[hider=Character Sheets; XI-XIV] --- [center][b]XI. Mark Russo[/b][/center] --- Name: Mark Russo Race: Human Gender: Male Age: 42- born 2134, Earth Class: Soldier, (possible position aboard Tyrus: Individual and small unit tactics advisor/trainer) Appearance: With a chiseled expression and a dry, if abrasive, sense of humor delivered with a low growl, Mark can be intimidating to some since he stands at six feet before his armor is even on. He’s past caring about his looks very much, having the mindset that “At my age, if anything is going to attract a woman, it wont be my pretty face.” So, while not in his battered-to-shit armor (which isnt too often, hes very paranoid,) his “casual wear” consists of navy blue BDU pants, a form fitting grey t-shirt under a vintage OD green field jacket and matching baseball cap. Despite being a bit past his prime, Mark maintains a muscled physique with regular workouts, it being necessary to do his job to the best of his ability… should he ever actually try to do his best. In addition, Mark remains in a near constant state of inebriation. With a flask (and cigarettes) always on his person, he’s never quite drunk, but never without a good buzz either. [img=http://www.clickthecity.com/img2/articles/CTC-4559-image4.jpg] Background: Born to a blue collar working family on Earth, Mark was a young boy when humanity discovered mass effect physics and began its forays into the deeper reaches of space. Like many people during the age, he had a deep fascination with what could possibly be found farther into the solar system. He had no means to follow his dreams of space travel however. He wasnt an especially good student and didnt excel at anything. He was just average. As time went on however an option opened up. The Systems Alliance was founded, providing anyone a path into space by simply joining the military. Mark signed up as soon as he turned 18 along with several good friends who shared his dreams of glory and discovery. Mark soon discovered that while he wasnt smart enough to lead the way to the future in a laboratory, he excelled in the military. He soaked in every aspect of his training and strove to be the best at all of it. And he succeeded. Mark quickly achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant and given command of the squad he and his friends had been assigned to. Soon, humans made their first encounter with another intelligent race. Unfortunately it was a violent encounter with the turians, which sparked what is now called the First Contact War. Mark’s unit was one that was stationed on Shanxi when the turian occupation began, and even though the Alliance did their best to fight back the invaders, their forces were soon overrun. During the invasion, Mark’s squad was cut off from the rest of the platoon. Outnumbered, and with no lines of communication to command, Mark and his squad refused to surrender and held a small ground outpost against several turian attacks. The human troops fell one by one, but the turians could not break through the small defensive line. Eventually turian forces decided the outpost was no longer worth the cost of life and called in an orbital strike, putting a swift end to the resistance. Mark was one of only a few survivors, and to this day he cant help but blame himself for the death of his squad mates, which included all of his oldest friends from Earth. A month later, human reinforcements arrive at Shanxi and break the turian occupation. Mark, who was being held in a prison camp on the ground, used the opportunity to lead a prison break, and with the help of soldiers and civilians alike, took control of the camp back from the now stranded turians. Still furious at the loss of his men and filled with a hatred for the alien invaders, Mark personally executed the remaining turians that had been captured during the prison break. Before the humans and turians can engage in a full scale interplanetary war, the Citadel Council intervenes and negotiates a reluctant peace. As things slowly calm down, the Alliance learns of Mark’s actions, including the execution of the unarmed turian prisoners and is dishonorably discharged in order to save face with their newly discovered neighbors. Dishonored and abandoned by his military, alone, and filled with conflicting emotions about the loss of his friends and alien life, Mark decided he might as well do the only thing he knew how. Keep fighting. He roamed the galaxy, drifting from planet to planet, selling his skills as a killer to anyone who could pay. At first he planned to work exclusively for humans, but he quickly realized that was too limiting. Aliens comprised most of the galaxy at the time, and if he was to be successful hed just have to suck it up. Over the years his hatred began to dwindle as he discovered that aliens werent so different after all. They could be just as corrupt and twisted as humans and vice versa. He realized that it didnt matter where you were, there was always some slimy little shit ready to pay good money for the head of some other slimy little shit’s head. Regardless of race. And so his hatred has been replaced by cynicism and distrust for everybody, including humans. Mark has been dealing with the dregs of society for twenty years now. Security, assassinations, piracy, and so on. Twenty years of fighting and killing for money or just because someone pissed him off. And though he’s getting on in his years, his skills have been honed to a razors edge, and his tactical prowess is second to none. He doesnt turn down jobs that are beneath him, but he doesnt exactly try very hard when he’s assigned weak details either. His current employer happens to have put him on one of those weak details. He’s been hired to stand around and look tough for some small time, black market weapons dealer while he attends a party, trying to look important in front of a bunch of more important slimeballs… “Well at least there’s an open bar.” Weapons and Equipment: Primary- M-96 Mattock Secondary- M-5 Phalanx Tertiary- “Traditional” combat knife [img=http://www.gunsholstersandgear.