The Tome of Moskau

[Admiral Moskau]

Dearest Reader,

Please pardon the works in progress...

[Admiral Moskau]

Vixen

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

V I X E N

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^{_{M A R I J I W E M C C A B E ♦ W A S T E M A N A G E M E N T ♦ D A K O T A C I T Y ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T}}

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

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^{"It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it..."}

Vixen has always been a criminally underrated character in the comic book pages and that's something I desperately would like to fix. I plan to free her from the limitations of being perennially cast as a supporting member of the latest group of superheroes and instead I'd like to write a modern story, with all the moral ambiguity that entails, that will allow her to really shine as a solo hero. Dropping some of the more dated aspects of her history, I want to focus on a recently empowered superhero in Gotham City, who's trying to master her newfound powers while embarking upon an unfamiliar career as a vigilante. Propelled forward by her own conscience and the not-so-gentle urgings of the enigmatic Mr. Nancy, Mari seeks to do some good in a city that seems to be rapidly falling apart.

My version of Vixen is not a crime fighting super model with a tragic past involving the death of her mother at the hands of poachers and her father being murdered by her uncle as part of part of a plan to steal a magical totem. Instead, she is a fairly normal young woman, with two living parents, an annoying brother, bills to pay, a boring day job, a cat named Mr. Pebbles, and an apartment the size of closet that she shares with one roommate.

An intelligent, talking spider, that may or may not be the legendary trickster Anansi, a direct connection to the morphogenetic field of Earth that allows her to draw upon the abilities of various animals, and a burgeoning talent for changing her shape are really the most extraordinary things in her otherwise unremarkable life. Which is to say, Mari's life is currently a giant mess of superpowered chaos and mixed feelings.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

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I'd like to start off small by focusing on Mari's early adventures, rather than playing her as an established and well-connected heroine. To begin with, Mari will simply be trying to establish herself as a proper crime fighter. As a freshly minted superhero, she will still be struggling to master her abilities and going through all the growing pains associated with suddenly realizing that you have superhuman powers. For the first season, I'd like to work on building a solid foundation for Mari to develop in scale as a superhero, eventually allowing her to shift from a friendly neighborhood shapeshifter protecting a couple of city blocks from mundane criminals to someone who can affect greater change and face more powerful villains. I'd also really love to have her engage with some other characters, perhaps as a way for her to pick up some tricks of the trade or at least share the troubles that she'll no doubt be carrying with her as a result of her newfound hobby.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

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Supporting Cast:

Anansi – a legendary trickster straight out of Ghanaian folklore. Sometimes a man, sometimes a spider, and sometimes something in between, Mr. Nancy, as Mari knows him, appears at the worst of times to dole out unwelcome advice, razor-sharp quips, and long, educational stories in equal measure. He has named Mari as his charge and claims to be the source of her strange new powers. Mari remains undecided on whether he is real or if she's simply rapidly losing her mind.

Daniel McCabe - Mari's father. A first generation immigrant from Ghana. Daniel speaks with a formal British accent, the product of a post-colonial university education in Accra. He is a bookish account with the gift of gab and a heart of gold (for an accountant). He's never given up hope that Mari will one day follow in his footsteps, picking up the calculator and the pen to defeat the perils of improper tax declarations and corporate overspending.

Anna McCabe (née Li) - Mari's mother, a florist with a green thumb and a pair of always sharp gardening sheers. She is fiercely devoted to her family and the string of misfit pets that she has adopted over the years. Fond of cooking all manner of vegetarian dishes, she has passed on her culinary and horticultural talents to Mari.

Thomas McCabe - Mari's annoyingly successful older brother. Mari calls him a sellout whenever possible. It only seems fair given that he's sold his soul to a pharmaceutical start-up that hardly seems to be operating above the board. Hematologists should strive to do so much more...

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Once Upon A Dakota Night

"I'm talking to a spider."

"Not just any spider kiddo," The spider riding on her shoulder replied in a low whisper, his voice heavy with barely contained laughter. She'd missed the joke.

"Clearly," Mari irreverently mused as she pondered what form of fatal psychosis she was currently suffering from. Holding her hands in front of her, she stared with wonder at the claws that had replaced her finger nails. She was no psychiatrist, but she was fairly certain you had to be all kinds of crazy to think that you had razor-sharp, feline claws. Talking spiders were a whole other ballgame, but one she didn't want to think about at the moment. The spider, Mr. Nancy, as he called himself, had promised her that she could definitely, probably, cut through steel with her claws. Provided she hit hard enough. As long as she believed. The souped up reflexes that made her feel like she'd just ingested an ungodly amount of Speed were supposed to help. At least in theory. Mari hated the pompous spider already. At least some of the time. She had to admit the cat eyes were pretty cool, she'd always wanted to be able to see in the dark.

"Check yourself, before you wreck yourself, Mari," Nancy teased. "I'm the one that is going to help you make something of yourself. Oh, the chance that I have given you! The power, the unlimited power! You owe me. Be grateful!"

"I don't owe you shit, bug eyes," Mari hissed back, "You're the one that got me into this mess. You're the one who's going to get me killed."

She Flattened herself against the wall of the alley and she fought off the urge to throw up. The smell of several weeks worth of rotting garbage burned her eyes and a puddle of ominous fluid threatened her shoes. Someone had forgotten to bribe the local trash racket. It was a personal tragedy for Mari, given her temporarily enhanced sense of smell. Mr. Nancy had called it a minor problem, a side effect of her inability to fully control her abilities. He'd told her that he expected her to do better next time. He'd alluded to bear claws, shark teeth, and wings. Mari had no idea what he meant. But it felt impossible to refuse him or to shut him out. The spider had a way with words and there was a strange power in the stories that he told her. She could almost feel the webs that he wove in the shadows and the silk strings that pulled at her limbs.

"I can't have my chosen servant wasting her powers. You've got to prove yourself worthy of my gifts. You have to earn my advice."

"You want me to prove myself? To a spider? Couldn't you just have asked me to catch a fly? That seems like something a spider would want to see."

"I'm not a spider. I shouldn't have to keep telling you that. Besides, I have bigger, juicier prey in mind for you, my young friend."

"Did you forget the part where drug dealers have guns, lots of guns?"

"You want help? Then let me tell you a story-"

Mari groaned, wishing for a swift death. It had only been a week, but she was already tired of the chatty spider and what he saw as valuable advice.

"Once upon a time in Gotham, a man, a man far more mundane than you, dressed up like a bat, a giant bat, and fought crime one punch at a time as a nocturnal detective. Now how is that for a story?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say Nancy," Mari replied with an unapologetic roll of her eyes. "Next you're going to tell me that's there's a long-lost civilization in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

"Well, since you mentioned it..."

"Nancy, just tell me what you want."

"I want you to do the right thing."

"You want me to punch a drug dealer in his stupid face?"

"I want you to punch several drug dealers in their stupid faces."

"Hey Nancy."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

"That's the spirit, Mari. Channel that rage. Now go! There's your chance! Your only chance!" Nancy shouted as the street lights flickered, then suddenly died along with power to most of the city block.

P O S T C A T L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

[Admiral Moskau]

Absolute Comics: The Vixen, Issue 1: Once Upon A Dakota Night

Location: Liberty Street, Dakota City
Time: 21.00

"I'm talking to a spider."

"Not just any spider kiddo," The spider sitting on her shoulder replied in a low whisper, his voice heavy with barely contained laughter. She'd missed the joke.

"Clearly," Mari irreverently mused as she pondered what form of fatal psychosis she was currently suffering from. Holding her hands in front of her, she stared with wonder at the claws that had replaced her finger nails. She was no psychiatrist, but she was fairly certain you had to be all kinds of crazy to think that you had razor-sharp, feline claws. Talking spiders were a whole other ballgame, but one she didn't want to think about at the moment. The spider, Mr. Nancy, as he called himself, had promised her that she could definitely, probably, cut through steel with her claws. Provided she hit hard enough. As long as she believed. The souped up reflexes that made her feel like she'd just ingested an ungodly amount of Speed were supposed to help. At least in theory. Mari hated the pompous spider already. At least some of the time. She had to admit the cat eyes were pretty cool, she'd always wanted to be able to see in the dark.

"Check yourself, before you wreck yourself, Mari," Nancy teased. "I'm the one that is going to help you make something of yourself. Oh, the chance that I have given you! The power, the unlimited power! You owe me. Be grateful!"

"I don't owe you shit, bug eyes. You're the one that got me into this mess. You're the one who's going to get me killed." Mari hissed back, fidgeting with the metallic lighter that she kept tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. She'd quit smoking, usually, mostly, maybe. But the lighter mattered, it meant something. It reminded her of Sarah. It kept her focused. It kept her mad. It kept her claws sharp and her teeth ready.

Hiding in the dark, she had flattened herself against the wall of the alley. She'd fought off the urge to throw up several times already and she was worried that the skateboard she had carefully hidden behind a mountain of garbage cans might have become a bio-hazard. The smell of several weeks worth of rotting garbage burned her eyes and a puddle of ominous fluid threatened her shoes. Someone had forgotten to bribe the local trash racket. It was a personal tragedy for Mari, given her temporarily enhanced sense of smell. Mr. Nancy had called it a minor problem, a side effect of her inability to fully control her abilities. He'd told her that he expected her to do better next time. He'd alluded to bear claws, shark teeth, and wings. Mari had no idea what he meant. But it felt impossible to refuse him or to shut him out. The spider had a way with words and there was a strange power in the stories that he told her. She could almost feel the webs that he wove in the shadows and the silk strings that pulled at her limbs.

"I can't have my chosen servant wasting her powers. You've got to prove yourself worthy of my gifts. You have to earn my advice."

"You want me to prove myself? To a spider? Couldn't you just have asked me to catch a fly? That seems like something a spider would want to see."

"I'm not a spider. I shouldn't have to keep telling you that. Besides, I have bigger, juicier prey in mind for you, my young friend."

"Did you forget the part where drug dealers have guns, lots of guns?"

"You want help? Then let me tell you a story-"

Mari groaned, wishing for a swift death. It had only been a month, but she was already tired of the chatty spider and what he saw as valuable advice.

"Once upon a time in Gotham, a man, a man far more mundane than you, dressed up like a bat, a giant bat, and fought crime one punch at a time as a nocturnal detective. Now how is that for a story?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say Nancy," Mari replied with an unapologetic roll of her eyes. She was glad the ski mask she had brought still permitted her some level of expression. "Next you're going to tell me that's there's a long-lost civilization in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."

"Well, now that you mention it..."

"Nancy, just tell me what you want."

"I want you to do the right thing."

"You want me to punch a drug dealer in his stupid face?"

"I want you to punch several drug dealers in their stupid faces."

"Hey Nancy," Mari said flicking the metallic lighter shut in a swift motion.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

"That's the spirit, Mari. Channel that rage. Now go! There's your chance! Your only chance!" Nancy shouted as the street lights flickered, then suddenly died along with power to the rest of the city block.

