Athol

The Coffee Shop of Whiteboroughs University

Okay, done. Let me know if it needs any work.

Fara

---

---

{Name}

Farahnaz ‘Fara’ Deljou

{Age}

23

{Gender}

Female

{Ethnicity}

Persian
^{(American born)}

{Sexuality}

Lesbian
^{(In theory at least. Guys do nothing for her, but she never actually had a relationship…)}

{Year}

2

---

{Appearance}

Fara is not an overly large presence, standing only about 5’5” and coming in at 120ish pounds; with shoulder length dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. If it wasn’t for her obviously Middle Eastern complexion in the predominantly Caucasian Arizona, she’d be a rather anonymous face in the crowd so to speak. (“No, I’m not ‘Arab’, I’m Persian! Yes, there is a freakin’ difference!”)

Clothing wise, she lives in variations of the classic ‘T-shirt and jeans’ combo salvaged from local thrift stores, adding long sleeves or shorts and such depending on the weather. The closest thing to ‘fashion’ she gets is a few pieces of jewelry; a pendant from her mother, earrings, and a re-sized ring that was once her older brothers.

{Personality}

She’s certainly friendly enough at work, but on a personal level if she doesn’t know the people around her she’s usually very quiet and reserved, rarely one to draw attention to herself; on the other hand around friends or if there is a subject that she is passionate about being discussed, she can be very talkative.

{Backstory}

The youngest child of two Iranian emigres, she grew up in Nevada with her older brother, leading a pretty standard and boring middle class life. It was rocked when she was fifteen, and her brother was killed in an accident; another driver ran a red light and broadsided her brother’s motorcycle. That left her rather shaken for quite a while as she and her brother were quite close.

Aside from that, her life has been pretty average. A personal realization about who she truly was led to some complicated times/feelings later in high school, but then as now she was far to timid to to act on said feelings. She has ‘come out’ to both her few friends and her parents, and while they’ve all been supportive, they also have all quietly despaired at her continuing ‘single’ status.

Post graduation, she just sort of ‘hung out’, working a couple of part-time jobs while she tried to get herself in order. Always a bit of an artist, she gravitated towards WU for two reasons; one, the courses she wanted, while considered top grade, were being offered cheaper than many other universities or colleges, and two, (most importantly in her mind, if not her parents) they were heavily on-line. That meant, as a borderline insomniac, she could take them on her time table. She does have a couple of actual classes, but they’re at civilized times (after 12pm).

{Other}

She’s a big sucker for most anything ‘post-apocalyptic’, surprises a lot of people when they find out she’s both a dedicated gamer and a huge metalhead (she has a bit of a crush on the lead singer of Arch Enemy), she has a tattoo of her brother’s name on her left wrist.

The Coffee Shop of Whiteboroughs University

W.I.P.

---

---

Name

Farahnaz ‘Fara’ Deljou

Age

23

Gender

Female

Ethnicity

Persian
^{(American born)}

Sexuality

Lesbian
^{(In theory at least. Guys do nothing for her, but she never actually had a relationship…)}

Year

2

---

Appearance

Fara is not an overly large presence, standing only about 5’5” and coming in at 120ish pounds; with shoulder length dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. If it wasn’t for her obviously Middle Eastern complexion in the predominantly Caucasian Arizona, she’d be a rather anonymous face in the crowd so to speak.

Clothing wise, she lives in variations of the classic ‘T-shirt and jeans’ combo salvaged from local thrift stores, adding long sleeves or shorts and such depending on the weather. The closest thing to ‘fashion’ she gets is a few pieces of jewelry; a pendant from her mother, earrings, and a re-sized ring that was once her older brothers.

Personality

She’s certainly friendly enough at work, but on a personal level if she doesn’t know the people around her she’s usually very quiet and reserved, rarely one to draw attention to herself; on the other hand around friends or if there is a subject that she is passionate about being discussed, she can be very talkative.

Backstory

The youngest child of two Iranian emigres, she grew up in Nevada with her older brother, leading a pretty standard and boring middle class life. It was rocked when she was fifteen, and her brother was killed in an accident; another driver ran a red light and broadsided her brother’s motorcycle. That left her rather shaken for quite a while as she and her brother were quite close.

Aside from that, her life has been pretty average. A personal realization about who she truly was led to some complicated times/feelings later in high school, but then as now she was far to timid to to act on said feelings. She has ‘come out’ to both her few friends and her parents, and while they’ve all been supportive, they also have all quietly despaired at her continuing ‘single’ status.

