[OOC] Mass Effect: Renegade

[Lauder]

@Xanadu

Went through the background and fleshed out Hann as a person a bit! I hope it's a good edit and shows how Hann had become detached from her own emotions.

Hann'Ceedda nar Jalazi

_{Hann'Ceedda nar Jalazi
⟁ 24 ⟁ Female ⟁ Quarian ⟁Infiltrator}

"I like being away from all the action. It allows me to think it's all a game."

---

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

Hann’Ceedda is not an incredibly tall individual standing at just about 5’5” and there is little more she has to despise about herself, other than the standard quarian immune system. Her environmental suit has a predominately light gray coloration patterned with a slightly darker variation of gray and a white which resembles a digital camouflage. The main body of her suit is black with a dark grey elongated hexagonal patterned going all the way down and around the proper body suit. However, her environmental suit has a distinguishable change in that the light on the filter of her mask is not on, never has been and never will be, better for hiding that way.

Through her mask can be seen two glowing eyes and while her facial features are as hidden as any other quarians, Hann’Ceedda’s face can be described as a fairly beautiful young woman. Her lips may not be as full as another woman but her face is heart-shaped and her eyes are a bit narrower than most. Hann’Ceedda has soft cheekbones and there is no blemish or imperfection that can be caused by fights due to the simple fact that it has not felt anything outside of her helmet. The hair under her helmet can be described as a blackened and short cut, barely going past her chin and her bangs neatly kept away from her eyes as to not obstruct anything she might be viewing.

Moving onto her body, it is lithe and combined with her short stature makes her a fairly decent choice for getting into smaller places and hiding. Hann’Ceedda is toned from years of exercise and her thin body mostly comprises of muscle as she takes great care of her form.

---

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

Old Times

Hann’Ceedda was born in the year 2155 CE aboard the ship known simply as the Jalazi, a small transport ship that was actually outside of the Migrant Fleet. Her parents were exiles from the Migrant Fleet as her mother, Mehi’Wiss Vas Rica, was found to be a traitor after a tragic mistake when she nearly compromised her ship’s defense systems by introducing a VI to optimize those defense systems instead had a glitch that nearly broadcasted the system and its weaknesses across space, but it was caught in time when one of the ship's council members managed to isolate the VI when Mehi’Wiss notified him. This, however, did not go over well with the other council members.

Upon her exile, Hann’Ceedda’s father, Roto’Ceedda Vas Rica, took the exile to stay with the one he had loved. One of the Council members, Jila'Rin vas Yeema, who had tried to argue for Mehi to be forgiven, gifted the couple a small ship, the Jalazi, and rations to live out their lives in the galaxy. When Hann’Ceedda was born Mehi’Wiss contracted an illness and shortly died a few weeks after, leaving Roto’Ceedda to be a single father. While Roto could have gone back to the flotilla, he did consider himself an exile as he had taken that punishment upon himself along with the fact that he did not view the Admiralty as being fair to Mehi’Wiss. This meant that Hann’Ceedda grew up with very limited interactions with members of her own species outside of her father. However, the two made the most of their lives and from a young age, Roto’Ceedda instilled the same niche traits of programming that her mother had. Though Roto was never able to truly compare to Mehi’Wiss’s abilities, he managed to spark Hann’Ceedda’s interest.

She loved the time she got to spent practicing what her mother had done in the past and took to it with a great passion as her father would always help her when he had the time. Overall though, the relationship between Hann and her father was a rather disconnected one as, while she loved her father and deeply desired to spend more time with him, Roto always seemed to be caught up in some form of work. The two did spend time together as they were aboard a ship together, but Hann never did get to see what her father was like outside of his work and overall busyness. That does not mean he did not try, but the time did leave for a desire of more than Roto could just not provide while being a work-focused individual. This was very much something Hann did not like, leading to her trying to get his attention in the few moments he wasn’t consumed by work.

In the time to herself, Hann did her best to entertain herself by playing with dolls, practicing her mother’s work, and surfing the Extranet. It was all in a desperate bid to not be boredom her travels, but the Extranet did buy her a new escape, music. Hann would play this music all the time and she used it to entertain herself when her father got busy. She loved the music and it quickly became one of her favorite things in the galaxy that nothing would be able to take away from her, provided no one decided to destroy the Extranet.

The two continued to live as nomads, though they had become scrap traders of some degree as they had to learn the basics of the Alliance’s economy rather quickly in order to make a living. Hann was too little to understand the basics of an economy but she took to it as she grew older, namely due to necessity and her father’s teachings. This was their life up until 2164 CE when Roto took up living as an engineer for a krogan mercenary group, fixing their weapons and armor in exchange for a small portion of their money whenever they accepted a job. Life for Hann was hard in this krogan group, namely through the fact that Hann barely got to have quality time with her father and this drive her to begin to try and make friends with the large, aggressive Krogans. From her times, she can name a few experiences when they dared her to steal something from another, such as ammunition or a gun in general, which normally got her in trouble with the other Krogan, thus she started a trend of lies so that way she wouldn’t have to be physically punished, as was often a quick kick to the chest or a smack across the helmet. While the rough treatment proved to be harsh for a young child, it taught her to be light on her feet and always moving to avoid being caught. Those punishments often led to Roto needing to repair Hann’s suit or treat her sickness as best she could, but the experiences did make her hardier than the average Quarian so she would never complain. Though Roto attempted to limit the interaction between his daughter and the group as a whole, wanting to keep his daughter away from any danger as her mother would have wanted, there was little he could do since he was around them for a long while given the pay was the most he had seen and was worth sitting through as long as Hann listened, which most of the time she didn’t since Roto would pay more attention to her if she bent the rules.

This was Roto and Hann’s life for roughly five years until Hann was caught being taught how to shoot weapons at the age of fourteen. Though the krogans had begun to teach Hann when she was eleven behind Roto’s back whenever he got busy with work. The krogans, namely Wakmor, who had grown to like Hann over the years, had seen it as a necessary thing for a child to learn, especially given how the mercenaries tended to bring danger with them wherever they went. Yet, Hann agreed with Wakmor rather than her father, knowing the galaxy is filled with many dangers and with the two constantly traveling with a mercenary group, they needed to know how to fight. This event caused a rather large rift between Roto and the Krogans, and it left a bad taste in Hann’s mouth, though she never stopped learning how to properly use weapons even despite her father’s orders. Such talks to sway her out of the training typically included, ‘You will always be safe on the ship’, ‘This is not what your mother would have wanted’, and ‘the Krogan just want to use you when you get older’, yet, Hann never listened as Roto just wasn’t seen as authorities figure to her at that point. Eventually, it all boiled over in a one-sided fistfight between Roto and one of the mercenaries that were going over the basic practice of sniper usage with Hann. The only reason that Roto was not killed was that the Krogan, Wakmor, knew that if Roto died there would be little the other Krogan could do to take care of Hann as none of them knew how to care for a Quarian child and Roto simply wasn’t worth killing.

While no one died, Roto did take Hann and abandon the Krogan. Within the rare time they shared, Hann revealed that she had just wanted to be with him and that it was his fault for how things turned out. In defeat, Roto took Hann to the Flotilla in a bid to keep Hann away from harm. It was a day of sadness as while the Migrant Fleet accepted Hann into their ranks, Roto refused to go with her given he had become an exile with Mehi. Hann had yet to hear a single word from her father since that day, though she does attempt to contact him through a myriad of ways that have failed. Additionally, life with her own species proved difficult to acclimate to as she had become used to the harsh, aggressive nature of the krogans that she had grown up knowing. Though among her kind, Hann was able to learn what her mother had been able to do and she followed in those footsteps, practicing her abilities and honing them so that she may understand code and files, as well as her mother, had. The time within the Flotilla was also a time of reflection, finding that she had been too harsh to her father and realizing that what had transpired was her own fault. Hann felt the need to apologize to him and make amends for her words.

When Hann had turned seventeen, only being with the migrant fleet for almost two years, she opted to start on her Pilgrimage so that she may be considered an adult by her people. However, when she left the fleet, she immediately put all the skills she had learned to re-establish a connection with an old krogan friend, Wakmor. Hann used him to attempt to find out where her father’s trail had gone, though Wakmor proved little help.

For over a year, Hann attempted to find the trail of her father, traveling to any system that she remembered from her youth and offering services in retrieving data to make enough credits to continue traveling and surviving. It was frustrating for Hann, who only had dead ends to show for her efforts. At times, she felt like giving up, but her passion to reunite with her father pushed her forward.

In 2173 CE, Hann found a clue of her father’s whereabouts which pointed her to Omega, the hive of scum and villainy itself. Knowing that it may be a suicide run for her, she turned to a group that she had known for a long time, the Damned Ashes, the krogan mercenary group. She knew them to be a fierce group, despite the rift between them and her father, she knew they would be the best choice due to the fact that they were not only Krogan, but skilled Krogan. Hann contacted them under a false name, merely known as Splinter, as to not stir up any past aggression they may have still bared towards her father. With all the money she had accumulated and any services she could have offered them, Hann had managed to get her old friends to aid her aboard Omega.

When they had reached Omega, the group immediately ran into resistance from the local gangs, as the Krogans were already causing trouble and holding guns to anyone and questioning them on where they were holding a hostage, though Hann did her best to mediate any conflict to avoid turning a misunderstanding into an all-out gang war. It took a few days, but Hann did manage to get into contact with a Salarian named Vigern, a local gun runner, who had come into contact with Roto and as it turned out, he was still in Omega. The downside was that he was being held by a gang who had a brilliant idea to try and ransom him back to the Migrant Fleet, whom they had failed to come into contact with.