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Stalking through the pitch black apartment, Mari did her best not to think of the fresh blood that coated her claws. She fought to control her ragged breathing, desperately sucking in gasps of air like a fish plucked out of the water. Barrels of industrial grade chemicals surround her and a faint smell of ammonia seeped through the battered blue plastic. Nancy had said it would be easy. He'd called it a test run. She tried not to think about the kid she'd left tied up in the alley. She tried not to think of how easily she'd cut him with her claws. She tried not to think of how easily he'd bled. She tried not to think.

"Nancy, can you hear me?" Mari whispered. Her hands ran idly over the Molotov Cocktail she'd liberated from the kid. She wasn't an arsonist, but a little bit of property damage for the great good never hurt anybody. She'd saved the smokes for later. They were tucked safely in her jacket. She would need them. After it was all over. She'd make an exception. Just once, just for the night. A reward was in order.

She felt the hairs on her neck rising. She felt afraid. Something was wrong. She saw the wires then. The red light blinking impassively at her. Drug dealers didn't have silent alarms. They didn't have infrared cameras.

"Of course I can hear you."

"I fucking told you this was a bad idea." Mari gestured angrily at the window she'd so carefully pried open. "And that, that was a fucking alarm."

"Yes, you should have been more careful.

"I- I should have been more careful? Listen to me...wait," Mari said as her eyes widened with panic. "This isn't meth."

"No, it's not."

Mari did not need to turn to look at the spider to know that he was smiling, "Then what is?"

"I'm not sure, not yet. It's something new. It's something clever. Something very clever. It's something very interesting. It's tied to this "Big Bang" the locals keep on yammering about."

Thundering steps, that seemed to shake the foundation of the building itself interrupted Mari's anger,"What the fuck was that?"

"That's the cavalry."

"Calvary?"

"Their cavalry. I told you not to waste time. You don't have very much of it."

"You motherfu-"

"Duck."

Mari hugged the ground and watched as a rusted boiler sailed past where her head had been.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"I told you, baby, I'm shipping you straight up to the big leagues. No more amateur hour."

Mari could hear the spider laughing as threw herself to the side. Too slowly. Much too slowly. The concrete hand that cracked the side of her chest was a surprise for both of them, and for once, the spider was silent. Mari was not thinking when she dug a clawed hand into the floor. The socket of her shoulder screamed with pain and she tumbled, but it kept her in the game and it kept her alive. Regaining her balance, Mari caught herself in a low crouch. Rolling to the side, she caught a glancing blow to her jaw, sending her hurtling to the ground again.

"Get up. Run. Now!" the trickster commanded as a panel of drywall next to her exploded into a fine cloud of gypsum and rotting wood.

Spitting out blood and flecks of faded paint in equal measure, Mari let out a low, pained groan. A figure walked towards her in the darkness. Unaffected by the shadows, it crashed forward, shaking the crumbling floor with each step. Uncaring and unmoved, it stopped in front of her. An inhuman creature of cement and blackened asphalt, it towered over her with a fist raised menacingly over its head. Pausing, it flashed a smile of fractured stone in Mari's direction. She couldn't tell what it was saying. She didn't care, not really. Whatever it was saying, it sounded foreign, it sounded strange. She could tell it was gloating. It was laughing at her. It was taunting her. It was mocking her.

She felt angry. She felt her lips moving back to bare freshly sharpened teeth. It wasn't ready. It didn't think that the cornered animal still had fight left in it. She returned the favor, launching herself to her feet, raking the claws of her right hand across its face. She darted out of the way of the blind, furious strikes that followed, slipping beneath the thick arms of stone that chased her. Dancing out of range, Mari risked a glance at her claws and frowned. There wasn't any blood, just a sticky, black tar that burned her claws with irritation.

Dodging a blow that would have caved her head in, Mari struck again, sending sparks into the darkness as she buried her claws into the chest of the monster. Flailing the creature sent her tumbling into a row of plastic barrels with a distracted punch.

Rocking to her feed, Mari grinned. She could hear the mass of concrete roaring in pain. She could sense the growing weakness of her prey. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She felt alive. She felt so alive. She could taste blood. And it felt good, so good.

"Angry is good, angry gets shit done," Nancy said. "But you don't have time to play with your food. Not anymore. Finish this."

Mari heard a door slam open and boots, heavy boots racing up the stairs. At least a dozen pairs. Too many. Far too many. She could smell the cordite. She could hear the shouted orders.

"Let the motherfucker burn," Nancy cackled, pointing a hairy limb the direction at the cloth wicked bottle full of gasoline.

Cutting into a barrel, Mari tossed it at the creature, dowsing the monster in chemicals as it smashed the weakened plastic. It roared in frustration, trying to wipe off the volatile chemicals that had begun to fizzle against its skin, filling the room with putrid smoke. Coughing, Mari rolled to the side and stayed low to the ground, shifting forward on all fours.

"Let...the...motherfucker...burn," Mari echoed as the lighter appeared in her hand. Opening it with a flick of her wrist, she held it against the soaked rag of petrol, and spun the wheel, summoning a flame of fire. Watching the rag ignite, Mari smiled, and then tossed the improvised incendiary device towards the creature.

The bottle shattered in an explosion of glass and fire. Flames enveloped the monstrous figure as it howled in rage and threw itself violently across the small room, crashing into a wall as it tried to extinguish the flames that climbed over it. Thrashing its limbs with growing desperation, the creature lurched madly, painfully forward, trying to catch the young vigilante in its burning arms.

Mari could hear it roar as she threw herself out the window and rolled onto the fire escape. She panicked and stumbled on twisted metal. Losing her footing, Mari crashed against the rusted railing. Crying out in pain, Mari slumped forward, clutching her battered side with a loud sob. Thick tendrils of black smoke poured out of the room and Mari dragged herself forward, struggling to breath as she descended. She could feel the overpowering heat chasing after her. She knew there was no time. The blaze was growing by the second, and she wasn't sure how long before it reached the barrels of chemicals.

Mari hit the ground hard and managed a graceful fall against the wall of the building. Heaving, she retched, feeling the smoke tearing at her lungs with each breath. Grabbing the skateboard from where she had left it, Mari began to limp away.

"Mission accomplished," Nancy cheerfully exclaimed, once more perched on her shoulder. "But next time, try not to get so banged up."

Mari turned to glare at him, wordlessly pulling the ski mask off her face and tossing it into the fire. Leaving the burning brownstone behind them, the pair faded quietly into the night.

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"What happened here, Miss Johnson?"

"Fell," Mari replied motionlessly, gesturing at the battered skateboard propped in a chair next to her. "Fucked up. Lost my balance. Ate some asphalt. Cried. You know, a standard day in the life of a professional adventurer."

"Right, and the smoke inhalation?"

"So I had a smoke, fucking sue me, Doc. It's a free country."

"Um, that's not what I meant, it seems like-"

"Yeah, well just drop it. I'm paying you by the minute and no one is riding your ass about that Egg McMuffin you had for breakfast, now are they?"

"Uh, right, sure," the young doctor said with a desperate smile. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and shifted his attention to the x-ray image next to him, "Well, either way, you got very lucky, Miss Johnson. You only managed to bruise a couple of ribs. Hurts like the Dickens, but there's really not much to be done about it. However, I'd advise you to take it easy for a couple of days. No late night skating sessions or BBQs," he added with a grating chuckle that left Mari shaking her head.
Doc," Mari began, sliding off of the examination table and slipping her t-shirt back on.

"Yes?"

"Painkillers, just give me some fucking painkillers, and send me on my merry-fucking way."

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"This is Christina Martinez with Dakota 7 Eyewitness News reporting live at 757 Liberty Street, where last night, a historic brownstone burned down in a freak fire that is believed to have started as a result of faulty electrical wiring undertaken as part of recently begun renovations intended to restore the so-called Blackthorn residence to its former glory... Deputy Fire Commissioner Thomas Campbell has said that a full investigation will be conducted...No fatalities occurred as a result of the fire, but several injuries were reported..."

[Admiral Moskau]

Absolute Comics: The Vixen, Issue 2: Thinking About You

Location: Washington Avenue, Dakota City

Time: 7.00 PM

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"I'm thinking about you, and the things that you do to me. That make me love you. I'm thinking about you."

Pulling off the battered headphones, Mari rolled out of her bed with a loud groan. She clutched her side warily as she gingerly stretched out her back. The last of her painkillers had faded and pain pulsed outwards from her bruised rib. Rippling waves of agony swept over her, reminding her of her encounter with the asphalt monster. The bruises had faded faster than she'd expected. She'd asked Nancy but he'd provided no honest answers. He'd simply winked and said it was a perk of the job. Mari wasn't sure that she believed in magic, not yet, but she felt certain there was something going on. Nancy was an asshole, but more importantly he was a schemer, she knew he was only telling her part of the story. She would have worried more, if she wasn't focused on revenge. She wasn't going to let some glorified piece of asphalt show her up.

"Concrete face really did a number on you, did he?" Nancy jeered.

"I'll live," Mari hissed back between clenched teeth.

"Of course you will, we still have work to do," the spider whimsically replied from his perch at the end of her bed.

"How about we take a rain check on that."

"Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that."

"What shall I call you then?"

"Mari, Mari is fine."

"No, no. That won't do. You need a nom de guerre. Something with flash. Something that resonates with the masses. Like that kid, Static."

"Who?"

"Another neophyte. A colleague."

"Another idiot with a mask?"

"Sure, you could say that. You'll meet him soon enough. We've just got to follow the plan."

"Whatever, fuck your plan. How about you just tell me why I'm awake instead?"

"Beyond it being evening?"

"I need my beauty rest."

"Well, no time for that my dear apprentice, my web has been tingling, I can feel it. We have an appointment."

"An appointment with who?"

"An appointment with some new friends."

"Friend friends or friends-with-guns-who-aren't-really-friends-at-all?"

"The latter of course," Nancy replied with a Cheshire Cat grin.

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Mari dove beneath the wide, clumsy swing of the bat. They were so slow, so weak. Dancing forward in a blur of motion, she raked her claws cross across the right arm of the bat-wielding hooligan. The bat cluttered to the ground and the hoodlum staggered backwards, disarmed, and clutching his arm. His face was painted a shade of white, equal parts fear and pain, and it filled Mari with an unfamiliar feeling of pleasure. She could smell the blood that dripped onto the pavement.

"Pick it up," Mari commanded, kicking the bat towards him. His eyes darted towards the other scumbag that lay sprawled across the pavement, but he made not move to pick up the bat.

"Don't play with your food," Nancy chided. She didn't want to listen to him. She'd listened to him enough. He'd told her to be discreet, to be cautious, to take things slow. She didn't see the point. He'd asked her to make some new friends, to make some noise. She was going to do this her way. More importantly, she was enjoying herself. She felt in command. She could smell the fear emanating from the wannabe-gangster as she began to slowly circle him. It felt good, so good.

"Tiny, step back, I'll handle this," a woman's voice said. She could smell the burning ashes as the door to the trap house slammed shut.

Mari eyed the woman that stepped forward into the street light lazily. She yawned loudly and fidgeted with her ski mask, "I'm not here for you, any of you. I just need you to call for help. I need you to get me the concrete man. I've been thinking about him."

"How about I just kill you instead?" The woman offered, spitting onto the pavement.

"You can try."

