Urd walked into the engineering bay as he talked into his omni-tool, making notes as he surveyed the engineering bay. He had to duck to fit through the doorway as even with it being retrofitted the ship was not designed for someone of his size. His faithful drone, Ruzad, floated dutifully behind him. The small engine rumbled like a pleased Varren as it hovered along. As per usual, he was in his armor with his hammer on his back and his claymore at his side. Not that he really expected trouble on this ship, of course, but old habits die hard.
“The Weiro is, as with all Quarian ships, functional. Her armor and shields are weaker than I would prefer, but not everything can be of solid Krogan make. She will do, especially for the long periods of time we will all be in the ship. Her greatest strength will be her versatility once we upgrade her. If CSEC gives us the funds to upgrade her. The Geth left a lot of room for building her up. Note: Do a more thorough examination of the ship at a later date and put in requests of upgrades to the ship as a whole."
“The vehicle situation is less functional. We’re stuck with two Alliance Makos and four Kodiaks. And while I’m sure the humans pride themselves on the economy of their vehicles, I am far less assured. The Mako is notoriously difficult to drive, possesses a sub-par cannon, and its armor on the best models is merely adequate, and I doubt CSEC gave us the best model. The Kodiaks are more acceptable, but not as good as Krogan Threshers. Reminder: Renew request for Krogan Tomkah to be added to the vehicle bay so the squad on the ground can have actual fire support and mobile cover. Put in requests for Krogan Threshers so interplanetary travel is more secure. In the meantime, begin upgrading and improving armor on Mako as best you can. Also, renew request for Varrens and Kakliosaurs.”
The engineering bay was a much better sight. Everything was as tip top as a ship designed for nearly endless periods of sustained life aboard should be. With the added modifications and retrofitting from the Geth it was and even better set up. “Engineering bay is in much better condition. The Geth only improved on the old Quarian designs. Aside from age, I can see no concerns. That may change as I begin to get reports back from my scans. For now, notes ending.”
He brought down his omni-tool and walked over to the nearest console to begin a basic system scan and report, gesturing idly to the armored drone behind him. “Ruzad, fly to the higher levels and start scanning for any weaknesses in the structures or flaws that I should be aware of.” The drone beeped in reply and began to fly to various parts of the engineering bay and begin scanning for any irregularities, as Urd idly patted the Varren plushie attached to his side, waiting for the reports to come back.
Ruzad traveled up alongside the power conduits, passing the rarely-used upper balcony where a Scorpion pistol was left sitting alongside a neatly folded uniform jacket and a radio set playing a thumping techno-pop tune, barely audible from below thanks to the deep rumble of the engine core.
“He had an angel’s face, a fighter’s grace, and an ace hidden up his sleeve-”
The drone swung towards the source of the noise, a set of legs dangling from one of the rafters, which was tapping in time to the beat of the song.
“-but never mind cos love is blind, and she needed to believe-”
Moving cautiously to avoid detection, Ruzad floated upwards to get a clearer vantage point, finding a figure in a black and gold uniform slacks and a white crop top deep in the innards of a power conduit.
“His touch could fill! He held her safe from...oh by the sands what is this, do they WANT someone to shut the power down mid-jump?” The figure roughly pulled a bundle of wires out by a heavy plug, a static discharge illuminating the amber scales and dark eyes of the Drell doing the impromptu electrical work.
“Note to self, don’t trust the Geth to secure vulnerable areas of this ship,” Osino Kael reported to herself, despite lacking any sort of recording device. “This is abysmal, I’ve found at least three major vulnerabilities in the power relays today, to say nothing of the conduit shutoffs.”
The Drell paused mid-thought, then turned slightly to face the drone observing her. “Well I don’t mean YOU, you seem perfectly competent...if a little bulky.” Extracting a thick rope of wiring from the conduit, Osino slid backwards off the rafter, grabbing onto the edge with one hand before she fell and dropped safely down to the upper drive generator, securely plugging the wires in with a shower of electrical sparks. “Messy but it’ll do,” she said, wiping her brow before looking back at the drone. “You know, you seem familiar, have I infiltrated into your coding before?”
With a shrug, Osino stepped onto the power conduit leading over the lower balcony, not noticing the Krogan waiting patiently for the droid’s scans to complete, since she only had eyes for the sugary beverage that she left sitting behind him earlier. Crouching down over the pipe, her body glowed with biotic energy as she slipped around the tube and stood upside down underneath it. Reaching for her drink, she didn’t quite notice the metal component she stuffed loosely into her pocket slipping out.
Focused on the scans before him and the issues that were being reported, Urd missed Ruzad’s warning beeps about the unexpected Drell in the upper balcony. He began recording notes in his omni-tool again, scowling at the console. “Ancestors preserve me, the Geth are terrible at securing weaknesses in this system. There’s at least three issues in the-” He suddenly stopped, his brows furrowed in confusion as one of the issues disappeared. “What in the Void? End notes.” The omni-tool shut off once more as the Krogan scratched the side of his plate and tapped on the console a few more times to ensure it just wasn’t a glitch going through.
The issue was genuinely fixed, at least for now, which was concerning. Ships didn’t fix themselves, so that could only mean something was going wrong. After all, he was the only engineer CSEC had brought on. They didn’t need any others. He brought up his omni-tool once more. “Ruzad, get me those scans as fast as you can. Something weird is going on with this ship, and I’d like to figure it out before we explode or something. I’d survive, of course, but the rest of the crew would be pretty put out.”
A loud clunk from behind him immediately sent a panic through Urd’s body. Flashbacks to ambushes from the tubes raced through his head as he whipped around, Claymore out and aimed at the sound behind him. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard again, he wasn’t going to be taken again, he had to alert the crew there was an invasion already the tankies had figured out where they were and… The stream of thoughts came to a slow halt as Urd stared at the Drell standing on the bottom side of the tube, hand stretched out towards a drink he hadn’t noticed before. She glowed with biotic energy that apparently glued her to her unorthodox positioning.
It was a familiar glow.
It was a familiar alien.
“Oh, didn’t know anyone else was here,” Osino remarked, somewhat distracted as she tried to figure out the logistics of drinking upside down. Urd’s eyes narrowed in recognition and then widened as the voice kickstarted his memory of where he had seen the amber colored woman before. The same frustration surged back as he saw her face, remembering the last blow she had gotten in before fleeing.
“It’s YOU!” He roared, taking his already usually unnecessarily high tone of voice a few levels higher. He pointed a finger at her, accusingly.
“I…steady rhythm of machinery, stale air choked with smog, slaver struggling against the restraints,” Osino recited, her eyes darting around as her surprise gave way to a particularly strong memory recall.
“You’re that slippery little pyjak whose crew kidnapped my client on Chalkhos! You cost me three thousand credits!” Urd shouted, not aware of the Drell recalling a specific memory. Truth be told, he wasn’t even aware of what species she was. Just a very irritating and painful opponent.
“Heated shrapnel scatters along the wall, electricity dances around the rusted red hammer... ”
“You knocked out my tooth with that cheap shot at the end! It took weeks to grow back!” Continued shouting, bulldozing over the recited memories.
“Glass shatters as the hammer strikes the ribs, metallic taste in the mouth, sharp breath as the second strike misses by inches...”
“And here you are, stowed away and getting ready to steal something else! Maybe someone else! You won’t get away this time you little shit! Get down from there!” He yelled again, pointing to the floor in front of him a series of short jabs.
“Fingers scrape against the latch, descent into the dark vent, I...wait, stowaway?” Osino said, blinking as she snapped out of her recall. Ruzad floated down quickly from the upper balcony, tracking the drell’s movements and making Urd’s demand incredibly clear. “I think we may be having a misunderstanding…” Osino went on, trying to defuse the situation with a light chuckle. “Heh, okay maybe more on your part, but-”
Chucking her drink in Urd’s direction, she swung around the conduit and sprung off, stepping off of Ruzad on the way up before vanishing into the rafters.
Urd smacked the drink out of the way with his Claymore, scattering the drink across the floor. Ruzad beeped in alarm, swinging around to try and trace where Osino had disappeared to with no luck. The Krogan scanned the upper rafters with his shotgun, growling in irritation as he remembered how difficult she was to pin down. “Get back down here and show yourself, you coward!” He roared into the now seemingly empty room. No reply came.
“Fine! I’ll find you then! One way, or another!” Focused on finding the Drell, Urd didn't hear the doors open.
This is done with an in-character dossier of information readily available about your character in mind, in addition to that which they are willing to disclose to those hiring them for the mission. Anything you do not want visible to the public please PM to me.
Full name: Urdnot ‘Urd’ Shephurd
Race: Krogan
Citizenship: Main Krogan Space. Proudly.
Aliases: N/A
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Urd desperately wants to be a hero. Not just any hero, but a hero equal to the one his name comes from and the other legends that surrounded his namesake. Feeding into this desperate need he completely believes that he is destined for greatness and that because he is a grandson of Urdnot Wrex and a descendant of Shiagur (Note: Neither are particularly unique things for a Krogan to be) he will become one of the greatest heroes the universe has ever seen. Knowing what he is destined to become, he strives to emulate the characteristics he sees in other legendary heroes. He is boisterous, loyal to his companions, merciless to his enemies, proud, and driven. He is also a very open individual. While refreshing when compared to some of the other potential candidates for the Spectre program, Urd’s tendency to talk and tell tales when reminded of them has derailed the evaluation multiple times and forced it to be paused to be put back on track.
(Note: This was not entirely a bad thing. Urd seems to be a natural born storyteller, and what stories he chooses to tell, be they myths or events he has heard of or tales of his own exploits, revealed a great deal about him)
Both a typical Krogan and in his own eyes a peerless survivor, arrogance oozes off of Urd in droves. He knows that he survived his Rite of Passage because of his genetics. He is assured that he survived the biotic surgery because of his will. He is certain that his survival during the Neo-Krogan Wars and as a prisoner of war to Clan Urak are not because of luck, that his own skills and innate talents allowed him to be stronger than whatever tried to kill him.
Urd has supreme self-confidence to the point that the idea of total failure, not just setbacks on his way to the ultimate goal but actual complete failure with no chance of ever succeeding, is a foreign one to him. When pressed on the idea that he might totally fail at some point in his life, he looked confused and then laughed. “Impossible!” Further attempts to press him on the matter were met with the same easy dismissal. Urd simply refuses to imagine failing at his ultimate goals. He might be delayed, but he will never truly fail. This allows him to bounce back from defeats with surprising vigour, but it remains to be seen what he will do if he ever has to face a total defeat.
In spite of his arrogance and his emulation of heroes that were all potent leaders in their own right, Urd has no desire to be a leader. He is content being responsible for himself and his own destiny and does not want to bear the weight of others on his shoulders. When the subject was brought up he laughed again. “I’m no leader. Too much work being responsible for others and their needs. I must focus on my destiny, and my legacy.”
Urd has a very large competitive streak, an innate need to one up and meet any challengers or challenges he comes across. Be they real or perceived. He is constantly pushing himself to go past previous limits and make himself stronger, faster, or more knowledgeable.
The only time Urd’s cheerful, easy-going, and boisterous demeanor slipped is when the conversation turned to the Neo-Krogan war. To say that he hates the Tank-Born Krogan and the Rebels would be an understatement. Urd despises them. He loathes them with all of his being. In his eyes the Rebels are cowards who were unable to face the fact that times had changed and the Krogan needed to change with them, and the Tank-Born are monstrosities that should have never been. It does not seem that this hatred of the Tank-Born stems from insecurities. Urd genuinely believes that the Tank-Born are inferior, purely because of how they were made and how they act. In his mind, without struggling and earning their strength they are like a brittle rock. Once exposed to enough heat, they’ll simply shatter.
When it was brought up that one of the heroes he idolizes so much, Grunt, was a Tank-Bred Urd met the question with some confusion. “Grunt is different. Grunt was raised by Shepard and Wrex. He’s not like the tubes.” (Note: Short for ‘Test tubes’. A derogatory term for Tank-Bred Krogan, similar to tankies) All attempts to equalize Grunt with Urd’s hated foes were met with similar dismissal.
Despite his going to considerable lengths to hide it, the emotion that forms the base of Urd’s psychology and motivations is fear. Fear of ignominy. Fear of being doomed to a life of anonymity and being average. Fear of failure. Fear of death. Fear drives Urd far more than he will ever admit. He hides it behind all the other emotions, but it is always there tingeing his actions and his thoughts.
During the evaluation it was discovered that Urd is highly superstitious and has certain rituals he relies on to bring him good luck. A Varren plushie (known as Ara), discovered after his escape from captivity, is almost always on his person. He can be seen frequently rubbing or touching it for luck (and comfort, but he will not admit that). He doesn’t know where it came from, just that he found it in the chaos of his escape and it has brought him good luck and ever since. He is incredibly protective of the plushie, but indifferent to any mocking about his carrying of it.
Before battle he will kneel and trace a pattern in the ground, while he quietly mutters one word over and over again. Korbal (Note: Roughly translated to mean Victory or Death.) He is almost entirely unresponsive during this brief period.