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Mil-Tac_Knife_04.jpg] Special- Fragmentation grenades Armor- Heavy Predator, upgraded with Kinetic Buffer- Heavily modified over the years with scavenged plates since hes had the same armor for who-knows-how-long. Its original appearance is indiscernible. [img=http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120315004526/masseffect/images/4/49/ME3_hahne_kedar_set.png] Powers: -Adrenaline Rush -Armor Piercing Ammo -Disruptor Ammo --- [center][b]XII. Errol Vahn[/b][/center] --- Name: Errol Vahn Race: Human Gender: M Age: 24 Class: Infiltrator Appearance: Errol Vahn is about five foot seven and of fit, but nothing spectacular in build—he’s seemingly nothing much to scratch at and this has come into useful capacity when he comes into enemies who happen to under-estimate him due to his age, build, or appearance. He does not look like a marine, he does not smell like a marine, and he does not walk like a marine. In addition to all of this, Errol has black hair and hazel eyes—though he may have had a different hair color in youth. Background: [i]“The galaxy isn’t like the wild west, it is the wild west.”[/i] Born in 2151|CE to an interstellar businessman by the name of Miles Vahn, Errol was born & raised far from the human home-world of Earth and instead upon one of the vast colonial frontiers that began during this time. Errol’s father was an aggressive businessman who founded ErdeCo after liquidizing his properties on Earth as he believed that the only way to get in edgewise on companies like ExoGeni was to “put all of your cards on the table”. Laughed at by his former partners, Miles Vahn found himself desperate to make an impact on the galactic market that was colonial frontiers. As such Errol was born into a cosmic environment that was as underdeveloped as it was underpopulated. Growing up under the shadow of his father’s obsession to succeed in the galactic market was stressful as Errol found duties were being demanded of him straining the relationship with his parents even more. The immediate threat of hostile aliens, feral wildlife, social unrest, and criminal activity poised trouble to the growing community that ErdeCo had strived to create and one that they not only wanted to succeed—but needed to succeed. This behavior in Errol’s father would only continue to push his relationship with his wife further away at an exponential rate. Between 2158 and 2161, young Errol would spend time at his uncle’s home on the colony—a general agriculture procurement, Alen Vahn, lived much simpler with the only threat being the rare fauna that would get out of hand. Enjoying his uncle’s stories of Earth was entrancing for Errol and he would begin to almost live at the farm during these years. During this time his uncle would teach him how to fire a rifle and to impress his relative he would adamantly strive to be better—for every day he stayed at the farm he shot targets and mended the farm to help his uncle. However, Alen Vahn grew sick and passed on from cancer-related struggles by the time Errol was eleven. A year later in 2162, ErdeCo had expanded their operations into a local habitat of violent and fast creatures which resulted in an entire team of laborers to lose their lives due to ErdeCo’s carelessness. The family members of these laborers began to riot while other residents threatened to leave if ErdeCo didn’t get its operations in check. This threat against his livelihood caused Miles Vahn to “protect his investment” and hired a PMC group as “quality control” – this PMC group was the Blue Suns. This would begin the “dark times” of the colony as the Blue Suns received benefits plus their rate of service and the group began testing how much they were allowed to do without consequences. But Errol’s father only cared about the critical and financial success of his investments and took no shame into admitting it. Stuck out on their own, the citizens were practically stuck in a corporate dictatorship and Errol’s mother snapped—Errol never saw the colony again as he was taken away from its madness to find himself on another planetary hell: Korlus. Korlus was not much for improvement and the alien-centric world that bustled with crime as well as poverty led Errol to have a much harsher childhood than he would have had if he stayed with his father. But like his mother, he sort of saw the benefit of freedom—any freedom, over what they had back on the colony. As humanity was new to the galaxy, the population on Korlus had so few of them making it an uphill battle to survive as his mother struggled to find work and make ends meet. Errol himself at this time fell in with a bunch of other human youths who found themselves on Korlus in poverty and among racism and thus a sort of gang was created amongst them. It wasn’t long thereafter that Errol and his friends got caught up into something stupid—an alien named Ardot Fek. Running with Ardot Fek, a self-proclaimed “supplier” of goods led Errol into a life of organized crime. Fek saw cheap manpower in the youths as well as a useful utility in their knack to steal things. At first they weren’t asked to do much outside of pocket a few things or spot competitors (and law enforcement), but eventually as they became more useful (and older) they ended up “graduating” to carrying firearms as Fek’s underpriced guards. Errol found himself killing for the first time no more than a month after he was given a firearm—he was shaken by the experience, but Fek talked him down from his repulsions and convinced him it was only adrenaline that he felt and not any false moral consequences. Soon enough, Errol was making enough credits on the side to help keep himself