[Admiral Moskau]

Teg

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Cora

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Character Summary

Name: Corinna Annabel Taggart
Aliases: Cora has used an impressively long list of aliases in her career. Shortly, before joining the crew of the Veritas Lux Mea she adopted the nom de guerre of Teg.
Age: 25
Species: Human
Birth Planet: Neptune
Allegiance: Current Employer/Highest Bidder
Gender: Female
Occupation: Mercenary

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Appearance

Height: 5'7''
Weight: 140 lbs
Build: Cora is a coiled spring of muscles, ready to strike at a moment's notice. She has the well-built and carefully maintained body of a professional who has to be able to rely on her body even in the worst of situations.
Eyes: Grey
Hair: Cora has dark brown hair that reaches just past her shoulder blades. She keeps her hair pinned in an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck, not quite having the heart to cut it short despite the impracticality of caring for long hair on the frontier. To secure the chignon, Cora uses a set of antique silver hairpins.
Skin Tone: Olive skin, sports a light tan.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Cora has no particularly noteworthy scars and makes a habit of avoiding anything as memorable as tattoos or piercings.
Personal Style: A formal dresser when at all possible, Cora favors bespoke three piece suits in dark shades, bow ties, leather shoes, and derby hat that match the color of her suits. It is a rare sight indeed to see Cora in anything approaching a dress, but she dryly remarks that once as part of an elaborate plot to assassinate a leading baron of industry she did in fact wear an evening gown.

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Personality:

Pragmatic * Deliberate * Daring * Iron-Willed * Cynical * Distrustful

Relationship Status: "Who's asking and why are they asking? Are they buying me a drink?"

interview:

How did you hear about the Veritas Lux Mea?
"Ran into an old friend on the Hub. Some old military spook, the friendly kind. He told me you were fixing to start some noise. Said you were looking for some muscle, said it might be worth my time."

How well do you deal with a high stress situation?
"Very well. Provided it involves a lot of shooting or maybe some demolition work. I wouldn't be very good at my job if I couldn't control my nerves."

What do you think about the government?
"What's it to you? You a government spy? Gonna rat me out? For the sake of argument, let's say I have my share of personal differences with the government and wouldn't mind taking them down a peg or two. No, I'm not bitter."

What do you think about people not of your species?
"Do aliens count as people? I don't know, that's an interesting question, but it doesn't matter much to me. I treat them like they treat me and keep a healthy distance. Just like I would with any human. We all bleed and die the same, so we're square in my book. Just do your job, stay out of my way, and don't fuck up and we can be friends."

How do you feel about less than legal operations?
"Legality is a nebulous concept at the best of times. Provided the pay is right, I have no problems creatively interpreting the letters of the law. Pay me a bit more on top of that and I'll happily break the law for you. A space merc's gotta be able to make a living after all. And let me tell you, saints and heroes don't last very long in this line of work."

How would your acquaintances describe you?
"A competent, reliable, and most importantly discreet mercenary. Good with a gun, good with explosives, and useful in scrap."

How would your mother describe you?
"Naturally, she'd say that I'm wonderful young lady. She thinks I traded in my combat boots for dress shoes when I left the service. I told her I got a job as an interstellar courier. Look, I even had these business cards made up..."

How would you describe yourself?
"I'm a freewheeling merc, a damn good one at that. If you're looking for something deeper than that how about you buy me a drink first? I went through psych evals in the military and those were a whole lot less bothersome than this."

What do you know about us?
"You've got a ship. I can read the name. You've got some beef with the powers that be. You're probably wanted by more than one government agency. Hell, I wouldn't doubt that Syndicate themselves would like to have a lengthy chat with you. The Peacekeepers do so love to keep a tab on things. Even things that are none of their damn business."

Why do you want this job?
"The pay is right. And who doesn't love starting a good revolution? Besides, what else am I supposed to do with all this training? Dome people as part of some corporate security outfit at the behest of my executive overlords? Nah, pass, hard pass, some other merc can do that. File this under charity work, sister, I'm fixing to do you a favor."

Why should I hire you?
"Look, you're the one asking around for some muscle. I just happen to be that muscle. Don't make this more complicated than it has to be. You tell me how much you're willing to pay. Then I tell you if you need to ply me with more alcohol before I am drunk enough to accept. Then we shake hands and I do whatever it is you want me to do. No questions asked, promise."

Habits:

• Maintains a small collection of odd knickknacks she's acquired in her travels. Cora is particularly fond of ancient timepieces, such as mechanical pocket watches.
• Extremely meticulous in her appearance, highly unusual for a roving mercenary in the current era.
• Sleeps only under the highest quality silk blankets, imported from the Glao home-world, Forl.

Hobbies:

• Recreational drug use, chiefly stimulants and depressants such as alcohol, however, fear not, it has yet to affect her combat performance
• Exercising
• Gambling
• Dancing
• Reading

Fears:

• Imprisonment
• Boredom
• Loss of her abilities

Likes:

• Alcohol, coffee, and other drugs
• Risky ventures, dangerous missions, and in short, adventure
• Guns
• Loud Music
• Late Nights
• Fast Ships
• Traveling and exploring the stars

Dislikes:

• Space Bushido
• Rules and Regulations
• Predictability or Stagnation
• Early Mornings
• Pointless Ceremony
• Owing others money or favors
• Most of all, people who don't pay

---

---

Information:

General Skills:

- Brawler: Cora is a gifted barroom brawler, as capable with her fists as she is with a chair or bottle of alcohol when the situation demands it.

- Juryrigger: Cora is a passable mechanic in a pinch, but she is mostly knowledgeable about weapon maintenance.

- Combat Medic: Cora knows the basics of battlefield medicine, an important skill when considering that gunshot wounds are not uncommon in her line of work.

- Peerless Endurance: Cora possesses a remarkable endurance and is liable to keep going when others have long since collapsed from exhaustion.

Specialty Skills:

- Demolitions Expert: As part of her military training Cora was taught the finer aspects of making things explode in a controlled manner. Given the right supplies, Cora can construct all manner of explosive devices.

- Asymmetric Warfare Specialist: A product of some of the darker, shadowy area of military operations Cora has extensive experience in how to fight unfairly and with an eye on inflicting heavy casualties on the enemy.

- Commando:Cora is an expert marksman with all manner of firearms and she has received specialized military training. She is no amateur with a passing interest in bloodshed and a lifetime of hastily acquired abilities. Rather, she is a trained professional and carries herself in a manner that betrays military training of the highest quality that humanity can muster.

Inventory:

- Clothing: Cora wears a bespoke three piece suit, in a tasteful shade of black, a fashionable red bow tie, a well-tailored dress shirt, leather shoes, a pair of fine leather gloves, and a perfectly fitting derby hat. She wears two bandoleers full of ammunition, a belt decorated in a similar manner, and a beautifully engraved leather holster on her hip. In a pocket of her dress shirt she carries an antique silver pocket watch.

- Browning Hi-Power: Cora's pistol of choice is a modernized Browning Hi-Power. Chambered in a heavy caliber, the Hi-Power is an exceedingly reliable and accurate semiautomatic pistol. The culmination of thousands of years of firearm development, the basic design of the firearm hearkens back to the early 20th century. However, Cora has had the pistol customized to suit the needs of the current era and her own particular tastes.

- Beretta 515: Cora carries a small hold-out pistol, chambered in a light caliber, as a back-up gun in an ankle holster. It is capable enough weapon at close range and when the going gets tough.

- Heckler and Koch XM 75: Keen to bring some proper firepower to any fight, Cora favors a modular weapon system developed by Heckler and Koch. The latest and greatest in military grade firearms, the XM 75 provides the user with unparalleled flexibility thanks to a state-of-the-art system that allows rapid change between various feeding mechanisms and barrels. This allows the weapon system to fulfill a number of vital combat roles. A matching business suitcase allows for a discreet carry.

- Grenades: Fond of explosives Cora carries two fragmentation, one high explosive, and one smoke grenade with her at all times.

- Knife: Held against the small of her back Cora has a simple enough knife, useful for cutting apples, wires, rope, or as a weapon of last resort.

- In Storage: Several changes of formal attire, lots of guns, spare parts, an alarming amount of explosives, and plenty of ammunition.

---

---

History:

Reason for joining crew:

Cora joined the crew of the Veritas Lux Mea for three simple reasons. One, she was in between contracts. Two, she was broke and needed a ride. And three, she'd been spoiling for a proper fight with the government for some time. Slow as she is to admit it, she had an old score to settle with the powers that be.

History:

"It's a classic story really. I was born in some frozen shithole of a town back on Neptune, not that I remember it. My parents were nobodies, miners, laborers that never mattered. And when the Zitari snapped their fingers and sent us to Artemis, I ended up in just as much of a shithole town as back on Neptune. Well, almost, it wasn't as cold."

"I knew what my future was going to be like if I stayed there. I had only to look around me to see it. So I did what any clever eighteen year old without options does when they realize that their future is five kids, a husband with no teeth, meth, so much meth, and the worst kind of fucking beer. I enlisted, I joined the Colonial Defense Forces and found my way in space. Took to it like a fish. The shooting, the zero gravity fights, the blowing things up, and the cutting throats that is. Swallowed everything they told me, hook, line and sinker. Hell, I thought we were going to save the new world."

"Course, there wasn't much in the way of real fighting going on back then. Not that we didn't have ourselves some good scraps, but it wasn't a real war. Such facts didn't stop the brass from handing out commendations though and I even got myself some fancy medals as part of Operation Nightfall, which was a fancy way to say gunning down some protesting space miners that were cutting into corporate profits in some forgotten corner of Artemis. Those were the good old days. Back when we were jetting around the new planet pacifying upstart labor unions, hunting down bandits, and capturing political dissidents. It felt like we had a purpose, you know? Although medals didn't matter much with how shit the pay was. Still, it was better than a slow death back on Artemis. And the food was free."

"Eventually, I found myself at odds with the military. I had some personal differences with my superiors. Personal differences are what we professionals call it when your commanding officer decides to recall the shuttle that was supposed to extract you from a space station you rigged with enough explosives to send it flying into the nearest star because said mission happened to be compromised and the rest of your squad was turned into a fine red mist by a series of automated turrets set up by the owners of said station. Had to commandeer a shuttle myself before I could reduce that station to scrap metal."

"Now, don't get me wrong, being an elite soldier for the government was a sweet gig, but I had to spread my wings, I needed a fresh start, you know? I just needed something else, something that paid more. Propping up an authoritarian government is only fun for so long and at some point you realize your pension is going to be worth dirt."

"After my separation from the Colonial Defense Forces, I went off to find my own way in the galaxy. I did some traveling, I did some trading, I did some pirating, I did some more pirating, and then found myself landing a stable gig as an independent contractor...a mercenary if you will. Hopped from system to system, from planet to planet, from job to job. Earned some money, lost some money, made some friends, and made more enemies. I shot some people and I saved fewer still."

"And now? Now I'm here. On this rust bucket of a ship, fighting some revolution. Oh, it's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it. I doubt we'll make it. But it's going to be one hell of a fight."