When asked about these, Urd explained that the word was the chant the crowd would start up before his fights as a gladiator. The pattern he traces is the symbol for Clan Urdnot. He claims these actions center him. When facing a new enemy, the symbol changes from Clan Urdnot to a Krogan word for honor, though the chant remains unchanged. He calls this his Rite of Firsts (Note: A much longer one is done if he is given enough notice beforehand that they will be facing a new enemy. It involves a prayer to his ancestors to grant him and his foe honor in the upcoming battle and that he will be victorious over the new challengers ahead)
His rituals continue even after missions are completed. After every mission Urd insists upon being the one to meticulously clean and repair his equipment. Nominally this just appears to be a soldier keeping his self-reliance, but Urd does this immediately after the mission has concluded and he is back at whatever happens to be home base. Disruption of this procedure leads to anxiety and nervousness. Any attempts to have someone else take care of those actions were met with aggressive resistance.
Urd has a fear of the dark. While he will never admit it, claiming any nervousness and fear that he showed had been excitement that was misinterpreted, and that any sensors that showed biological responses of fear were faulty, his experiences with night combat and as a slave have left a mark. Whenever he rests, his drone is always set to watch over him with a soft glow. During missions that require no lights the interior of his helmet will be softly lit, blocked out by shading on the exterior.
Urd greatly enjoys working on vehicles, ships, armor, and weaponry. The process gives him a sense of accomplishment and a practical goal to work toward, and the challenges they present appeal to his aforementioned competitive nature. It is possibly the second most excited he was during the evaluation (behind only when talking about Varrens and Kakliosaurs. In particular his Varrens and his Kakliosaur. Urd loves the creatures) and evident that he could go on for hours talking about all the mechanical processes of whatever you put before him. VI and AI he was less excited to discuss, as their construction and functions mostly confuse him and as such he works very little on those. He has a great preference for hardware over software.
As he idolizes his grandfather and Grunt, Urd’s approach to the Blood Rage all Krogan are famous for is similar. He views it as an incredibly dangerous, but useful, tool. Something only to be let loose when nothing else will work. He looks down on those Krogans who let themselves be ruled by their Blood Rage, slipping into it almost as soon as the fight begins.
As mentioned at the beginning of the evaluation, Urd has an almost obsessive desire to be a hero. This is his primary motivation for joining the mission and because of this he will go to any length to ensure that the mission succeeds.
Phys. Eval.: Urd is massive, even by Krogan standards. Standing at 9ft 6in (2.89m) at the hump and weighing at 749lbs (340kg) of pure muscle. He is a striking figure, and finds his greatest source of pride in his large hump. He claims that it comes from grandfather Wrex and his ancestor Shiagur.
(Note: An accurate estimate of Wrex’s size and weight were impossible to gain, though self-estimations garnered from Wrex himself put his height at 8ft tall and weight at 800 pounds. Almost certainly exaggeration. No information about Shiagur’s height and build were found. It is unlikely that they are where Urd’s prodigious size comes from. Both his mother, his father and their relatives, however, were all found to be above average size for a Krogan.)
With his headplate fully solidified and his growth done, Urd is a fully mature Krogan and is in his prime. His great physical strength alone will be of great use to the mission, and his endurance with his natural Krogan regeneration will be nearly unmatched.
Biotics: After surviving the surgery to grant him biotic powers, Urd is a very powerful biotic. He focuses mainly on using it as a weapon and to increase his own strength even further, but has picked up a few standard tricks as he learned to control his newfound powers.
Qualifications: A veteran of both the new Rachni Wars and the Neo-Krogan wars, a survivor of the brutal slave fights of Clan Urak, a skilled mechanic, and a powerful biotic talent Urd is an experienced soldier and capable of adapting to nearly any situation thrown at him and coming out on top. Combined with his willingness to accept the orders of almost anyone on board the ship and work with whomever he is required to, his dirt cheap service, and his willingness to do anything to see that the mission is complete Urd makes an incredibly useful tool in the hands of the new Spectre Program.
History:
(Note: Due to the rather poor record keeping of the Loyalist Krogan clans, we have no way of verifying anything of Urd’s early life, and little way of verifying his history before joining the mission. What follows is his account. Given his penchant for exaggeration, some of these events should be taken with a dose of skepticism. What we can verify will be noted as such.)
”Ah, so you want to know my history before I got embroiled in the war? Of course you do. Damn thorough process this evaluation. Don’t know why I have to go through it, you already know you have the best damn Combat Engineer for the job. After all I’m…”
(Note: Here, Urd goes into a rather lengthy tangent about his ancestors, his merits, and his destiny of greatness. To save time, we have cut that part of the discussion out.)
Urd coughs, taking a drink of water. ”That’s better. As I was saying, the world I and my hundreds of brothers and sisters hatched into was a familiar one for the Krogan race: one of eternal war, fighting for survival. By the time my siblings and I were born the war against our ancient enemies the Rachni had been raging on for nine years, and those fucking cowards known as the Rebel Clans,”
Here, he goes to spit in disgust but pauses at seeing the glare from the attendant. He swallows sheepishly. This is not the first time he has done this, nor the first time he has been asked not too.
”Apologies. Those damned traitors had just made their move against my grandfather and the loyalist clans. We were now fighting a war on two fronts. Fortunately our formerly ancient enemies, the Turians and the Asari, and our tenuous allies, the Salarians, joined our cause to crush the rebellion. So, these wars were the wars that my family and I were expected to fight in. These were the wars that were all too excited to fight in. We were being trained for these wars as soon as we could throw a punch and hold a weapon. Standard Krogan Clan training. I won’t bore you with the details.
“What you will find of interest is that old habits die hard with the Krogan Loyalist Clans and every one of us was also being trained in a secondary role in society. A hold over from when the Genophage nearly wiped us out entirely so every Krogan was required to do at least one other job in addition to fighting. My siblings were taken under the wing of many different professions: some medics, others scientists, and still others were taken in by pilots.
“When my penchant for taking things apart and putting them together was discovered, I was taken under the tutelage of an Engineer. Not the role I really wanted. I wanted to learn how to breed and handle both Varren and Kakliosaurs. Amazing animals, those two species. I finally got my wish years later and have my own pack and Kakliosaur now…” (Note: Here, Urd goes into another lengthy tangent about Varren, Kakliosaurs, his respect for them as a species, his love for his pack and mount back on Tuchanka that he had raised, and how he should be allowed to bring his favorites, a Varren with a unique red and orange coloration known as Sparky and a large Kakliosaur named Grumpy, aboard the Weiro. This tangent included a multitude of pictures on his Omni-tool of Sparky, her packmates, and Grumpy. To save time, we have once again cut that part from the evaluation)
”Sorry, I just get carried away talking about them. Where was I? Right, taken in by an engineer. Urdnot Barran. He’s an old Krogan. Veteran of the original Krogan Rebellions, so he’s seen all kinds of technology come and go and worked on damn near everything in the galaxy at one point. He taught me everything I needed to know about working on vehicles, ships, weapons, and armor. He even gave me a few pointers on how to modify and install a VI. They weren’t his forte though, and I don’t blame him. All that software stuff is gibberish.
“He was the one who helped coach me through my Rite of Passage as my father was busy fighting the Rebels. I was only five, filled with excitement and rage at the proposition of coming of age and fighting a Thresher Maw. It went smoothly, as you can obviously see. He was also the one who told me about the ancient surgery that made biotics. I had been complaining about how I wanted to be a biotic, to better serve the clan. He sarcastically informed me that if I was so eager to be special I might as well go and die trying to survive the surgery. But good luck finding someone who knew how to do it and would do it. I’d have to go to Omega to even have a chance, he said. He thought I wasn’t going to take him seriously, but he was wrong.
A group of 15 of my siblings and I all gathered together to go find someone in Omega who knew how to do it and would be willing to. We all knew the risks and we all desperately wanted to become stronger to aid the clan in the wars it was facing. It was a year before we were to be sent to battle the Rachni as a blooding so we knew we had plenty of time. We all got on the shuttle to Omega and off we went. Wasn’t difficult. We were still merely citizens then, and as such didn’t need to ask for permission.
“It took longer than we had thought it would. Months, actually. So many people tried to lie to us, to cheat us, to rob us, or just outright attack us. It was great! A truly wild place that we thrived in. The stories I could tell. But you want me to tell my early history. So I need to focus. We found an old Krogan, even older than Barran. His name was Grak. He didn’t give a clan name, which unsettled us far more than we liked to admit. But he was the real deal, so we gave him our credits and one by one underwent the surgery. I was the first. I had no worries, or fear. Why would I? I knew I would survive it. I am destined for greatness.”
(Note: An ancient Krogan going by the name of Grak and offering his services to make ‘any species a Biotic, credits up front’ has been verified as on Omega and what records we have gleaned match up with Urd’s timeline of meeting this individual)
“The pain was excruciating. To this day, the worst agony I have ever felt and it’s not even close. I don’t remember passing out. Just blinding, burning, pain and then waking up in the recovery room. Grak was covering the bodies of 14 of my brothers and sisters. Only my youngest sister, Urdnot Erva, had survived. We hugged each other out of relief, and looked to Grak. He smiled his disturbing grin and told us that we should be displaying our powers within 24 hours. We thanked him again, and took our siblings' bodies one by one and gave them a proper pyre burial. They had sacrificed everything for the clan, and deserved nothing less.
“Grak was right. Before the next day had dawned, Erva and I began displaying biotic powers. Reliable, powerful, biotics. You can imagine our excitement. The hotel room we had been renting was absolutely wrecked as we experimented with our powers. The next day we caught another shuttle back to Tuchanka. The Shaman was furious when he found out. The fact that we did something so dangerous and illegal, with the fact that it cost the lives of so many of our siblings enraged him. We were severely reprimanded. We were almost denied being sent to the war front as punishment. But due to the fact that two of us had succeeded, he didn’t go quite that far. We were still biotics, and still in need of some training. So Erva and I were put on the fast track to learn what we could before being sent to the war. Barran just shook his head and called me a fool for taking such a risk. ‘Like trusting a Salarian’s word’ he called it. He got over it though, and resumed by technical training soon after.
“A few months later I turned six, and was going to be shipped to the Rachni war. I had crafted my own Krogan Warhammer for the occasion. It was the pinnacle of Barran’s lessons and perfect for all of my uses. I was, and am still, damn proud of it. Erva and I were to be put into a joint squad with a Turian, an Asari, and a Salarian. Many of my siblings and hundreds of others of the clan were doing the same thing. A move to strengthen our relationship with the other nations, it was called. We all had our doubts, as many of our parents still vividly remembered when those three races were responsible for holding us down, but if that is what Wrex wanted that is what we would do. We were not traitors.
“Our doubts were unfounded. That squad Erva and I were a part of, known unofficially as Hammer Squad, was a damn good one. Our commander was the turian, one Jordera Kandid. An experienced commander. Took no shit and allowed none to be given. Always had our best interests in mind though. He’s an absolutely terrible singer who won’t recognize that he is a terrible singer. The Asari was our biotic muscle and second in command. Her name was Morissa Deris and she is simply filled with the joy of life. Despite her being several centuries older than all of us, she had more energy and vigor than any of us combined. A very good biotic teacher as well, helping Erva and I master our relatively newfound powers. The Salarian,Jolik Palka, was our marksman. Quiet, for a Salarian. Phenomenal shot though. Saved my ass more than once, not that I needed it mind you. I was the point man on the squad, the first to enter the fray and rip the bugs apart. Erva was heavy weapons, bringing the pain from a distance.
(Note: Due to the Turian, Asari, and Salarian habits of excellent record keeping we can confirm ‘Hammer Squad’ existed and the roster is accurate. They would spend four years battling the Rachni back before being shipped to the frontline of the Neo-Krogan Wars. Their record during this time is excellent, with Urd being noted for exceptional service and bravery. They are shipped to the Neo-Krogan wars due to their heavy Biotic talents in an attempt to counteract the sudden stream of seemingly endless biotic Tank-Breds. They will spend another ten years battling the Rebel Clans before an artillery strike will separate Urd from his squad and result in his capture by Clan Urak. Those ten years show a similar success as in the Rachni wars, though in the five years before Urd’s escape they will leave the military and become a mercenary unit known as Hammer Squad.)
”Ah, you already have solid details about the wars before my capture? Well, let me say this then. Fighting the bugs was tough, no doubt about that. There is no enemy out there like the Rachni. But fighting the tankies and their rebel friends was a whole different thresher maw entirely. Much more difficult. The bugs are smart, but they have a set pattern and strategies of attack that they stick too. Predictable. The Rebels adapt, change, and move on the fly. Throw in the fact that they are krogan? And you’ve got yourself a situation that will drag many to the Void.
“Regardless, you want to know about my time as a slave of Clan Urak, right?”
(Note: Clan Urak was a relatively small Clan of Krogan that, after losing the Rebellions to the Genophage, decided it was best to meet death head on rather than wait to slowly go extinct. Thus, in a similar fashion to the Quarians of that time, their entire Clan uprooted into a sufficiently large ship and became a large mercenary force. They found themselves working frequently with Batarians, and through their close relationship picked up many of the Batarian habits. The most extreme one was the capture and use of slaves for both entertainment and labor. While not scientifically advanced enough to successfully put in the Batarian Cranial Implants, Clan Urak found that shock collars worked just as well for their purposes. They were one of the first Clans to rebel against Urdnot Wrex, and quickly laid claim to a planet on the outskirts of terminus space as their own by right of conquest. It only has one city, but it would become known throughout the galaxy as a hub of slavery and gladiatorial games. This is the planet Urd will find himself on after being captured by Clan Urak.)