Having no money, Hann knew she would never be able to afford whatever ridiculous prices the gang attempted to ask from the Flotilla. However, she did have a group of Krogan that were eager for a fight. Hann led the Krogan against the gang, initiating a fierce battle at the gang’s headquarters in the Gozu district. Hann took her old training to heart, shooting from vantage points and coordinating with the Krogan to maximize their use as practical tanks. Eventually, Hann and the krogans managed to breach the headquarters, moving through tight quarters and slaughtering those who opposed them. It was in this attack that Hann found that she did not enjoy the act of killing, but she knew that she had to if she wanted to see her father again.

Hann did manage to come across her father, but the state she found him in was one that made Hann cry more than she ever had before. Roto was chained, malnourished, sick, and atrophied to the point where he was hardly recognizable without his suit. It was the last time Hann would share any words with her father, being told that she should live to find life wherever she wanted so long as she does not have to struggle. That was the life that Roto wanted for Hann, and after those words, Hann took it upon herself to put her father out of his misery, that being his final request and knowing that he would not survive no matter how much Hann tried to help him.

After that event, Hann paid off her debt to the Damned Ashed for three years as a data broker and as an assassin. The Krogan has become impressed with this ‘Splinter’ and her ability to shoot with her sniper, so given she was in debt to them, they made use of her skills. She was twenty-one when she had finally gotten rid of her debt, her hands being riddled in blood and death by the time she was able to call herself free. Though through the blood and mercenary work, Hann had become a more detached individual, no longer viewing the death she brought as bad but now more as an afterthought. In that freedom that she considered returning to the Migrant Fleet to fulfill her pilgrimage, but knowing that she would not belong due to her work of death, abstained from the idea.

Hann would go onto to reclaim the Jalazi, as her father had sold it on Omega to make ends meet. Luckily for her, she knew how to track it as it was most likely one of the only Quarian ships to be used in Omega. This led her right to the Citadel, where she found it had been impounded by C-Sec for smuggling illegal weapons. Hann had to hack into C-Sec’s security network to make the ship appear as stolen and that the Quarian who owned it was going to retrieve it soon, such work was hard given the tight security that C-Sec had, but she managed to pull it off by the skin of her teeth. She had infiltrated C-Sec and only did what she needed, to reclaim something from her past and cling onto it for some time.

Then she was free, living as her people had and becoming a nomad for two more years as she processed all the things she had done and continued to grieve for her father. It was a time for her to clear her mind and decide on what she wanted to do with her life now that she could do whatever she wanted. Eventually, she grew tired of the nomadic life and began to look back into her old work as a mercenary, though she did not plan to return to the predominantly Krogan group. There were too many memories for her to have to face that she would rather not.

After some looking around and selling the Jalazi for some cushion money, and to separate herself from her past, she found work with the crew of the Achilles, offering her services as a sniper and hacker. She had become so desensitized and detached from the killing that she did not seem to care about it all that much and felt that wasting her potential as a sniper was probably not in the best interest of the crew. Then, it was merely time that will tell whether she will drift away as she did from the other groups.

---

_{S K I L L S}

"Keelah, how many passwords does a security system need?!"

Hann’Ceedda, first and foremost, is someone who can bring a lot of electronics expertise to the metaphorical table, being about to find the inner workings of a VI and pull the strings of one given enough time and effort. In a pinch, she can maintain some calm and focus on hacking so long as she is not the one being directly shot at. That said, she is proficient in the art of getting into security systems, she can pull vital information, and doing just about anything she can with her Omni-Tool.

Outside of the realm of hacking, Hann’Ceedda knows her way around a ship, not an expert on everything, but she knows how to repair systems if they are in dire need of them and get any system to be functional. She is a decent repairman, doing what she can to make sure nothing is absurdly broken or inoperable. However, being no expert, she cannot make any modifications, or calibrations, to systems without further outside help.

Additionally, Hann’Ceedda is a woman who knows her way around a sniper, having been taught from a relatively young age makes her highly trained in the weapon. While, for a time, she had gone without practice within the Flotilla, Hann is nonetheless skilled and proficient with these weapons. She is known to be on mark most of the time, though being under fire and other stressful factors have been known to hamper her accuracy. Despite this, Hann is able to fire at exceptionally long ranges, leading shots, and other factors from a vantage point with ease while she is focused on her target. This skill, to a lesser extent, goes to her pistols as well, though it's more of a flare as a sort of quick-draw more than any true skill, at least she can still shoot it.

---

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

Quarian Envirosuit

_{Hann’s Envirosuit is practically a second skin for her, as it is for all Quarians, while it is not armored like the marines of the Migrant Fleet, it does protect her from most environmental threats. The suit also comes with a VI which monitors her health and well being, but also designed to give her a heads-up display on enemies and can zoom in along with her sniper.}

Rosenkov M-97 Viper

_{The M-97 Viper, developed by Rosenkov Materials, is perhaps one of the more odd choice for a sniper given the lower damage per shot. However, this lower damage is offset by its effectiveness against armored targets, it is also one of the only snipers that is also effective against shields and biotic barriers. The weapon is also semi-automatic, allowing for a quicker follow-up shot rather than needing to be reloaded after a single shot like the M-92 Viper. As an addition to the weapon, the scope can display to Hann’s visor so that she may not have to constantly put the scope up to her visor in an awkward fashion.}

Elanus Risk Control M-3 Predator

_{A relatively inexpensive pistol, the M-3 Predator is a rapid-fire weapon that is rather ineffective against shields and biotic barriers. Yet, it proves to be a reliable side-arm when in a pinch and Hann does not seek to use it too often. So long as she shoots first.}

Sirta Foundation Chameleon Tools Omni-Tool

_{The Chameleon Tool was purchased by Hann shortly before joining the Achilles, perhaps out of a thematic choice than a practical one. Though, the Omni-Tool is still capable of allowing Hann to do what she does best, giving her a way to get into things that others would rather not.}

---

_{A B I L I T I E S}

• Decryption
• Sabotage
• Tactical Cloak
• Assassination

---

<sub>PSYCH PROFILE

T R A I T S</sub>

Positive

• Focused
• Passionate
• Precise
  
  Negative
• Detached
• Quarrelsome
• Dishonest

---

_{V I C E S}

Cleaning

_{Hann has developed a habit to clean virtually anything, namely her guns or quarters, but this has been known to extend to hallways and other areas. When she gets into cleaning, there is very little that will stop her save for being called for a mission or having some other pressing matters that require her immediate attention. She developed this habit, not simply from being a Quarian, but because it provides her a means to focus on something other than her past, mainly her father and her people. For her, an escape is a means to hide from the things she does not want to face, even if that would mean lining up a bunch of sticks in an order of size.}

Old Music

_{Hann is a fan of the classics and she loves to listen to them, while this would mainly be human music from the late 1900s and early 2000s, it does extend to other cultures as well. She has a strange fixation to that old human music to the point where she will listen to it while even on missions. When she is posted up in a vantage point, Hann will likely have some old music like “Southern NIghts” or, perhaps one of her favorite songs, “Mr. Blue Sky”. This has been developed through her time of surfing the Extranet, and she uses it as a means to desensitize herself from killing others. The music allows her to treat it more as a game than a true problem of morality.}

---

_{H A U N T}

The Shuttle Bay

<sub>Hann gravitated towards the shuttle bay, having an area that she tends to keep thoroughly sanitized and organized beyond what someone would actively call normal. In this little bubble, she tends to shoo people off with their contaminants and if they wish to talk to her they can wait outside of a specific line. At least she had the courtesy of putting some basic chairs in a substantially smaller area which is so aptly named the ‘Waiting Area”.

The original space was where tool storage was, but that had since been moved to accommodate herself. Now the three-walled area has been converted to resemble a small, confined bedroom with a sleeping bag placed on the floor and an organized assortment of cleaning supplies, books, and pictures of her father and mother. Additionally, there is a music player from which she will be streaming music on a never-ending basis, rather than constantly playing it within her helmet.</sub>

_{D R I V E}

After finding and executing her father, there was little drive that Hann had for going on and she had fallen into a depression while she worked from the Krogan. When she had reunited with the Jalazi one last time, Hann decided to live by her father’s words and find a life to live without any struggle. The life she dreams of is a life where she can finally retire to a planet and do absolutely nothing for the rest for her life; no space travel, no data running, no mercenary work. For that, she needs enough money to support being able to do absolutely nothing for a good long while so that she could have a life to ignore anyone who would have bothered her and be free of the intergalactic struggles that kept her in the mercenary life.

After that, she doesn’t know what she would. Probably, nothing.

[DJAtomika]

@Xanadu I hope to have the improvements to Sully's sheet in by tomorrow.

[Xanadu]

@Monochromatic Rainbow@Plank Sinatra@Rtron@Stormflyx@Star Lord@DJAtomika@Dervish@Heat@Jarl Coolgruuf@Mortarion@Lauder

---

Alright the last application daily update for all of y'all! We are closing in on the finish line and so far we have some really good applications! As all of y'know or I hope that you do tomorrow is our deadline! ^-^ That being said, I will no longer be performing practice reviews at this time. This is because I don't feel with the short time remaining that it will be productive for me or the applicant to have to wait for the review process. Instead that time should be focused on finishing/making the final edits to your sheet. Until then, I hope that all of you congratulate yourself for the job well done so far! If you any last minute questions you can of course shoot me a PM or @ me here in the meantime!

[Dervish]

@Xanadu Thanks for all of the hard work so far! I'm pretty happy with where Ardan is, although I found a really dumb typo that I have to fix. Other than that? Good to go and looking forward to it!