Other

The Coffee Shop of Whiteboroughs University

This style of RP is a bit outside of my norm, but if you're willing to put up with my fumbling, I'll take a shot at it.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad: He takes the hits so you don't have to :p

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad

As they rallied on the knocked out tank and made ready for the next wave, Gerad joined Sven in trying to bring the machine back on line. Though the tank’s design made it impossible for him to enter it while in full armour, it was equipped with several external maintenance hatches for rapid in field servicing. Prying one open, Gerad tapped into the tank’s systems and immediately was able to answer a question that’d bugged him since it’d shown up. Why hadn’t the crew just slagged them with its main gun?

His best guess was that the tank had had its computers totally wiped when it was surplussed, including the controlling software for the plasma cannon; these guys seemed to have used a copy of a much lighter plasma cannon’s control software as a work around, but his guess was that it simply crashed when trying to deal with this much higher output. Deleting that patch of files, Gerad loaded a copy of his PRP’s OS, and made a few rapid adjustments; it was crude, it was sloppy and it’s probably wasn’t going to work all that great, but it was better than before.

The system came back online just moments before the second wave moved on them. From his position beside her, he watched Ducaelia launch a cyber warfare attack that made him think about his own armour’s security; but that was another thing for later. As the APCs went haywire, he still maintained his link to the tank, and took remote control of the turret. Status boards showed damage to its horizontal traverse, so trying to hit any of the, potential, moving targets was pretty much out of the question while the hull was stationary, but he could swing it about and aim it at the breach they had come through. As soon as the system showed a ready shot, he fired, sending a massive bolt of plasma through the breach where it exploded in a brilliant flash; best case, he hit something important, worst case, the third wave would be a bit more hesitant about coming through.

”Oi Sven!” He called across the company comm channel as he disconnected. ”Big burn’a up top works, those ‘s a bit sluggy side to. Reload ain’t shiny eithe’ but ‘ll get ther’ in a tik.” Bring his personal weapons and defences online, he moved to join the battle. ”Oh, an’ if th’ ‘puter say somethin’ ‘bout a ‘Cascade Failure’, leg it sharpish like.”

Ducaelia has the APCs all scattered and in disarray, so he turned his attention to the supporting infantry. With barrier up and shields on, he advanced towards them, turning his VLA in the trucks. While they were armoured, it was armour that was meant to stop light infantry grade slug throwers, not a vehicle grade laser weapon. The first two blew up spectacularly as his targeted their fuel storage, a third one simply vanished with everyone on board when a PRP round struck it in the side; all that in the first few moments.

The infantry, shaken by Durcaelia’s antics, didn’t even pay him any mind until he opened fire, but it was a rather futile gesture. Saving his dwindling PRP shots for any more heavy armored vehicles or soldiers, he simply bunkered down in the open and made himself a rather lethal little pillbox. Small arms fire poured into him, sparking of the shield, or on occasion, rattling off of the armour itself. None of the troops seemed to have anti-armour weapons, why would they, they controlled all the serious firepower on the planet…right? Safe in his walking tank, Gerad took his time picking off the enemy. ”Ain’t ‘and shoot’n this easy since trainin’!”

The Saltaire District

Menddir sat back, observing the others; too soon to make any real judgments, he was however a bit disappointed that he seemed to be the only actual warrior. ”Find the red Dwarf, find out what happened, try not to die…sounds simple enough.” He said finally in a low and gravelly voice. ”That said, I’ve not heard anything ‘bout pay. Yes we Clansmen ‘ve got a reputation for being hardy…but a man’s gotta eat and you Southerners bleed a man to his last copper with your prices.” As he spoke he was smiling slightly, but his words still carried the slight bite.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

@ShiningSector The way it's going right now is fine, but maybe a short bit of down time before going after the next Horseman? Give the PCs a chance to repair and re-equip, and the rebels to get more intel on the other 3 (because realistically, if 1 goes down, the others are going to change what they're doing, re-enforce positions etc)

Honestly I'm fine with how things are going, just an idea I thought I'd throw out there.

Tales of the Crimson Legion - Galaxy at War

Gerad

While Ducaelia tried her claws at 'interrogation', Gerad made a mental note to speak to Silas about his concerns once they go off of this rock. Skag it, wish I knew more 'bout how th'm clanks worked...