”After I woke up from being knocked out by the artillery strike, I found myself with a collar on and chained to a wall of a ship. Others were with me. Turians, Asari, other Krogan, the occasional Salarian. Other captured slaves. Try as I might I couldn’t break free from my chains. They had some sort of biotic damper on them and were designed for krogan strength. Another Krogan was walking down the line, loudly explaining to us that we were slaves of Clan Urak now and that our lives would be for their use and entertainment. When he got close enough I spat on him and he merely laughed, grinning at my resistance. “It will be fun watching you break” he crowed, leaning in. He leaned in to close and I slammed my head against his face. The surprise and pain on his face were satisfying. What wasn’t satisfying was the agonizing electricity he shot through me at the push of a button. He held it until I fell unconscious, laughing at my spasms. I never screamed. I refused to give him the pleasure.
“Due to my feistiness, I was immediately marked for the Arena on their unjustly gained planet. I would be a crowd favorite I was told. They loved loyalist krogans. Especially biotic ones. I should be honored, I was informed, because the couple of matches that I survive I’ll be cheered on by a screaming crowd and ‘praised more than I ever had been in my pathetic life’. For the short few weeks my life had left, I would have a good life.
“They were right about one thing. The crowd loved me. Being so close to the edge of the terminus systems it was always a mix. Batarians, rebel Krogan, Asari, Turians, humans, nearly everything and anything was there. I always knew what they wanted most in the fights. If they wanted brutal and fast carnage, I gave them that. If they wanted me to draw out my victory, make a show of it, I gave them that too. On the rare occasions they were feeling mercy, well I was the most merciful gladiator they had ever seen. I was a god, and that arena was my domain. For five hellish years, it was my domain.
“As much as I hate the Uraks, I have to admit that they did make a damn fine arena. Spacious and filled with weapons, with a mass effect shield to protect the crowd from any unruly gladiators. Biotic Dampers could be deployed at any time to end any biotics in the arena, and there was always the golden button at the side of the Head of Clan Urak should he need to activate the shock collar of every slave in the arena.
“Urak Varrk was his name. He was a bastard. No honor, no respect. Just a tyrant who revelled in bloody carnage that he never earned. He was big though, and powerful. It's why his clan followed him. No one could match him in battle and he had crushed any challenger. I always swore to kill him when I saw his face. Which was frequently, since he was one of the many who loved to watch my matches. On the rare few times he couldn’t be there his son, Urak Tarv, was watching in his stead. Almost as big and just as powerful, Tarv was his only surviving son since the rebellion began and the Genophage was reinstated on the Rebels. I hated his face too. It was even worse when they showed up together. Individually they were dangerous, but when they fought together? They were murderous.
“But they weren’t smart. Every night me and the other gladiators would plan our escape. They were wall hardened soldiers and killers, they had to be to survive as long as they had in the arena, and we all knew that if we ever got the chance to break free we would be able to steamroll over the guards they had. All the true fighters were off battling the Coalition. The only ones left here were the ones that Urak Varrk didn’t trust to battle on the frontlines. There were hundreds of us. We could very easily steal a shuttle off or get ourselves into a position to radio for help.
“An Asari, Daria Issa, and I were slowly working on a way to turn off our collars. She was a smart one, Daria. An engineer with two centuries of experience under her belt and decades of combat experience too boot. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to craft the device without her, but she immensely sped up the process and I will forever be in her debt for that.
“We had already found a weak point in the mass effect barrier, and destroying the biotic dampers would be no issue once we broke the barrier. Through the bits and pieces of tech and broken collars scavenged from dead gladiators, we managed to get something together. A small device that could overload the collar and free whomever was wearing it. But we had to be careful. If we struck too soon we would simply be stuck in the prisons below the arena. Too late and we would be cut down by reinforcements. We had to wait, and that was the worst part of my entire time there. Waiting, praying that we wouldn’t have to act too soon and hoping it would work as intended. Because if it didn’t, we’d be stuck down there for longer if not worse.
“Our opportunity came a couple months later, when it was announced that the majority of us would be fighting for some celebration. I think it was the anniversary of the Batarians first aligning with Clan Urak? I’m not sure. But the point was there would be enough of us to make our move. The final, climatic battle of the festival would be ‘army’ vs ‘army’. They’d put a large group of us together and pit us against a mix of varren, robots, and other slaves. We freed ourselves before being let out. The collars were now just cold steel, useless for controlling us. Unfortunately, as we walked out, neither Varrk nor his son was there. Out on some other battlefield, most likely.
“The battle itself wasn’t too difficult. The other slaves were malnourished, the Varren mistreated, and the robots were rusting apart at the seams. We could’ve made short work of it but agreed to give them a show. They’d appreciate it, one last time. After the battle, we stood in the center of the arena and listened to the cheering roars of the crowd.
“Then I roared ‘NOW!’ and Charged through the weak point in the mass effect shield. It shattered like broken glass, suddenly leaving the crowd and the guards with no protection against hundreds of angry slaves. Before the guards could react I Charged into another one, knocking him to the ground before he could lift his rifle. My limbs began to glow with biotic power as I lifted my foot and crushed his skull beneath it, splattering it like a Pyjak beneath a Tomkah wheel.
“I began to hear screams as I picked up his rifle and fired upon the next guard. The crowd was beginning to panic as we set about taking our vengeance. The guards put up what fight they could, but it wasn’t enough. Soon we had taken the arena and a full blown slave rebellion was on their hands. We freed all the ones we came across and massacred everyone else. Not knowing how much time we had before the real soldiers came back to bring order, we headed to the armoury. There we would find the much needed arms and armor to fight off whatever counter attack came, and we would be able to start sending out messages to hopefully gain the aid of the Coalition to extract us if not retake the planet entirely.
“We took the armoury with little trouble and began arming ourselves as Daria started setting up the radio to broadcast for help. The armoury was a very defensible position and with our skills we could hold out there as long as we had strength. The guards that were left in the city didn’t attempt to retake it, still reeling from the riots and chaos happening from the slave rebellion. Daria picked up their distress calls and responses from the Clan Urak armies. Including Urak Varrk himself. Through a long series of cussing and raging, we gathered he and his son would be coming to restore order within the next two days.
“Daria managed to get a Coalition Krogan cruiser on the line and explain the situation. Help was promised to arrive within a week. With the city reeling and a large force of fighters available, it was too good of an opportunity for the Coalition to pass up. All we had to do was hold on long enough for them to show up.
“I found heavy armor, a striker, a knife, and a warhammer, and geared myself up for battle. Varrk would be coming with his son, and neither of them would be holding anything back in their fury. We could feel their arrival like a cold wind as the ship touched down. The Clan Urak military stomped into the fiery anarchy of the city and attempted to restore order. It was a battle though. Hundreds of slaves were freed and had armed themselves, and urban fighting was always going to be nasty. Varrk and Tarv, with their personal guard surrounded us, and demanded that we come out. We would be shown mercy if we didn’t make them go in there and drag us out. They even offered clemency to anyone who would give up the leader of the rebellion. Me, namely.
“We responded with gunfire. The next few days I can only remember as a chaotic blur as the city descended into ever more chaos and we exchanged gunfire and explosives with Varrk and his forces. Thank the ancestors they couldn’t afford to send a ship to just destroy us from orbit. That was the only thing that made that a fight. Every day the Coalition forces informed us they were growing closer, that they would be there soon. Every day we counted more of our dead and grimly hoped that they would arrive soon.
“Finally, Varrk grew impatient and threw down a challenge. Anyone who could defeat him in one on one combat had his word that no one in his clan would harm them or any of the slaves left in the armoury. We would be allowed to live. But, if he won, we would have to go back to being slaves. Quietly.
“I, of course, answered the call. Not because I believed that Tarv or any of the other Uraks would honor Varrk’s promise, or that Varrk even intended to try and make them keep his promise, but because there was the chance that seeing me kill their leader would shatter their morale and cause them to break. Plus, if nothing else, killing that pyjak would bring me great joy.
“I walked out, hammer in hand. Varrk laughed, drawing his own Warhammer. ‘So the child thinks he can take me on? Excellent. Killing you will remind the slaves that they are only chaff, and do not deserve their freedom.’ I raised my hammer and pointed it at him. ‘I’m going to kill you. And before this is done, you will be begging for forgiveness and your life.’ He bared his teeth in a snarl at me. ‘We’ll see about that, boy.’
“Our initial clash shook the very ground. My biotic charge slammed into him as he sprinted towards me at full speed. Varrk was a large Krogan, almost as big as I was, and took it far better than I expected. He dug his feet in, slid back a few inches and swung his hammer upward in an arc that caught my jaw and sent me stumbling back. Before I even had a moment to react the hammer was swinging down at me, and I just barely rolled out of the way. My own counter swing hit him in the side as he tried to advance and bring the hammer down on my head. I heard the grunt of pain and Charged again, this time into the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back and he was lifted off of the ground.
“When he fell back to it, the only sounds were the cheering from my side and the silence from his. I strode forward, hammer lifted high to beat him further into the ground when he suddenly leapt to his feet with a terrifying roar. His eyes were mindless with the Blood Rage and he set upon me like a frenzied beast.
“Blow after blow shook and stunned me. I blocked what I could but he was overpoweringly strong, seemingly tireless and fast. More and more hits began to get in, and he was beating me back towards the armoury. I could hear his soldiers chanting his name louder and louder.
“‘Varrk! Varrk! Varrk! VARRK!’
“I misjudged what was needed to counter his final attack and with a resounding crack, he broke my arm and threw me to the ground. He let out another bestial roar, bringing the hammer down on my back. Once, twice. Slamming me into the ground, seemingly intent to smash me into a pulp. He kicked me in my ribs to turn me over, and as I felt some of them break I finally snapped.
“The sweet sweet rage I had been letting build for years finally filled my veins, and just like that my pain was gone. There was nothing. No pain. No exhaustion. No thoughts aside from one thing: destroy my enemy.
“I Charged him again, leaving my warhammer on the ground. He choked mid-roar as my head rocketed into his, sending him stumbling back. Screaming in my own fury I leapt up and crashed a Nova into his head like a meteor into a planet. He fell to his knees. I grabbed his warhammer and held his hands around it, pulling it up so he could face me. Then I headbutted him. Wham! He tried to jerk back but was stuck in place, holding onto his weapon. I headbutted him again. Slam! He jerked back once more, and tried to let go of the hammer but I held his hands tightly around it. I headbutted him again. And again. And again. Biotic power filled my limbs and I felt no pain as I began to crack his helmet. Red mist was covering my eyes and all I could think of was causing him pain as I slammed my head into his over and over again. I have no idea how long it went on. Just the steady slam of my head into his, breaking his helmet. Finally I let go of his hands and he stumbled backwards, dazed.
“I took his warhammer and with a powerful swing, shattered his helmet and sent him flying to the ground once more. I broke the warhammer over my knee and approached as he attempted to crawl back to his feet. I kicked him back to the ground with a snarl and ripped his helmet off, drawing my knife. One foot on his back, I roared to Clan Urak as they watched.
“ ‘I AM URDNOT SHEPURD’ I yanked Varrk’s dazed head upwards. ‘IT MEANS HERO!’ He screamed as I slammed the knife just in front of his headplate. He was babbling and begging at that point, but I did not listen. He had earned this. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’ There was a horrific screech as I ripped his plate from his skull. ‘ALL OF YOU!’ I shoved the knife into Varrk’s head, killing him. ‘WHO’S NEXT!?’
“Tarv tried to run at me, absolute fury and hatred in his eyes, but was dragged back on the ship by his men. They were running. ‘COWARDS!’ I roared at them, throwing the knife. ‘YOU’RE ALL COWARDS!’ I wasn’t aware that the Coalition fleet had arrived, and the reconquest of the planet had begun. Clan Urak was outnumbered and fleeing, living to fight another day. Tarv only stared at me, hate burning in his eyes, as he was dragged onto the ship.
“I’m not sure the exact moment I passed out, but when I woke next I was with Daria on a Coalition ship, heading for Tuchanka. After recovering from my wounds I decided to find Hammer Squad again, or at least attempt to. I had gotten my fill of battling those fucking rebels and tankies, and if I never see one again it’ll be too soon. I had heard my old squad was mercing around Omega so I got a shuttle and went into the Terminus systems and the Omegan Empire. Never found them, but you people did find me. And I am more than happy to seize my destiny and help you.”
(Note: The event known as the Uprising on the Slave Planet is documented by the Coalition fleet that arrived there and interviewed the survivors. Urd’s involvement is mentioned frequently as an essential part of the Uprising, even if his version of events is more dramatized and exaggerated. He did not duel Urak Varrk for the fate of his fellow slaves, but he did kill the Warlord in combat during the last battle of the Uprising, for example. A Coalition soldier leading an Uprising to kill one of the Warlords of the Rebel Clans is a morale boosting event, and as such the events have been utilized for propaganda. After recovering from his wounds, he would go on to be a mercenary for the last five years. Searching for Hammer Squad he would complete a number of missions and contracts to his employers great praise, which is what first brought our attention to him. Upon contacting him and explaining the situation, he eagerly agreed to work for us for far below his normal rates provided we give him the chance to quote ‘seize his destiny’.)