[Plank Sinatra]

I'll still have this up before I sleep. Just parts of the bio section left to do, as well as equipment and haunt.

[Lauder]

Hopefully I’ll be able to find more things to refine within the CS, flesh out Hann’s personality a bit more.

[spicykvnt]

I've left it very late, so I'm playing a game of 'done is better than perfect' and will post when I get the sections fleshed out as much as I can.

[Xanadu]

@Stormflyx
Done is always better then perfect! But don't worry we believe in you!

[Jarl Coolgruuf]

@Xanadu fingers crossed this makes the cut

Isabel “Bluegrass Bel” Barton

_{Isabel “Bluegrass Bel” Barton
⟁ 29 ⟁ F ⟁ Human ⟁ Sentinel}

Track 1, Track 2, Track 3, Track 4, Track 5

Art by Auraelauste on DeviantArt

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

Isabel stands at 5’8 with a slightly thicker build than most women. Her grayish blue eyes are bright and ever alert and pair nicely with her somewhat pale complexion. Her forearms are noticeably large and carry the name “Jacobson” on the underside her right wrist. Her palms and fingers are heavily calloused from a lifetime working with her hands and banjo picking while her knuckles carry some nasty scars that never quite healed. A strong jaw contrasts soft lips more often set in a gentle smile than anything else. She keeps her dark hair in a sort of messy Dutch braid most of the time but some days she doesn’t feel like putting in the effort so she simply ties it up in a ponytail.

She lives in loose jeans and looser shirts that show just a bit of the black sports bras she wears each and every day without exception or variation. Her work boots don’t appear to have been cleaned since the First Contact War and that assessment is likely correct on some level. She often leaves a pair of pliers or a wrench hanging from her belt purely by accident, having forgotten them there while she was working.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

Isabel Barton was born the youngest of three in 2148 at around 3:30AM in the back seat of her parent’s car right in the hospital parking lot. Her maternal grandfather jokes that she's great at being in the worst places at the worst times. Shortly after her birth, her father lost his BAR license when a shady legal deal fell through and the family of five was forced to move out to the country where said grandfather set him up with a steady, but much less lucrative job at a manufacturing plant.

Speaking of her grandfather, she and her two older brothers were essentially raised by him (but mostly her). He’s a sweet tea in a mason jar drinking, American flag waving, ATF hating, tobacco chewing, moonshine sipping, farmer tan having, overall wearing, pick up truck owning, DIY fixing, fly fishing, shooting squirrels with a .22 from a rocking chair on his back porch sort of rural Georgia-born good ol’ boy. He already picked Bel (he only called her Isabel when she was in deep, deep trouble) out as his favorite grandchild before her 4th birthday, much to the secret resentment of her mother. Her mother’s childhood came and went mostly without her father since he was off in all corners of the world for nearly two decades as a soldier of fortune. She hardly ever saw him growing up so the fact he was now around to play the cool relative always left her a mite bitter.

Her brothers often left to play with their friends from around the town but Bel and her pappy were the best of friends. She spent countless hours with him hunting, fishing, target shooting, and learning to play her great, great grandpappy’s banjo which she inherited and carries to this day. It wasn’t uncommon for her to spend a full week at a time “sleeping over” at his house no matter what her mother did to try and keep her away from him. He taught her most everything she knows from tying her shoes to Ohm’s Law and some of the finer points of calculus. He taught her important life lessons he picked up as an electrical engineer and later as a mercenary such as, “Y’see, Bel there’s two kinds of old electricians: slow ones and dead ones.” and “Never share a fightin’ hole with someone braver than you.” From a young age, Bel grew up listening to her grandpappy regal her with tales of sneaking through the African jungle or trekking across the deserts of Arabia. The way he talked made it sound like every other day was a new adventure and that was likely by design.

His tales of grandeur infused her with a restlessness only exploring the galaxy could hope to satiate. Unfortunately, the funds simply weren’t there and for awhile her dreams seemed beyond her reach. She was ready to give up on ever leaving Earth when her biotic talent was discovered around the time she was 16. She practically threw herself at the BAaT program only a few short months afterward and they accepted her without hesitation. To say she regretted this decision would be an overstatement, but she missed her pappy something fierce in the following years.

The training was gruelling in the extreme, but she made friends easily which helped ease the burden. All in all she was glad she went through Brain Camp since she came out a decently powerful biotic and ripe for recruitment by the Alliance military who’d definitely ship her across the stars. There was the small issue of her L2 implant causing occasional bouts of crippling pain and schizophrenic symptoms, but there’s no problem a bit of dangerous and radically invasive brain surgery can’t fix. Her biotic power was noticeably diminished by the switch to the nextgen implant, but at least now she didn’t want to curl up in a ball and die from the pain of sledgehammer force migraines. Equipped with her fancy new L3R implant, she signed on for a three year tour of duty and went home to pack and spend time with her family. Her pappy was over the moon at her return and her recruitment, her brothers were happy for her, but her parents were less than pleased at the idea of their daughter getting shipped off to fight pirates in some far flung corner of space. They were outright livid when she handed half her sign on bonus in cash to her pappy. A fierce argument broke out between her and her mother that ended up with no one’s minds changed, the full bonus in her pappy’s hands, and a total lack of communication between her and her parents for the next five years.

The Alliance scooped her up the next week and, seeing she possessed a degree of technical knowledge, funneled her into the Sentinel Corps. Bel served with distinction throughout her tour and garnered a reputation for always staying cool under pressure and helping to keep spirits high even during an uphill march in sleet. Her pappy’s old banjo, almost 15 years experience playing, and a crisp singing voice infused a whole platoon of marines from all different backgrounds with a love of bluegrass.

Everything was going well for the first 20 months until a wayward piece of shrapnel put her old platoon leader out of commission. He was a good man and everyone was sad to see him go, but happy that he was alive and not more seriously hurt. That bittersweet feeling quickly soured when the troops met their new platoon leader, 2nd Lt. Nathan Webster. He was the sort of prissy, condescending, know-it-all jackass that everyone dreads to work under. Things got even worse when the platoon realized he was a glory hungry warhawk. Months crawled passed as Webster used his position to try and build a stairway up the ranks with the blood and bones of those under his command. The platoon experienced a small, but entirely preventable rise in casualties and Bel had a sinking feeling that something terrible would happen if this kept up. Her fears would become reality six months later.

The lieutenant ordered a surprise attack on a large, planetside pirate base on the edge of the Attican Traverse. Mary and the platoon’s engineers compared notes on scans of the base’s defenses made by scouts and some things didn’t add up. For starters, there were far, far too few guards on the exterior for such a large base, even for a band of overly cocky pirates. Secondly, the base had started to give off strange interference that ceased the moment scouts got within about two klicks of it. The whole situation felt very wrong to Bel and she urged Webster to just sit tight for a few days and wait for reinforcements. Much to her dismay, he brushed off her concerns and reaffirmed the order anyway. This would prove to be a grave mistake.

The platoon landed planetside just three klicks from the base and proceeded to trek through dense forest to reach the pirates. No sooner had they confirmed a visual of the building did all communications equipment die. No signals were going out or coming in from anyone in the entire platoon. The next ten minutes were utter chaos. They were surrounded on three sides by a force of pirates more than twice as large. The marines had no choice but to retreat toward the pirate base where they met even more pirates who’d been hiding beneath the base. Bel and her fellow marines were now outnumbered 3-1 and suffered grievous casualties in just a few short minutes and there seemed to be no way out. Then, a squad leader by the name of Jacobson rallied the survivors and lead a suicide charge through the enemy lines. They only just made it and didn’t bother returning fire as they fled, only ran through the trees like bats out of hell.

Bel watched her friends fall screaming as rounds slammed into their backs but she could do nothing to help them, only keep running. She ran and ran until her omnitool blinked to life with a communications signal and almost cried when she realized she’d made it out of the range of the pirates’ jammers. Her voice was ragged and hoarse as she screamed into the microphone for evac but the message got through. Shuttles were dispatched and arrived after the longest four minutes of her life.

Out of the 40 men and women that walked into that forest, only 7 came back alive. Despite his heroism, Jacobson was found to be among the dead when everyone was counted up. The other survivors described the look on Bel’s face as they rode the evac shuttle back to HQ as nothing short of murderous. She drew her pistol the moment the shuttle touched down, dropped it on her seat, and marched into the base, directly to the war room. The lieutenant already had disgustingly fake melancholy plastered over his weasel face when she arrived. He started on his “what a terrible loss” speech but he didn’t get through the first sentence before she drove her fist into his liver. That one punch fractured three ribs and brought him to his knees. She proceeded to break his nose, both orbitals, his jaw and knock out six teeth before other marines in the room finally managed to pull her off. There were some nasty lacerations on her knuckles from where she repeatedly punched him in the mouth, but those were the least of her problems.

She was subsequently court martialed and dishonorably discharged along with being given a three year jail sentence for assault and battery. Given the nature of the crime and the context surrounding it, she likely would’ve gotten off with a lighter jail sentence had she not mentioned her reasoning for leaving her pistol on the shuttle.
“Why? ‘Cause I was fixin’ to kill the sumbitch and I knew I woulda succeeded had I taken it with me. I was counting on someone to pull me off him before that beating turned into a murder.”
It also didn’t help that she was so blatantly unapologetic about savagely beating a superior officer.