While the other were busy with the questioning Gerad poked about, though the first order was pulling the HF blade from where it was still stuck in his Barrier. With a bit of a tug it came free, and he gave it a once over. Poorly sized for his main hands, it was none the less a decent little cutter, worth tinkering with back on the ship. Lifting a sheath from one of the dead, he attached to a foreleg to keep it out of the way before continuing with his investigation of their attackers gear; whomever was responsible for the equipment list knew what they were doing, as it was all top flight gear.

While the repair nanites did as much as they could, he released a different kind onto one of the less mangled casualties. Known as 'Dupers', their role was to infiltrate tech and map targeted tech as fast as possible, for those time where collecting samples just wasn't practical. Gerad was most interested in the cammo cloaks used as they seemed to be fairly effective, but he really didn't have space to bring one with him.

In the background, he heard the man break, and Cyne announed that he was into the system. "Back t' work I guess..."
--
"Wowche' boss!" 'Overwatch' was all well and good...assuming there was any high ground he could get his stumpy hide up onto; but since the building's designers hadn't made any such considerations, all he could do was wedge himself in a likely corner.

As the APCs came into view, he couldn't help but smile a bit. Like the tank it had a shield, but unlike the tank, there was only one emitter meaning an older and less effective design. When the order was given, Gerad opened fire first with his VLA at full power, sweeping it across all three machines. The shields did their best to refract and dissipate the laser, but in doing so they burn a lot of energy and suffered a significant drop in effectiveness, which of course Gerad was counting on. On the heels of his VLA came the PRP, heavy bolts of plasma slammed into the first APC, slagging the front end and forcing it to halt; a testament to its builders though, the crew inside survived, though they had to abandon it as the blast also disabled its weapons.

The second wasn't so lucky, as Gerad adjusted his shot and actually hit under the vehicle, causing the blast to be forced upwards and into the belly. The APC simply blew up, shrapnel shredding the dismounts using it as cover, debris scattering over a wide area.

The third one slammed to a halt as the driver probably panicked, but all that did was make the shot easier. The third one blew as spectacularly as the second, though the 'soldiers' scattered from it much faster. With it neutralized, Gerad put a fourth PRP shot into the first APC, just to be sure.

The Saltaire District

Menddir Sohrersson

Still solidly built, he's none the less starting to show his age; a bit softer around the middle, grey hairs here and there, evey year a few more wrinkles. He hears other bemoan the fact that they're getting older, but to him they are things worth cherishing as it means he's still alive.

His body is a patchwork of tattoos and scars collected from a lifetime of fighting. Runes of protection, strength and health adorn his arms and torso, while ones of endurance, way-finding and peace cover his legs; behind his right ear, and now lost in his still thick, but greying, hair he has an intertwined rune of wisdom and knowledge. His hand, both backs and palms, have ones of power, strength and magic.
-
Of the numerous scars, there are only two are of note. The most noticeable, across his left eye, was as the result of a foolish boast as a young and hot-headed warrior; in his arrogance he thought he could beat any man and so challenged a Jarl for the right to rule, a rather foolish endeavour as it turned out.

His lower left leg has a sizable bite mark from a bear baiting match that went wrong; he was fortunate others acted fast enough to drive the animal off before it could do more serious harm.

"Beware of the old man in a vocation where most men die young."

---

---

Menddir Sohrersson

Male

54

Human

---

Iron Mage
^{The Northlander term for what most would call a 'Spellsword'}

The common view of Northlanders is that of a gruff and stoic type, with little use for the idle conversations and pleasantries found among the more southern peoples. While there is some truth to that, it is mostly because such things are usually reserved for friends and clansmen in the North. Menddir however has spent a large part of his life in the South, and has become much more open to others. A serious warrior for sure, but a welcoming friend to those around him.

Menddir was born in the fractious tribal area known simply as the Northlands, where Jarls rule over small holds, trade and make war with one another; some send raiding parties to the Southern Lands, while others offer their services as warriors to defend against such attacks.

Menddir was the second son of a minor noble, and grew up always intending to be his brother's strong right arm when he inherited thier father's title. Such plans where further strengthened, when as he began to mature, a magical affinity began to show itself.