Position: Primarily: Point man for squad. Secondarily: Assistant Engineer.
Electric Krogan Warhammer (Note: This is Urd’s personal Warhammer, crafted by his own hands.He has modified it to gather and expend electricity, and is very proud of it.)
Combat Drone, fondly named Ruzad. Urd has modified it to fire assault rifle bullets and Ballistic Blades. It is far more rugged and crass than your average combat drone, with a larger chassis and motor and more reliance on armor than omni-shields.
Heavy Hazard Armor (Note: Contains built in Tech-Armor that Urd has modified to have omni-blades protruding from it. Inspired by Batarian Blade armor.)
Varren Plushie (Ara)
Special requests: Ryncol, permission to bring aboard a pet Varren (note: Urd has been repeatedly denied this request and repeatedly puts it back in), feed for said Varren (note: also denied), permission to bring one or more Kakliosaurs aboard (note: denied along with the Varren, but he keeps putting it back in with the Varren), supplies for the Kakliosaurs (note: denied as well), M-920 Cain, Cain Trip Mines, M-452 Firestorm, Reaper Blackstar, M-597 Ladon, Inferno Grenades, Cluster Grenades, Chemical Rounds, Inferno Rounds, Explosive Rounds, Krogan Tomkah, Krogan Thresher (note: Krogan interplanetary shuttles, heavily armored and designed for dropping directly into heavy combat zones and landing with the crew intact) , N7 Typhoon, Heavy Colossus Armor, and various gun and armor mods.
Notoriety: 6. Among his clan and others of the Loyalist Krogan Urd is well known for his actions during the Neo-Krogan war and his rebellion against Clan Urak, and stories of it and his actions on the planet have been spread to other forces outside of the Loyalist Clans as moral boosting propaganda. (Primarily the Turians, Asari, and Salarians)
Misc.: Urd has chosen the quarters closest to the vehicle bay of the ship. The quarters themselves aren't particularly lavish. He has a work table set up in his room, a Varren sized bed (still hoping to bring on his pet), a computer, a peg wall for his weapons and armor, and a krogan sized cot.
What little ornamentation he has includes a broken Krogan Warhammer hilt and a shattered Krogan helmet (Note: Warlord design)both hanging on the wall. The symbol for Clan Urak adorns the side of the helmet. On his computer desk there is a model figurine of Bravery the Timid Varren, and on the wall a poster for the same show. In another part of the wall are all of the postcards Severin has sent him from her travels.
-Urd has all 10 seasons of Bravery the Timid Varren, not just on his omni-tool and computer but in the collectible physical forms as well (with the first season still possessing the note Zahir wrote to him with it). It is hands down his favorite show of all time.
-Urd generally speaks in a tone of voice that is louder than necessary. He doesn't seem to realize it, and he only gets louder the more excited he gets.
-Urd likes plants. He is bad at caring for them, however. It doesn't stop him from trying, so frequently his room will have dead or dying plants in it, as he searches the galaxy for a plant that can survive with his level of accidental neglect.
Relationships:
Seraph: Urd has no opinion of the Geth. Neutral. He shortens its name to 'Ser', it rhymes with care.
Sosa’Numos nar Suram: Urd has no opinion of the captain. Neutral. Though he does see her as the most direct route to get his Varren and Kakliosaur requests approved, and has a vested interest in convincing her to do that. He shortens her name to 'Sos'.
Takaror “Tak” Corr: Urd hates Tak with every fiber of his being and has zero trust in the Tank Bred. He only willingly refers to Tak as 'Tube' or 'Tankie'.
Nethel Niol: Urd knows of the Drell's moniker 'The Merc with a Conscience'. He finds the oxymoron amusing, but trusts the Drell's reputation as an effective mercenary. Neutral. He shortens Nethel's name to 'Net'.
Eustace Dar Adal: Urd only knows vaguely of the humans actions during the Neo-Krogan wars and in the private sector later on. Neutral. He will shorten Euscatce's name to 'Eu', but given the human's hostility to such a nickname it may change.
Osino Kael: Urd knows Osino. They fought each other once before when Urd was working a as a bodyguard for a slaver on Chalkhos. Osino distracted Urd, narrowly surviving a few close calls, as the rest of her Dead Cell squad took the slaver. The Drell stunned Urd to escape with her crew, leaving him not only with a failed mission and no paycheck but a grievous wound to his pride in addition to the injures he had sustained chasing her. He views her as an annoyance and holds some resentment for that mission, but will likely get over it. He shortens her name to 'Os'.
(Note: We should have noticed that one of Urd's rare stories about his failures included a rather accurate description of the Dead Cell squad members, including Osino, but we missed it. It was the 10th of such stories Urd was telling and we needed to finish the Pysch Eval.)
Azulethan ‘Zul’ Ledanari: Urd has nothing but respect for the Turian mercenary, purely from a professional stand point. He has heard only rumors of Zul's shamed past, and doesn't care enough to investigate further. His reputation as mercenary reached Urd's circles, as did his penchant for making enemies. Urd views him in a very positive light. He shortens Azulethan's name to 'Az'.
Dreklei Harahn: Urd has no knowledge of whom Dreklei is, but trust C-Secs choices in personnel. Neutral. He shortens Dreklei's name to 'Drek'.
Severin Zahir: Urd has an extensive history with Doctor Zahir. The two found themselves working together frequently during the Neo-Krogan wars, and Zahir is responsible for saving Urd's life (Interestingly enough, this story is one of the few times Urd doesn't exaggerate his own role. He is very clear that Doctor Zahir saved his life and is the reason he is alive). Zahir is perhaps the only person onboard the Weiro that Urd trusts implicitly. He is fiercely loyal to her, and she was one of the very first people he visited after freeing himself for Clan Urak. The two of them exchanged letters and gifts over the years, with Urd sending her trinkets or other gifts he thought she'd enjoy along with his typical exaggerations of his exploits. He even gave her the Claymore that she used to save his life, claiming it was lucky and that he himself did not need that much luck. He calls her 'Zee'.
(Note: Despite the fact that Urd calls Doctor Zahir 'Zee' a nickname which, based on our interviews with many of the people Doctor Zahir knows, is almost exclusively used by people she has had sexual relationships with, her and Urd's relationship is not sexual. To quote the Krogan himself their relationship 'has not been, is not at all, and will not be sexual or romantic in any way shape or form!'. Indeed, Urd's reaction to our suggestion of that level of intimacy with Doctor Zahir was one of comical surprise and horror. When Doctor Zahir was asked as well, she confirmed that their relationship, while close, was not sexual and that Urd had never displayed an interest in making it so. The doctor seemed amused during this line of questioning.)
Anderson McKenna: Urd served on Turgix, during the same time the Omegan forces and Anderson were on the planet. He has seen her in action and heard rumors of what she did on the planet, and greatly approves of her. He has expressed confusion over how Takaror Corr (referred to as Tube by Urd himself) is allowed free reign of the ship but Anderson is confined to her quarter. He calls her Mck (Note: Upon being informed repeatedly that this is a derogatory slur in human culture, and explained to why it was a slur Urd has changed his nickname to 'M').
This is done with an in-character dossier of information readily available about your character in mind, in addition to that which they are willing to disclose to those hiring them for the mission. Anything you do not want visible to the public please PM to me.
Full name: Urdnot ‘Urd’ Shephurd
Race: Krogan
Citizenship: Main Krogan Space. Proudly.
Aliases: N/A
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Urd desperately wants to be a hero. Not just any hero, but a hero equal to the one his name comes from and the other legends that surrounded his namesake. Feeding into this desperate need he completely believes that he is destined for greatness and that because he is a grandson of Urdnot Wrex and a descendant of Shiagur (Note: Neither are particularly unique things for a Krogan to be) he will become one of the greatest heroes the universe has ever seen. Knowing what he is destined to become, he strives to emulate the characteristics he sees in other legendary heroes. He is boisterous, loyal to his companions, merciless to his enemies, proud, and driven. He is also a very open individual. While refreshing when compared to some of the other potential candidates for the Spectre program, Urd’s tendency to talk and tell tales when reminded of them has derailed the evaluation multiple times and forced it to be paused to be put back on track.
(Note: This was not entirely a bad thing. Urd seems to be a natural born storyteller, and what stories he chooses to tell, be they myths or events he has heard of or tales of his own exploits, revealed a great deal about him)
Both a typical Krogan and in his own eyes a peerless survivor, arrogance oozes off of Urd in droves. He knows that he survived his Rite of Passage because of his genetics. He is assured that he survived the biotic surgery because of his will. He is certain that his survival during the Neo-Krogan Wars and as a prisoner of war to Clan Urak are not because of luck, that his own skills and innate talents allowed him to be stronger than whatever tried to kill him.
Urd has supreme self-confidence to the point that the idea of total failure, not just setbacks on his way to the ultimate goal but actual complete failure with no chance of ever succeeding, is a foreign one to him. When pressed on the idea that he might totally fail at some point in his life, he looked confused and then laughed. “Impossible!” Further attempts to press him on the matter were met with the same easy dismissal. Urd simply refuses to imagine failing at his ultimate goals. He might be delayed, but he will never truly fail. This allows him to bounce back from defeats with surprising vigour, but it remains to be seen what he will do if he ever has to face a total defeat.
In spite of his arrogance and his emulation of heroes that were all potent leaders in their own right, Urd has no desire to be a leader. He is content being responsible for himself and his own destiny and does not want to bear the weight of others on his shoulders. When the subject was brought up he laughed again. “I’m no leader. Too much work being responsible for others and their needs. I must focus on my destiny, and my legacy.”
Urd has a very large competitive streak, an innate need to one up and meet any challengers or challenges he comes across. Be they real or perceived. He is constantly pushing himself to go past previous limits and make himself stronger, faster, or more knowledgeable.
The only time Urd’s cheerful, easy-going, and boisterous demeanor slipped is when the conversation turned to the Neo-Krogan war. To say that he hates the Tank-Born Krogan and the Rebels would be an understatement. Urd despises them. He loathes them with all of his being. In his eyes the Rebels are cowards who were unable to face the fact that times had changed and the Krogan needed to change with them, and the Tank-Born are monstrosities that should have never been. It does not seem that this hatred of the Tank-Born stems from insecurities. Urd genuinely believes that the Tank-Born are inferior, purely because of how they were made and how they act. In his mind, without struggling and earning their strength they are like a brittle rock. Once exposed to enough heat, they’ll simply shatter.
When it was brought up that one of the heroes he idolizes so much, Grunt, was a Tank-Bred Urd met the question with some confusion. “Grunt is different. Grunt was raised by Shepard and Wrex. He’s not like the tubes.” (Note: Short for ‘Test tubes’. A derogatory term for Tank-Bred Krogan, similar to tankies) All attempts to equalize Grunt with Urd’s hated foes were met with similar dismissal.
Despite his going to considerable lengths to hide it, the emotion that forms the base of Urd’s psychology and motivations is fear. Fear of ignominy. Fear of being doomed to a life of anonymity and being average. Fear of failure. Fear of death. Fear drives Urd far more than he will ever admit. He hides it behind all the other emotions, but it is always there tingeing his actions and his thoughts.
During the evaluation it was discovered that Urd is highly superstitious and has certain rituals he relies on to bring him good luck. A Varren plushie (known as Ara), discovered after his escape from captivity, is almost always on his person. He can be seen frequently rubbing or touching it for luck (and comfort, but he will not admit that). He doesn’t know where it came from, just that he found it in the chaos of his escape and it has brought him good luck and ever since. He is incredibly protective of the plushie, but indifferent to any mocking about his carrying of it.
Before battle he will kneel and trace a pattern in the ground, while he quietly mutters one word over and over again. Korbal (Note: Roughly translated to mean Victory or Death.) He is almost entirely unresponsive during this brief period.
When asked about these, Urd explained that the word was the chant the crowd would start up before his fights as a gladiator. The pattern he traces is the symbol for Clan Urdnot. He claims these actions center him. When facing a new enemy, the symbol changes from Clan Urdnot to a Krogan word for honor, though the chant remains unchanged. He calls this his Rite of Firsts (Note: A much longer one is done if he is given enough notice beforehand that they will be facing a new enemy. It involves a prayer to his ancestors to grant him and his foe honor in the upcoming battle and that he will be victorious over the new challengers ahead)
His rituals continue even after missions are completed. After every mission Urd insists upon being the one to meticulously clean and repair his equipment. Nominally this just appears to be a soldier keeping his self-reliance, but Urd does this immediately after the mission has concluded and he is back at whatever happens to be home base. Disruption of this procedure leads to anxiety and nervousness. Any attempts to have someone else take care of those actions were met with aggressive resistance.