Second thing Bel did once she was released was gather up her savings and buy a ticket to the Terminus system. The first, of course, was head home and give her pappy a hug. The rest of her family didn’t really talk to her after that except for her brothers. She was shunned from a family that she barely saw anyway so it wasn’t a big change, but it was the principle of being disowned in all but word that hurt. Her pappy was still there for her, just like always and when she left to rebuild her life somewhere else, he was there to see her off. He gave her a small analog camera so she could send him pictures of her adventures and the only memory she has of seeing him cry. It wasn’t a particularly sad day, however. She was realizing her dream after all and he was overjoyed for her, though he’d still miss her.

From there, she went on to work for a laundry list of mercenary groups from big names like the Blue Suns to small, relatively unknown ragtag groups. In truth, the ragtags were her favorite. They tended to travel the most and she got to see things she never dreamed of out in the cosmos. She switched contractors often and always, always ALWAYS listened to her gut about when it was time to leave. The range of her exploits over the next ten years earned her a reputation for dependability, friendliness, and excellent banjo playing. The name Bluegrass Bel is passed around now and then in mercenary circles and while she didn’t exactly get every first pick, she usually had a few options at any given time. Her time on the Achilles will be another chapter in her hopefully long and illustrious career as a soldier of fortune. The only question is, will it be one she likes to revisit?

_{S K I L L S}

> Combat Biotics
Her careers as a soldier and as a mercenary have earned her a great deal of experience in this field. She’s no adept, but she can still throw some biotic weight around the battlefield.

> Combat Engineering
Her pappy and the Alliance military taught her well but the latter taught her to work under sometimes literal fire. Bel knows a moderate amount about software but hardware is where she truly shines. She can pick and poke her way around most bundles of wires and metal without too much difficulty all while rounds zip by her head. Don’t expect her to retrofit a dreadnought on the fly, but that locked door? Give her a minute or two and she’ll crack it open. That busted transport? Just lay down some covering fire and she’ll get it rolling again.

On the other side of the coin she also has extensive sapping expertise. Everything from blast doors and solid walls to entire collapsed buildings, obstacles quake in their metaphorical boots when she’s around. She even refers to her plasma cutter as a “key”.

> Pistol Marksmanship
She was already a decent shot with a pistol before the Alliance ever got their hands on her and gave her a bout of military grade training. Never mind another ten years of mercenary work. Her aim is barely changed even by heavy incoming fire and her shots land on target far more often than not.

> Long Rifle Marksmanship
Though she’s rather out of practice, her years of target shooting and hunting back home allow her to pick up a scoped long rifle in a pinch should the need arise. Just don’t expect her to make nothing but a few shots or lead anything; windy or not.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

> Jormungandr Technologies Light Armor
A good balance between physical protection and shielding with excellent tech and biotic protection. All around these suits are excellent quality.

> Pinnacle Series Pistol
Another top quality piece from the fine folks down at Jormungandr Technologies. It packs one hell of a punch with accuracy to spare and like most everything the company produces, Bel has nothing but good things to say about this handy little hand cannon.

> Demolition Charges
The amount varies depending on the mission, but she always carries enough of these to at least breach a sturdy wall or two.

fire in the hole!

> Hand-held Plasma Cutter
This little number is surprisingly powerful, but still rather shrimpy compared to its industrial cousins. The design team was far more concerned with portability and durability than how clean the resulting cuts were or how many it could make. It might take a bit of time to cut through a decently thick set of blast doors but it’ll get through quick enough for any decent team to lay down covering fire while the user goes to work. She makes sure to keep a spare battery on her in the field just in case.

locked doors beware!

> Analog Camera
Given to her by Pappy about 10 years ago. Bel doesn’t take any pictures with it since her omnitool does the job better than it ever could and can save the pictures for later on the Extranet as well as being able to send those pictures back home. She keeps it with her any time she leaves the ship for any reason, even just to buy supplies.

principal over function

> Vintage 5 String Banjo
The rise in omnitool-based instruments passed right over Bel and this relic. Tender care has seen this instrument through the Vietnam jungle and the deserts of Iraq and even through the 2nd American Civil War and now it travels the stars with her wherever she goes.

”My Pa gave this to me when I was a youngin and now it’s yours. You take good care of it now, y’hear?”

_{A B I L I T I E S}

Sentry Turret
Lift
Warp
Energy Drain -”Y’all mind if I borrow your shields?”

<sub>PSYCH PROFILE

T R A I T S</sub>

Honest
Jovial
Gregarious

Rowdy
Blunt
Disorganized

_{V I C E S}

> Drinking
Bel’s no alcoholic but she almost never turns down a sip of good liquor save vodka as she can’t stand the taste nor the smell. She especially loves a bottle of smooth sipping whiskey.

> Casual Sex
A guaranteed stress reliever and an overall good way for her to blow off extra steam during shore leave.

_{H A U N T}

Crew Deck
She can often be found there tinkering with her equipment or picking her banjo to old and obscure bluegrass instrumental she plays on her omnitool. She also just like talking to people in general.

_{D R I V E}

Adventure, as cliche as it may sound. Her one dream since she was a little girl listening to her pappy’s mercenary stories was to explore the cosmos and touch the heavens with her own two hands.

[DJAtomika]

Karmm "Sully" Sol

K A R M M "S U L L Y" S O L

_{⟁ 47 ⟁ Male ⟁ Krogan ⟁ Engineer}

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

---

As krogans go, Sol's up there with being both intimidating and scary at one go; Sol stands 8' 4" tall and weighs roughly 375 pounds, making him a giant bruiser of a krogan. The main colouring of his plating and hump is a faded shade of pale blue with several equally faded orange stripes in some sort of pattern across his hump. There is a pale blue stripe diagonally across his face, from top right to bottom left, as if someone painted his face blue and he just left it that way. His eyes are a light yellow-brown, like most krogan, and there are several light scars across his plating as well; bullet holes that have healed over, scrapes and slashes and cuts that criss cross his chest, face and arms. His face is almost in a permanent weary scowl, one frown away from an actual grimace or growl.

Sol carries himself in a neutral manner, despite his size, not betraying aggression or any sort of negative behaviour unless warranted. His armour is often accented by a custom made gear rig and harness, from which hang several different types of tools, big and small, used to repair anything from FTL capable ships to cleaning robots. His armour's gloves are also often covered by a thicker pair of fireproof work gloves, but he leaves them off and clipped to his harness when he's not using them.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

---

Sol, better known as Sully among the shipwrights and mechanics of Omega, is an old soul. Hailing from Tuchanka, Sol spent two centuries on the krogan homeworld, his hands blackened and slick with engine grease and soot. His clan, Karmm, were and still are, machinists and mechanics, serving the bigger, wealthier clans who own the huge land trucks that trundle across the planet's surface, along with fixing any incoming or outgoing ships in Tuchanka's only space port. The Karmm clan served and continue to serve to this day, being the quiet mechanics working behind the scenes to ensure everything always runs on time.. Sol spent his years on his home world honing his talents in fixing things and getting his hands dirty. The young krogan learned how to defend himself early on, as all krogan do, and also learned the many ways that he could use his tools to maim and kill.

His family weren't mechanics like he was, but they were a close knit family. The lower "caste" krogan families were often shoved into these subservient clans, and his were no exception. Sol grew up the son of a retired veteran soldier and a farmer, and didn't take into being either. He was a curious kid who used to tamper and meddle with just about anything he could get his hands on, and it drove his parents mad trying to find things to keep him occupied with, as he would inevitably disassemble it as fast as they could put it back together. That, however, clued them into what he would become known for later on in his life. When Sol came of age, he was immediately sent to clan Karmm to learn the ways of the mechanic. And for a while, that was a life he enjoyed. Taking apart the massive engines of krogan trucks and working on their chassis was a life he took to heart.

But life on Tuchanka grew boring rather rapidly for Sol, even with every new challenge that presented itself. Already an expert at fixing pretty much every land vehicle the krogan could build and field, Sol yearned to see more. For years, he'd heard of shuttles and other passenger craft landing on Tuchanka, bringing delegates from the Alliance, or mercenaries from off-world looking for a tough krogan to hire. Over the course of a few months, Sol made plans. He learned the schedule for a particular shuttle that always brought mercenary captains looking for fresh hires from a faraway station called Omega, packed his things, paid the entry fee in credits and booked a seat on his very first space voyage. The mercenary leader he'd paid to get him a spot aboard the shuttle had one condition: Sol would be the muscle for a job he was running on Omega in exchange for the trip.

That was how Sol began his journey across the stars. The shuttle brought him to Omega, where he began selling his work by the hour, fixing shuttles and repairing droids for easy credits. The merc that had brought him to the station came first, as he needed Sol to just be dumb krogan muscle for a simple business deal. That was how krogans were treated on the station, which was a rather big shock for him. While on Tuchanka, his work was valued and appreciated. But out here, on Omega? He felt like just another piece of equipment for people to flaunt, and occasionally that was the way it went. Sometimes his clients would ask him to hold a big gun and look menacing while they conducted "business", which earned him a hefty paycheck that went towards paying rent and buying new tools to replace his old ones. But the feeling that came with it wasn't pretty. Sol didn't feel great, being treated like "merchandise", just there to look and act tough while credits were passed between hands, and it took some getting used to, but eventually Sol settled into life on Omega.

Always learning, always improving, Sol went on the hunt for bigger, more exotic things to fix. He would often spend his spare credits from both his day job of repairing passing vessels and his other job of being dumb muscle buying junked vehicles to see if he could restore them, practicing and honing his craft on other vessels that weren't just the same giant krogan trucks day after day after day. The krogan gained a reputation from his near-constant status of being in the station's docking bays, offering his repair services to any and all pilots and captains on Omega. Over the years, his skills grew and soon he became one of the more prominent mechanics of the Omega docks, gaining a small following of loyal customers who always brought him new ships or hover vehicles to fix.