and his mother afloat despite Fek underpaying him and the other youths. However, as nothing lasts forever and Fek ended up ditching the youths on Korlus after a bounty hunter had been reported to be on his trail from his previous years—leaving Errol with a few credits and a different sense of himself. The gang that remained were scattered; some of Errol’s friends fell into drugs or ended up dead and the few that remained grew distant. Errol was seventeen. With a few credits to his name and no huge skill-pool, Errol found himself at a disadvantage on Korlus and despite his desire to leave the planet he really didn’t have the means or a plan if he even did. However, that’s when luck spun in his favor as a newly established mercenary group by the name of Graymane decided to scout out potential individuals on Korlus as at this point Korlus’ growing human minority became something known. Graymane sported a “humans first” ideal much like the krogan-oriented Blood Pack dealt rarely with anybody but Vorcha and upon recruitment Errol went up to bat and looked around at the other potential recruits and challenged them with a bet—he could shoot better and further than every last one of them; and with his experience of shooting distance at his uncle’s farm and spotting for Fek proved him for the most-part right and the recruiter was somewhat impressed. Between 2168 and 2172 Errol operated, learned, and garnered the thing he wanted back when Fek left him on Korlus—a reputation, while small (the PMC company was also quite unknown) brought enough recognition. Often times on jobs he would operate as a scout or sniper as he kept an eye on situations before they turned sour. Between 2168 and 2172 Errol operated, learned, and garnered the thing he wanted back when Fek left him on Korlus—a reputation, while small (the PMC company was also quite unknown) brought enough recognition. Often times on jobs he would operate as a scout or sniper as he kept an eye on situations before they turned sour. This is where Errol would learn fundamental combat skills outside of street scenarios, but much like Fek the Graymane PMC group didn’t stick around long enough—after four years the company got accused of criminal activity and began to go under investigation which perceived to have the bulk of its membership scatter and their founder, Robert Torviski went on the run from the authorities leaving Errol on Omega trying to pick his feet back up. But at least this time he had something of a reputation for being a “good shot for a human” as a Turian mercenary once commented. For a year thereafter Errol attempted a “normal” life as he felt he was a little tired of running and being shot at between the odd jobs he took, Fek, and his time with Graymane. However uneasiness took over him as he attempted to sort out something a little more legitimate on Eden Prime, which was a planet that made him a little nostalgic for the days of the past. Thinking that he needed to be at war with something and on the move he decided to work in the occupation he was used to after two years on Eden Prime. For the last year he has jumped around odd job to odd job, never really seeking out another PMC company as of yet—but stranger things can happen. Errol brings to the table a little bit of streetwise knowledge, a good perception, and a steady hand with a firearm. Equipment: Devlon Industries Stinger Handgun (x2) Elanus Risk Control Services Tempest Submachine Gun Ariake Technologies Naginata Long Range Rifle Combat Knife Guardian Armor Disruptor Ammo Armor-piercing Ammo Omni-Tool Powers: Marksman Fitness Sabotage Personal Quarters Location: Pending how we arrange integration into Nova crew. --- [center][b]XIII. Tallin Sentius[/b][/center] --- [B]Name:[/B] Tallin Sentius [B]Alias/Nickname:[/B] None [B]Age:[/B] 31 [B]Race:[/B] Turian [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Class:[/B] Havoc Soldier [B]Equipment:[/B] [url=http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/Phaeston]Phaeston[/url] Assault Rifle ( Extended Heat Sink III, Piercing Module IV ), [url=http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/Scimitar]M-27 Scimitar[/url] Shotgun ( High Caliber Barrel IV, Extended Heat Sink II ), Heavy Omni Blade x2, Propellant ( Rocket ) Packs, Warfighter Amp II [B]Powers:[/B] Cryo Blast, Havoc Strike, Carnage, Proximity Mine Appearances below Face: [IMG]http://th03.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/013/e/b/my_me_turian__korleke_veeserno_by_kainerano-d4m7w3u.jpg[/IMG] Armor: [IMG]http://i1354.photobucket.com/albums/q691/Walrusman211/Tallin2_zps0b1450f3.jpg[/IMG] [B]Personality:[/B] Tallin is generally no-nonsense when it comes to a mission, as are most Turians. But having given up on the 26th Armiger Legion, Tallin is usually not well liked among his fellows. This does not bother him much, as he remains focused on the future rather than the past. In less heated moments, he is actually quite laid back and even known to share a drink with those he works with. He is quick to tell his story during down-time, and loves to relax while looking out into space. He is also still somewhat distrustful of humans. This is not due to the fact they are militarily potent, but the fact that they are simply an unknown on the Galactic scene. [B]History:[/B] Tallin is a Turian who's story is a roller-coaster of events. His story is as follows. Born in 2145CE, Tallin was an unremarkable Turian child. By his teenage years, the Relay 314 Incident had already come and gone, with the Humans being brought onto the Galactic scene and allowed an embassy on the Citadel shortly after that. Initially, Tallin thought his shot at military honor was gone, but his friends quickly got that thought out of his head. And so, to take a shot at gaining reputation among his people, Tallin applied to join the illustrious 26th Armiger Legion shortly after his Military Service