beat. She was the best, she was the prodigy, the Constellation that everyone wanted to be. And yet, as she boarded and piloted the last escape vessel, her flock in hand, she heard something clatter to the floor by her side, followed by the now all to familiar iron smell of blood. But she didn't look. Not when the passengers started crying, not when the ship started to explode and burn around them while going through the flight procedues. Not even during the long travel to the nearest warp gate, now flooded with ohter escape craft from the doomed station. It was only when they were finally docked and she was no longer in control of the ten lives aboard that she dared to look down to her side in the cockpit, seeing the familiar weapon lying there. . . with a hand still holding onto it. The tears came freely and in great numbers that day, and for many days after that, as she finally realized what her sister had tried to tell her before they parted. "I love you" `Void` That was what left in Zhejiang's heart after the attack on Hēi xīng, amidt the blood and the horror that played themselves again and again in her nightmares. They might have taken he over completely, subjecting herself to the Cold Mother's touch if not for Duccia. In the months that followed, Duccia never left her side if she could help it, never stop giving encouragement, never stopped watching over Zhejiang. She was her guiding star, the one thing she coudl turn to for some source of stability, comfort, or compassion in a world of pitieous looks or hidden disdain. Despite getting a medal for her actions, saving a total of 40 people from that massacre all on that own, it porved a bitter comfort when the number of the dead rose was several thousands and the whole system had to be evacuated because the U.A.S. command in the sector could not figure out how the abberrant's had managed to bypass every safeguard. And while the bloody dreams and shadowy figure never left her mind in those dark cold knights where the woman by her side proved her one and only comfort, something else finally began to match it. It did not fill the void in her soul, it aggravated it. Filled her with an overpowering itch to Do something. So, using her family's name and her actions as collateral, she reapplied to the constellation program. The fear hurt her badly, made her weak, made her struggle more so than she had ever done before in her life. She had come face to face with the horrid realities of death and it scared her to her core. . . But she chose to fight on regardless, even as her father sought to blcok her path. But with Duccia's support, she made iot past every oobstacle, turning her fear into burning passion and desire to not only uphold her family's honor and name, but to avenge her sister. To make sure their sacrifice wasn't for nothing. As such, when she finally earned her place amongst the stars, it was Brillaint Void that she chose to be her weapon. To carry on her sister's legacy. The irony was so bitter she might have choked on it. `Home World` `[Planet Description]` Niǎndào{The Imperial Passage way) Rumored to be the first exploration vessel by their sect founder in the early days of Earth's expansion, the Niǎndào is a huge vessel from pre-civil war times that stands as a testament to the Mortuus Orbitae's ability to adapt and repurpose things to fit their needs. Home to millions of citizens, military ersonell, and the heads of the Family, it is a rather haphazard spacecraft, its hull covered in various repairs and structures to denote the many differing eras of Mortuus design philiosphies it has bore wtiness to, though the main design is an extremely boxy function over form design that still holds a somewhat rugged form to it. Despite its. . . unconventional appearance, however, you'll find few spacebound structures in the U.A.S. more structurally stable or well-defended. Armed with the latest in energy-based weaponry and Core-power shielding integrated into old-earth kinetic weapon, holding in it's depths an untold number of crusiers, fighters, and artillery ships that it can unleash at a moment with it's standing battle force. A veritable flying fortess, it has always been the speartip of the Void Mother's faithful, and was one of the few spacecraft able to repel Abberant assault in the early days of the war, though not without extensive damage and loss of life. `[Culture]` The Way of Void [W.I.P] To walk this path is to know that your end is inevitable, but it is in the inevitability that the followers of the Void Mother find their reason to keep persisting anyway. For they know that despite the cruel indifference she shows to them with the face of the Cold Mother, she does love and care for her children. We must prove ourselves worthy of her gaze. The followers of the Way believe in several aspects of Divinity: The Stone Father, who imbues the Universe with passion and crafts the planets to act as either examples of his genius or to serve as cozy Cradles for life(mainly humanity) to use while they figure how to wonder the stars. The Vlid Mother, the principle figure of worship whose love surronds and coddles us so delicately. Yet this is a harsh love, for she does not offer guidance but the chances and struggles needed to show us how to become worthy of her gaze. She knows thst all life will ultimately end, but it is in that ending that kne cam find fufilment and joy. And finally, the Cold mother. The second face of the Void, she is thr ceaseless vacuum, the creeping chill that boils blood and steals breath. She is the harsh death and disdain saved for.those who give in to.their fears, there sorrows,their woe. She who sets