Urd has a fear of the dark. While he will never admit it, claiming any nervousness and fear that he showed had been excitement that was misinterpreted, and that any sensors that showed biological responses of fear were faulty, his experiences with night combat and as a slave have left a mark. Whenever he rests, his drone is always set to watch over him with a soft glow. During missions that require no lights the interior of his helmet will be softly lit, blocked out by shading on the exterior.
Urd greatly enjoys working on vehicles, ships, armor, and weaponry. The process gives him a sense of accomplishment and a practical goal to work toward, and the challenges they present appeal to his aforementioned competitive nature. It is possibly the second most excited he was during the evaluation (behind only when talking about Varrens and Kakliosaurs. In particular his Varrens and his Kakliosaur. Urd loves the creatures) and evident that he could go on for hours talking about all the mechanical processes of whatever you put before him. VI and AI he was less excited to discuss, as their construction and functions mostly confuse him and as such he works very little on those. He has a great preference for hardware over software.
As he idolizes his grandfather and Grunt, Urd’s approach to the Blood Rage all Krogan are famous for is similar. He views it as an incredibly dangerous, but useful, tool. Something only to be let loose when nothing else will work. He looks down on those Krogans who let themselves be ruled by their Blood Rage, slipping into it almost as soon as the fight begins.
As mentioned at the beginning of the evaluation, Urd has an almost obsessive desire to be a hero. This is his primary motivation for joining the mission and because of this he will go to any length to ensure that the mission succeeds.
Phys. Eval.: Urd is massive, even by Krogan standards. Standing at 9ft 6in (2.89m) at the hump and weighing at 749lbs (340kg) of pure muscle.. He is a striking figure, and finds his greatest source of pride in his large hump. He claims that it comes from grandfather Wrex and his ancestor Shiagur.
(Note: An accurate estimate of Wrex’s size and weight were impossible to gain, though self-estimations garnered from Wrex himself put his height at 8ft tall and weight at 800 pounds. Almost certainly exaggeration. No information about Shiagur’s height and build were found. It is unlikely that they are where Urd’s prodigious size comes from. Both his mother, his father and their relatives, however, were all found to be above average size for a Krogan.)
With his headplate fully solidified and his growth done, Urd is a fully mature Krogan and is in his prime. His great physical strength alone will be of great use to the mission, and his endurance with his natural Krogan regeneration will be nearly unmatched.
Biotics: After surviving the surgery to grant him biotic powers, Urd is a very powerful biotic. He focuses mainly on using it as a weapon and to increase his own strength even further, but has picked up a few standard tricks as he learned to control his newfound powers.
Qualifications: A veteran of both the new Rachni Wars and the Neo-Krogan wars, a survivor of the brutal slave fights of Clan Urak, a skilled mechanic, and a powerful biotic talent Urd is an experienced soldier and capable of adapting to nearly any situation thrown at him and coming out on top. Combined with his willingness to accept the orders of almost anyone on board the ship and work with whomever he is required to, his dirt cheap service, and his willingness to do anything to see that the mission is complete Urd makes an incredibly useful tool in the hands of the new Spectre Program.
History:
(Note: Due to the rather poor record keeping of the Loyalist Krogan clans, we have no way of verifying anything of Urd’s early life, and little way of verifying his history before joining the mission. What follows is his account. Given his penchant for exaggeration, some of these events should be taken with a dose of skepticism. What we can verify will be noted as such.)
”Ah, so you want to know my history before I got embroiled in the war? Of course you do. Damn thorough process this evaluation. Don’t know why I have to go through it, you already know you have the best damn Combat Engineer for the job. After all I’m…”
(Note: Here, Urd goes into a rather lengthy tangent about his ancestors, his merits, and his destiny of greatness. To save time, we have cut that part of the discussion out.)
Urd coughs, taking a drink of water. ”That’s better. As I was saying, the world I and my hundreds of brothers and sisters hatched into was a familiar one for the Krogan race: one of eternal war, fighting for survival. By the time my siblings and I were born the war against our ancient enemies the Rachni had been raging on for nine years, and those fucking cowards known as the Rebel Clans,”
Here, he goes to spit in disgust but pauses at seeing the glare from the attendant. He swallows sheepishly. This is not the first time he has done this, nor the first time he has been asked not too.
”Apologies. Those damned traitors had just made their move against my grandfather and the loyalist clans. We were now fighting a war on two fronts. Fortunately our formerly ancient enemies, the Turians and the Asari, and our tenuous allies, the Salarians, joined our cause to crush the rebellion. So, these wars were the wars that my family and I were expected to fight in. These were the wars that were all too excited to fight in. We were being trained for these wars as soon as we could throw a punch and hold a weapon. Standard Krogan Clan training. I won’t bore you with the details.
“What you will find of interest is that old habits die hard with the Krogan Loyalist Clans and every one of us was also being trained in a secondary role in society. A hold over from when the Genophage nearly wiped us out entirely so every Krogan was required to do at least one other job in addition to fighting. My siblings were taken under the wing of many different professions: some medics, others scientists, and still others were taken in by pilots.
“When my penchant for taking things apart and putting them together was discovered, I was taken under the tutelage of an Engineer. Not the role I really wanted. I wanted to learn how to breed and handle both Varren and Kakliosaurs. Amazing animals, those two species. I finally got my wish years later and have my own pack and Kakliosaur now…” (Note: Here, Urd goes into another lengthy tangent about Varren, Kakliosaurs, his respect for them as a species, his love for his pack and mount back on Tuchanka that he had raised, and how he should be allowed to bring his favorites, a Varren with a unique red and orange coloration known as Sparky and a large Kakliosaur named Grumpy,, aboard the Weiro. This tangent included a multitude of pictures on his Omni-tool of Sparky, her packmates, and Grumpy. To save time, we have once again cut that part from the evaluation)
”Sorry, I just get carried away talking about them. Where was I? Right, taken in by an engineer. Urdnot Barran. He’s an old Krogan. Veteran of the original Krogan Rebellions, so he’s seen all kinds of technology come and go and worked on damn near everything in the galaxy at one point. He taught me everything I needed to know about working on vehicles, ships, weapons, and armor. He even gave me a few pointers on how to modify and install a VI. They weren’t his forte though, and I don’t blame him. All that software stuff is gibberish.
“He was the one who helped coach me through my Rite of Passage as my father was busy fighting the Rebels. I was only five, filled with excitement and rage at the proposition of coming of age and fighting a Thresher Maw. It went smoothly, as you can obviously see. He was also the one who told me about the ancient surgery that made biotics. I had been complaining about how I wanted to be a biotic, to better serve the clan. He sarcastically informed me that if I was so eager to be special I might as well go and die trying to survive the surgery. But good luck finding someone who knew how to do it and would do it. I’d have to go to Omega to even have a chance, he said. He thought I wasn’t going to take him seriously, but he was wrong.
A group of 15 of my siblings and I all gathered together to go find someone in Omega who knew how to do it and would be willing to. We all knew the risks and we all desperately wanted to become stronger to aid the clan in the wars it was facing. It was a year before we were to be sent to battle the Rachni as a blooding so we knew we had plenty of time. We all got on the shuttle to Omega and off we went. Wasn’t difficult. We were still merely citizens then, and as such didn’t need to ask for permission.
“It took longer than we had thought it would. Months, actually. So many people tried to lie to us, to cheat us, to rob us, or just outright attack us. It was great! A truly wild place that we thrived in. The stories I could tell. But you want me to tell my early history. So I need to focus. We found an old Krogan, even older than Barran. His name was Grak. He didn’t give a clan name, which unsettled us far more than we liked to admit. But he was the real deal, so we gave him our credits and one by one underwent the surgery. I was the first. I had no worries, or fear. Why would I? I knew I would survive it. I am destined for greatness.”
(Note: An ancient Krogan going by the name of Grak and offering his services to make ‘any species a Biotic, credits up front’ has been verified as on Omega and what records we have gleaned match up with Urd’s timeline of meeting this individual)
“The pain was excruciating. To this day, the worst agony I have ever felt and it’s not even close. I don’t remember passing out. Just blinding, burning, pain and then waking up in the recovery room. Grak was covering the bodies of 14 of my brothers and sisters. Only my youngest sister, Urdnot Erva, had survived. We hugged each other out of relief, and looked to Grak. He smiled his disturbing grin and told us that we should be displaying our powers within 24 hours. We thanked him again, and took our siblings' bodies one by one and gave them a proper pyre burial. They had sacrificed everything for the clan, and deserved nothing less.
“Grak was right. Before the next day had dawned, Erva and I began displaying biotic powers. Reliable, powerful, biotics. You can imagine our excitement. The hotel room we had been renting was absolutely wrecked as we experimented with our powers. The next day we caught another shuttle back to Tuchanka. The Shaman was furious when he found out. The fact that we did something so dangerous and illegal, with the fact that it cost the lives of so many of our siblings enraged him. We were severely reprimanded. We were almost denied being sent to the war front as punishment. But due to the fact that two of us had succeeded, he didn’t go quite that far. We were still biotics, and still in need of some training. So Erva and I were put on the fast track to learn what we could before being sent to the war. Barran just shook his head and called me a fool for taking such a risk. ‘Like trusting a Salarian’s word’ he called it. He got over it though, and resumed by technical training soon after.
“A few months later I turned six, and was going to be shipped to the Rachni war. I had crafted my own Krogan Warhammer for the occasion. It was the pinnacle of Barran’s lessons and perfect for all of my uses. I was, and am still, damn proud of it. Erva and I were to be put into a joint squad with a Turian, an Asari, and a Salarian. Many of my siblings and hundreds of others of the clan were doing the same thing. A move to strengthen our relationship with the other nations, it was called. We all had our doubts, as many of our parents still vividly remembered when those three races were responsible for holding us down, but if that is what Wrex wanted that is what we would do. We were not traitors.
“Our doubts were unfounded. That squad Erva and I were a part of, known unofficially as Hammer Squad, was a damn good one. Our commander was the turian, one Jordera Kandid. An experienced commander. Took no shit and allowed none to be given. Always had our best interests in mind though. He’s an absolutely terrible singer who won’t recognize that he is a terrible singer. The Asari was our biotic muscle and second in command. Her name was Morissa Deris and she is simply filled with the joy of life. Despite her being several centuries older than all of us, she had more energy and vigor than any of us combined. A very good biotic teacher as well, helping Erva and I master our relatively newfound powers. The Salarian,Jolik Palka, was our marksman. Quiet, for a Salarian. Phenomenal shot though. Saved my ass more than once, not that I needed it mind you. I was the point man on the squad, the first to enter the fray and rip the bugs apart. Erva was heavy weapons, bringing the pain from a distance.
(Note: Due to the Turian, Asari, and Salarian habits of excellent record keeping we can confirm ‘Hammer Squad’ existed and the roster is accurate. They would spend four years battling the Rachni back before being shipped to the frontline of the Neo-Krogan Wars. Their record during this time is excellent, with Urd being noted for exceptional service and bravery. They are shipped to the Neo-Krogan wars due to their heavy Biotic talents in an attempt to counteract the sudden stream of seemingly endless biotic Tank-Breds. They will spend another ten years battling the Rebel Clans before an artillery strike will separate Urd from his squad and result in his capture by Clan Urak. Those ten years show a similar success as in the Rachni wars, though in the five years before Urd’s escape they will leave the military and become a mercenary unit known as Hammer Squad.)
”Ah, you already have solid details about the wars before my capture? Well, let me say this then. Fighting the bugs was tough, no doubt about that. There is no enemy out there like the Rachni. But fighting the tankies and their rebel friends was a whole different thresher maw entirely. Much more difficult. The bugs are smart, but they have a set pattern and strategies of attack that they stick too. Predictable. The Rebels adapt, change, and move on the fly. Throw in the fact that they are krogan? And you’ve got yourself a situation that will drag many to the Void.
“Regardless, you want to know about my time as a slave of Clan Urak, right?”
(Note: Clan Urak was a relatively small Clan of Krogan that, after losing the Rebellions to the Genophage, decided it was best to meet death head on rather than wait to slowly go extinct. Thus, in a similar fashion to the Quarians of that time, their entire Clan uprooted into a sufficiently large ship and became a large mercenary force. They found themselves working frequently with Batarians, and through their close relationship picked up many of the Batarian habits. The most extreme one was the capture and use of slaves for both entertainment and labor. While not scientifically advanced enough to successfully put in the Batarian Cranial Implants, Clan Urak found that shock collars worked just as well for their purposes. They were one of the first Clans to rebel against Urdnot Wrex, and quickly laid claim to a planet on the outskirts of terminus space as their own by right of conquest. It only has one city, but it would become known throughout the galaxy as a hub of slavery and gladiatorial games. This is the planet Urd will find himself on after being captured by Clan Urak.)
”After I woke up from being knocked out by the artillery strike, I found myself with a collar on and chained to a wall of a ship. Others were with me. Turians, Asari, other Krogan, the occasional Salarian. Other captured slaves. Try as I might I couldn’t break free from my chains. They had some sort of biotic damper on them and were designed for krogan strength. Another Krogan was walking down the line, loudly explaining to us that we were slaves of Clan Urak now and that our lives would be for their use and entertainment. When he got close enough I spat on him and he merely laughed, grinning at my resistance. “It will be fun watching you break” he crowed, leaning in. He leaned in to close and I slammed my head against his face. The surprise and pain on his face were satisfying. What wasn’t satisfying was the agonizing electricity he shot through me at the push of a button. He held it until I fell unconscious, laughing at my spasms. I never screamed. I refused to give him the pleasure.