began. Much to his surprise, he was accepted into the company and trained as a “Havoc”. Quick strikes, close quarters, and endurance. These were the things he was expected to master in his new role. And up until 2169CE, he did remarkably well. However, the approval of his superiors soon turned to disdain, as Tallin chose to do something rather idiotic. Scouts for the Xenophilic publication, Fornax, came across Tallin while he was on leave and having a drink. They told him he was a fine example of a Turian, and that his tattoos were stunning. What came next is somewhat of a defining moment in Tallin's life. A few weeks later, when on leave once more, Tallin did a photo-shoot for Fornax. The title for his segment was “Heating up the Front Lines: Men of the Turian Military”. The young man bared it all for the magazine, as he was fairly proud of his physique. His superiors were less than amused when they found out what he had done. Such a thing was not only unbecoming of a soldier, but downright unacceptable for one in such a prestigious unit. Paperwork was filed and soon the process of barring Tallin from the Armigers began. But he would have none of that. Upon hearing of the intentions of his superiors, Tallin chose to sit down and speak with them personally. The Major in charge of his regiment proceeded to berate him for over an hour, repeatedly going back to the Havoc's poor sense of personal honor and his blatant disregard for the reputation of the 26th Armiger Legion. Tallin let the man vent, of course... but responded when asked and even refuted a couple of things that the angered Major had stated. Regardless... Tallin was given the option to leave now, clinging to what little respect he had, or let the process come to a head and be formally discharged. The choice was simple, and Tallin chose to leave willingly. As his kit, aside from his customized Phaeston, was military property, he not was allowed to keep it upon his discharge/resignation. However, nine years of reliable service could get a man a fair amount of credits saved up, if spent wisely. What he was not allowed to keep were his Sidearm, as it was a sign of rank, or the Rail Extensions for his assault rifle as they were issued to him by the Military. But his rifle was his own property, and was not seized by the Turian Hierarchy. To round out his gear, Tallin spent a significant remnant of his savings on a potent shotgun. The Elkoss Combine M-27 Scimitar was a fully-automatic weapon capable of dealing significant damage to anyone dumb enough to get in its wielder's face. He then had it modified to hold more shots before overheating, and put a higher-caliber barrel on it to further increase its deadly potential. In addition, he managed to find a suit of poorly maintained Havoc Armor at a trade show on Invictus. The Jets were touchy, though... and didn't work very well. And with that purchase, the time came to find new work, as his disposable assets were beginning to dwindle. A few years passed, with Tallin working as a bodyguard for merchants, a bouncer at a bar on the planet of Invictus, and even as a Mercenary in the Attican Traverse. They all kept the bills paid and the credits flowing, but Tallin always wanted something more out of life. For the time being, however, he was stuck in a rut. --- [center][b]XIV. Helios Barb[/b][/center] --- Name: Helios Barb Race: Krogan Gender: Male Age: 953 Class: Battlemaster Appearance: [img=http://static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/images/Krogan-001_3852.png] Background: Born 1223 CE, Barb was one of the last births of Clan Helios, before elements of Clan Weyrloc overpowered them and absorbed the survivors into their own forces. Barb was raised as a Weyrloc and was put through many challenges in his life, from gladiatorial fights with fellow krogan, to fighting against the beasts of Tuchanka. As he grew older, and stronger, his body was scarred from the close calls with death, but despite being of the Helios blood, members of the Blood Pack saw potential in the young krogan, and “recruited” him. Fighting with the elite of Weyrloc, Barb grew accustomed to the direst and practically always lethal tactics of the Blood Pack, using the Vorcha as their cannon fodder, and charging into heavily fortified positions. I was not long after the Systems’ Alliance became a formal non-Council vassal that Barb met humans. Fighting with the Blood Pack showed Barb much of the galaxy, and he had fought against every race known apart from the Geth. On the agricultural world of Tartarus, the Batarians had purchased the services of the Blood Pack to destroy the human colony on this fertile world, and it was here that Barb found a new respect for humanity. During the raid, he had seen untrained militia come together and pour withering amounts of firepower into the Vorcha, and the local hunters used their long-barrelled rifles to maximum effect, downing krogan with a few shots. Barb himself bears several scars on his body where the solid slugs of the rifles had penetrated his armour. Although in the end, the colony did fall, the surviving Blood Pack were not enough to ensure that all the humans had been killed. What little searching they did found nothing, although Barb did kill several Vorcha who disagreed with him about the ruins of one building. With a newfound insight into how the other races of the galaxy might come together, Barb left the Blood Pack, simply vanishing into the crowds of Omega. It didn’t take long for the krogan to find another mercenary group, this one was more fitting to his eyes, humans, batarians and even salarians, but thankfully, no turians. The Red Suns earned several accolades during their time, but the Blood Pack does not forget, nor forgive, to their eyes, Barb had deserted them, and had to die as an example. Exactly six years to the day of his vanishing act, the Red Suns base on the moon