---

---

Extras

Character Quote: ""
Theme Song: The Ecstasy of Gold
Criminal Record: Gifted with an uncanny ability for knowing which government officials to bribe, Cora has managed to maintain an almost spotless criminal record. Her sole criminal offense on record is related to an unfortunate incident involving a competing mercenary and a broken chair.
Anything Else:

[Admiral Moskau]

Nemeia

Character Name: Nemeia
Nickname: Nem
Racial/Ethnic Background: Tiefling/Highlander
Grapple: Standard
Unarmed: 3
Melee Skill: 3
Ranged Skill: 3
Strength: 3
Toughness: 3
Wounds: 1
Initiative: 3
Will Power: 3
Morale: 3
Combat Sense: 0
Attacks:

Melee Weapons: Two daggers, a wickedly sharp Elven scimitar, and a brutal two handed sword that was clearly never intended for human use.

Ranged Weapons: A set of bolas used to entangle and capture her prey, two simple light wooden throwing spears, and a net.

Armor: Nem wears a strange mismatch set of armor. A patchwork construction of both light and heavy, Nem has collected her armor from foes that she has dispatched in pursuit of her trade as a bounty hunter. To protect herself from the elements Nem wears a dark blue cloak with a hood generous enough to hide her horns as needed. To hide the infernal features of her face she wears a mask of metal shaped into the fearsome visage of a demon.

Appearance: Unremarkable in stature and affable in nature, Nem nonetheless comes across as a dangerously capable sort of person. Modest horns perch atop her head and spiral upward. Her hair cascades down from behind her horns, in thick dark brown waves, but Nem takes care to keep her locks tied into a careful knot at the nape of her neck. She has a thick, dexterous tail, several feet long that she keeps coiled around her waist when in company that might take offense at the sight of a tiefling. She has thoughtful eyes of red, and thin lips that often rest in a soft smile that is marred only by her sharply pointed canine teeth. Her skin is painted a shade of ivory, and bears the scars and marks, both large and small, of a martial profession. Years of rigorous physical training and time spent as a bounty hunter have afforded the young tiefling a lithe, athletic build. An expert tracker, Nem moves moves with the practiced, almost lazy grace of one of the many predatory creatures that prowl the Great Forest.

An Image Of Nem

Personality:

Background:

A Bounty Hunter's Journey

Having always operated well within the boundaries of the law, Nem maintains that she has no great secrets to hide and the young tiefling is fairly forthcoming when asked about her past.

Born in a small hamlet on the outskirts of Bloodstone, Nem says that she has spent her life traveling back and forth across the Swamp Road, venturing into the wilderness itself as required to complete a posted bounty. Despite her growing absence from the town, she remains a well-known face in the settlement proper, having brought back the head of more than one infamous bandit, marauding monster, or rogue mercenary.

When asked how she chose her profession, she shrugs her shoulders and says that she was simply following in the footsteps of her father, a talented bounty hunter in his own right. A natural, Nem took quickly to the trade of hunting men in service of the law and under the stern tutelage of her father, in short order, she managed to establish herself as a preeminent seeker of fugitives and wielder of sharp, deadly blades. Patting the brutal looking sword slung over her shoulder, she cheerfully reports that it was her old man himself that taught her the ways of Sword Dancing and the finer aspects of armed combat.

At the urging of her ailing father, Nem eventually elected to pursue alternative means of employment. Leveraging her reputation as an tireless bounty hunter and fearsome combatant Nem secured the favor of an esteemed Highlander Steward and entered into the service of one, Steward Miles Ruadh of Grey Mountain, around her twentieth year, serving as his personal bodyguard until his untimely death from a respiratory illness at the impressive age of seventy five.

Finding herself without a master, rather than pursuing employment with another person of importance Nem decided to venture forth into the realms of Terrenum. Through a series of modestly successful adventures, Nem made her way to the Lowlands where she fell in with the Shield Brethren in search of a gold, food, and adventure.

Special Rules:

[Admiral Moskau]

Absolute Comics: The Vixen, Issue 3: Все идет по плану

Location: Washington Avenue, Dakota City

Time: 8.00 PM

---

The blade cut through Mari's jacket like a hot knife cutting through a jacket that was made out of butter rather than leather. It was a tragic sign of how far the once proud garment industry had fallen. Thrift store leather just wasn't the same, it wasn't the armor Mari needed, not anymore. Worse still, the cold kiss of steel against her shoulder was a bitter reminder that she'd been too slow. Searing pain faded to familiar numbness as Mari darted out of range of the machete. She'd messed up. She'd fucked up. She'd been cut, but the wound to her ego was far deeper. Some random mook wasn't supposed to get the better of her and certainly wasn't supposed to make her bleed. She had standards to live up to and irritating spider deities to keep quiet.

"You're bleeding," Nancy lazily drawled from somewhere in the darkness.

"I know."

"That was sloppy," the spider added in a sing song voice, lowering himself down from a nearby street light by a thin thread of spiderweb. "You won't last long if you keep this up."

"I fucking know," Mari hissed between gritted teeth as she tossed her jacket aside. She needed to be able to move, she needed to be faster. She was done playing.

"If you're done talking to yourself, then let's finish this," the woman taunted twirling the bloodied machete in a figure eight in front of her. "I've got better things to do with my time than to fight some masked idiot."

"Fine by me," Mari agreed, circling closer.

Launching herself forward, Mari swung wide with the claws of her right hand. She caught fabric and threw herself aside to avoid the blade that whistled past her in reply.

Catching the blade with a leathery hand covered in thick scales, Mari flashed a winning smile before she smashed her clinched fist repeatedly into her opponent's face. The sickening crunch and blood that followed made it clear that she'd hit her mark. A broken nose made fighting hard and made it far easier for her to subdue an enterprising criminal hellbent on fighting to the death. Mari wasn't much for killing and she needed answers which meant she needed at least one of the scumbags to be conscious.

"Bet you didn't see that coming, did ya, Miss Big Knife," Mari huffed, tossing the machete into a pile of garbage.

---

"Concrete face, where is he?" Mari asked, slamming the woman face first against the nearest wall. A wet smack followed, the sound of flesh meeting unmoving brick, and blood splattering onto concrete. Mari hesitated. Interrogations had never been her strong suit. She took no pleasure in the suffering of her prey. It was the thrill of the hunt that drove her. A need matched only by her desire to clean up the streets, to act when others would not, in the forgotten neighborhoods where the cops and capes would never venture. Not before the city was burning. Not before it was too late.

"Don't worry about it-"

"What's that? Speak up."

"The name's Tarmack not Concrete Face," a deep voice full of gravel and rocks boomed, accompanied by the rasping laughter of the unnamed woman.

"Fuck," Mari managed.

Mari was prepared for the flying improvised projectiles, but she wasn't expecting a gunfight, and the rounds of 9 millimeter parabellum that came racing towards her sent her diving behind a wooden barrier for cover. The heavy hammer like thud of the gun firing in her direction sent Mari scrambling towards a simple block of concrete. The 124 grain hollow points propelled at more than 1200 feet per second easily punched through the thin wood, smashing into the wall behind her. Covering her head with her arms, Mari pushed herself closer to the ground.

"God dammit, Tiny, no guns, I said no guns," Tarmack roared over the shooting, slamming a great fist down on an innocent dumpster that exploded in a cloud of recently recycled plastic. Mari heard a loud thud, a lower scream, and peaked her head over the wooden barrier to see the gunman collapsed on the sidewalk. The giant hands of the concrete monster loomed above his prone form and Mari could hear the big man hurling insults at the his unconscious colleague.

Mari could hear the sirens getting closer. Burning buildings and gunshots tended to cause a scene. Pyrotechnics attracted the sort of crowd she preferred to avoid. Firefighters, EMTs, and cops, lots of cops, lots of cops with guns.

"И Все идет по плану. Все идет по плану," Nancy sang as Mari dodged a burning car that came crashing to the ground in front of her before somersaulting through a glass bus stop that shattered into a mixture of glass, demolished car parts, and burning petrochemicals.

"What's that?" Mari panted.

"And everything is going according to plan. Everything is going according to plan," Nancy repeated in the same unfamiliar language. But this time the words made sense. Mari could understand him.

"Great plan, really great plan, Nancy," Mari growled back, stumbling down the alley, desperately trying to keep her feet moving. "I love the part where it ends with me getting my head smashed in by a fucking pile of sentient asphalt or shot by some trigger happy cop that thinks I'm gonna disintegrate him with my laser eyes."

"Just trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Trust me."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because tonight, my dear girl, I'm going to teach you how to fly."

---

Weaving through traffic, Officer Mikhailov, respected ten year veteran of the Dakota PD raced towards the scene of the latest crime. He had no real bead on the situation. All he'd gotten from dispatch was chaos. Multiple fires. Multiple casualties. Gunshots reported. Metahumans. Mikhailov could feel the sweat running down his brow. Protect and serve, sure. He knew the drill. His father had been a cop, his father had been a cop, countless generations of Mikhailov's had worn the Blue since the family had come to the country. Mikhailov knew his duty. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones. But, he hadn't signed up to fight monsters. What good was a gun against a metahuman?

Mikahilov did not see the large crow that came flying out of an adjacent alley until it was almost too late. He slammed his brakes and let out a string of curses as he fought against the wheel. He juked his patrol car to the right, preying that there were no pedestrians on the sidewalk. The row of trash cans that he barreled into sent week old garbage flying across his windshield and his car careening into the wall of the nearest building.

Drawing his firearm and stepping out of his car in a swift, well-practiced motion, Mikahilov found himself standing in the aftermath of a battle. An entire block's worth of cars lay scattered across the streets and sidewalks around him. Two crumbling buildings roared with flames and a third threatened to follow. Tied to a mailbox he found two people. A young man with a deep cut on his arm and a woman who looked liked she taken quite the beating. Her nose was certainly broken and he didn't doubt that she was missing some teeth.

Sighing loudly, Mikahilov gazed at the growing inferno. He hoped the fire department were putting the pedal to the metal, they wouldn't have much time. Removing his cap, Mikahilov brought his radio to the his mouth,"Dispatch, this is Officer Mikahilov, how about next time you send me into a war zone, you give me a bigger gun."

[Admiral Moskau]

Teg (Cora)

Post 1

---

Teg's head was pounding. She'd spent the day and night of respite that Maria had generously offered them, resting. Which meant that she had been drinking and gambling at a prodigious pace usually only matched by those facing an imminent and gruesome death. In a matter of hours she'd managed to gamble away at least a months worth of credits in the backroom parlor of an undoubtedly illegal bar filled to the brim with pirates. Drunk off of some strange beverage that the passed as drinkable to the Glao, she'd accused no less than three of her fellow revelers of cheating and almost started a gunfight before the bartender had politely asked her to put her pistol away. Teg reflected with a smile that it was the shotgun that he was pointing at her head that really sold it. A round of drinks bought with the last of her credits settled the matter and Teg left the bar in the early morning in search of food certain that she had made several new friends.

Broke, still drunk, and full of joy Teg had thus returned to the ship well after breakfast. She noted with great pride that her attire was only a bit ruffled and that she hadn't even lost her hat. In a tragedy of epic proportions, Teg's dreams of sleep were unfortunately shattered when the Captain grabbed her the second she boarded the ship. Muttering dark threats and mentioning the value of haste, the Captain had assigned her to the loading party. Teg felt certain that loading heavy crates of dubious legality had never been part of the original job pitch, but she knew all to well that there was no strong union of space mercenaries to shoulder her righteous cause. She would have to suffer quietly yet again.