Tested by the Hold's Skaal, his strength was found to be a bit lacking, but that did not worry Menddir; he'd already been training as a warrior since he was a child, now he would become one of the revered Iron Mages, men and women who wielded both blade and magic on the battlefield.
-
In his fifteenth year, his father's Housecarl and Skaal both deemed him fit to leave training and take up arms as an Iron Mage. The next two years were some of the greatest of his young life; raiding both Holds and southern towns at his brother's side, hunting beasts and other such deeds. However just short of his eighteenth year, he nearly undid it all; at the Jarl's request, he and a sizable war-party were sent to aid an allied Hold, and upon arriving Menddir in his youthful arrogance was dismayed to see the allied Jarl was an old man who seemed to do little but sit in his Great Hall and whisper to his attendants.

After the war-party assisted in driving off a heavy raid from another Hold, the reason they were sent in the first place, Menddir made his move. Barging into the Great Hall he declared the Jarl was too feeble to rule and that the Hold deserved a strong leader, an Iron Mage leader. While his war-party's presence gave the impression that he was willing to make a go of it, few of the men seemed overly enthusiastic (he'd neglected to tell any of them his poorly thought out plan).

Marching to the Jarl, he issued a challenge by combat for the right to rule, stating he'd give the old man a 'chance' by with holding his magic. The Jarl nodded, and the Hall was made ready for the duel. Once all was set the duel began...and then it ended; in his arrogance, Menddir rushed in thinking to overwhelm the old Jarl, only to find himself on the ground with the left side of his face feeling like it was on fire, and a bloody sword point to his nose.

Seeing Menddir's stupidity and arrogance for what it was, the Jarl didn't claim his life, though it was his right, instead ordering Menddir's war-party to gather up their half-blinded 'leader' and depart at once. Upon returning to his own hold, his Jarl was enraged, but not without mercy. He was allowed to remain in the Hold for as long as it took for his wound to be declared healed, though he would have few rights and no authority. Once that time was passed, he was escorted from the Hold to never return under pain of death. After the Jarl's initial pronouncement neither his father nor brother spoke to or of him, nor came to see him while he remained. His mother still came to see him, though she seldom spoke, but that was more because she helped tend his wound. When he was escorted from the Hold none of his family were there.
--
From there he set off South to try and make his way in the world, and to keep his belly full; while he was angry at the time, he's now made peace with what was done and considers it the right action. What he did should have started a war between his Hold and the other, but wiser heads prevailed, and he still had his life.
--
Menddir found himself in Heston not for the first time, having just finished a contract escorting one of the city's wealthier merchants around a few of his holdings outside of the city's walls.

---

Quilted gambeson and lamellar armour
Iron helmet and chain-mail
Splinted greaves and vambraces
^{His left vambrace is engraved with a runic sigil of defence and protection allowing him to focus a ward into a shield that will stop most physical and magical attacks for a time.}
Axe
Seax

Skills

Single-Handed Combat
Cook
Tailor
Singer

Abilities

Mage
Cold Resistant
Long Endurance

Major Spells

Firebolt
^{Medium range ball of fire. Explodes on contact}
Flames
^{Short range jet of fire}
Frost
^{Short range blast of intense cold}
Lightning
^{Medium range bolt of lightening. Can arc between some targets.}

Minor Spells

Defensive Ward
^{Focused through left vambrace. Creates a three foot diameter 'shield' for protection.}
Bind Wound
^{Causes wounds to heal at a phenomenal rate.}

---

---

He has at least three sons and two daughters, that he knows of, but he's never met any of them.

The Saltaire District

Menddir Sohrersson

Still solidly built, he's none the less starting to show his age; a bit softer around the middle, grey hairs here and there, evey year a few more wrinkles. He hears other bemoan the fact that they're getting older, but to him they are things worth cherishing as it means he's still alive.

His body is a patchwork of tattoos and scars collected from a lifetime of fighting. Runes of protection, strength and health adorn his arms and torso, while ones of endurance, way-finding and peace cover his legs; behind his right ear, and now lost in his still thick, but greying, hair he has an intertwined rune of wisdom and knowledge. His hand, both backs and palms, have ones of power, strength and magic.
-
Of the numerous scars, there are only two are of note. The most noticeable, across his left eye, was as the result of a foolish boast as a young and hot-headed warrior; in his arrogance he thought he could beat any man and so challenged a Jarl for the right to rule, a rather foolish endeavour as it turned out.

His lower left leg has a sizable bite mark from a bear baiting match that went wrong; he was fortunate others acted fast enough to drive the animal off before it could do more serious harm.

"Beware of the old man in a vocation where most men die young."