“Due to my feistiness, I was immediately marked for the Arena on their unjustly gained planet. I would be a crowd favorite I was told. They loved loyalist krogans. Especially biotic ones. I should be honored, I was informed, because the couple of matches that I survive I’ll be cheered on by a screaming crowd and ‘praised more than I ever had been in my pathetic life’. For the short few weeks my life had left, I would have a good life.
“They were right about one thing. The crowd loved me. Being so close to the edge of the terminus systems it was always a mix. Batarians, rebel Krogan, Asari, Turians, humans, nearly everything and anything was there. I always knew what they wanted most in the fights. If they wanted brutal and fast carnage, I gave them that. If they wanted me to draw out my victory, make a show of it, I gave them that too. On the rare occasions they were feeling mercy, well I was the most merciful gladiator they had ever seen. I was a god, and that arena was my domain. For five hellish years, it was my domain.
“As much as I hate the Uraks, I have to admit that they did make a damn fine arena. Spacious and filled with weapons, with a mass effect shield to protect the crowd from any unruly gladiators. Biotic Dampers could be deployed at any time to end any biotics in the arena, and there was always the golden button at the side of the Head of Clan Urak should he need to activate the shock collar of every slave in the arena.
“Urak Varrk was his name. He was a bastard. No honor, no respect. Just a tyrant who revelled in bloody carnage that he never earned. He was big though, and powerful. It's why his clan followed him. No one could match him in battle and he had crushed any challenger. I always swore to kill him when I saw his face. Which was frequently, since he was one of the many who loved to watch my matches. On the rare few times he couldn’t be there his son, Urak Tarv, was watching in his stead. Almost as big and just as powerful, Tarv was his only surviving son since the rebellion began and the Genophage was reinstated on the Rebels. I hated his face too. It was even worse when they showed up together. Individually they were dangerous, but when they fought together? They were murderous.
“But they weren’t smart. Every night me and the other gladiators would plan our escape. They were wall hardened soldiers and killers, they had to be to survive as long as they had in the arena, and we all knew that if we ever got the chance to break free we would be able to steamroll over the guards they had. All the true fighters were off battling the Coalition. The only ones left here were the ones that Urak Varrk didn’t trust to battle on the frontlines. There were hundreds of us. We could very easily steal a shuttle off or get ourselves into a position to radio for help.
“An Asari, Daria Issa, and I were slowly working on a way to turn off our collars. She was a smart one, Daria. An engineer with two centuries of experience under her belt and decades of combat experience too boot. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to craft the device without her, but she immensely sped up the process and I will forever be in her debt for that.
“We had already found a weak point in the mass effect barrier, and destroying the biotic dampers would be no issue once we broke the barrier. Through the bits and pieces of tech and broken collars scavenged from dead gladiators, we managed to get something together. A small device that could overload the collar and free whomever was wearing it. But we had to be careful. If we struck too soon we would simply be stuck in the prisons below the arena. Too late and we would be cut down by reinforcements. We had to wait, and that was the worst part of my entire time there. Waiting, praying that we wouldn’t have to act too soon and hoping it would work as intended. Because if it didn’t, we’d be stuck down there for longer if not worse.
“Our opportunity came a couple months later, when it was announced that the majority of us would be fighting for some celebration. I think it was the anniversary of the Batarians first aligning with Clan Urak? I’m not sure. But the point was there would be enough of us to make our move. The final, climatic battle of the festival would be ‘army’ vs ‘army’. They’d put a large group of us together and pit us against a mix of varren, robots, and other slaves. We freed ourselves before being let out. The collars were now just cold steel, useless for controlling us. Unfortunately, as we walked out, neither Varrk nor his son was there. Out on some other battlefield, most likely.
“The battle itself wasn’t too difficult. The other slaves were malnourished, the Varren mistreated, and the robots were rusting apart at the seams. We could’ve made short work of it but agreed to give them a show. They’d appreciate it, one last time. After the battle, we stood in the center of the arena and listened to the cheering roars of the crowd.
“Then I roared ‘NOW!’ and Charged through the weak point in the mass effect shield. It shattered like broken glass, suddenly leaving the crowd and the guards with no protection against hundreds of angry slaves. Before the guards could react I Charged into another one, knocking him to the ground before he could lift his rifle. My limbs began to glow with biotic power as I lifted my foot and crushed his skull beneath it, splattering it like a Pyjak beneath a Tomkah wheel.
“I began to hear screams as I picked up his rifle and fired upon the next guard. The crowd was beginning to panic as we set about taking our vengeance. The guards put up what fight they could, but it wasn’t enough. Soon we had taken the arena and a full blown slave rebellion was on their hands. We freed all the ones we came across and massacred everyone else. Not knowing how much time we had before the real soldiers came back to bring order, we headed to the armoury. There we would find the much needed arms and armor to fight off whatever counter attack came, and we would be able to start sending out messages to hopefully gain the aid of the Coalition to extract us if not retake the planet entirely.
“We took the armoury with little trouble and began arming ourselves as Daria started setting up the radio to broadcast for help. The armoury was a very defensible position and with our skills we could hold out there as long as we had strength. The guards that were left in the city didn’t attempt to retake it, still reeling from the riots and chaos happening from the slave rebellion. Daria picked up their distress calls and responses from the Clan Urak armies. Including Urak Varrk himself. Through a long series of cussing and raging, we gathered he and his son would be coming to restore order within the next two days.
“Daria managed to get a Coalition Krogan cruiser on the line and explain the situation. Help was promised to arrive within a week. With the city reeling and a large force of fighters available, it was too good of an opportunity for the Coalition to pass up. All we had to do was hold on long enough for them to show up.
“I found heavy armor, a striker, a knife, and a warhammer, and geared myself up for battle. Varrk would be coming with his son, and neither of them would be holding anything back in their fury. We could feel their arrival like a cold wind as the ship touched down. The Clan Urak military stomped into the fiery anarchy of the city and attempted to restore order. It was a battle though. Hundreds of slaves were freed and had armed themselves, and urban fighting was always going to be nasty. Varrk and Tarv, with their personal guard surrounded us, and demanded that we come out. We would be shown mercy if we didn’t make them go in there and drag us out. They even offered clemency to anyone who would give up the leader of the rebellion. Me, namely.
“We responded with gunfire. The next few days I can only remember as a chaotic blur as the city descended into ever more chaos and we exchanged gunfire and explosives with Varrk and his forces. Thank the ancestors they couldn’t afford to send a ship to just destroy us from orbit. That was the only thing that made that a fight. Every day the Coalition forces informed us they were growing closer, that they would be there soon. Every day we counted more of our dead and grimly hoped that they would arrive soon.
“Finally, Varrk grew impatient and threw down a challenge. Anyone who could defeat him in one on one combat had his word that no one in his clan would harm them or any of the slaves left in the armoury. We would be allowed to live. But, if he won, we would have to go back to being slaves. Quietly.
“I, of course, answered the call. Not because I believed that Tarv or any of the other Uraks would honor Varrk’s promise, or that Varrk even intended to try and make them keep his promise, but because there was the chance that seeing me kill their leader would shatter their morale and cause them to break. Plus, if nothing else, killing that pyjak would bring me great joy.
“I walked out, hammer in hand. Varrk laughed, drawing his own Warhammer. ‘So the child thinks he can take me on? Excellent. Killing you will remind the slaves that they are only chaff, and do not deserve their freedom.’ I raised my hammer and pointed it at him. ‘I’m going to kill you. And before this is done, you will be begging for forgiveness and your life.’ He bared his teeth in a snarl at me. ‘We’ll see about that, boy.’
“Our initial clash shook the very ground. My biotic charge slammed into him as he sprinted towards me at full speed. Varrk was a large Krogan, almost as big as I was, and took it far better than I expected. He dug his feet in, slid back a few inches and swung his hammer upward in an arc that caught my jaw and sent me stumbling back. Before I even had a moment to react the hammer was swinging down at me, and I just barely rolled out of the way. My own counter swing hit him in the side as he tried to advance and bring the hammer down on my head. I heard the grunt of pain and Charged again, this time into the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back and he was lifted off of the ground.
“When he fell back to it, the only sounds were the cheering from my side and the silence from his. I strode forward, hammer lifted high to beat him further into the ground when he suddenly leapt to his feet with a terrifying roar. His eyes were mindless with the Blood Rage and he set upon me like a frenzied beast.
“Blow after blow shook and stunned me. I blocked what I could but he was overpoweringly strong, seemingly tireless and fast. More and more hits began to get in, and he was beating me back towards the armoury. I could hear his soldiers chanting his name louder and louder.
“‘Varrk! Varrk! Varrk! VARRK!’
“I misjudged what was needed to counter his final attack and with a resounding crack, he broke my arm and threw me to the ground. He let out another bestial roar, bringing the hammer down on my back. Once, twice. Slamming me into the ground, seemingly intent to smash me into a pulp. He kicked me in my ribs to turn me over, and as I felt some of them break I finally snapped.
“The sweet sweet rage I had been letting build for years finally filled my veins, and just like that my pain was gone. There was nothing. No pain. No exhaustion. No thoughts aside from one thing: destroy my enemy.
“I Charged him again, leaving my warhammer on the ground. He choked mid-roar as my head rocketed into his, sending him stumbling back. Screaming in my own fury I leapt up and crashed a Nova into his head like a meteor into a planet. He fell to his knees. I grabbed his warhammer and held his hands around it, pulling it up so he could face me. Then I headbutted him. Wham! He tried to jerk back but was stuck in place, holding onto his weapon. I headbutted him again. Slam! He jerked back once more, and tried to let go of the hammer but I held his hands tightly around it. I headbutted him again. And again. And again. Biotic power filled my limbs and I felt no pain as I began to crack his helmet. Red mist was covering my eyes and all I could think of was causing him pain as I slammed my head into his over and over again. I have no idea how long it went on. Just the steady slam of my head into his, breaking his helmet. Finally I let go of his hands and he stumbled backwards, dazed.
“I took his warhammer and with a powerful swing, shattered his helmet and sent him flying to the ground once more. I broke the warhammer over my knee and approached as he attempted to crawl back to his feet. I kicked him back to the ground with a snarl and ripped his helmet off, drawing my knife. One foot on his back, I roared to Clan Urak as they watched. “ ‘I AM URDNOT SHEPURD’ I yanked Varrk’s dazed head upwards. ‘IT MEANS HERO!’ He screamed as I slammed the knife just in front of his headplate. He was babbling and begging at that point, but I did not listen.He had earned this. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’ There was a horrific screech as I ripped his plate from his skull. ‘ALL OF YOU!’ I shoved the knife into Varrk’s head, killing him. ‘WHO’S NEXT!?’
“Tarv tried to run at me, absolute fury and hatred in his eyes, but was dragged back on the ship by his men. They were running. ‘COWARDS!’ I roared at them, throwing the knife. ‘YOU’RE ALL COWARDS!’ I wasn’t aware that the Coalition fleet had arrived, and the reconquest of the planet had begun. Clan Urak was outnumbered and fleeing, living to fight another day. Tarv only stared at me, hate burning in his eyes, as he was dragged onto the ship.
“I’m not sure the exact moment I passed out, but when I woke next I was with Daria on a Coalition ship, heading for Tuchanka. After recovering from my wounds I decided to find Hammer Squad again, or at least attempt to. I had gotten my fill of battling those fucking rebels and tankies, and if I never see one again it’ll be too soon. I had heard my old squad was mercing around Omega so I got a shuttle and went into the Terminus systems and the Omegan Empire. Never found them, but you people did find me. And I am more than happy to seize my destiny and help you.”
(Note: The event known as the Uprising on the Slave Planet is documented by the Coalition fleet that arrived there and interviewed the survivors. Urd’s involvement is mentioned frequently as an essential part of the Uprising, even if his version of events is more dramatized and exaggerated. He did not duel Urak Varrk for the fate of his fellow slaves, but he did kill the Warlord in combat during the last battle of the Uprising, for example. A Coalition soldier leading an Uprising to kill one of the Warlords of the Rebel Clans is a moral boosting event, and as such the events have been utilized for propaganda. After recovering from his wounds, he would go on to be a mercenary for the last five years. Searching for Hammer Squad he would complete a number of missions and contracts to his employers great praise, which is what first brought our attention to him. Upon contacting him and explaining the situation, he eagerly agreed to work for us for far below his normal rates provided we give him the chance to quote ‘seize his destiny’.)
Position: Primarily: Point man for squad. Secondarily: Engineer.
Electric Krogan Warhammer (Note: This is Urd’s personal Warhammer, crafted by his own hands.He has modified it to gather and expend electricity, and is very proud of it.)
Combat Drone, fondly named Ruzad. Urd has modified it to fire assault rifle bullets and Ballistic Blades. It is far more rugged and crass than your average combat drone, with a larger chassis and motor and more reliance on armor than omni-shields.