Struggling with a crate full of what she felt was the heaviest ammunition the she could reasonably remember ever having carried, Teg only vaguely listened to what the Captain and Socket were discussing. It was too early in the morning for talking, especially loud talking. However, the mention of a guest set electric charges of recognition surging through the alcohol addled synapses of her brain.

"Tall, creepy looking dude with a suit of metal armor?" Teg began, happily dropping the crate of ammunition with a loud bang. Turning towards the Captain and Socket, Teg lazily scratched the back of her neck and perched lightly atop the crate. "Yeah, I saw him. He was sharpening his blades and staring daggers at a cup of coffee in the mess hall. I'm not sure if he knows it's for drinking. Someone should probably make sure that he doesn't murder Kev. Or more importantly stop him before he decides to interrogate our coffee," she added with a shrug of her shoulders.

[Admiral Moskau]

Nemeia

Post 1

---

"Nem of the Shield Brethren?" a voice loudly asked as the door to the small tea house was thrown wide open, ushering in unwelcome rays of far too bright sunshine.

"Yes, yes," Nem irritably replied with a dismissive wave of a hand. Her red eyes did not leave the small carved figures that lined the painted wooden board that lay on the table in front of her and she made no effort to acknowledge the new arrival, hopeful that he would leave if she just ignored him.

A well-practiced cough followed, dashing her hopes,"Nem the Adventurer, your presence is requested at the guild hall."

"Can it wait?" Nem tersely asked, unwilling to relinquish the victory she sensed was nearly at hand.

"Afraid not. We're almost late as it stands. It wasn't easy to find you," the guild runner chided, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sleeve of his dust covered shirt.

"I wasn't expecting to be summoned," Nem glowered.

"You and me both, sister," the guild runner began in agreement, his eyes glazing over with fond memories of recent, happier times. "There I was with a half a flagon of mead and a pretty enough girl when–"

Interrupting the guild runner mid monologue with a raised hand and defeated sigh, Nem pushed her chair away from the table. Moving to stand, she grabbed her two handed sword, and offered an apologetic nod towards her puzzled opponent. The arrival of the guild runner had saved the old merchant from a humiliating loss, but Nem would not forget. She would have her victory, one day or another, she could only be distracted for so long.

Stepping into the bright daylight, Nem approached the guild runner, "It's unusual for them to summon adventurers on such short notice, do you know why they asked for me?"

"No, you know they don't tell me much, sister," the guild runner offered apologetically. "Just what I need to know to do my job. Between you and me though, this one seemed important."

"Important? Important, how?"

"Seems the guild master asked for you by name. You and some other adventurers. Don't ask me who, it was hard enough to remember your name. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Following lightly in the footsteps of the man as he lead her towards the guild hall, weaving through crowded streets, Nem made no effort to hide the small smile that took form on her lips. It had been too long since her last proper adventure.

[Admiral Moskau]

Nemeia

Post 2

---

In a deliberate, slow motion, the big man leaned his head forward and spat onto the floor in Nemeia's direction.

"Nothin' for you here."

One Who Tames

Nem could not be certain what it was that had so angered the grizzled looking guild officer, but she did have her suspicions. The Lowlands, despite the pleasant weather, were not generally a welcoming place for those touched by the infernal planes. In the Highlands and along the Swamp Road she had been viewed with a healthy dose of caution for her features. Her curved horns, her red eyes, and her tail, had drawn unwanted attention, but she had been tolerated. She had been seen as a tame monster, a useful if not necessary evil. Another friendly blade was more important than the appearance of the wielder in the untamed parts of Terrenum. However, in the South, in the fertile Lowlands, in the heart of civilization, she was hated, and she was feared.

The young tiefling knew better than to respond in anger. A guild member did not draw their weapons against a fellow guild member, no matter how tempting the prospect might be.

"This token and the runner that you dismissed say otherwise," Nem said, holding up the stylized copper symbol of the guild to the light cast by one of the windows. "I'm here at the behest of the Guild Master, not you."

[Admiral Moskau]

Nemeia

Post 3

---

Nem pretended to carefully study the elaborate silver medallion that the scarred man wore. Focusing on the details of the amulet was distracting and gave her time to think. She did not fully understand the strange obsession that the Lowlanders had with mostly useless chunks of metal and their love of elaborate, pointless hierarchies. Especially when those obsessions meant that an old warrior who seemed well-past his prime had the power to make her life difficult.

Had she been in the Highlands or the wilds, Nem would have simply resolved the matter with a sword. It was her experience that a sharp or pointy object was usually a good way to clear a wide path of passage through almost any obstacle. In the sanctity of the guild hall, Nem had no intention of drawing her blade first. But she would not cower. And she would not meekly surrender to the guild officer. She would not silently trudge out of the guild hall with her head bowed in shame. She would not give the scarred, wounded man that satisfaction. If she could not choose her victory then she would at least choose the manner of defeat that suited her temper.

Turning towards the nearest guild runner, a young man, barely grown out of childhood, who appeared to be doing his best to turn invisible, Nem pointed past the guild officer blocking her path,"Guild runner, would you please tell the Guild Master that Nemeia Naïlo has arrived as requested and humbly awaits her orders."

[Admiral Moskau]

Nemeia

Post 4

---

Nem allowed a frown to pass over her features. She didn't begrudge the guild runner his polite refusal. Runners that made of a habit of ignoring the orders of their superiors did not last long. They were never that hard to replace, there were enough street urchins milling about River City to see to that. Still, Nem could not help but be a bit disappointed. She'd nursed a small hope that the the guild runner would have been a bit more of a rebel. The boy had at least been more curious than afraid, which was a welcome surprise.

Returning her attentions to the portly guild officer, Nem forced a smile, inadvertently displaying her sharp canines, "You play strange games for an officer of the guild."

Nodding towards the leg he seemed to favor she raised her voice slightly, "How long before you tire and let me do my job? The very same job that our superior tasked me with."

[Admiral Moskau]

Teg (Cora)

Post 2

---

Readjusting her bespoke coat, Teg cheerfully sauntered towards the cockpit. She hated loading boxes. She didn't mind physical labor, but boxes, boxes were just not very fun. More importantly, leaving the Hub behind meant that they'd be in space, which meant that she was off the clock, at least unofficially. Unless something interesting happened. Like pirates, she loved pirates. They were so much fun to shoot at.

There was little for the gunslinger to do during takeoff, but she wasn't going to miss a front seat view. Since as far back as she could remember, Teg had been fascinated by space and space ships. It had simply been a strange twist of fate that she'd earn her way across the galaxy by making holes of various sizes in various sized humans and aliens.

Making her way through the tight corridors of the ship, Teg considered the tense interaction between Socket and Andrea with a rueful grin. She knew there was beef between the two crew-members. As far as she could tell it was mostly based on mutual obsession with their rust bucket of a ship, but she hadn't ruled out some strange sort of romantic triangle between the two humans and the ship. Mechanics and pilots were a strange lot after all. And space was cold, so cold, and lonely. A student of the human condition, Teg recalled with some amusement that significant amounts of time spent traveling the interstellar seas could have unexpected effects on the human psyche and her own experience told her that people did very, very odd things to pass the time when stuck on a ship.

Finding an empty seat on the bridge with a prime view, that wasn't reserved for Andrea, the Captain or the first mate, Teg gleefully buckled herself in.

She was ready to fly.

She was ready for adventure.

[Admiral Moskau]

Satra Maral

OoC

How long do you usually write?
One to two paragraphs to several paragraphs depending on what flows best. I've found that in the long run, a workable post posted in a timely fashion is better than a perfect post two weeks too late.
Do you enjoy writing collaborative posts for things like conversations, combat, etc.?
I love collaborative posts. I do however like to get them done in a timely fashion (so as to avoid getting stuck).
Is grammar and depth of writing important to you?
Yes, and yes.
Are there any writing subjects you particularly enjoy exploring?
Intrigue, morally ambiguous situations, and generally anything clever.
Is there anything you really dislike and want to avoid like the plague?
Sexual violence and bad writing.
Is there something you are uncomfortable with happening to your character?
Nah, life's a bitch and then you die.
Do you have any short-term or long-term goals with this character?
Short-term, I'd like to throw my character into some interesting situations. I'd mostly like to begin by attaching my character to an interesting superior within the Sith Empire. Long-term, I'd love to wax philosophical about what it means to do bad things for what you perceive to be the right reasons and what it means to be soldier in a universe with laser sword wielding wizards. In short, I'm pretty flexible and my chief focus is having fun with others in whatever RPs I am involved with (this is a collaborative medium after all).

Imperial personnel files

Name: Satra Maral
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Lieutenant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialisation: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Current place of Service: [Access Denied] Unreported / Unknown
Sphere of influence: Military Offense / Imperial Intelligence

Imperial Intelligence Reports

_{Detailed appearance. Imagery insufficient.}

Despite wearing a uniform well, Satra Maral is unremarkably average in stature. Her skin is a pale shade of white and her eyes are a paler blue still. Practical to the bone, Maral keeps her hair perennially shorn short and a shade of white unless altering it as part of a disguise. A professional soldier for much of her life, she possess an athletic build supported by hard-won cords of muscle that are only apparent upon a very close examination of her person. Maral carries herself confidently and with a great seriousness, but she goes to great lengths to avoiding standing out while operating in the field. In line with her role as a covert operative, the young woman lacks any particularly memorable scars or tattoos.

Maral's manner of dress changes with the mission. More often than not, she wears civilian attire appropriate to the particular planet she is operating on. Her fellow operatives have reported that she looks good in a dress.

Encrypted Image - Imperial Intelligence Training Database

_{Report on skills and talents, including level of skill}

Official Imperial records maintained on Korriban indicate that Satra Maral completed her compulsory education with top marks and joined the Imperial Army early at the age of 17.

Maral, Satra: Imperial Records - Security Level 2 - SECRET

Survival: Hostile Planetary Environments - Advanced
Stealth: Infiltration, Espionage, and Evasion - Advanced
Medical: Battlefield Medicine - Intermediate
Electronics: Surveillance and Slicing - Intermediate
Mechanical: Maintenance, Field Repairs, and Jury Rigging - Intermediate
Piloting: Terrestrial Vehicles - Intermediate
Piloting: Starships - Intermediate
Linguistics: Boccee - Intermediate
Linguistics: Huttese - Intermediate
Linguistics: Durese - Basic

_{Report on known combat experience, training and weapons training.}

Highly classified documents buried deep within the most secure databases of the Imperial Intelligence indicate that Lieutenant Satra Maral is a former Imperial commando currently assigned to a covert operations unit.

Records retrieved from the Imperial Intelligence Combat Training Database, Security Level 1, TOP SECRET

Combat Experience - Elite
Combat Leadership: Platoon Level - Advanced
Marksmanship - Advanced
Close Quarters Combat - Intermediate
Explosives - Intermediate

_{Report on role, specialization and responsibilities pertaining to the subject’s military deployment}

Official Imperial Military records suggest that Lieutenant Satra Maral is simply an officer in the Imperial Army. Highly classified records reveal that she is the commanding officer of a small, elite unit of Imperial Intelligence combat personnel.