But it was through these years that Sol also learned how to fix other things, for it wasn't always machines that people brought to him for fixing. Word came through the grapevine that Sol was a dab hand at repairing just about anything, so it wasn't long when a gun landed on his work bench. So would begin his slow descent into the dark underbelly of Omega, but he didn't realise it was going to be as dark as he knew it to be. The only thing Sol saw was another challenge waiting to be conquered. He didn't let his first few failures bog him down; anyone that dared threaten him often backed down because of his sheer size and bulk. Soon he had repaired his first gun, and it wouldn't be the last. Orders came in from all over the station; small time bounty hunters looking to get a rifle tuned, smugglers wanting an engine replacement on their ship, or even bigger mercenary companies looking to calibrate new weapons for their stock. Sol, now with a more human nickname of "Sully", was a mainstay of the Omega marketplace as a repairman and gunsmith. His little stall always saw a healthy amount of business, and soon he had more than enough credits rolling in to justify bigger purchases, like an actual set of guns for himself now that he was drawing attention, both the right and wrong kind, but mostly to deter any would-be scam artists that tried to rip him off of a job. He also managed to pay for a custom-made set of armour, specifically for his build, and to mount a harness on top of to hold all his various tools and gadgets.

It was during this heyday that he met his first contractor. Someone who needed his skills on the regular and would pay him handsomely to just show up and act tough. So he did. He took his guns, went with this man, a human ex-Alliance soldier who had put a crew together to fence some stolen merchandise to an interested party, and stood there and attempted to look tough. Which went swimmingly well, for a deal made on Omega. The man, Nicholas Cole, roped Sol into his crew as big dumb muscle, although that didn't stop the krogan from showing off his actual skills in fixing just about any machine the other mercenaries threw at him. The crew ran several low-key missions, mostly hunting bounties throughout Omega and using the credits to restock on supplies, food and other necessities. It was through these experiences that Sol learned to defend himself, training himself in the use of what firearms he'd bought to make sure he wasn't being a burden on the team. He also learned how to fix drones through the team, particularly the other engineer on the team: a turian soldier who was also a whiz at electronics and programming, who taught him how to set up his own drone from a shell. Over the next few weeks, Sol constructed his own drone from the same shell he'd started out with, naming it Kezzik after the turian that had taught him. He outfitted it with tools to help him with his mechanic work and a small SMG for self defense.

Sol spent close to a year working with Cole and his team, getting to know them individually and hanging out with them during their free time. It was a different experience, something he'd not felt before. Back on Tuchanka, work teams were formed out of sheer necessity and members barely socialised or got to know each other, even though most workers were from the same clan and knew each other well enough to warrant the silence. Here? It was different. Cole, Kezzik and the others were almost like family in their bond. Over drinks, Cole told Sol that they'd been a small-time mercenary outfit for just about two years, operating out of Omega but stuck within the Terminus systems because they had no money to fix their ship's mass effect drive. With Sol's help, they'd managed to earn a sizable portion for themselves, enough to maybe fund a replacement drive or to fix the problems with it. And that struck Sol. He offered to fix the drive for them, an offer which Cole initially waved off with a nervous laugh. Since when was a krogan able to fix a mass effect drive? Especially on a vessel of human make. The krogan merely shrugged and left it at that, but the human's curiosity got the better of him. Sol spent a week sequestered within the ship's engineering bay, and when the week was over, he'd fixed their drive with spare parts and some new ones that he had to buy from the Omega market. Cole was flabbergasted, but Sol merely answered his questions with a smug smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

And like all things, the partnership was not meant to last. Once their mass effect drive was fixed, the crew spent another week on Omega before they bid Sol farewell as they left the station for greater ventures, but not before bringing him on a joyride around the Terminus systems, one last job that inadvertently set the krogan on a new path. He followed Cole and his crew on to a distant planet where they were hunting a small-time slaver gang that was wanted by the Alliance. The job itself was simple; smash and grab, recovering the slaves and cuffing those who put them in chains. And, in the end, it was. Sol had his time to shine; using his talents as a mechanic, the krogan sabotaged the slavers' ship while Cole and half of his team distracted them. Then when they tried to escape, their ship didn't start and out popped Sol and the rest of Cole's crew, the krogan holding part of the ship's engine manifold in one hand and his big Carnifex pistol in the other. The rest of the job went by like a breeze, but Sol had reservations about following Cole to Alliance space to turn in the bounty. Cole understood enough; Sol was apprehensive about taking his first steps into the wide open universe and he got that feeling. So he did the next best thing: Cole took Sol back to Omega and dropped him off there with his cut of the payoff and a souvenir; a brand new omni-tool that had Cole's own omni-tool signature registered on it. The man told Sol that if and when he was ready to journey into the galaxy proper, to send him an email and he would come back for him. Or, if he found a new crew, he was more than welcome to keep in touch. Sol accepted the omni-tool gratefully and bid Cole farewell with an ache in both his hearts.

After his return, Sol had another repair job to busy himself with, trying to piece together a rickety wreck of a volus-made cargo transport, brought in by some shady salarian bringing together another bounty hunting crew for some job involving death and more death. Not being able to leave for real stung, even for a krogan, but work was work and he had a ship to fix. The credits he'd earned through the contract were enticing...very enticing indeed. Enough to get him a new set of tools and then some. But...something was missing. After the Borealis was fixed enough to be space-worthy and the crew of the ship had paid him and left, Sol took a few days off work to ponder about that feeling. It was a strange emptiness that haunted him during his time off, but as soon as he went back to work, he found out what that feeling was: a taste of adventure and of togetherness. Cole and his crew had shown him what it was like to work with like-minded people. Not like on Tuchanka where teamwork was born out of necessity, but a true team that worked together and played together simply because they could. Almost like family. And working on Omega just didn't have that same thrill for him. Sol realised that, in order to truly scratch that itch, he'd have to get off Omega. To leave behind the business he'd so lovingly built up, trust his instincts, and go on a real adventure, not be stuck on some backwater space station for the rest of his life.

Sol began to make more plans. To leave Omega with a crew just like Cole's and see the galaxy proper. To that end, he kept up his repair work, but scoured the Omega intranet for job listings that would take him off-world. That was how he stumbled upon Nikolai Tsoi. An ex-Alliance soldier, just like Cole, but the difference being that Cole had a crew. Tsoi didn't. But Tsoi had a ship and he was looking for a crew. Sol took one look at the clunker, a turian patrol cruiser the likes of which he'd seen about once or twice before, and signed on the dotted line. He didn't have to move much, considering that his apartment was by the same docking bay that Tsoi had left his ship. With his belongings packed, Sol decided that a second chance to find fortune and adventure elsewhere laid in this man's hands. And he'd see about getting that ship fixed up, too.

_{S K I L L S}

---

Engineering and Mechanics
_{Sol is, first and foremost, an engineer. He has the technical know-how to fix almost all manner of ship and vehicle that comes into his shop, along with the finesse and steady hands that come with having years of experience handling delicate pieces of machinery. He isn't so experienced where he can instantly tell what problems a ship has as soon as it lands, but if you give him a few weeks with it, he'll gladly fix all of its problems. Same goes for any sort of land vehicle or even smaller things like air scrubbers or an omnigel dispenser. If Sol has the parts and the time, he'll fix anything within reason.}

Electronics and AI Programming
_{Another skill that Sol picked up on Omega, courtesy of Kezzik, was the fine art of electronics and programming. Even more fine, delicate machinery to play with. Soldering, wiring, circuit boards and microchips, programs, AI behaviour, voice commands and facial recognition, oh my. The year that Sol spent with Kezzik, working on drones and learning how to code their behaviour, you'd think that he was a salarian stuck in a krogan's body with how fast he picked it up. Sure, Sol's drone does have a few moments where it glitches out, but for the most part it works just as he made it. Of course, if there were someone that were even better at programming drones than an ex-navy turian, Sol would love to learn from them.}

Weapon Maintenance and Upkeep
_{The last skill that Sol had to pick up on Omega, because ships weren't the only things he fixed. Mercenaries and bounty hunters often came to him to get their weapons fixed or recalibrated, even though Sol never advertised himself as a weaponsmith. It was through this that he picked up some experience in meddling with guns. It didn't make him the best around, but he knew what parts went where and how to adjust things to make sure a weapon shot straight and functioned at 100%.}

Brute Strength
_{And of course, krogans are known for their blood rage and sheer strength, and Sol is no exception to this rule. He is big, strong and chunky when it comes down to it. Not fast or fancy, but if you need someone to bash down a thin wall with his shoulder, Sol's your krogan.}

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

---

Kassa Fabrications M-6 Carnifex
_{Sol's go to pistol. Everything else was too small for his hand and he needed something with an oomph to it. Something that screamed "mess with me and you're not walking away without a few extra holes". A Carnifex was the best choice. Sol managed to get his off the black market, in exchange for having to work on the dealer's hoverbike for two weeks. It's got a few scratches and dinks, but a pistol is a pistol and his Carnifex, so far, has not failed him.}

Kassa Fabrications M-12 Locust
_{At Cole's behest, Sol did get something slightly bigger for himself. The Locust was a sub-machine gun that fit his large hands and did an impressive job at keeping would-be dealbreakers off Cole's back during jobs.}

