Andreyich

Mass Effect: Caelestis

To be fair Vorcha lad is closer to the top of the list whenever he straightens out from his hunch, which belies his chonkiness

Mass Effect: Caelestis

<Snipped quote by Andreyich>

Can I make a special request?

@Spoopy Scary

What did he mean by this

Andy's hunt for kin-spirit dreggs

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Iryk

_{Iryk
5 ⟁ Male ⟁ Vorcha ⟁ Sentinel}

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

---

An image of the frighteningly obsidian hued Vorcha

Vorcha have perhaps the widest range of phenotypes of any sapient species of the Milky Way, but it would nevertheless be an accurate statement to call Iryk atypical. In total mass he is noticeably larger than most of his racial kin having sinewy bulk approaching a Krogan. However he is shorter than them owing to a hunch from top to bottom of his back that leaves him at about two thirds of his hypothetical height; with his hunch he is about 150cm, whereas if he were to straighten out his spine in its entirety he would be far more than two metres. Alas, his back is now fused into its current shape and as such when he wants to intimidate he can only muster about 190cm.

His skin is rough, a well muscled black material reminiscent almost of carbon fibers. His eyes are likewise a shade of black wherein one cannot find the pupil, and very notably his body is covered in many small hooks, studs, spikes, and little plates resulting from his life's adaptations much like the rest of his physique. Many of these spikes are retractable both to assist in maneuvering and in butchering. If one pays close attention they can see bumps and scar tissue where his implants are, but the contours are difficult to make out on black flesh.

_{H I S T O R Y}

---

The discovery of Heshtok - homeworld of the Vorcha - is a recent one to the international community. The persistent violence of the people there lead many to see no interest in doing business anywhere near the very system, but many also saw an opportunity. The lack of official recognition for the Vorcha made them prime prey for quasi-legal slavery operations, and a young Vorcha by the name of Iryk was one of many victims of such a practice.

He was transported to a mining world, the corporation administrating the work there finding his race's adaptability and short lives leading them to be much more disposable than humans, asari, and other races with simple access to unions. With the introduction of Vorcha slaves into labour the company's profits soared and very soon the number of Vorcha slaves on the planet outnumbered those of all other races combined. As more and more of his kin were brought in, Iryk started his race's process of adaptation to his environment. He became dark, hunched, resistant to the elements and his skin turned almost into a chitinous carapace with hooks in to do anything from weathering tunnel collapses to ascending and descending pits unaided by technology or even wrestling with the cockroach like monsters infesting the mines.

But as this transformation began the overseers of his mine noticed very strange things about him. He performed many of his tasks more efficiently than even older, fully adapted Vorcha and after tests for Eezo it was no trouble to determine that he was a biotic. Given the infancy of the Vorcha in the galactic stage proper research upon them was not yet done, but that did not stop corporate leaders looking to boost profits from trying to use experimental implants upon them.

Irtyk was given preferential treatment, him and other biotic Vorcha planned to be managers of their own kind; slaves that ruled the other slaves in exchange for a life approaching that of a free man. He learned to speak, read, and write properly along with a standardized core of science, technology, engineering and mathematics. With his enlightenment he made relationships beyond that of work with some of the tutors and doctors he met. Many were genuinely trying to aid the Vorcha and they soon came to see each other as friends. Yet, his newfound knowledge also lead him to realize the full magnitude of what horrors were being done to his people. It did not take him long in his short breaks to find the pyres where the corpses of his kind worked to death were laid.

There were many more collaborator Vorcha like him, and they started to meet in their breaks. They talked, they planned. They earned more and more trust of their overlords, getting firearms supposedly to take down occasional riots or the many beasts that dwelled on the world. They earned keycards and passwords, they got personal vehicles. The planning was cut short when rumour came of instruments and weapons being developed specifically against the Vorcha in case of an uprising. This told the plotters that they had no more time, and as such they got to work. Having built rapport with their underlings be it by intimidation or with good leadership they knew their amassed resources had the manpower to truly make use of them. In the night they came upon the other settlements of the planet and they burned them to the ground. Many tried to flee the vicious wrath of the Vorcha but for every mining outpost these were in the single digits, these people oft maddened until their last days speaking to reporters of the evils and crimes against life that the obsidian Vorchas would inflict in their vengeance

They hijacked whatever spacecraft they could and flew across the stars. From that point on the history of Iryk mirrors that of most other Vorcha. Those early developmental experiences of his life lead him to know nothing of life save intrigue and plots to kill, and along with his former comrades he could foresee no life save that of the mercenary. After many lesser jobs hunting and then ripping apart anyine fron law enforcement to rival criminals Iryk felt he was readu for greater tasks. It is thus that for his fearsome and savage reputation Iryk found himself hired aboard the Caelestis as something between security and contract killing.