Her current deployment and exact whereabouts are unknown.

_{Detailed notes on political influence and associates.}

[Access Denied]

_{Detailed notes on known rivals and enemies, outside and within the Empire.}

[Access Denied]

_{List and description of other known associates, including subordinates.}

[Access Denied]

_{List of known all ownerships, including vessels, non-standard equipment, slaves and locations.}

[Access Denied]

_{Psychological evaluation of candidate.}

Records retrieved from the Imperial Intelligence Medical Database, Security Level 1, TOP SECRET

Summary of Psychiatric Evaluation of Lieutenant Satra Maral, Conducted 11.00, 1.NYF.1333 PCE:

To begin, I would like to report that Lieutenant Satra Maral has passed the standard battery of psychological evaluations required as part of established Imperial Intelligence protocol following extended clandestine operations within Republic space with flying colors. She does not appear to suffer from any mental disorders, nor does she appear to have been compromised by protracted contact with citizens of the Republic. Similarly, reports from her superiors and informants embedded with her unit do not raise any red flags about her loyalties to the Empire or her recent performance. In short, my recommendation is that Lieutenant Satra Maral be allowed to continue her service to the Empire within Imperial Intelligence Special Task Force [Redacted].

I have included some additional notes concerning our brief conversation below.

While I would describe Lieutenant Maral as personable, there is something forced about her friendliness, and I couldn't help but feel as if she was merely adopting a prescribed role, if exceedingly well. However, examining her records, I suspect this may simply be a product of her time at the Imperial Military Academy on Korriban which is notorious for the rigid, in my view almost cruel discipline and strict decorum enforced within the institution, often at the hands of an attached Sith Lord.

Maral is confident and maintains a noticeable degree of arrogance that I have found to be endemic among Imperial Intelligence agents. She is clearly quite proud of her growing number of operational successes, but upon closer examination it is clear that she is conscious of the immoral, grisly and unethical aspects of her profession, necessary as it may be for the safety of the Empire. When I pressed Maral on this matter, she quickly become defensive and even angry, loudly contending that all of her work was done for the benefit of the Empire. Further, it is imminently clear that the Lieutenant possesses an ambitious streak and I anticipate that she has high hopes for future promotions.

Her direct commanding officer, General Kalira Kilvaari, reports that Maral is a stern, exacting officer who is willing to make the quick, difficult choices demanded of a good Imperial officer.

Reports from her subordinates indicate that in command, Maral is extremely secretive about her plans and extremely meticulous about military discipline. This secretive nature does not always stand her in good stead with her subordinates, who are often not aware of her overall operational intentions until the last minute, and who have occasionally complained of being left out of key decisions. From our brief conversation it is clear that she has little patience with those unfamiliar with the intricacies of espionage work and she has as an unfortunate habit of publicly questioning superior officers when it is clear that they are not aware of deficiencies in their operational plans.

- Doctor Kerk Sivron, Military Psychiatry Evaluations Division, Imperial Medical Corps

_{List and description of known and suspected flaws. To be put into restricted database.}

Records retrieved from the Imperial Intelligence Personnel Database, Security Level 1, TOP SECRET

Watcher Niachei,

You asked for it, so here it is, every little bit of dirt I could find out about Lieutenant Satra Maral.

Maral is good, real good. For an Imperial Commando that is, but she's no force user, she's no true Sith. And definitely not the daughter of some wealthy trader or career politician with connections back on Dormund Kaas. She's just another high and mighty spook who thinks that she alone can save the Empire from disaster. Still, she seems to know her place in the hierarchy of the Empire. She knows when to kneel at the feet of those above her. But gods above is she arrogant when she's with the rank and file. Some of the troops have taken to calling her the Ice Queen. Not very creative, but it sums her up nicely. She wouldn't know when to stop and take a break if you shot her to make a point. Maral is as cold as they come and she runs her unit as if she is preparing them for a suicide run on Coruscant some time next week. She's a real bitch, is what I am saying.

Did I mention that she's ambitious? Because she is. I don't doubt for a second that she is already planning her next move up the military ladder. A souped up intelligence officer like her, couldn't just sit around and wait for the gears of the system to slowly turn. She doesn't trust the bureaucrats enough for that. I did mention she was arrogant, right?

Speaking of, maybe someone should look into the company she keeps while on ops? Lieutenant Maral is far too ideologically flexible for my liking, at least when it comes to finding and cultivating her assets. She has made a habit of allying with all sort of scumbags and undesirable individuals, even criminals, so long as it serves the mission. Now, don't get me wrong. I understand a little bit of pragmatism in the field, but cooperating with alien scum, cutthroat space gangsters, and drug-addled smugglers is taking it a step too far. Worse, while I do not doubt her patriotism and loyalty to the Empire, she shows no particular disdain for loyal citizens of the Galactic Republic. She sees them as the enemy, as do we all of course, but she appears to truly believe that they are simply misguided.

Last of all, although I haven't been able to confirm it, I've heard rumors that Maral had some recent trouble with an Inquisitor. No one is willing to tell me the exact details, but from what little I can gather it was some real cloak and dagger type of stuff. It seems that the good Lieutenant might have lead her unit in a clandestine operation to save one of Darth Embrus's favorite apprentices from a summary execution. You might be wondering, was the apprentice actually guilty of whatever crimes the Inquisitor had accused her of committing? I doubt it. It smelled like a political hit job, a very clumsy one, so I did some digging. It was hard to miss that the story didn't add up. Not unless you wanted it to. Darth Embrus has managed to make a number of enemies. Sith being Sith, someone wanted to even the score. Was rescuing his apprentice for the good of the Empire? Probably, it was certainly for the benefit of Darth Embrus. But it doesn't matter, what matters is that Maral and her marauders stepped on some toes. Not that I think Maral cares, she keeps on spouting the same old shit about serving the Empire and the greater good.

A good damn fanatic is what she is...

- Private Specialist Wolam Wren, Imperial Intelligence Informant

_{Known interests of the candidate.}

Maral is known to be overly fond of [redacted] and enjoys [redacted] in [redacted]. She is also a noted expert in [redacted].

_{Major achievements on record.}

Maral, Satra: Commendations - Imperial Records - Security Level 1 - TOP SECRET

• Graduated at the top of her class in the Imperial Military Academy on Korriban
• As part of a covert reconnaissance unit Maral provided detailed information concerning the planetary defense grid of Coruscant and Republic military forces stationed on the planet.
• Participated in operations targeting military communications and Republic military leadership at the start of the Sith invasion of Coruscant.
• As a Second Lieutenant, Maral lead a platoon of Imperial commandos in several successful military operations targeting Republic and Jedi forces providing clandestine support to resistance fighters on Balmorra.
• Promoted to Lieutenant following the rotation of her unit back to Imperial space.
• Transferred to Imperial Intelligence and assigned command of a small special forces task force charged with conducting covert operations far behind Republican lines.
• Responsible for the discreet capture of a high value target, the Jedi Knight Telo Mai, with only minor casualties to her unit.

_{Major failures on record. Confidential.}

Maral, Satra: Demerits - Imperial Intelligence Database - Security Level 1, TOP SECRET

• Walked into an ambush as a result of bad intelligence. As a result, she was forced to lead her unit in a bloody tactical withdrawal.
• Disobeyed a direct order from a commanding officer during an covert operation targeting a high ranking Galactic Republic general on Alderaan. Disregarding an order to withdraw, Maral instead lead her unit in a spirited attack resulting in a large number of civilian causalities, in addition to the death of the Galactic Republic general. While her commanding officer was understandably displeased, he was overruled by an accompanying Sith Lord who praised the aggressiveness of the young officer.
• Went dark while conducting clandestine operations on Coruscant with a small unit of handpicked Imperial Intelligence agents. Refused repeated requests by her handler, Admiral [Redacted] to reestablish communication due to purported concerns that unnecessary transmissions would lead to detection by the GSIS.

_{Personal biography, as detailed by the subject for use in imperial archives. Acquired shortly after
last achievement of note.}

Maral, Satra: Personal Evaluation - Imperial Intelligence Internal Review Database - Security Level 1 - TOP SECRET

Following your request, I have performed a thorough background check and compiled all known information about Lieutenant Satra Maral, currently stationed aboard the [Redacted] as part of Operation [Redacted].

Satra Maral was born on Korriban in 1306 PRE to loyal Imperial subjects Jacinto and Lesa Maral. Her father, Jacinto Maral was a Sergeant in the Imperial Navy and died in the Battle of Hoth, 1315 PRE, when the starship he was serving on, the Imperial warship Enforcer, crashed onto the surface of Hoth. Her mother, Captain Lesa Maral, is a pediatric specialist serving in the Sith Academy on Korriban.

Imperial Medical Corps records indicate that Satra Maral was not found to exhibit any noticeable level of force sensitivity during regularly required testing. However, as she scored highly on all other standardized tests, both mental and physical, she was fast-tracked into an experimental program intended to help develop the next generation of Imperial soldiers.

Following the completion of her primary education, Satra Maral was assigned to complete her studies at the Imperial Military Academy on Korriban. Reports from superiors and informants within the academy are unanimously positive, emphasizing the growing abilities of Maral and her deep, almost fanatical loyalty to the Empire. By the time of her graduation from the academy, Maral had reached the rank of Sergeant.

Graduating at the top of her class, Satra Maral was posted to the Imperial Commandos at her own request.

As part of the 7th Imperial Commandos, Sergeant Maral participated in reconnaissance operations that targeted the planetary defense grid of Coruscant and Republic Military forces stationed on the planet. Remaining on planet until the subsequent offensive operation, later popularly known as the Sacking of Coruscant, Maral was involved in clandestine operations aimed at eliminating Republic military leadership and communications networks. In recognition of her actions on Coruscant, Satra Maral was promoted to Second Lieutenant.

Reassigned to the 9th Imperial Commandos, Second Lieutenant Satra Maral lead a platoon of commandos in a series of successful military operations targeting Republic military and Jedi forces providing clandestine support to resistance fighters on Balmorra. In a period of fourteen months, Maral and her unit accumulated an impressive number of enemy combatant kills, while maintaining an acceptably low number of civilian casualties, and gathered intelligence which helped to reveal the Republic funded smuggling racket that was supporting the resistance movement. On the return of her unit to safely controlled Imperial space, Maral was promoted to Lieutenant.

In light of her capabilities, experience, and loyalty to the Empire the newly promoted Lieutenant Satra Maral was reassigned to Imperial Intelligence and given command of a special task force intended to operate deep behind Republic lines.

Recent, unconfirmed records sent by General Kalira Kilvaari suggest that Lieutenant Satra Maral and her unit were responsible for the recent capture of the noted Jedi Knight Telo Mai, with only minor casualties to her unit.

- Watcher Cyern Niachei, Reporting to Keeper Vosca Quorr

Maral, Satra: - Imperial Intelligence Sith Database - Security Level 1 - TOP SECRET

Major Sunfell has proven to be a great disappointment.