Jormungand Technology Hazard Armour
_{The very first, and so far only, suit of armour that Sol has. Bought when he was running off the first profits of his mechanic business, it was more for necessity to him. He needed something that could handle a tool harness and also that could reasonably soak up some bullets. The suit itself is a plain gunmetal grey, with light blue highlights, and is chipped and worn in places where he's scuffed elbows or taken ricochets from shots aimed at him. The helmet's visor also has a custom setting for macro zoom in the right lens, to aid Sol with fine, precise detailed work.}

Combat/Mechanic Drone - Kezzik
_{The drone that his former crewmate of the same name helped him build. Kezzik is a simple, barebones drone with both combat and utility functions. It is a slightly flattened sphere shape, with a small, compact SMG housed within. Three slender arms are tucked away in the bottom of the drone that are able to hold tools or devices that Sol needs for his work, and in the front is a simple camera and scanner duo that has simple facial/omni-tool recognition and scanning capabilities to help the krogan identify problems within the infrastructure of whatever he needs to fix.}

Elkoss Combine Cipher Omni-tool
_{Can't go wrong with an omni-tool. Elkoss Combine made theirs cheap but didn't skimp on quality. Sol uses his to perform more detailed analysis on anything he needs to repair, combining Kezzik's visual scanning capabilities with the omni-tool to pinpoint precisely where the problems are.}

Tool Kit
_{A simple fabric toolkit that hangs from Sol's belt. Contained within are a few wrenches of various sizes, screwdrivers, pliers, wire cutters and other assorted mechanic tools.}

_{A B I L I T I E S}

---

• Overload
• Combat Drone
• AI Hacking
• Incinerate

PSYCH PROFILE
_{T R A I T S}

Positive

• Dedicated
• Loyal
• Fast Learner

Negative

• Aloof
• Blunt
• Gruff

_{V I C E S}

Gambling
_{Unfortunately for Sol, he has a bit of a risk-taking streak when it comes to credits, and games of dice or cards are often where he loses some of the money he earns as a mechanic. He knows not to "go big or go home" as the humans call it, but a few credits over a game of poker tempts him to spend better than food does. And never bet that Sol can eat something disgusting, that's just mixing both his vices together. Bad times for him all around.}

Food and Cheesy Holovid Soaps
_{And another unfortunate vice for Sol, he loves to eat. He knows never to let anything he eats get near to the things he works on, but one of the things he just has to do to relax or de-stress from a long day of work is to sprawl out on his bed and watch cheesy dramas broadcast on the holovid app on his datapad with a bowl of munchies on his stomach. Nothing appeals to him more than chowing down to relax.}

Fixing his Drone
_{This is what takes up most of Sol's free time. Fiddling with the innards of his drone. There's always something to improve on or a new feature to test in his drone, and SOL doesn't disguise the fact that Kezzik is his life's work and one of his few crowning joys of being an engineer. He takes much pride in it, even with the imperfections, and he spends much of his free time hunkered over it on his workbench, busy working on a new feature or trying to fix old problems that he's never figured out how to solve.}

_{H A U N T}

The Engineering Bay
<sub>The engineering bay is Sol's haunt. He's furnished it sparsely, with a few small shelves to keep his tools and his own workbench from Omega, on which he usually has Kezzik, with its guts and electronics stripped down and the krogan sitting over it, glowering at something through his helmet. A small weapon rack adorns one wall where his SMG and pistol are mounted, and the place is generally in a mess. An organised mess, he calls it. Things piled on tables and shelves haphazardly, but the krogan always knows where to get what he wants out of the clutter. A terminal sits on another bench, where the krogan keeps tabs on the ship's many systems, making sure nothing is wrong with the air scrubbers or artificial gravity.

In stark contrast to this, the engine room and mass effect drive bay that are attached to the engineering bay are spick and span. Mounted on walls within each room is a panel with tools on little hooks, and a data pad containing live readouts of the statistics and variables of both the engines and the drive. These help Sol make sure that the most important parts of the ship are running smoothly and without any deviance from norms. After all, a ship without engines isn't a ship, it's just a fancy hunk of metal with a rudder and wings.</sub>

_{D R I V E}

Finding a crew and an adventure worthy of tales to be told centuries later on Tuchanka, when he is old and grey. He does get homesick, and so uses that as a driving force to seek out as many stories he can get himself involved in for when he eventually returns to mentor the younger generation in the art of fixing things. Sol also seeks that feeling of unity from being in a team, combined with the spark of adventure that enticed him ever since he met Nicholas Cole and his crew.

@Xanadu I took your review to heart and made a lot of additions to Sully's bio. I hope you enjoy reading through it again! Because I really like Sully now.

[spicykvnt]

I unfortunately have not managed to finish my sheet. I also feel a little disingenuous applying as I have recently dropped an rp due to lack of time on my part, so I'm withdrawing interest.

I hope everyone else has fun with the game!

If there are ever any open spots in the future, I'd love to try again then.

[Rtron]

Bit late with my response due to work and other RL things, but thanks for the kind review! I'm glad you liked him!

What type of unit did he serve in?

@Xanadu

Regular infantry. Kopris' father was a very determined man, but not too exceptional of a solider.

My question here would be where did he work then? I'm assuming a high class hospital? And if that's the case how did he get a job there if he had a relatively low position in the social ladder? Merit alone? Did he make friends during his education. etc

@Xanadu

Mixture of both. While he was born in the lowest echelons of society, being raised to the higher levels at such a young age allowed him to make friends with higher society, without the same level of sneering that his parents received. Those connections, coupled with his merit, allowed him to get his foot into the door of a high class hospital and provide for his family. Though it wasn't enough to embed him firmly in the hospital and prevent him from being cut.

Why was he shipped of to the SIU? I'm assuming because of his medical experience?

@Xanadu

Medical experience,general intelligence, and high scores on tests. I imagine the Hegemony has a test similar to the USA's ASVAB, which indicates aptitude for the military and scoring higher opens the door for better positions.

d[svr<-???

@Xanadu

I wrote the CS well into 4am several times, and my fingers would wander. I didn't catch this one in my tired stupor. :p It's meant to say 'Hegemony space'.

Why did he get transfered? Was it kind of an all hands on deck situation?

@Xanadu

Yes. Order had largely been restored to the Hegemony by this point, and now was the first major strike against the Alliance that they could do. Plus, they were planning on an extended offensive in the Verge against the Alliance, and they wanted to get as many deniable units as they could into there for that purpose.

Was he not allowed to return to his family during this time?

@Xanadu

No. The Hegemony felt its resources were spent better in other areas, rather than shipping a soldier quietly back to Kar'Shan only to send him back a few months later.

Can...can.. he make cupcakes?,

@Xanadu

Yes.

Why did he replace it with the black one?

@Xanadu

Most Batarians will know the significance of the white marble, and begin to question what someone who had sacrificed so much for the Hegemony was doing on random merc jobs in the terminus systems. That would lead inevitably to the revelation of Kopris' desertion and betrayal of his unit, which would only lead to complications that Kopris doesn't want to deal with. Easier to have the black, unassuming, one.

[Plank Sinatra]

Jackson

JACKSON

_{Credit: Valentina Remenar}

_{JACKSON "JACE" PULLIAM
⟁ 28 ⟁ Male ⟁ Human (North America) ⟁ Sentinel}

⟁ _{track 1} ⟁ _{track 2} ⟁ _{track 3} ⟁ _{bonus track: hum this at batarians}

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

Jackson stands at 190.5 centimeters and 93 kilograms, a muscular, broad-shouldered frame that belies his quickness but leaves his strength fully on display. A weight lifting regimen that alternates between high-reps, low-weight and high-weights, low-reps has given him a body that does not fit comfortably under the descriptors of 'lean' or 'burly.' He's bulky, but no bodybuilder; he fits in everyday clothes (specifically the human-casual wear he bums around in day-to-day, black t-shirts and grey sweatpants or compression pants) but a bit snugly. All in all, he cuts a handsome figure - with a notably comely face, all smoldering dark eyes and strong cheeks underneath thick brown brows and a mop of brown hair - which is slightly darker than his browns but notably less sandy-colored than the permanent, close-cropped stubble around his jaw. It is shaved short, but not completely, in a deliberate effort to look slightly unkempt and bedraggled. A fighter's hair and nails must always be cut irritatingly short, and Jackson has always believed that the scruffier he looked the better, so as he moves from one career to the other he is attempting to reclaim some of his image.

But every Southern boy should look a little rugged, and every cage fighter - no matter the species or background - is going to have some dings on them; pretty boys need not apply to such a lifestyle. Part of the reason his hair is grown longer is to hide the old, faded cuts at his hairline - three of them, two on the left side and one on the right, that resemble ugly lobotomy scars. Two are from his days as a stuntman and a fighter; the third is from the procedure he made to upgrade his implant two years ago. His hair has been forced to grow around them. His nose has been broken three times. Both of Jackson's ears are afflicted with cauliflower ear, where the features of the cartilage are worn away and swollen due to repeated trauma and blood pockets. Four years ago, the apparatus he wore - designed to defend a fighter's mouth from strikes - was knocked out by a head kick from a drell, and Jackson chose to continue the fight without it; his front tooth on his right side, as well as the incisor, were both heavily chipped by the encounter. Occasionally phantom pains - an old fractured shoulder here, pain in the calves from years of endured leg kicks - will require the use of an ice bath for soothing purposes.