---

---

Menddir Sohrersson

Male

54

Human

---

Iron Mage
^{The Northlander term for what most would call a 'Spellsword'}

The common view of Northlanders is that of a gruff and stoic type, with little use for the idle conversations and pleasantries found among the more southern peoples. While there is some truth to that, it is mostly because such things are usually reserved for friends and clansmen in the North. Menddir however has spent a large part of his life in the South, and has become much more open to others. A serious warrior for sure, but a welcoming friend to those around him.

Menddir was born in the fractious tribal area known simply as the Northlands, where Jarls rule over small holds, trade and make war with one another; some send raiding parties to the Southern Lands, while others offer their services as warriors to defend against such attacks.

Menddir was the second son of a minor noble, and grew up always intending to be his brother's strong right arm when he inherited thier father's title. Such plans where further strengthened, when as he began to mature, a magical affinity began to show itself.

Tested by the Hold's Skaal, his strength was found to be a bit lacking, but that did not worry Menddir; he'd already been training as a warrior since he was a child, now he would become one of the revered Iron Mages, men and women who wielded both blade and magic on the battlefield.
-
In his fifteenth year, his father's Housecarl and Skaal both deemed him fit to leave training and take up arms as an Iron Mage. The next two years were some of the greatest of his young life; raiding both Holds and southern towns at his brother's side, hunting beasts and other such deeds. However just short of his eighteenth year, he nearly undid it all; at the Jarl's request, he and a sizable war-party were sent to aid an allied Hold, and upon arriving Menddir in his youthful arrogance was dismayed to see the allied Jarl was an old man who seemed to do little but sit in his Great Hall and whisper to his attendants.

After the war-party assisted in driving off a heavy raid from another Hold, the reason they were sent in the first place, Menddir made his move. Barging into the Great Hall he declared the Jarl was too feeble to rule and that the Hold deserved a strong leader, an Iron Mage leader. While his war-party's presence gave the impression that he was willing to make a go of it, few of the men seemed overly enthusiastic (he'd neglected to tell any of them his poorly thought out plan).

Marching to the Jarl, he issued a challenge by combat for the right to rule, stating he'd give the old man a 'chance' by with holding his magic. The Jarl nodded, and the Hall was made ready for the duel. Once all was set the duel began...and then it ended; in his arrogance, Menddir rushed in thinking to overwhelm the old Jarl, only to find himself on the ground with the left side of his face feeling like it was on fire, and a bloody sword point to his nose.

Seeing Menddir's stupidity and arrogance for what it was, the Jarl didn't claim his life, though it was his right, instead ordering Menddir's war-party to gather up their half-blinded 'leader' and depart at once. Upon returning to his own hold, his Jarl was enraged, but not without mercy. He was allowed to remain in the Hold for as long as it took for his wound to be declared healed, though he would have few rights and no authority. Once that time was passed, he was escorted from the Hold to never return under pain of death. After the Jarl's initial pronouncement neither his father nor brother spoke to or of him, nor came to see him while he remained. His mother still came to see him, though she seldom spoke, but that was more because she helped tend his wound. When he was escorted from the Hold none of his family were there.
--
From there he set off South to try and make his way in the world, and to keep his belly full; while he was angry at the time, he's now made peace with what was done and considers it the right action. What he did should have started a war between his Hold and the other, but wiser heads prevailed, and he still had his life.
--
Menddir found himself in Heston not for the first time, having just finished a contract escorting one of the city's wealthier merchants around a few of his holdings outside of the city's walls.

---

Quilted gambeson and lamellar armour
Iron helmet and chain-mail
Splinted greaves and vambraces
^{His left vambrace is engraved with a runic sigil of defence and protection allowing him to focus a ward into a shield that will stop most physical and magical attacks for a time.}
Axe
Seax

Skills

Single-Handed Combat
Cook
Tailor
Singer

Abilities

Mage
Cold Resistant
Long Endurance

Major Spells

Firebolt
^{Medium range ball of fire. Explodes on contact}
Flames
^{Short range jet of fire}
Frost
^{Short range blast of intense cold}
Lightning
^{Medium range bolt of lightening. Can arc between some targets.}

Minor Spells

Defensive Ward
^{Focused through left vambrace. Creates a three foot diameter 'shield' for protection.}
Bind Wound
^{Causes wounds to heal at a phenomenal rate.}

---

---

He has at least three sons and two daughters, that he knows of, but he's never met any of them.