Heavy Hazard Armor (Note: Contains built in Tech-Armor that Urd has modified to have omni-blades protruding from it. Inspired by Batarian Blade armor.)
Varren Plushie (Ara)
Special requests: Ryncol, permission to bring aboard a pet Varren (note: Urd has been repeatedly denied this request and repeatedly puts it back in), feed for said Varren (note: also denied), Permission to bring one or more Kakliosaurs aboard (note: denied along with the Varren, but he keeps putting it back in with the Varren), supplies for the Kakliosaurs (note: denied as well), M-920 Cain, Cain Trip Mines, M-452 Firestorm, Inferno Grenades, Cluster Grenades, Chemical Rounds, Inferno Rounds, Krogan Tomkah, N7 Typhoon, Heavy Colossus Armor, and various gun and armor mods.
Notoriety: 6. Among his clan and others of the Loyalist Krogan Urd is well known for his actions during the Neo-Krogan war and his rebellion against Clan Urak, and stories of it and his actions on the planet have been spread to other forces outside of the Loyalist Clans as moral boosting propaganda. (Primarily the Turians, Asari, and Salarians)
Misc.: Urd has chosen the quarters closest to the vehicle bay of the ship. The quarters themselves are fairly utilitarian. He has a work table set up in his room, a Varren sized bed (still hoping to bring on his pet), a computer, a peg wall for his weapons and armor, and a krogan sized cot.
The only ornamentation he has is a broken Krogan Warhammer hilt and a shattered Krogan helmet (Note: Warlord design), hanging on the wall. The symbol for Clan Urak adorns the side of the helmet.
-Urd likes plants. He is bad at caring for them, however. It doesn't stop him from trying, so frequently his room will have dead or dying plants in it, as he searches the galaxy for a plant that can survive with his level of accidental neglect.
The transport ship rumbled and rattled as it hit a patch of turbulence, with the pilot tensed over the controls with hunched shoulders as he rode the turbulence out. It wasn’t very strong, truth be told. Barely an inconvenience to an AMRO pilot. What was causing him so much concern was the loud and petulant argument coming from the back of the ship.
“I can’t believe you made us late.” Kiara huffed at her partner as she drew a sigil over the tears in her clothes and repaired them, one by one. After finishing their assignment they had sprinted onto the transport and promptly collapsed into an exhaustive sleep. She was only lucky that they had woken up before reaching Innocence so she could put herself together. It wouldn’t do to have the students there see her walking in looking like a homeless person who had just unsuccessfully fought a family of raccoons.
“I made us late? You were the one who missed her shot when the target sprinted by!” Maeve, in contrast to her partner, was lounging on the opposite side of the transport. Her clothes were covered in small holes and tears and it was difficult to tell which ones were the tears from her own alchemy and which ones were from their fight with the target. She didn’t seem to care as much as Kiara did about presentation, which nettled her counterpart to no end.
“Because you let yourself get bored, and flooded our connection with daydreams! It’s hard to take a shot when your mind is filled with images of riding a dragon or a motorcycle or something like that.” Kiara snapped back, holding up her cloak as she finished the last repair. The target hadn’t gone quietly, and the claws had been surprisingly sharp.
“Yeah, and I did that because you got the information wrong and we were waiting hours when you told me it’d be minutes! What was I supposed to do? Stay still like a gargoyle and absolutely locked in focus waiting for someone that may not have been showing up due to faulty information?” Maeve positioned her body and face in a grotesque image, her tongue sticking out, as Kiara rolled her eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry that you couldn’t be bothered to do your homework beforehand so that I was responsible for gathering all the information. And I’m sorry that you were caught so flat footed that instead of slowing him down so I could have an easier shot you let him sprint by and turned what should have been a quick and quiet ambush into a chase scene from every action movie ever where we had to tear apart a neighborhood to pin him down. Truly Maeve, my heart bleeds for the troubles you so unjustly had thrust upon you.”
“Listen here you….”
The argument had been continuing like this for the majority of the ride to Innocence. The pilot’s shoulders hunched a little more as the yelling continued to reverberate through his ship. 15 minutes later, he reached the end of his rope and spoke up.
“Could you two quiet down back there? It’s getting difficult to focus on flying with you two Banshees squ-”
He was cut off by unison, angry, yelling: “Shut up!”
Flinching, the pilot hunkered down once more and finished the rest of the trip in silence. Their bickering resumed, seemingly louder and more belligerent out of spite. He sighed, and one hand rubbed his temple. This was why he hated flying Asylum teams.
As they touched down on Innocence, he barely waited for them to step off of the ramp before bringing it up and lifting off. The Bean Sidhes were nearly knocked off of their feet as he left. Maeve cursed at him in Gaelic and chucked a rock futilely at his rapidly disappearing hull.
Kiara merely sighed and looked around. They were evidently in the middle of the day. With some luck, that would mean classes had stopped for lunch and they could almost seamlessly start doing their job. “Come on, let's see if we can’t find our counterparts in the mess hall and figure out which classes we can cover for. Might as well try to start off on a good foot.”
Maeve cursed one more time at the sky, now completely empty, and followed while she grumbled. “All of the good teaching gigs are probably taken, or we’re gonna be recalled to do some other stupid mission, or something terrible is happening here that we have to deal with cause even if you count Geko we’re the most reliable people here.”
“I’m not meant to be nice, I’m meant to put you back together after you’ve done something stupid.”
Anyone meeting Faeril for the first time can immediately identify his two main traits: bluntness and irritableness. Either of those traits would normally make his bedside manner as a doctor questionable, but both of them combined for his penchant for sarcasm make it truly atrocious. His nickname of ‘Stonefist’ refers as much to his methods of anesthesia when his supplies ran out in the early days of his practice in Tyberia as it does to his delivery of news and reassurances of patients. There is a reason his assistants are the only ones to deliver any news from his diagnosis.
With low patience and a quick temper, Faeril is often seen cursing, grumbling, or yelling in his clinic or throughout the neighborhood he makes his home in. The locals by now have learned to take it all in stride, as Faeril’s bark is far worse than his bite and even if he berates you he’ll still help you with whatever you’ve asked him too. In fact, he’ll probably berate you more if you try to rescind your request.
A natural born pessimist, it’s apparently physically impossible for Faeril to see the silver lining in things, or the good that could come from something. If it rains, it's going to flood and he’s going to have to deal with drowning victims or trying to fix people while up to his chest in water. If the Tan’Raga are raising a ruckus again he’s going to have to argue with Asgardian soldiers as they try to crack down on it and hustle his clinic and his patients. If the day is hot, a drought is coming and food is going to be tighter all around. So on so forth. It’s his way of ensuring that he’s never disappointed or caught off guard. Even if it can be grating on others.
His prickly exterior hides a person who genuinely wants to do good. He only takes what his patients can afford and refuses anything monetarily more. Most of the Roots he has after keeping his little clinic supplied go to locals who need help or to local charities. When he’s not working in the clinic he can be seen around the local neighborhoods either making house calls or helping with community projects. More than once he’s used his shop to hide people on the run, be it from Tan’Raga they’ve crossed or Asgardians looking for rebels.
Loyalty and integrity are of great importance to Faeril. If he makes a promise, he’ll keep it no matter what. And if you make a promise to him, he expects you to keep it no matter what as well.
“Not much to tell. Just a stupid boy, trying to prove himself for stupid reasons, going to join a stupid war.”
Faeril was born in the Dwarven city-state and Lesser Kingdom of Kar-Morten, Located deep within the Scaleback mountains, in the northern part of the Asgardian Empire, it is a small but prosperous city, providing valuable ores and minerals to the Asgardian war machine.
His family, unlike most dwarves in the city, was a family of doctors and healers. Whereas other dwarves could put back together broken machinery, or even invent new ones, the Drunners put back together broken flesh and developed new methods to aid in healing. Almost every member of the family went into healing. It was something that was pressed upon them at birth, a calling that couldn’t be greater. Faeril was not an exception to this. From as early as he could remember he would be with his mother and father, helping bandage wounds and hand them what they requested, but gradually taking more and more responsibilities as time wore on. His parents would teach him as he aided them, instructing him in the careful art of healing. This was to be his destiny, another healer in a long line of healers helping keep the people of Kar-Morten running as they kept the machines running.
For the first twenty years of his life, all Faeril did was put dwarves back together and help them return to the health they had once had. On the surface, he was content with his lot in life. It would be his future and it would be a secure one. As he grew older, however, Faeril began to get fidgety. A desire to see what was outside of Kar-Morten, to see if there was something else he was good at other than stitching people back together or fixing a machine.
It wouldn’t be unheard of, to not go into the family’s line of work. His uncle had discovered that he had more of a knack for weapons than anything else, and had gone on to be a successful weapon designer. But his uncle wasn’t an only child, and Faeril was. Still, Faeril felt himself drawn more and more to the idea of leaving the city, exploring the world. To prove himself as something more than just a healer. The best possible way to do that would be to sign up with the Asgardian military, bring peace to the frontiers and security to the Empire. Many of the other boys his age had done so already, much to their family’s pride.
The first few times he broached the subject with his parents it was politely, but firmly, shut down. He was to be a healer, not a butcher, and that was that. He wasn’t going to join the army just so the Zephyr could spend his blood to sate their thirst for conquest, and he wasn’t going to spill the blood of others just so they could either.
Initially, Faeril merely accepted his parents' commands. He didn’t fight their decrees that he wouldn’t be allowed to, no matter what. Then he began to try and show his side of the issue. That turned into quiet arguments, which then turned into shouting matches. Things finally came to a head when he defied his parents and volunteered for the army anyway. Rather than the shock and anger he expected, all he was met with from his parents was silent, crushing, despair. His parents didn’t say a word to him. Not as explained to them that he was leaving the next day, not as he packed everything he would need and was allowed, and not as he walked out the door and left his home forever. Only his uncle saw him off, giving him a warhammer for luck and protection.
The next ten years were one long line of events proving his parents right.
After training, Faeril’s skills in medicine saw him sent to the front line as a combat medic. His days were spent switching between patching up whatever poor soldiers were sent back to him and pushing forward on the frontlines and helping the offensive. He discovered he had a penchant for long ranged combat, and subsequently modified his manalock to be its maximum range and power. While not quite as long ranged or heavy hitting as a Charger, he used it to great effect when covering his fellow soldier’s advance. There was almost never an actual fight from the other side. Just desperate people trying to not be crushed under the inexorable boot of the Asgardian Empire, and him and his fellows making sure that everything they did was for nothing. Each day he could hear his parent’s voices in the back of his mind, condemning him for this and for getting everything he had wanted. Each day the temptation to desert was a little stronger.
He finally saw his chance a year ago. As they ground another city into the dust, Faeril slipped away in the chaos of battle. He made his way as fast as he could towards the East. The farther he got away from Asgard, the better for his chances not to be shot as a deserter. After a month of miserable travel on Salamander back, he stopped at Tyberia. If nothing else, he reasoned, it would be simple for him to disappear amongst the populace and extraordinarily difficult for any pursuers Asgard cared to send after him to find a single dwarf.
It didn’t take him long to be accepted by the local communities. A healer was always welcome, and one as skilled as Faeril who was seemingly so generous with his aid was even more so. It took them some time to get used to his curmudgeonly nature, but they learned to take it in stride. Faeril felt good helping a community again, rather than breaking it apart.
He spent the fall of Tyberia helping the wounded civilians as best he could. Thankfully, it was a short fall, but his hands were nevertheless full of either innocents caught in the crossfire or fools trying to defend their city with nothing more than an old bolt rifle they barely knew how to use. It was a nervous first few weeks for him, waiting to see if the Asgard patrols would for some reason recognize him and execute him on the spot. When nothing of the sort happened, Faeril quietly relaxed as much as he was able. Then he waited. He wasn’t going to run, not again. Tyberia was where he was going to meet his destiny, whatever it may be, and he was going to fight for it.
With all of his many cousins beside him.
Accomplished Healer:
“Family business and all that. I’ve kept more people alive than I care to remember, and been doing it longer than I can remember.”
Faeril, having spent nearly two decades aiding his parents as healers in Kar-Morten and then another solid decade as a combat medic, is extremely skilled at keeping people alive and fixing whatever ails them. While his bedside manner could use work, no one doubts that Faeril is one of the best in the city.
Professional Combatant:
“The Asgardians ensure everyone knows how to shoot and fight in hand to hand. You pick it up quickly, or you die.”
Ten years of Asgardian training and war have molded Faeril into an effective fighter. Be it at his preferred long range or up close and personal, Faeril can hold his own.
Journeyman poison maker:
“It’s a little bit of knowing how much healing medicine is too much, and a little bit of knowing what will make someone’s final moments go from agonizing pain to quiet sleep.”
While by no means an assassin, Faeril is knowledgeable enough to craft a few separate poisons, should the need arise.
Journeyman Mechanic:
“Every dwarf worth their salt can work on machines. Even my family being a bit odd didn’t change that.”
Faeril is skilled enough to ensure his equipment is in tip-top shape and that any basic repairs needed on vehicles can be done. He can also make simple little trinkets and figurines out of scrap metal. Beyond that, you’re going to need a professional.