He makes few concessions to ornament on his appearance; he has never gotten any tattoos, out of fear for how stupid they would look if he ever grew old, and going back to the studded ear piercings he wore growing up is not an option with the sustained damage to his ears. He does occasionally wear the twin wedding bands of his parents (white gold, no precious stones) on his right ring finger, but only in private moments where his solitude can be assured.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

_{"Alright, genius. Show me how the hell you would kickbox an elcor. Since you're such a fucking champ and all."}

Norfolk, Virginia began assembling ships in the United States before there was a United States, going back to the middle of the 18th century when North America was still a colonial holding of the British. In the centuries since, it became one of the American Navy's most vital ports and shipyards, assembling and repairing tens of thousands of vessels through the American Civil War, two world wars, and the Second American Revolution. As the future of naval warfare shifted from intercontinental to interstellar, the old shipyard underwent yet another one of its centennial overhauls, as a go-between for ship parts and materials (including the barely-understood element zero) from Earth to Arcturus, where vessels were ultimately constructed. It was also here that Curt Pulliam, an agent in the Washington-based Secret Service for the United North American States, met with civilian starship engineer Katherine Callahan. The two struck up a whirlwind, if infrequent, romance that resulted in Jackson Curtis Pulliam's birth in 2151.

He lived an active childhood, enjoying the beginnings of martial arts training under his dad's guidance and growing up an ardent fan of baseball while decidedly not enjoying his early education. Prhaps he would have chosen to pursue a career on the diamond - or at least as far as high school - if his biotic potential hadn't manifested at a young age. At the time it was unknown why, but it seemed likely that Kat Pulliam's supervisory role in handling eezo shipments around the shipyard played a large role in Jace's development. Instead of a normal life as a prom king in the wings, Jackson Pulliam found himself shipped off to Biotic Acclimation and Temperence Training.

If the expectation was that the young man would finally grow into a model student when surrounded by other biotics, perhaps grow into a leader of his peers through his great personal charm, then Jackson was a complete disappointment. Judged on the merits of any trainee, however, he was decidedly average. BAaT's training regimen was harsh and violent, and many students found themselves on the brink of physical and mental collapse, but Jace's athletic background and discipline had prepared him for something as simple as punishment and the rigors of training. If anything, the stresses were the things he enjoyed; it was the very nature of his biotic abilities that he seemed to lack interest in developing. He only displayed real prowess with defensive measures and some mild offensive techniques, with not enough result to give him the fights he really craved. As for the aforementioned personal charms, they worked - long enough for Jace to start sleeping his way through camp and sparking up fight clubs with some of the rowdier students.

By the time the program was shut down, Jace had decided he needed something a bit more thrilling than your average military man, and he lingered at home for a few boring months watching movies, doing recreational drugs, and sleeping with a different girl or two every weekend. Finally, during a showing of an old Terminator movie on a classic movie channel and laughing at the special effects, the (admittedly very stoned) Pulliam realized that the idea of stuntwork appealed to him. It meant rubbing shoulders with glamorous people; it meant connections in an industry that was positively rolling in money; it meant explosions, punches, and all general manners of fucking shit up.

At the age of 21, he borrowed enough money from his parents to go to the Citadel for the first time, where he began working for an asari film production company - although admittedly, it took some time on the casting couch for a young human with no film studies background to be trusted to do so much as walk near a camera. He proved himself more than capable of taking a punch, though, or of standing in for an actor as a body double during strenuous fight scenes. His loud, brash personality meant that generally by the end of production, everyone on the crew wanted to take a swing at him, too - creating a perpetual motion cycle of schlocky action movies, one after the other, that took no time to produce and put money in his pocket until the next one. It was easy work, fun work, but not something to do for the rest of one's life.

By happenstance, one of the movies he was working on early in 2173 - Second Contact: The Many Saints of Shanxi, a sequel to a First Contact War movie with more than a couple unfortunate racial overtones - happened to star a turian martial artist who went by the mononym Cipher. Cipher had carved out a solid niche as a top ten contender in the Galactic Combat Sports League and during production, he struck up several conversations with young human stunt double whose neck he was supposed to snap with his bare hands. Impressed by Jackson's lifelong grasp of martial arts and his respect for the game, Cipher began leveraging his connections to get Pulliam a few amateur fights. His showings in each of the three were more impressive than the last, and by 2174 he was fighting professionally full-time.

This new career path was one of two things that helped patch up his relationship with his father, which had grown frosty after Jackson's departure for the Citadel; the other was his mother's sudden cancer diagnosis, which had blindsided his parents back on Earth while Jace was making his bones in the GCSL. At first, his visits to see her were as frequent as he could make them. But by now, he was devoting more and more of his time to fighting and training, with more vigor than he had ever pursued anything. He had met a girl, too - Charlotte Hunt, an interviewer for the GCSL who went from an occasional drink date to a truly serious relationship. As his life blossomed, he began sacrificing more and more time with his ailing mother to build a life as a fighter, traveling the galaxy and making a name for himself. In 2174, he spent five months out of the year on Earth; that time was halved in 2175, and by the time she died in 2176 he hadn't been to see her since her previous birthday the year before. He set his anguish aside and kept working. It was all he could do to stay sane, and he hoped it would be of some comfort to his old man.

Then his father died too.

Much was made of the assassination of President Enrique Aguilar and CPF Premier Ying Xiong in 2176; the assassin received weeks of free media on his backstory, his manifesto, and the lethal potential of the military-grade Locust he had used to carry out the murders. Effusive posthumous praise was also heaped on Premier Ying, for giving his life in a heroic but failed attempt to shield Aguilar from the bullets. But that was not Ying's job to perform - it was Curt Pulliam's, and he was one of two Secret Service agents who died apprehending the gunman. In months, Jace had lost both of his parents, and on top of that, Charlotte had come to him between the deaths of his mother and his father to announce she was pregnant with their first child. Robbed of his own parents and faced with the daunting prospect of becoming one, there was only one outlet remaining to Jackson to exorcise his fear, anxiety, and grief. So he used that outlet.

His first opponent after the death of both his parents was a salarian grappler who had no business being anywhere in the cage with Jackson that night, and Jackson had proved it. He beat the salarian until the poor alien could hardly stand, until one giant black eye had swollen shut with blood and swelling, and then finished the fight with an anguished scream and a head kick that could well have broken the other fighter's neck. He felt no guilt, no fear of reprisal, nothing. He just wanted to keep fighting.

He would, but not for the GCSL. The sheer optics of pummeling an opponent within an inch of his helpless life, live on the omni-tools of millions, necessitated Jace's release from the organization, and doors started to close on Jace faster than he could knock on them. The only alternative he had remaining to him was Omega, where the line between combat sports and sentient cockfighting was blurred underneath the neon of the casinos and the muck and blood that masticated the bars. He knew it wouldn't go over with his pregnant girlfriend, and it didn't. She pleaded with him to find another profession, to let her help him work something out, not to risk raising a son or daughter in the grime of Omega.

So he left without them.

Three years have passed since he lost one half of his family and abandoned the other, and the gains he's made in Omega were not worth the cost. In Omega, the fights have no meaning; nothing he does goes on a pro record, there are no championships, and there are no beautiful women to interview a man while he basks in his glory. There is only one fight, then the next, then the next, and using whatever money you're wise enough to bet on yourself (or your opponent, for the weaker but wilier fighters) to survive in the meantime. Jace has scraped this meager, violent existence together for three years. He has finally had enough of it.

But not enough of fighting. He never could get enough of fighting.

_{S K I L L S}

_{"The ground is an ocean, I am a shark, and most people don't even know how to swim."}

Space is rife with people who are accomplished with a gun in hand. Jackson is no exception to this; he is gifted with both a pistol and a submachine gun, especially the latter - where he has honed his skill time and again with one particular weapon, the M-12 Locust. At longer ranges his skill starts to diminish, and his aim with a shotgun is spotty at best, but mid-range firefights are where he is most comfortable - and it is at close-range, when the weapons gap is closed, where Jackson truly shines.

In a galaxy full of biotics and gunslingers, the majority of mercenaries have neglected the original weapons they were all born with - their bodies. Beyond the understanding it takes to throw a basic punch or kick, most combatants in the galaxy haven't put in the years of education, practice, and sparring with martial artists or boxers. Jackson has been learning to fight since he was seven years old, with knowledge in judo, jiu-jitsu, and kickboxing. In his time as a professional fighter he picked up a workable knowledge of amon'fa, a deadly form of drell striking performed with open hands and knife-like, chopping motions. His abilities in a fight stem from his knowledge and technique as much as the blind, raw strength favored by angry mercenaries in street fights, leaving him capable of incapacitating or even killing two or three untrained opponents at a time.

Though he was never more than an average, unmotivated student at BAaT, Jackson found life in a fighting cage more conducive to his education. Professional blood sports, especially on Omega, allowed for cybernetics and biotics within the cage, meaning that the human couldn't just rest on his laurels when it came to his fighting prowess; he had to get inventive in guarding against both, and he did, utilizing a mix of protective barriers to guard from dangerous blows and throws to keep opponents at range for his strikes. The years, and a risky upgrade to an L3 implant, have only increased his prowess as a biotic in ways that may have brought a wry smirk out of old, dead Vyrrnus.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

<sub>Kassa Fabrications M-12 Locust - The weapon that killed his father. Jackson has refined his skill with this weapon to the point where he knows it almost as well as he knows his body. Though it may strike some more hardened mercenaries as a strange choice for a go-to weapon, it works well with the cage fighter's style of combat - and, if the letters 'p o p' carved into the grip have any significance, it also serves to reflect the simple, sentimental nature of the Earth-born cowboy who once was.

Hahne-Kedar Shadow Works Cobra - A small, but highly efficient pistol designed by the eggheads at H-K as a next-generation sidearm for private security and military. It doesn't pack quite the same amount of punch as an equivalent weapon of turian make, but its recoil and ability to squeeze off enough rounds for the kill before overheating doesn't leave much to be desired.