the Cold apathy on unworthy shoulders and forbids them the Void's kindness till rhey prove themselves worthy once more `[Warrior Family]` Mortuus-Orbitae A "warrior" family that draws a direct connection the the Hua sect, most that do not make a habit of serving along the frontier have likely never heard of this most reclusve of Warrior clans. Believers in a fringe religion(sporting only a few million registered believers across the expanse of frontier space stations they contro), many find them a bunch of esoteric fanatics that the Hua sect should denounce entirely. To these voices, the Mortuus-Orbitae have accomplished no great accomplishments, have offered no boon to Humanity's empire, merely sitting in their celestial space stations and looking down on those who dare to live planet side where they belong. Those who have a deeper knowledge of this sect, however, know that they form the very foundation of Humanity's expansion across the cosmos. From the early days of conquest, through the turbulent period of civil war, amidst the painful rebuilding of empire, and even during this most brutal of wartime struggle against the abberrant tides, the Mortuus-Orbitae have sought to expand the hand of HUmanity into the vast void. Like the main sect itself, they have fingers in multiple industries related to the goal of galactic expansion and space travel.They manage the maintaince and construction of Space lanes and warp gates, they test, refine, and improve the standard quality of spaceflight technology, help run both colonization and evacuation efforts, and boast perhaps one of the deadliest and most coordinated starfleet armadas among any organization. To the family itself, however, these are not reasons for accolades. These accomplishments are, in fact, the standard and focus that all of humanity should strive for. To explore the stars in the name of the goddess they call the Void Mother, they throw themselves into the study of technologies to not only better travel her empty depths, but to better their ability to survive it. Strict controls over-reproductive rights, generational genetic manipulation to lower the energy and oxygen needs of their people, and many shifts in doctrine have led to a culture that faces death as not an end, but an inevitability to embrace and accept. They were the blacksheep of the Hua sect, and may have even been disbanded eventually despite their achievements . . . but then, the abberrants came. The first years of the war were blooyd and terrible, but for some, they praise the tactics and fearless bravery of the Mortuus for humanity's survival to the point where they could begin a counter offensive. In every engagement, the mortuus would never retreat, would never surrender, would never even waver in their formations. Fighters streakign across space to their deaths to buy escape ships just a few minutes more, troops, manning atmospheric rail cannons and firing down at invasion forces even as abberant troops breaking into the the sealed firing rooms, even turning entire space stations into nuclear bombs to take out an invading swarm fleet. The Mortuus Orbitae was not afraid to put their everything in resisting the aberrant threat in every front they found themselves in. As such, many Frontier planets will often treat them with some level of respect, though their odd mannerisms and tendency to distance themselves from 'stonedwellers' as they called those living planetside continued to keep a barrier between them and those they fought to protect. And despite their efforts, the cost of their tactics has long sense taken a toll on the Family who has focused the bulk of it's forces along the frontier planets and galaxies. Of the many sects and sub-sects, none ould be said to have lost more than the Mortuus to the Abberant fleets, nor can the depths of their hatred and outrage towards the Swarm be over-stated. `Notable Contacts` `[Name]` `Duccia` `[Relation to Subject]` `Duccia Is Trace's Voidbound, her true partner in life while she is legally married to a man she's never met who knows how many light years away for some political favor or the other. Her guiding star, the light which has brought her back from the celestial edge of Apathetic wasting, the one true death that awaits those who find life's futiltiy too much to bear.` `[Analysis]` A fellow constellation, albeit one of Main rank, Duccia is the hearth that tempers Trace's roaring flame of fanatical passion. Possessed of an infectious energy and enthusiasm for life in all it's forms and features, but possessing a warrior's honor through and through. Duccia proves to be a steadying hand against the baser desires that drive her Voidbound's self-destructive behavior. In battle, she fights like a Knight of old, energy shield on one hand an a grand lance known as the Venusian Star granting her a control over intense waves of arid heat and superheated gases. Launching herself into the thick of battle, she maintains a more defensive style while exuding waves of heat to exhaust her foes, though this does make her a hazardous ally to those ill-prepared to work with her. Out of battle, she is a woman of a grand empathy for those with less, having become a true believer of the Mother's Kindess despite being from a seperate family entirely, the 3rd daughter of some fifth son. Unimportant in the grand scheme of noble power plays, which is more than fine by her. Also, absolutely horrid with money and finances, and banned from handling their shared accounts by Trace after falling for a interstellar phone scam one time too many. Did I mention she's a tad gullible too?

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