Journeyman Salamander rider:
“Look. I hate the beasts. The beasts hate me. In order to suffer in each other’s company the least amount of time, we work together. Barely.”
Faeril loathes Salamanders. He hates the way they act, he hates the way riding on them is, he hates how they look, and they hate him back. He can ride them, skillfully enough to not be a detriment on the back of one. But he isn’t going to like it.
Warhammer, old, well maintained:
“Oh, old Hilde here? She’s a gift from my uncle, a more traditional dwarven engineer. A beauty, isn’t she?”
The gift from his uncle, Hilde, is a solid steel warhammer with a spike on the end. Simple, well used, and brutally effective, she is Faeril’s go to if melee is required.
Manalock Rifle, Old, perfect condition:
“Don’t tell Hilde, but Oristra here is my favorite. Fixed her right up so that she‘s perfect at long range, and can out shoot a Charger any day of the week.”
Oristra is Faeril’s Manalock. Made of steel and wood, with a scope and customised for maximum range and power, she is Faeril’s preferred weapon of choice. Not quite as powerful as a Charger, but fires faster. A boar’s head is carved on either side of the stock.
Bolt pistol, new:
“This one doesn’t have a name. Hasn’t earned one yet.”
A simple bolt pistol, for when Faeril doesn’t need to get into melee range but either Manalocks are useless or the enemy is too close for Oristra to be effective.
Full Suit of Heavy Brass Armor, old, perfect condition:
“Solid Brass and tough as they come. Kar-Morten’s smiths never cheated on quality. Though they did over-charge for it, puffed up rock sniffing fools.”
Heavier than the standard Brass armor of the Asgardian army, this suit has seen Faeril through many a battle. He normally uses only the breastplate if on mission, as a full suit would attract quite the amount of attention, but keeps the rest on hand just in case the protection is needed. The Asgardian symbols are all scratched out and somewhat covered.
-Faeril's favorite animal is, by far, the pig. He has little trinkets of either his own make or he bought when out and about the city all over his home and his clinic. His family in Kar-Morten had one as a pet and he absolutely adores the creatures.
-Faeril has a soft spot for children. Its difficult to tell, unless you notice he doesn't ever really yell at kids. Only gripes and grumbles. He even keeps a small bag of candy on him to hand out at random.
-Faeril keeps a pipe and some tobacco on him at all times, claiming it puts him in a better mood. Most people disagree with that assessment.
-Faeril, understandably, goes to great lengths to keep his past as an Asgardian soldier secret. As such, most people consider him to be a very private individual who doesn't reveal much about himself.
“I’m not meant to be nice, I’m meant to put you back together after you’ve done something stupid.”
Anyone meeting Faeril for the first time can immediately identify his two main traits: bluntness and irritableness. Either of those traits would normally make his bedside manner as a doctor questionable, but both of them combined for his penchant for sarcasm make it truly atrocious. His nickname of ‘Stonefist’ refers as much to his methods of anesthesia when his supplies ran out in the early days of his practice in Tyberia as it does to his delivery of news and reassurances of patients. There is a reason his assistants are the only ones to deliver any news from his diagnosis.
With low patience and a quick temper, Faeril is often seen cursing, grumbling, or yelling in his clinic or throughout the neighborhood he makes his home in. The locals by now have learned to take it all in stride, as Faeril’s bark is far worse than his bite and even if he berates you he’ll still help you with whatever you’ve asked him too. In fact, he’ll probably berate you more if you try to rescind your request.
A natural born pessimist, it’s apparently physically impossible for Faeril to see the silver lining in things, or the good that could come from something. If it rains, it's going to flood and he’s going to have to deal with drowning victims or trying to fix people while up to his chest in water. If the Tan’Raga are raising a ruckus again he’s going to have to argue with Asgardian soldiers as they try to crack down on it and hustle his clinic and his patients. If the day is hot, a drought is coming and food is going to be tighter all around. So on so forth. It’s his way of ensuring that he’s never disappointed or caught off guard. Even if it can be grating on others.
His prickly exterior hides a person who genuinely wants to do good. He only takes what his patients can afford and refuses anything monetarily more. Most of the Roots he has after keeping his little clinic supplied go to locals who need help or to local charities. When he’s not working in the clinic he can be seen around the local neighborhoods either making house calls or helping with community projects. More than once he’s used his shop to hide people on the run, be it from Tan’Raga they’ve crossed or Asgardians looking for rebels.
Loyalty and integrity are of great importance to Faeril. If he makes a promise, he’ll keep it no matter what. And if you make a promise to him, he expects you to keep it no matter what as well.
“Not much to tell. Just a stupid boy, trying to prove himself for stupid reasons, going to join a stupid war.”
Faeril was born in the Dwarven city-state and Lesser Kingdom of Kar-Morten, Located deep within the Scaleback mountains, in the northern part of the Asgardian Empire, it is a small but prosperous city, providing valuable ores and minerals to the Asgardian war machine.
His family, unlike most dwarves in the city, was a family of doctors and healers. Whereas other dwarves could put back together broken machinery, or even invent new ones, the Drunners put back together broken flesh and developed new methods to aid in healing. Almost every member of the family went into healing. It was something that was pressed upon them at birth, a calling that couldn’t be greater. Faeril was not an exception to this. From as early as he could remember he would be with his mother and father, helping bandage wounds and hand them what they requested, but gradually taking more and more responsibilities as time wore on. His parents would teach him as he aided them, instructing him in the careful art of healing. This was to be his destiny, another healer in a long line of healers helping keep the people of Kar-Morten running as they kept the machines running.
For the first twenty years of his life, all Faeril did was put dwarves back together and help them return to the health they had once had. On the surface, he was content with his lot in life. It would be his future and it would be a secure one. As he grew older, however, Faeril began to get fidgety. A desire to see what was outside of Kar-Morten, to see if there was something else he was good at other than stitching people back together or fixing a machine.
It wouldn’t be unheard of, to not go into the family’s line of work. His uncle had discovered that he had more of a knack for weapons than anything else, and had gone on to be a successful weapon designer. But his uncle wasn’t an only child, and Faeril was. Still, Faeril felt himself drawn more and more to the idea of leaving the city, exploring the world. To prove himself as something more than just a healer. The best possible way to do that would be to sign up with the Asgardian military, bring peace to the frontiers and security to the Empire. Many of the other boys his age had done so already, much to their family’s pride.
The first few times he broached the subject with his parents it was politely, but firmly, shut down. He was to be a healer, not a butcher, and that was that. He wasn’t going to join the army just so the Zephyr could spend his blood to sate their thirst for conquest, and he wasn’t going to spill the blood of others just so they could either.
Initially, Faeril merely accepted his parents' commands. He didn’t fight their decrees that he wouldn’t be allowed to, no matter what. Then he began to try and show his side of the issue. That turned into quiet arguments, which then turned into shouting matches. Things finally came to a head when he defied his parents and volunteered for the army anyway. Rather than the shock and anger he expected, all he was met with from his parents was silent, crushing, despair. His parents didn’t say a word to him. Not as explained to them that he was leaving the next day, not as he packed everything he would need and was allowed, and not as he walked out the door and left his home forever. Only his uncle saw him off, giving him a warhammer for luck and protection.
The next ten years were one long line of events proving his parents right.
After training, Faeril’s skills in medicine saw him sent to the front line as a combat medic. His days were spent switching between patching up whatever poor soldiers were sent back to him and pushing forward on the frontlines and helping the offensive. He discovered he had a penchant for long ranged combat, and subsequently modified his manalock to be its maximum range and power. While not quite as long ranged or heavy hitting as a Charger, he used it to great effect when covering his fellow soldier’s advance. There was almost never an actual fight from the other side. Just desperate people trying to not be crushed under the inexorable boot of the Asgardian Empire, and him and his fellows making sure that everything they did was for nothing. Each day he could hear his parent’s voices in the back of his mind, condemning him for this and for getting everything he had wanted. Each day the temptation to desert was a little stronger.
He finally saw his chance a year ago. As they ground another city into the dust, Faeril slipped away in the chaos of battle. He made his way as fast as he could towards the East. The farther he got away from Asgard, the better for his chances not to be shot as a deserter. After a month of miserable travel on Salamander back, he stopped at Tyberia. If nothing else, he reasoned, it would be simple for him to disappear amongst the populace and extraordinarily difficult for any pursuers Asgard cared to send after him to find a single dwarf.
It didn’t take him long to be accepted by the local communities. A healer was always welcome, and one as skilled as Faeril who was seemingly so generous with his aid was even more so. It took them some time to get used to his curmudgeonly nature, but they learned to take it in stride. Faeril felt good helping a community again, rather than breaking it apart.
He spent the fall of Tyberia helping the wounded civilians as best he could. Thankfully, it was a short fall, but his hands were nevertheless full of either innocents caught in the crossfire or fools trying to defend their city with nothing more than an old bolt rifle they barely knew how to use. It was a nervous first few weeks for him, waiting to see if the Asgard patrols would for some reason recognize him and execute him on the spot. When nothing of the sort happened, Faeril quietly relaxed as much as he was able. Then he waited. He wasn’t going to run, not again. Tyberia was where he was going to meet his destiny, whatever it may be, and he was going to fight for it.
With all of his many cousins beside him.
Accomplished Healer:
“Family business and all that. I’ve kept more people alive than I care to remember, and been doing it longer than I can remember.”
Faeril, having spent nearly two decades aiding his parents as healers in Kar-Morten and then another solid decade as a combat medic, is extremely skilled at keeping people alive and fixing whatever ails them. While his bedside manner could use work, no one doubts that Faeril is one of the best in the city.
Professional Combatant:
“The Asgardians ensure everyone knows how to shoot and fight in hand to hand. You pick it up quickly, or you die.”
Ten years of Asgardian training and war have molded Faeril into an effective fighter. Be it at his preferred long range or up close and personal, Faeril can hold his own.
Journeyman poison maker:
“It’s a little bit of knowing how much healing medicine is too much, and a little bit of knowing what will make someone’s final moments go from agonizing pain to quiet sleep.”
While by no means an assassin, Faeril is knowledgeable enough to craft a few separate poisons, should the need arise.
Journeyman Mechanic:
“Every dwarf worth their salt can work on machines. Even my family being a bit odd didn’t change that.”
Faeril is skilled enough to ensure his equipment is in tip-top shape and that any basic repairs needed on vehicles can be done. He can also make simple little trinkets and figurines out of scrap metal. Beyond that, you’re going to need a professional.
Journeyman Salamander rider:
“Look. I hate the beasts. The beasts hate me. In order to suffer in each other’s company the least amount of time, we work together. Barely.”
Faeril loathes Salamanders. He hates the way they act, he hates the way riding on them is, he hates how they look, and they hate him back. He can ride them, skillfully enough to not be a detriment on the back of one. But he isn’t going to like it.
Warhammer, old, well maintained:
“Oh, old Hilde here? She’s a gift from my uncle, a more traditional dwarven engineer. A beauty, isn’t she?”
The gift from his uncle, Hilde, is a solid steel warhammer with a spike on the end. Simple, well used, and brutally effective, she is Faeril’s go to if melee is required.
Manalock Rifle, Old, perfect condition:
“Don’t tell Hilde, but Oristra here is my favorite. Fixed her right up so that she‘s perfect at long range, and can out shoot a Charger any day of the week.”
Oristra is Faeril’s Manalock. Made of steel and wood, with a scope and customised for maximum range and power, she is Faeril’s preferred weapon of choice. Not quite as powerful as a Charger, but fires faster. A boar’s head is carved on either side of the stock.
Bolt pistol, new:
“This one doesn’t have a name. Hasn’t earned one yet.”
A simple bolt pistol, for when Faeril doesn’t need to get into melee range but either Manalocks are useless or the enemy is too close for Oristra to be effective.
Full Suit of Heavy Brass Armor, old, perfect condition:
“Solid Brass and tough as they come. Kar-Morten’s smiths never cheated on quality. Though they did over-charge for it, puffed up rock sniffing fools.”
Heavier than the standard Brass armor of the Asgardian army, this suit has seen Faeril through many a battle. He normally uses only the breastplate if on mission, as a full suit would attract quite the amount of attention, but keeps the rest on hand just in case the protection is needed. The Asgardian symbols are all scratched out and somewhat covered.
-Faeril's favorite animal is, by far, the pig. He has little trinkets of either his own make or he bought when out and about the city all over his home and his clinic. His family in Kar-Morten had one as a pet and he absolutely adores the creatures.
-Faeril has a soft spot for children. Its difficult to tell, unless you notice he doesn't ever really yell at kids. Only gripes and grumbles. He even keeps a small bag of candy on him to hand out at random.
-Faeril keeps a pipe and some tobacco on him at all times, claiming it puts him in a better mood. Most people disagree with that assessment.
-Faeril, understandably, goes to great lengths to keep his past as an Asgardian soldier secret. As such, most people consider him to be a very private individual who doesn't reveal much about himself.
@DrRtron ah you know, busy, tired, stressed- about the same as usual. I am incidentally also breaking a fairly sizable hiatus with this one too
Well, that makes about two of us. At least we've still got time for this? And hey, nothing like writing with a good friend you haven't written with in a while.
Member
Auz
Lord Zee