I have nurtured his career since his humble beginnings at the Imperial Military Academy on Korriban with the hope that he might one day exceed my expectations for his kind and prove to be a useful tool. It pains me to admit that as amusing of a distraction as he has been, he appears to have he reached his limits. I have no use for a soldier overly concerned with mercy.

His subordinate, Lieutenant Maral, however, fills me with renewed optimism.

Raised on Korriban, she knows her place, she always has. She fears me, as she rightly should, but she is only cautious, her fear does not influence her judgments or affect her performance. The poor creature may not be touched by the force, but she appears to understand how the unenlightened should act towards those capable of using the force. The Sith of Korriban taught her well, they shaped her into a fine, useful servant.

She is unburdened by compassion, as Sunfell seemed to be, so many years ago.

She did not hesitate to order the attack on the makeshift headquarters that the desperate Republic command had fled to in a futile attempt to rally their troops. Despite the hopelessness of their situation they fought to the last. Sunfell was right, of course. Many Alderaan civilians perished in the door to door fighting that followed. Many loyal Imperial soldiers perished as we chased the Republic scum, like rats, into the sewers. Where Major Sunfell hesitated, Lieutenant Maral was unwavering.

I felt all of their fear and all of their suffering as we hunted them. I tasted their hope as it died along with them. It was glorious.

Republic General Juris Vermetter was a dangerous foe. He was responsible for the deaths of far too many Sith. He was an irreplaceable commander for the RSIS. It gives me great pleasure to know that his last moments were spent in terror as Lieutenant Maral brought most of a city block crashing down upon him.

Addendum: Inform General Kilvaari that Major Sunfell's shuttle back to Dromund Kaas is to suffer an unfortunate accident.

- Sith Lord Nyla Mashayekhi

Maral, Satra: Mission Debriefing K7 - Imperial Intelligence Operations Database - Security Level 1 - TOP SECRET

"At ease, Lieutenant, at ease. Welcome back to the [Redacted]. Have a seat, please."

"Thank you, sir."

"Congratulations on a successful operation! Not many Sith, much less Imperial soldiers have managed to capture a Jedi Knight alive, Lieutenant."

"They're not easy prey, sir, even when you catch them in an ambush."

"Crafty buggers aren't they? Nonetheless, the report I have here says that your unit only suffered minimal casualties. Care to explain, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir. We lost Sergeant Carlon, Coporal Lendix, and Private Saar as part of a parallel diversionary operation that I had assigned to Delta and Sigma squad. Their orders were to target the safe house that the RSIS had established on the planet. We managed to catch the RSIS sleeping, they didn't even know we were on planet, but with the mission parameters in mind some casualties were unavoidable. I knew I didn't have enough troopers to fight off an entire planetary garrison, but I also knew that I had enough troopers to bag a station chief and his support staff. The gambit caused the necessary amount of chaos in the Republican ranks for us to complete our mission in accordance with our instructions from Lord [Redacted]."

"To clarify, for the record, you risked two entire squads of soldiers and sacrificed three of our most highly trained agents just to create a distraction?"

"Yes, sir. With all due respect, it was a very successful distraction. More importantly, it had to be done to ensure the success of the mission. The Galactic Republic planetary high command was in complete disarray after our diversionary strike. We would never have been able to launch our primary operation if they had not been busy chasing ghosts throughout the capital of [Redacted]. Three Imperial agents for a Jedi Knight is a trade I would make again without a moment of hesitation."

"Certainly, Lieutenant, I only wish that more of our commanders understood that one has to suffer casualties to win a war, cold as the war may currently be. It is a lesson our esteemed colleagues in the RSIS have been slow to learn. They still limit themselves based on antiquated ideas of morality and rules of war."

"As you say, sir."

"My apologies, Lieutenant...where were we? Ah yes, how exactly did you manage to capture the Jedi Knight?"

"We kidnapped his daughter."

"He had a daughter? That wasn't in his dossier."

"I know, sir."

"Did the Jedi Order know?"

"Unlikely. It took us quite some time to find out and our methods were far more...creative than those traditionally employed by the Jedi Order. And we were thorough, very thorough."

"Your informant?"

"Eliminated."

"Who were they?"

"A local doctor, Geda Zhet, formerly of the Galactic Republic Army Medical Corps. He was an old friend of the captured Jedi Knight. They had served together in the war. He had helped to deliver the child."

"Was it difficult to turn him?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"As part of Operation [Redacted] we had infiltrated the record repository of the Republic courts on [Redacted]. One of my subordinates discovered that Zhet's son had been arrested several months ago by Galactic Republic Security Forces for running an kyber crystal smuggling ring at the request of the Jedi Master assigned to the planet. He was rotting away in some jail cell. Convicted for life. It was an easy sell, sir."

"Clever. Continue, please."

"Of course, sir. Once we had secured the child of the Jedi Knight, it was simply a matter of delivering an encrypted holovid message to his household. I offered him a trade. His life for hers. One, only one chance for an exchange. At a location of my choosing. That we had selected and prepared weeks before."

"And he agreed?"

"He did. Without question."

"Did he resist once he arrived at the exchange site?"

"No, sir. I suspect the explosives helped. Even a Jedi Master would have been hard pressed to remove the several spools of Flex-5 Detonite Tape that I had wrapped around the child."

A low chuckle is recorded.

"Had he alerted RSIS or the Order?"

"No."

"How can you be sure."

"We were watching him the entire time and monitoring all communications within the operational area."

"Were you detected leaving the planet?"

"No, sir. As far as we can tell RSIS only realized our plot when they discovered Doctor Zhet's body several days after we had left the system."

"And the girl?"

"Sent to the Sith Academy Korriban per the instruction of Lord [Redacted]. She reported that the girl may be showing early signs of force sensitivity and felt that further examination was warranted."

"Excellent. Thank you for your time, Lieutenant. Before we terminate this interview, the General wanted me to personally convey to you, on the record, how pleased she is with the success of this operation. As such she has seen fit to recommend you for the appropriate commendations."

"Thank you, sir, but I was only doing my job."

- Audio Recording: Interviewer: High Colonel Sarkin Ziracch, Subject: Lieutenant Satra Maral, Commanding Officer of Unit [Redacted]

[Admiral Moskau]

975th Special Duties Construction Training Battalion

975th Special Duties Construction Training Battalion - Security Level 1, TOP SECRET

975th Special Duties Construction Training Battalion

Constructing a New Future for the Empire

---

Unit Information:

Full Title: Imperial Intelligence Special Task Force: 975th Special Duties Construction Training Battalion

Purpose: Asymmetric Warfare, Infiltration, Demolition, Sabotage, Assassination, Kidnapping, and Intelligence-gathering

Basic Info: Shrouded in secrecy and known only to the most high ranking personnel in the Imperial Intelligence, the 97th Special Duties Construction Training Battalion is a special task force within Imperial Intelligence tasked with conducting a variety of covert operations deep behind enemy lines. In a departure from standard operating procedure in the burgeoning Sith Empire, the 975th recruits heavily from non-human species and normally undesirable elements of intergalactic society. An elite and fanatically loyal unit, members of the 975th benefit from a unique training regimen developed by Imperial Intelligence. In order to facilitate independent operation behind enemy lines and to allow members of the unit to adopt a number of cover identities throughout the course of a mission as required, members of the 975th are trained in a remarkably broad range of conventional and unconventional skills that range from sabotage to star ship piloting. All personnel within the 975th are also cross-trained in the use of Sith Empire and Galactic Republic equipment and vehicles. With the expectation that they should be able to operate as both soldiers and intelligence agents, are afforded an unparalleled degree of latitude in the performance of their duties. Finally to ensure that the 975th can operate clandestinely, each member of the 975th is required to be fluent in several languages as well as being familiar with way of life in operational areas located within Repbulic space where they are deployed.

To anyone outside of the heart of Imperial Intelligence, the 975th is simply a training battalion for Imperial Military combat engineers.

[Admiral Moskau]

975th: Officers

---

Commissioned Officers (3)

Commanding Officer:

Lieutenant Satra Maral

roleplayerguild.com/topics/178855-app…

2nd Lieutenant Gul Diruno

Name: Gul Diruno
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Coruscant
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: 2nd Lieutenant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Executive Officer (XO) / Second in Command (2IC)
Skills:
Description:
Background:

2nd Lieutenant Orin Forto

Name: Orin Forto
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Alsakan
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: 2nd Lieutenant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Non-commissioned Officers (9)

Sergeant-Major Demas Eldin

Name: Demas Eldin
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Corellia
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant-Major
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant-Major Kess Kaiser

Name: Kess Kaiser
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant-Major
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant-Major Dolara Jinn

Name: Dolara Jinn
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant-Major
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Siot Tierney

Name: Siot Tierney
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Aria Foss

Name: Aria Foss
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Kell Jahsop

Name: Kell Jahsop
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Arslan Dusat

Name: Arslan Dusat
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Fiona Karrim

Name: Fiona Karrim
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation:
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Sergeant Marcus Kymeri

Name: Marcus Kymeri
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld: Korriban
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank: Sergeant
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization:
Skills:
Description:
Background:

[Admiral Moskau]

975th: Enlisted Personnel

---

Enlisted (27)

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

Name:
Species: Human
Pureblood percentage: Negligible
Homeworld:
Age: 27
Gender:
Military Branch: Imperial Intelligence
Rank:
Unit/designation: Imperial Covert Operations / Special Forces
Role/specialization: Former Imperial Commando, tapped by Imperial Intelligence to operate a small unit focusing on Unconventional Warfare, Covert Operations, and Reconnaissance.
Skills:
Description:
Background:

[Admiral Moskau]

OoC

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Peacekeepers Holonet Ad

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Peacekeepers Holonet Metadata Summary

_{Detailed appearance. Imagery insufficient.}

_{Report on skills and talents, including level of skill.}

_{Report on known combat experience, training and weapons training.}

_{Detailed notes on common/favored employers and any noteworthy contacts.}

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_{Personal biography, as detailed by the subject for future record. Acquired shortly after last achievement of note.}

[Admiral Moskau]

-

Autumn Hills

Settled in the early 1700s by Eastern European immigrants, Autumn Hills, is one Cedar Fort's many ethnic neighborhoods. Tinged with a darker reputation it is rumored to be home to organized crime elements and occult spirits that tend to discourage outside visitors. Which is a shame, because Autumn Hills is heaven for any visitor who likes charming and/or cluttered curiosity shops, spicy pierogis, or fresh, flavorful pirozhki just out of the oven. Night falls early here though, and Autumn Hill's mystic and crime-ridden reputation keeps most non-residents away after dusk. Brave souls venture out at night to catch the ___ (the Hill's mysterious guardian) on one of her nightly patrols.

Adjoining the neighborhood is the Cemetery. Largely abandoned, the once sprawling cemetery has slowly turned into a dark, twisted forest. Beneath the foliage the grand mausoleums of a bygone era can be found.