of Praetorian was attacked by the Blood Pack, although the Red Suns numbered several hundred, the sheer numbers of the Blood Pack whittled away the outer defences, along with defenders. By the third hour of the attack, Barb’s own squad had been decimated, the ten-strong squad had been reduced to three, including Barb. Bodies of Vorcha and krogan filled the hallway, a barricade of flesh that protected fresh charges from the Blood Pack, the range of the Red Suns guns meant nothing when they couldn’t target the enemy. By the fourth hour, the Red Suns had been pushed back to the command centre, a mere thirteen fighters from what had been a promising band of mercenaries. All bore their wounds with pride, the Blood Pack had given them a chance, turn Barb over to them, or die together, the Red Suns leader, a former major of the Alliance, Joseph Hunt, had seen the offer for what it was, a waste, the Blood Pack would murder them regardless of if they handed Barb over to them or not. The last moments of the battle didn’t last long, the blast doors of the centre burst open with explosive force, the hail of shrapnel and even the doors themselves claimed another two Suns, then the shooting began, storms of slugs and fire filled the doorway, biotic pulses cracked the stonework, a glorious fight to the death in Barb’s eyes. But he didn’t see the end of the firefight, a screaming rocket had smashed into the roof above him, a pile of debris fell over the krogan, trapping him in place. Another explosion rocked his tomb, adding more rubble over him, a girder had pierced his body, his blood seeping out and forming a pool below and around him. The shooting had stopped, the laughter of the Blood Pack echoing in his mind, the cheers of the Vorcha. For hours he lay there, unable to move, his body in pain but not nearly close enough to death for him to feel it’s cold embrace. Then came his “rescuers”, before the Blood Pack had received their answer from Hunt, the veteran figher had sent a message to the nearest Alliance forces, calling in favours to get help. An entire regiment of Alliance Marines had arrived too late, they dug through the rubble and the corpses, eventually finding Barb buried in the centre, the bodies of the Red Suns around him, the Blood Pack corpses filled the doorway and hall, that chokepoint had been the Red Suns only hope, had it not been for the missile, Barb would’ve charged into that opening and fought tooth and nail to see his friends survive. Once the krogan had been freed from the rubble, and pushed past the Alliance medics who still had little idea of krogan physiology, Barb bartered passage from the ruin of his new home, trading whatever he could from his own effects to reach Omega once more. He would find the warlord of the Blood Pack, and he would see him bleed before death takes him, but first he had to gain the credits and equipment to do so. Working as an enforcer for Aria T’Lok, Barb began renewing his personal funds and equipment, he shed his Red Suns armour for newer equipment, keeping the emblem of the Red Suns in place on his shoulder guard, his shoddy assault rifle renewed with specialised mods and rounds, his old Firestorm shotgun exchanged for a gruesome Graal Spike Thrower, now he just needed a location of the Blood Pack warlord, and he knew where to get it….. He just needed the help to get there. Equipment: Torrent V Assault Rifle with Battle-Scanner Mod and Incendiary Rounds, Graal Spike Thrower unmodded. Armour: [img=http://static1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100209091719/masseffect/images/thumb/f/fd/Heavy-krogan-Warlord.png/80px-Heavy-krogan-Warlord.png] Elanus Risk Control Services, Warlord Heavy Armour modded with Ablative Coating, and Shield Modulator Powers: Barrier, Warp, Throw Personal Quarters: To be decided. [/hider] [hider=IC] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022161359/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)]Page 1, Post 1-10[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022005508/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page2]Page 2, Post 11-20[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022013015/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page3]Page 3, Post 21-30[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022182510/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page4]Page 4, Post 31-40[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022154411/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page5]Page 5, Post 41-50[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022014235/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page6]Page 6, Post 51-60[/url] [url=https://web.archive.org/web/20131022222658/http://roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php?206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page7]Page 7, Post 61-70[/url] [url=http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:yDss36Afj7oJ:roleplayerguild.com/showthread.php%3F206638-Mass-Effect-Nova-(In-Character)/page9+&cd=1&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us]Page 9, Post 81[/url] [/hider] [hider=IC; Recovered from Email Notifications] [b]??? - ??? Grif of Hearts; Tick[/b] Here's a final draft of the post. I added a tiny Kygg line at the end, removed the [u] tags and added some colour to Kygg's text where there was none but other than that I haven't made any significant changes. I have nothing to add and it all looks splendid so far. ^^ The main lounge's floor finally was littered with its guests, and the familiar drone of chatter dotted by broken clips from nearby voices churned to life. Tzvi wandered through with the tacky suit lumped on her shoulders and a cap to hide her helmet. This time, veering from the bar that Zhar sat and serving an assortment of ball-of-spit sized snacks as she loosely browsed through the people there and, more importantly, their