_{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Outwardly Iryk markets himself as naught more than yet another Vorcha; a rather daft but obedient (as long as he's either paid or intimidated) butcher. But he likes to think of himself as much more. He knows of the many concepts so alien to him from the ideological and religious variance of the Citadel races to their odd rituals of mating and etiquette. He can speak as the finest Asari diplomat should he so please, but he is ever frustrated having to hide this lest he be turned in to authorities or bounty hunters as one of the biotic leaders of the disastrous Vorcha uprising he helped lead. As a rule he does not very much like other species, but he is also more than conscious that there are exceptions to the rule of their highborn smugness and arrogance that he experienced on the only home he knew, the related traits easily driving the Vorcha into a maddened frenzy on their exhibition. Though he knows much of other reaces, he often finds it difficult to understand why they are as they are, particularly in matters like morals and sensibilities coming at odds with practicality and utilitarianism such as eating the dead.

Iryk is more than capable of kindness and compassion contrary to the stereotype of his race, but he will never show it unless given it first and as such there are few if any candidates for his benevolence. Though he will still speak with the primitive sentences of many of his other kind he will work very professionally with those he is partnered with, and he will have a particularly good attention to and knowledge of any contract he is currently on which he will follow to the letter and not more or less (save bursts of sadism).

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

---

• Decryption
• Throw
• First Aid
• Bloodlust
• Carnage

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

---

• M-97 Viper (modified for a shorter optic scope to be more a battle rifle than a true sniper)
• Flamer - a wrist mounted weapon integrated (but not synonymous) with his omni-tool, it is a a devastating weapon for ranges that are close but not quite melee.
• Omni Tool - though its formal use as a weapon is not yet commonplace in the Galaxy, the Vorcha is happy to use its many functions from wrench to welder in purposes both for which it was designed for, and ones far more vicious and violent.
• Bodysuit - Though the skin of the Vorcha is already rather functional as armour and a hazardous environment suit, its still not often enough (especially in the true vacuums of space). He will almost always have it on given it is tailor made for him being a composite of an old mining suit, pilots suits, armours, and other bits looted off of the dead — it would be rather difficult to get pre-made suits that fit others onto his frame. Most of it is kept inside and away from innocent nostrils, but to those who come into hugging range of the Vorcha will be assaulted by its awful smell.

_{S T R E N G T H S & W E A K N E S S E S}

---

• Adapted Biology: strong, fast, tough, and augmented with implants the body of Iryk is ready for whatever challenges may be thrown at it.
• Engineered mind: Iryk has a deep alien cunning, far more educated than many of his kinsmen. If a test was taken he would even be nearly a standard deviation above average in Citadel race societies; he can speak eloquently in many voices, albeit to most he chooses to speak in the typical Vorcha syntax to hide what is within his head.
• Sadism: While he won't explicitly seek out violence for the sole purpose of causing hurt, any task he does he will try to do it in a manner such that he will inflict as much suffering as possible. Though this gives him great pleasure and soothes his mind, it will more often than not lead to him wasting time, alerting his presence to others in the vicinity, and otherwise hurt him. Likewise, these elements of his fractured mind will naturally make more or less anyone he is with save other Vorcha and some Krogan to be very distrustful of him at best.
• Odd Physiognomy: Iryk is a rather large being contorted into a hunchback provoking far more disgust than most Vorcha already do. This form has helped him at times, but in general it limits his methods of hiding into simply curling up into a compact ball and hoping his dark flesh will keep him unnoticed. Likewise though such a form helped him navigate the mine tunnels and rocky slopes of his earlier life he has at many times found his shape to be a curse when it comes to traversing the interstellar world; he cannot fit into any ventilation shafts, no armour designed for ordinary bodies fits him, and software rarely if ever recognizes him as a humanoid, often mistaking him as some sort of rabid animal or at times even as an automaton.

_{G O A L S & R E G R E T S}

---

• Iryk wants to insure that his people can make a living in the galaxy at large and to insure no more of his kind will be taken advantage of as he and many of his brothers and sisters were. Quite simply put he wants health, wealth, and happiness.
• When the slave rebellion was at its peak it quickly morphed from a conflict of liberation to one of vengeful extermination; in the end, many humans, Drell, Turians, Krogans, Asari, Salarians and others who were kind to both Iryk and other Vorcha met undeserved, and very painful deaths that journalists inevitably reported upon in graphic detail. This would attack Iryk's psyche from many angles: it vindicated thebelief of other races that Vorcha were savage vermin, it it would make the race untrustworthy to the galaxy and thus counterproductive in the quest of the race's growth, and quite simply many of those fallen Iryk had started to consider friends who's deaths he is responsible for. This event more or less broke the mind of Iryk creating the much more vile Vorcha crawling through space now.

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Hmmm, though previously I wanted to do an epic sadist vorcha biotic I'm also thinking of an old human or drell janitor who's too old for this shit. Flip of the coin

Okay I'll probably stick with the vorcha because I already had an idea of backstory and stuff and it'll the first time in a while I've got to play someone who's genuinely a pretty bad person

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Hmmm, would a vorcha flamer fall under abilities, equipment, or both?

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Aren't elcor great combatants mounting heavy armour and weapons on their shoulders?