Ariake Technologies Light Mercenary Armor - Ariake's top-of-the-line Ronin armor models stack well against any human-made product on the market. This is not Ronin armor. This lightweight armor, the color of burnished copper with a score of scratches, scuffs, and hastily-buffed plasma singes, is what mercenaries across the galaxy like to call company armor. It was bought second-hand off a member of Eclipse and repainted before being bought by Jackson - who, it could be said, acquired it third-hand. It makes little difference to him, since the human is accustomed to taking most of his fights head on and with no armor at all. Anything would be an improvement.

L3 Implant - Like most of the first real wave of affected humans, Jace was fitted with an L2 biotic implant through much of his adolescence. While some biotic preferred the raw edge that the precursor implants gave them, they also came with a set of debilitating side effects ranging from intense migraines to potential outright psychosis. In Jackson's case, the L2 was a double edged sword; keeping it in his brain was obviously killing it, if the roiling pains in his temples that were plaguing him by age 24 were anything to go by, but the procedure to switch to a safer L3 was invasive and high-risk. In the end, Jackson underwent the procedure; the side effects of his L2 were beginning to interfere with his fights and preparations, and any brain damage risk he accepted from the surgery was about equal to the odds he took on being beaten insensate twice by an angry turian three times a year. His L3 has given him no problems since, and he was never enough of a biotic god savant to notice the difference in his powers, anyway.

Logic Arrest Tool - An omni-tool brand preferred by the Alliance rank and file and lower-grade officers, this omni-tool was acquired by Jackson during one of his stays on the Citadel. Many professional fighters utilized cybernetics or implants in their bodies and incorporated these enhancements into their fight plans, and he was interested in the potential of using tech to neutralize these advantages. In the end, this idea never went anywhere - it was just as likely that an omni-tool wearer would gut an opponent as it was that he would hack him - but Jace still has the tool, blade and all. So maybe there was some merit to the commission's complaints.</sub>

_{A B I L I T I E S}

• Overload
• Barrier
• Throw
• Stasis

<sub>PSYCH PROFILE

T R A I T S</sub>

P O S I T I V E

• Fearless
• Competitive
• Charismatic

N E G A T I V E

• Chauvinistic
• Thin-skinned
• Irresponsible

_{V I C E S}

S E X

God's gift to his chosen species. Jackson first lost his virginity at BAaT to one of the trainees (by now he's forgotten her name) and showed no signs of slowing after the program dissolved. His job as a movie stuntman was a good icebreaker on dates (and, better yet, an excuse to rub shoulders with the cute assistants of the galaxy's thespians), and to this day he can still entertain a girl for hours with tales of his time on the silver screen. After his failure to settle down with his nascent family, his womanizing ways have returned, and he is happy to cultivate short-term flings and connections that wither in weeks, if not days.
_{"Do I know Blasto? He threw me through half the camera crew on the set of Blasto II: Blast Again Tomorrow. Still calls me on my birthday."}

S P O R T S

Jackson's fighting days are done for now, but his love of the game will go with him to his grave. He will still illegally stream events from all four major galactic fighting commissions from his omni-tool, and at times the sounds of his own fight analysis will ring out through the gym - and, depending on the brutality or genius of the combat display before him, possibly the entire deck. He also streams biotic-ball, but his knowledge of that sport is far more casual; poker tournaments are an occasional feature, as well.

C I G A R S

An appreciation for fine cigars is one thing Jackson started to pick up when he was on the fighting circuit. He grew up in a household teeming with hand rolled cigars, which his father enjoyed; high quality cigars were made on Earth, of course, but the agriculture colonies at Edem Prime were also a household favorite. When he started earning the money to truly afford them, they were Jace's favorites as well - for a time. His tastes are a little bit fancier now, and though they may not be the wisest financial move, he likes to savor the good shit, straight from Bekenstein. The perks of making money, indeed.

_{H A U N T}

G Y M
Jace has set up shop in the gym of Achilles and is slowly molding it to resemble one of the specialized fight camps standard to professional fighters across the galaxy. The gym is more than just weights to mindlessly lift to heavy music or machines for cardio - though it features both in spades. A circular section of the center of the room has been cordoned off as an impromptu ring for wrestling or sparring, and punching bags and kicking stands stand vigil in a larger circle. A small entertainment center has been set up for music or movies while working out, flanked by a horseshoe bar that is not as impressive as the ones in the crew lounge or rec rooms, but still serviceable. Blunted knives, clubs, and even a pair of nunchaku hang from the walls in the event that someone wants to shake things up a bit. Jace sleeps in the gym more often than not, sleeping on a comfortable-looking mat behind the bar raised up on a slight platform.

_{D R I V E}

Jackson has no burning need to prove himself...per se. His nature is that of a warrior and competitor, and he has beaten and been beaten; conquered and been conquered; how could anyone who has weathered and enjoyed the fights that he has need to prove himself? The voice in the back of his head does not scream that he needs to prove himself; it challenges him to challenge himself. He was a student at BAaT, protected by his youth; then he was a stuntman, merely replicating dangerous activities for the rich and famous; fighting was the greatest joy he's ever known, but even that was still in a cage with rules and referees, judges analyzing his performance and fans to cheer or jeer. Security work is lawless, the possibilities limitless. He wants to see how he thrives in such an environment.

As far as his family goes, he has not gotten over the near-simultaneous loss of his parents, and it in turn led to him fleeing from his own growing family. He feels some regret over this, but not as much as he would feel if he settled down too soon; through mercenary work, he hopes to move past the deaths of those who mattered most to him, and decide for himself the kind of future he wants - and hopefully find a point where he's ready to be a father.

The conquering hero (both myself and my character) are finally done! True to my word, I got it up before I slept.

Which I will now do. Congrats to everyone who got their sheets in; like I said, they all look great, and I hope we all have a great time playing together.

[Antediluvixen]

Final (small) changes have been made and I thiiiink my girl is done. Fixed her age since I made her older than I intended, changed the image used for her cyber arm (I found a cooler looking one!) and added a smidge about the kitchen.

Also art is hard but I'll get her pic done if it's the death of me.

[Mao Mao]

Alright, I am sure that I have made the necessary changes to my dude.

[Xanadu]

@Stormflyx
That's completely understandable! Thank you for your active communication throughout and showing of interest! And I will add you to the list of names to call on if spots open up!

---

In other news...

Applications are officially closed!

I will be with you all shortly to announce the official crew of the Achilles! In the meantime, thank you again everyone for being so cooperative with me during this process and really giving it your all to make your applications the best that they can be! Stay tuned everyone!

[Mortarion]

Yeah, I'm gonna have to apologise for being so quiet on my end, I've been super distracted as of late with a lot of thigns and i couldn't wrap up my sheet in time. I wish you all the best of luck with the RP and, well, if there's an opening spot, gimme a call.

[Heat]

@Xanadu yeah I didnt intend to write them as being a powerhouse. They were a strong gang but not near E, BP or BS. Sorry if my wording made it seem that way. I saw it as because the loot was so good in these bases they raided. They also figured they were too down the ladder for the big 3 to retaliate hard. They were wrong.

I havent been able to get on my laptop since thurs otherwise I wouldve cleared it up. Appreciate the kind words on the sheet :)

[Xanadu]

And without further delay, the crew of the Achilles is...

@Star Lord Marius Faro | Human | Engineer
@Rtron Korpis Can'sobar | Batarian | Vanguard
@Dervish Ardan Parvis | Turian | Soldier
@Heat Drayak Vash | Krogan | Soldier
@Monochromatic Rainbow Firuzeh Khoroushi | Human | Vanguard
@Lauder Hann'Ceedda nar Jalazi | Quarian | Infiltrator
@DJAtomika Karmm "Sully" Sol | Krogan | Engineer
@Jarl Coolgruuf Isabel “Bluegrass Bel” Barton | Human | Sentinel
@Plank Sinatra Jackson "Jace" Pulliam | Human | Sentinel

Yep everyone made it! Towards the end, we had a significant drop in applications that ended up making this process a lot more bearable on my end. And in the end all of you guys ended up brining some pretty awesome idea to the table! And even better then that, all of you were responsive and willing to handle the critiques and questioned leveled at you! You all showed that you care and that matters a lot to me. So at the end with only really one player over budget then I originally anticipated bringing us up to a roster of ten, that is a number that I can work with! Congrats to all of you and without further adue lets get to business!

First order of business! Some Important Links!

_{The Intro Collab}

_{Taking a page from @Dervish's Gm Guide (which has been like super helpful getting this thing off the ground by the way, so thank you for that!) While I'm commencing work on the first real plot-post in earnest, I have a writing exercise for all of you! It's a big collab post between the crew so that we are able to get those first post introductions and other stuff that would usually slow the RP. This collab instead will hopefully give us a chance to have the same established effect, and allow all of us to kind of play with and see how all of our characters will end up getting along with one another! I ended up giving you guys a bit of background info and other stuff to help dress the setting and establish the mood. You can take from that as little or as much as you want from that. But everyone should at least try to contribute something! Because I think it will be a fun thing to work on while I get that big plot post up!}

_{The Discord}

_{Here is the link to the Discord for everyone! Currently it is a little bare bones but when I have some free time I will spruce it up a bit! The discord is intended for planning, off-topic discussion and the like. Official announcements though from the GM will still be posted here though! So keep a watch out for any important messages!}

Alright! Let's have a blast everyone! ^-^

[Jarl Coolgruuf]

@Xanadu
Happy Dance!