technology and the security around them. It was unnatural to see the mix of high-class criminals, cheats, and cons with the plainly dirtier, low-brow criminals, cheats, and cons - who tried to best the standard, but clearly had a puddle of a budget compared to the top of the top there with the fit, material, and fashion. The two certainly meshed, but not in this way. Among the mass creeping in was the rest of Nova. Kygg himself, Tzvi’s partner for the remainder of this mission, scurried in shortly behind she did clad in the same uncomfortable attire that was worn by all the service staff. He pulled at the fabric, not quite used to wearing something that wasn’t armour or his birthday suit. It occurred to him that he didn’t have many reasons to wear much else, except maybe when wandering around the Tyrus during his time off. He was sure he had emotionally scarred Tzvi at least once. The quarian vaguely regarded the strange faces of closer patrons with a nod. Tzvi's voice blipped into their earpieces with restrained warmth and humor, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." Boarding the yacht and catching the glances from her temporary peers had muted and dulled the voice on a switch, and Tzvi found herself ebbing back into behavior she was used to with rich blobs in places that had more spent money than used, too easily. Stroke the self-congratulatory and self-obsessed flatulence, listen to the stairs of sycophants as each smaller bareface insincerely dotes on the bigger ones, talk quick when you have to interrupt their important time and aimless activities, look busy, avoid attention, don't make mistakes they catch. But there were nice and accidental benefits to her and Kygg playing the two idiot servants. There weren't lines. There was a greater space to move and observe the situation - and Tzvi had already taken a look during preparations for the party - and the pair were transparent to anyone not seeking easy targets. The mercenary in servant drab had taken multiple short breaks to scan and identify the camera's network, and carefully worked through to break in. Tzvi was trying to keep her hands clean where others would be quick to catch them dirty, and this was one, but they needed the cameras. After a long time, it cracked, and her two fingers accessed a program to quietly record the video each channel was sending before hiding it into the background of the omni-tool's processes. With enough footage, it could be convincingly played on loop over the actual channel, as a temporary patch for when the team was scuttling about where they weren't supposed to. The only issue would be when the two idiot servants pressed passed their boundaries to reach the main security room and bridge. With any luck, Luek had spent excessive money on more incapacitating defenses that could switch sides with some tinkering. Or information could be faked that gave explanation for heading that way. Assuming she had the chance to fake this information before Kygg tried to gouge a guard’s eyes out, of course. Or set him on fire. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised Tzvi if he just started using his teeth. "The Krogan by the drinks is Zhar. Shadow Broker agent. Careful with him." Kosso explained to the rest of the team through the hidden comm device within his ear. "Should've figured the Broker would have his fingers in all of this. Best to tread carefully, last thing is we need is for Zhar to get pissed off and get his boss on our case." The Broker virtually had their fingers in everything. People like herself sold information all the time, and if an agent wasn't here, someones like herself would lather up a solid set of details to compensate. Zhar was a risk, though. The only wealthy krogan she knew, and the little Tzvi knew and saw was bad. Zhar had earned his high place at the top of Illium's steep towers, and probably still knocking down the soft-skinned peers that had gotten there by luck. Tzvi just had the luck of never dealing with him in-person, though she had done a job or two that profited him. Kygg had even less experience with the Shadow Broker but everyone had heard the tales. Fingers in every pie and influence over everyone and everything. As if it wasn’t bad enough this Zhar character was a krogan his ties to the Broker meant Kygg was going to avoid him like the blood plague. And so he did. He did his job instead, or at least the job that the party members thought he was supposed to be doing. He darted around tables, chairs and, while they were a lesser priority, guests too. He accidentally booted a volus once but thankfully the short ball of gas thought it was the much bulkier batarian man who had strolled past. Words were traded and Kygg was pretty sure one had threatened to have the other killed. Resisting the urge to stand and watch, Kygg spent most of the evening listening into the conversations of guards. He expected the yacht would have more money spent on electronic defenses rather than guardsmen but that was Tzvi’s area of expertise. Kygg wanted to know anything he could about the men with guns. Patrols, weaknesses in both themselves and the security of the boat, their favourite meal and if they still sleep with a teddy bear. His omni-tool kept a recording of everything said, which was unfortunately a few gems of information amongst piles of useless jabbering gravel and the occasional curse word from Kygg. Tzvi weaved to a corner as the serving tray emptied, sliding it aside and whipping up the omni-tool to check the staff's activities and schedule. Part of Luek's private networking was allowed for them, and it had some nice access. The quarian would know not just where the majority of people were, but where they were going. It worked for the act, too, as another layer of cover when she passed screening, and a solid excuse to be frequently checking, reading, and playing with her