[Admiral Moskau]

WIP

Nadya/The Tailor

Full Name: Nadezhda Ivanovna Portnova. She often goes by Nadya or Nadia, but she is called Nadyushenka only by her intimate friends.
Alias: The Tailor
Age: 31
Powers:

Textile Transformation — A natural talent with fabrics, Nadya can transform any piece of cloth that she touches. She can make pieces of cloth stronger and more resistant to damage. She can alter the fundamental properties of a material, making combustible materials fireproof or transforming a cotton vest into an electrically conductive death trap. She can modify the weight of cloth, turning the lightest sports jacket into a burden on not just your wallet but your shoulders. She can shift the color of a fabric, allowing for unparalleled kaleidoscopic variety and reducing the quantity of clothes she has to keep in her closet in order to remain chromatically unpredictable. Even the size of a textile can be adjusted with a brush of her nimble fingers, allowing her to stretch thread as needed. Her powers are limited in scope and range. The greater the change the longer it takes for Nadya to change a fabric and the more focus or effort it requires on her part.

Textile Telekinesis — Nadya is capable of a limited form of telekinesis based on physical contact, controlling fabric with her mind via touch. Sock puppets are downright vicious in her hands.

Vision in Cloth — By focusing all of her attention on a particular piece of torn cloth in her possession, Nadya can perceive the surroundings of the "twin" piece of this fabric (discerning sights and sound in a close radius to the lost bit of cloth), contributing to her success in the lucrative field of corporate espionage.

Weaknesses:

—

—

—

Appearance:

Average in stature, Nadya does her best not to stand out in public. Clashing with this primary goal, Nadya is particularly fond of the color blue and she perpetually keeps her hair dyed a shade of cobalt. However, ever the pragmatist, she prefers to keep her hair shoulder length or shorter. She has blue eyes, deep pools of cerulean, full of caution and carefully controlled thoughts. A friend of the sun and being outside, Nadya while a bit pale thanks to genetics, has a healthy color to her skin and it's hard to imagine she spent her formative years dancing beneath neon lights in abandoned warehouses.

The victim of a highly aggressive sewing machine, Nadya has a gnarly scar on her right hand, a constant reminder of her long since vanquished foe. Any tattoos that Nadya may or may not have are strictly for private viewing.

Fond of exercise and fonder still of surviving on one too many cupcakes, Nadya takes care to remain in good shape, being well-aware that success is sometimes best measured in how fast you can run a mile or how many pull-ups you can manage.

Typical Clothing: Old habits die hard and Nadya is still a tailor at heart. She owns a seemingly endless variety of bespoke clothing. Donning elaborate dresses, fancy skirts, sharp blouses, detailed black jeans, and even the occasional slim fitting suit. Curiously, Nadya always, always wears a long scarf or fashionable tie around her neck. Canvas sneakers fill Nadya with joy, but she'll wear more formal shoes as required. Tragically, high heels will necessitate a sizable bribe or serious threats of bodily harm.

Costumed Appearance: As the Tailor, Nadya wraps herself in swirling layers of cloth that dance across her form. Her body is shrouded by mysterious black fibers that protect her from from cuts, abrasions, and heat. To avoid identification, her head is veiled by a measure of similar fabric that hides the entirety of her face. A long hooded cloak envelopes Nadya in a final fold of fabric. Imbued with her powers over a great length of time, these fabrics are remarkably flexible and resilient even when removed from Nadya's presence.

Equipment:

Needle — Always prepared for trouble Nadya never leaves home without having a needle on her person.

Fine Thread — Nadya carries several meters worth of thread wrapped tightly around her arms. These fibers provide additional material for her to weaponize with her powers.

Origin:

I

Born free, beyond the grasp of the Mega-Corps, in the ruins of a city the corporations had almost, almost forgotten, Nadya had an uneventful and even happy childhood, at least compared to most others living on the fringes of the corporate world.

The city of Saint Petersburg, once one of the greatest cities in the world, had been reduced to rubble in the last great war of the Mega-Corporations. However, life finds a way and from the ashes of the once proud city, a new, smaller, but more efficient city arose. A city of few heroes and many villains, a city ruled by corrupt politicians, the puppets of the criminal organizations which had taken over in the absence of any functioning government, establishing a veritable pirate haven in the new corporate era, a city state of vice and crime that soon dominated the Baltic Sea.

Life in this new city, although possible, was not easy, crime was merely another part of life, and death was never far away. Still, people made due, and found ways to make a living. Nadya's parents owned a small textile business that they operated out of a worn-down warehouse that had seen much better days, profits were uncertain, bribes owed for protection were high, but compared to many, the small family lived well-enough.

Benefiting from a rudimentary education, far above the standards of the Edge, Nadya grew into a clever young woman. Gifted with nimble fingers and an eye for detail, she took to sewing at an early age and found the ancient profession of the tailor to her liking. Driven by ambition and a desire to live beyond the careful, but frugal life her parents had ensure for her and her siblings, Nadya struck out on her own, renting out a small apartment, which she soon filled with fabric of all colors, attractive and functional, intended for the fashionable and for the denizens of the shadows.

Nadya's problems began as her business faltered, following the unfortunate and very suspicious loss of a shipment of poly-paraphenylene terephthalamide thread. Having failed to deliver a sizable sum of very particular sets of woven armor, Nadya discovered that she owed a noteworthy debt to all the wrong people, the sort of people that made other people disappear, and the very sort of people her parents had always told her to avoid.

A series of increasingly uncomfortable encounters with elements of the Russian mafia followed and ended with a cloth garrote wrapped around the young tailor's neck, slowly robbing her of the ability to breathe as darkness overwhelmed her...

II

"So, how'd you get your powers?"

"That's a very rude question to ask, Nails," Nadya replied, a slight smile playing across her face.

"Well, cut me some slack this time," the former soldier turned mercenary replied, a rasping cough shaking his large form. "It's not like you are going to let me walk away this time."

"No, I'm afraid I can't."

"End of the line, huh?"

"Yes."

Withdrawing a cigarette and lighter from a pocket in his coat, Nails spat out blood with a laugh. Putting the cigarette in his mouth, he flicked the lighter opening, showing an impressive amount of control, given the damage his body had taken. The flame of the lighter did not take, however, and with a low curse, it fell from his fumbling hands. Nadya could only presume his limbs were rapidly growing numb. The blood seeping through his flak jacket suggested it was only a matter of time. Moving closer, Nadya picked up the lighter, bringing it closer to the soldier's cigarette, and lighting it in a fluid motion.

"Thanks, kid."

Beneath her mask Nadya simply nodded, taking a seat next to other contractor, her back resting against the cold cement wall.

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Nails smiled, letting out a satisfied sigh, before removing his mask. He was younger than Nadya had thought, perhaps in his early forties, but no more. Removing her own mask, Nadya took the cigarette from Nails, pulling gently, and breathing out a cloud of smoke, before placing the cigarette back between his lips.

"What's it been, two years?"

"Something like that."

"First time I've seen your face, and you know, you don't look half bad, Tailor."

"I could say the same, Nails," Nadya replied managing a smile that wasn't quite as sad as she felt.

"P-Paul, it's Paul," Nails rasped, coughing again.

"Nadya," the young woman answered.

"Right, always figured you for a Nadya."

"Of course."

"So..."

"It was nothing special. How do you say? Just my first time...almost dying," Nadya said with an impish grin.

"Hey, just tell me you didn't get stabbed with a bunch of nails, that was a hella of a way to get some super powers, let me tell you..."

"I don't remember much...just that I was working late. I was at my desk, working on some spiderweave armor, some up-and-coming gangster type had ordered it, rush job, I needed the money so I took it. The chemicals that lined the fibers were new, state-of-the-art. Practically magic. I remember the way they felt running over my hands as I worked with my needle. Then I remember a sound, someone was at the front door...and then...I found I couldn't breathe, there was a cord around my neck, it hurt, it hurt so much, and I saw only darkness."

"Garrote, classic, you must have pissed off some serious people."

"Rossiyskaya mafiya. Russian mafia. They were apparently quite displeased with my inability to pay my debts."

"Always pay your debts, my friend."

"Certainly...that was my intention."

"Alright, so you were about to be offed by some mafia hitman, what happened?"

"It was strange, Paul, as I struggled for breath, I felt a growing connection with the fabric in my workshop, the string on the table felt alive, as familiar to me as my own skin...and then...as if guided by my will, the spool of spiderweave unwound, it struck my assailant with a loud thud, far heavier than string should cause, and then it wrapped around his neck...before promptly removing his head from his body. It had become a strange metal, stronger than anything I had encountered before."

Paul laughed slightly, passing the cigarette back to Nadya, "You know, I never figured you were actually a tailor."

"You never asked," Nadya replied, taking another drag from the rapidly diminishing cigarette, before she gently returned it to Nails. "Are you ready?"

"Sure, just not the face, huh? I'd like to have my ugly mug grace the digital publications just one last time. For old time's sake."

III

Coined a murderer and judged a villain, Nadya fled before the corrupt authorities could capture her. Purchasing a new name and an American passport she made her way to the United States. In the New World she shed her past, embraced her new powers, and vanished into the shadows of the real.



No longer the mild-mannered tailor that she had been, Nadya pursued a new vocation. A specialist with a gift for discretion and tradecraft, she cultivated a reputation as a problem solver. She became a contractor, completing dirty work for corporations, governments, wealthy individuals, and even organized crime syndicates.

Working her way along the Eastern seaboard Nadya eventually made her way to Cedar Fort. Beneath the neon lights of the sprawling city she found a new purpose. Money did not matter. Fame did not matter. Laws did not matter. All that mattered was justice. Only results mattered.

Emerging from the shadows, Nadya struck at the corrupted heart of the city with surgical precision.

Always more of a vigilante than a hero, Nadya maintained a frosty relationship with the authorities that descended into violence.

The masked vigilante known as the Tailor is wanted for multiple counts of assault, kidnapping, and murder.

Encounters between Nadya and the Cedar Fort PD have resulted in extensive collateral damage and casualties.

Subject is wanted for wanted for multiple counts of assault, kidnapping, and murder. Information has been passed on to Interpol

[WIP]: Becomes a vigilante. Ends up teaming up with Hex for a bit. It all goes to shit. She ends up leaving the team. Hangs up her costume.

Summoned by an encrypted message and an old debt, Nadya has returned to Cedar Fort. In a hidden compartment in her briefcase she carries her old suit. It is time to step back into the cold, for Hex.

Personality: Nadya is detail oriented, bordering on obsessive, with a penchant for creativity, both in craftsmanship and in her work. She is thoughtful, cautious, and exceedingly patient, having little interest in rushing a job or being unprepared.

A consummate professional, she has a mercenary mentality well-suited for life as a corporate spy. She prefers to keep things simple, avoiding thoughts about the morality of a job or the consequences of her actions. Of a sound, mental mind, Nadya is simply very good at compartmentalizing her feelings, and separating her self from her job. Violence is a tool, but not a tool she uses lightly, and if given a choice Nadya would prefer to accomplish small acts of good rather than harm.

In private, Nadya is friendly, if understandably slow to open up. However, she is happy to share a noncommittal drink, some food, and a light conversation.

Misc Facts:

Relationship with Hex: Nadya fought together with Hex as a member of an ill-fated attempt at assembling a team of superheroes to combat the rising tide of crime that threatened to overwhelm Cedar Fort. Parting on poor terms, Nadya nonetheless remembers her time with Hex fondly.