Mass Effect: Caelestis

Sadistic vorcha hired muscle, reporting for duty

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

The Confessor's moustache drooped as Alexa spoke, before smiling kindly as she finished. "Oh how endearing of you to suggest such, dearest Sister. Alas, I doubt it will be. I am but a humble Confessor. I would not deign to ask for such and even if indeed I were to do so I am all but certain the request would be rejected. Worry not, Sister. I know that between the three of you not a hereitc shall be left standing and should the foe be alerted to you, I shall be ready to dispense holy justice of my own." Horacio promised, racking the slide of his shotgun demonstratively. Of course, though a powerful symbolic gesture he made sure to pick the fallen shell off of the ground.

He made the sign of the Emperor as the Sisters went off to do their duty, before kneeling down in silent prayer.No doubt as the time passed that they were killing many of the foe, and oh how much Horacio wished e could be amongst his comrades. It wasn't cowardice that kept him here oh no, he was more than happy to die in the line of duty. Rather he was a liability and he would indeed benefit from Alexa's suggestion, despite the unlikelihood it would ever come through for him. In his studies he had learned of some tribes in feral worlds that ritually threw their most elderly and unproductive off of cliffs such that they could live more efficiently in the service of the Emperor, and the grim thought came upon him that he would soon be approaching eligibility for this alien, but strangely logical and utilitarian practice.

He was brought out of his musings however as he overheard loud voices, and possessing a definite masculinity that indicated they were not the Cleric's treasured Sisters. They were angry, and all but certainly they were not the sort who would be kind to the followers of the Emperor. The thought that his absence could have these men strike into the rear of the trio and he would be at fault for having stayed behind made his heart beat dangerously and he had to practice a few breathing exercises to restore himself to a healthy state. His shotgun would be of no use hear, and thus he stowed it away.

Peaking around at the men he grimaced. They were two and he was one. He had the element of surprise, but he did not go along with the Sisters precisely because he knew he would have difficulty maintaining it. What then, could he do? Well, he had knives had he not? He drew two, and tested their balance. He could throw one with some semblance of accuracy, and not two at once. After he hit one of the men the second would be alerted and rather likely to duck for cover before the projectile hit him. He would have to fight one hand-to-hand, that much was apparent.

He wasted no time and rushed out throwing one of the blades at a squatting heretic. Much to the Priest's disappointment it didn't cut into the man, rather just striking the skull of the bastard with a loud bonk. It was enough to at least temporarily incapacitate the man as the Confessor went to stab his comrade. The man however was young and clearly skilled, reacting just in time to catch Horacio by the wrist and stave off the attack. The worrying realization dawned on Horacio that the man was much stronger than him as slowly his blade-bearing hand was overpowered and the point turned on its very holder, slowly pushed back towards Horacio's flesh. The man had more skill, more energy, more strength. But Horacio knew he had faith, and experience on his side. As slowly blood began to be drawn, he spat in the man's eyes before striking him in the head with his own. He ignored the tremendous pain as the knife went all the way into him and he ignored it again as he removed it before sinking it into the enemy's skull. The encounter had almost ended Mazzini's life and had felt like eternity, but in truth it was no more than six seconds in total.

The man hadn't been paying attention, and he knew he might have screamed amidst the violence. He hoped it was not the case, but it was a dangerous possibility.

War Never Changes 2 : A Post Nuclear Nation Roleplay

Denver Reclamation Force

Breathe. All he had to do now was breathe. Next on the list was think. Where could he go? Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, the machines were coming. Oh the Legionnaires had put up a good fight, even busted a few, but it wasn’t enough. They were as durable as deathclaws and just as fierce, but without backing down if gravely injured and yet the Legionnaires and Frumentarii raised their weapons and struck back with their own feoricty. With that said, of the men that didn’t run when realizing the ineffectiveness of their resistance was left mincemeat.

The Frumentarius’s train of thought was broken when he heard the clank of metal robots. CRB-S and Assaultrons, the technician had called them. He knew it was pointless, but nevertheless he rose from his slump against the wall and ran down the hallway. Somehow it was more frightening that they were chasing him, rather than gunning him down as he ran. Trying to slow down so he could turn the corner the man managed to do the ninety degree bend, but from fear and darkness he tripped. Lars turned over to at least look his metallic killer in the eye, but instead they simply stood at the threshold to cross the intersection of hallways.

L̕͜oc̵͜ą́̕ti͝o̵͡ń͢ Se̛cu͡͡͠ŗ͢͏e̴͢.̧
̕͢
R͠eg̀͟ŕo̶͢ư̶ṕ͜i̸͠n̕҉͢g.̡

With that they turned and went back from whence they came. Lars couldn’t believe it, but he wasn’t going to waste any time being astounded. He had lived and he would make this miraculous life count. He was going to report everything that happened - with suitable embellishment of course - and perhaps for his heroic performance could even find himself promoted with a great story to accompany his career. Whatever the Legion had found in the underground of Denver was far, far more than just a cyberdog factory, it was something frighteningly intelligent, (if apparently inept in a few respects) and the scientists had more than overestimated themselves. For their arrogance a good chunk were dead.

No matter. They could be replaced; perhaps Lars could even volunteer for the mission to kidnap their replacements.