omni-tool. Picking through IP addresses and running through a quick program, Tzvi gained access to a handful of the guards' less secure omni-tools. Grazing through her new list, Luek apparently required security to frequently alter their passwords for the main server's network, and a good few had saved that sensitive information directly on the computer wrapped across their arm. Tzvi hid the guard's presence, temporarily escalated the privilege and found the password's hash encryption in the code for the top rank of security before alternating back to the staff schedule and grabbing the tray, slipping toward the bar as Zhar left it behind. Within the next minutes, a program would jet through a long series of possible combination and determine the guard boss' password, and she would be able to log in, set a proxy, and send the next big man an order to send two servants to the bridge over an important, confidential, security issue. So long as the wording matched the boss, Tzvi hopefully just paved a smoother path to Kygg and her targets. Angling her head around the approaching back of another suit, Tzvi caught Kygg gnawing on and spitting out one of the snacks near the bar and in front of the guests and guards. '*Why?*' The hacker sped to Kygg's side and hastily shoved his hand away from the dish, covered by a war-torn pile of leaves and mashed psuedo-meat and ribbons. It was impossible to tell if he was taste-testing leftovers or if the remnants were his doing. Tzvi's eyes seemed to flash brighter and grow; she scrunched up her shoulders and heavily swung her arms out to her sides to question the sudden, deeper insanity. "Don't-" the word cut away. Tzvi remembered the eyes and ears behind her and froze in pain. After a pause and a slight shift, Tzvi brought up the orange screen again and snapped to a message box, locking the caps and zipping through the keys: "DON'T EAT THE FOOD" Kygg mouthed the words ‘I wonder who that could be?’ as he pulled up his own omni-tool, responding to the soft tingle it sent up his arm. Pressing a button in on the holographic image he read what Tzvi had sent to him and then proceeded to type out his own message. As he did so he used his tongue to dig into his back teeth, trying to dislodge a piece of salted peanut that had gotten itself stuck there. “Tanya wouldn’t let me get anything to eat on the way here. Do you want me to starve?” As he pressed enter he coughed, the loosened peanut flying from his mouth and onto the floor. If Kygg had eyebrows to raise he might’ve done so. “I didn’t think so’ah,” he said out loud, grinning. In the moment he slipped away, returning to his attempts at stalking the opposition. A choked snort slipped past Tzvi as the half-dissolved food bounced on and desecrated the spotless floor. The quarian remembered how nice it would be to crack, stain, trash, gutter, and disassemble Luek's toy house, her stuck glance on the Kygg-coated peanut full of envy, but she also remembered her "place" - her job. "I don't know how the boss won't kill us within the hour." "We, just - need to get through the night," Tzvi breathed and smoothed out the wrinkles of the suit. After straightening herself, she reached the bar where an older bodyguard guzzled drinks and sassed his exasperated and flustered salarian boss. As Tzvi tapped the arm of the employee dosing all the party-goers with alcohol, "Russo" was fired, and his jilted and dejected escort marched into the thick of the dark woods that was his peers, alone. The first second, Tzvi related to the drinking, jobless man looming over the shiny slab of wood, forced to work around and serve the lot of lucky leeches, all pompous because they had a suit from an obscure moon on the other end of the Milky Way. It stirred a reminding guilt for soon picking off an easy target in the same place as herself, instead of any of the fat-pockets that deserved it more. But the bodyguard sucked in the thin fumes from his cigarette with a lazy, flat look that almost sagged his hard face, and gave the most apathetic unrelenting, fiery fervor by sheer comparison. And the familiarity died. Tzvi took position behind the counter, taking over from the previous bartender who was clearly glad to have someone take over for him. In his place the quarian poured various alcoholic beverages, most taken by waiters and handed to the guests. Glasses of wine or champagne were common, all very respectable for an occasion of this calibre. Then there were those just looking to get drunk and ordered shots of something significantly stronger. The big, mean, bear of a man slumped over the counter ordered a few of those drinks himself, something which Tzvi was happy to offer. But her broken vacuum of a partner was there first, already pouring the patron a tiny glass of premium Sur’Kesh vodka. How did he slip past without her even catching a glance of him? Tzvi decided she was better off not knowing, especially if that mean finding out why he had abandoned his previous position so quickly. Spitting in the drinks, probably. Never the less she felt her hand moving back to her omni-tool, bringing up the communication channel again. They shouldn’t be seen together so often. ‘Break off, Kygg. People might get suspicious.’ For a moment Kygg ignored it, topping the shot glass with another drip of the salarian poison. Dragging his hand and the glass along the counter he released it and allowed it to slide across, stopping just in front of the bodyguard. Kygg stuck his thumb up, a human gesture that hopefully the man would understand. Tzvi saw the vorcha’s fingers dance across his forearm again, typing out a reply. ‘You’re trying to hack this man’s omni-tool, yes?’ he asked. ‘Yes. Why?’ ‘Because if he notices then he’s going to tear your mask clean off and shove your face into the dirt. I’m no doctor but I don’t think that’d be in your best interests. Let me distract him while you do the dirty work.’ Tzvi was surprised just how hard she fought with herself to find a reason against it but as much as she tried she couldn’t, and quietly excused herself. As Kygg poured a second drink for the bodyguard, Tzvi sunk into the shadows of the back of the bar, glistening eyes turning the various pieces of code that flashed up on her omni-tool into a meaningful series of patterns. Locating the omni-tool of the bodyguard was a simple task for any hacker. Breaking into it was always the hard part. Unlike most of the guards whose omni-tools were protected by paper mache and bubblegum, this man had invested a little more into virtual protection. It was nothing that Tzvi couldn’t solve. When it came to hacking the key was to find the weak point. Like when using a knife, the user has to know that most shields and armour can reflect the blade. They also know that, no matter how well armour, there is always a chink leaving an opening to softer flesh. When Tzvi found it, pressing buttons and dragging her finger across the screen of the omni-tool, she would leap on it. “I know bordedom drinking’ah when I see it,” hissed Kygg, offering the second drink to the gruff human man. He hadn’t even ordered anything but pulling wool over the eyes of a drunk man was far easier when he was actually drunk. It was a party after all so the drinks were free. Standing here, Kygg could position himself directly between Tzvi and the man’s line of sight giving her a little more cover. “But’ah at least you can drink on the job… I’m jealous’ah." Kygg batted a few comments towards the man over the next couple of minutes, making as much small talk as he could. He hadn’t expected much from a drunk man though and even Kygg himself felt short of conversation. None of his past experiences could be spoken of lest the man pick up that he wasn’t quite as faithful to the catering career as he was supposed to appear. Never the less this guardsman… Kygg caught his name as Mark, seemed surprisingly carefree compared to the other security forces here. This felt easy. A moment later, Kygg felt a quick tap against his shoulder. His head turned, watching Tzvi walk out from behind the bar and off along the edge of the party. A few words blipped up on Kygg’s messenger as she walked. ‘I’ve got it.’ Tanya and Kosso stuck out amongst the crowd farther off, backs turned from the wall Tzvi skidded by. She took the chance to pass them and veered into the crowd early, walking through a while before they were near. A sudden thought flashed through, and Tzvi slowed down to close in on Kosso's left. Hoping his earpiece was on his right, the younger mercenary directed her communications device to the drell's and suddenly chirped with a flooding, saccharine giddiness that was enough to rot the teeth, "Baby-eyes!" One hand gave a small wave as they turned around, seeming more to Kosso than Tanya in the case anyone saw the informality. It was bad enough for a servant to show signs of self-awareness and emotion on the job, acting so casually to higher-class was a fool's idea. "So good to see you," Tzvi dropped the high-pitched glee and reeled in the theatrics slightly, smug humor replacing it. Tzvi made a nod to the military engineer wrapped in a dress, who was pulling it off surprisingly well. Then her voice dulled again: "Evening, Miss Piers. I was informed by our manager that you requested some help." she pointedly bowed her head to send a brief look, before her eyes disappeared when they glanced down at her files, "If you or your friends need any, please contact a Mister..."Mark Russo," with this:" Tzvi gestured the omni-tool Tanya's way and waited for her to grab the information, "- simply call him for a video chat, or contact myself. Either of us will assist you promptly after." It seemed she was about to part, but instead warmly patted and held Kosso's arm, before the quarian leaned in to whisper under the swarm of voices, "Goin' now, please don't upset anyone yet. The new help's emergency prevention. A couple tricks in case." With any luck, Tanya caught that. Tzvi made a final, respectful nod to both and darted back to her path. Kygg smirked, abandoning the bar as quickly as his compadre had. “Staff’ah need help on one of lower decks’ah. Help yourself to drinks’ah,” he said to Mark, darting off after Tzvi who turned a corner just out of his sight. Kygg followed, side-stepping guests and passing through a door that specifically said Staff Only. Technically this was perfectly acceptable and nobody batted an eyelid. They entered the start of a small corridor, leading off into several rooms. Kygg could only imagine that there was nothing hugely incriminating here, as the staff would pass by here frequently. Any pathways deeper into the belly of the ship would be locked or guarded. With Tzvi’s help, Kygg felt like this could be his element. Tzvi blinked. “You’ve got the patrol routes down?” Her voice was paper-thin, just audible enough for the vorcha to hear. “Some’ah.” Kygg shook his head. “Bits and pieces mostly’ah. With luck should be enough.” The vorcha wasn’t entirely convinced himself that it would be enough to tell where everyone was at every given moment but with Tzvi’s ability to bluff information they always had a safety net. Tzvi's voice lightened and warmed at the news, "Good. It'll help." “And you’ah think you can get us through the locks?” “I’ve got full access on that man’s omni-tool and pulling information from the guards wasn’t too hard. We're clear to momentarily break from our work to head to the bridge for "undisclosed" reasons. Anything we don’t have information and authority for I should be able to hack through. If we fail, then we have an independent party to pin it on." Tzvi shot a look at Kygg, "We just don't want full alert, if we can avoid it...Don't tackle anyone we don't have to and you can't take down quick.” “Can't promise'ah a thing.” [/hider]