Legion X51

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Okay, that's fine, doesn't *have* to be those three generals in the first place, mind.

"Presently I've written how the territory from the Japanese border in Russia to the Urals is controlled by a confederacy of sorts of former Imperial Cossacks." That's quite a large state, and really cuts down on the area available to new players in the remains of Imperial Russia, unless you're fine with people carving out their own states from said nation?

I'll probably go for a state in and around Novosibirsk. Probably re-write the nation to make it more nationalist/populist rather than strongly left-wing.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Hrm. This could be interesting - if you want, I could have it so that the Pliyev Troika instead flee to China, and then potentially offer themselves as another option for a government after the Siberian invasion has been completed? Pliyev, Yeryomenko and Chuikov are all pretty hard-line communists, and would likely retain the support of a fairly sizeable chunk of the Russian Far Eastern Theatre - I estimated that the Russian Far Eastern Theatre would probably have been made up of between 24 and 28 divisions (based on relatively similar Soviet ORBATs from the 1960s in the area) and therefore they would maybe have been able to retain the support of 70-80% of the men under their command.

However, this is all subject to your ideas for the region. I can work with whatever, or I can simply relocate elsewhere if necessary.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

The plan was:

In the aftermath of the assassination of the Tsar, and the rather spectacular implosion of the Russian state, Generals Issa Pliyev, Andrey Yeryomenko, Vasiliy Chuikov and several others take command of the Russian Far Eastern Theatre's forces based around Vladivostok and Khabarovsk, and transform the area (by force in some instances) into the Commune of the Amur, a communist state in the Russian Far East with designs of eventually re-conquering Siberia and the Urals, eventually driving west and taking the capital areas in European Russia (probably not, but that's their ultimate goal).

Sadly, I was a muppet and didn't read Japan's NS, which claimed the Amur area for their own. So now, in a bit of limbo here.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

-Redacted, because the map on the first post of the OOC had indicated the Amur was free... when it wasn't-

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

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Location: Lachance Stronghold - Henderson, NV
Time: Late Evening

Katarina had been anxiously awaiting some news - any news at all - from the witches about Ben’s condition. Suffice to say, they weren’t readily forthcoming with such information, but merely remained quiet… aggravatingly so, in fact. Then, all of a sudden, they disappeared into a room with him, and closed the door behind them, whilst Kat had been instructed to keep out of the way. It rankled and grated on her patience considerably, and yet, for not the first time today, Kat kept quiet. She just had to keep calm, carry on and keep her head down whilst she integrated with the group at large. The other werewolves were with her, each of them swiping distrustful glances over at Kat, but she paid them no attention, preferring to examine the weaponry that she had looted from the Hounds once again, and in much greater detail. So many detailed intricacies that she had overlooked - three-shot burst, for one. She turned the rifle over and over in her hands, testing how easily it was to manipulate and hold for a long time - in truth, all to keep herself from demanding access to her stricken werewolf. She needed something to do to keep her mind off everything, and specifically, off him and what he must have been going through, thanks to that damned silver weaponry. She noted something else from the firefight as well, now that she had had time to think; she had not once resorted to magic, preferring to utilise the artificial firepower of the Hounds instead. It was a weakness of hers - what magic she could remember from her libraries was slow and cumbersome to bring to bear upon her foes, and in such instances as said firefight, it could have gotten her killed. And it could have hurt her erstwhile allies to boot. She needed faster-acting and more targeted spells to complement her new arsenal. She’d have to note that one down for later.

But for now, she returned her attention to the rifle. At least that was a concrete and dependable item. Not like anything else around here- the door had opened! The witches filed out, each of them sneaking a look into the room where Kat and the others had been spending their time… Yes, yes, everything is fine, now please, go away. She watched each of the witches through furrowed brows and unblinking eyes, before getting to her feet and walking over to the doorway, checking to make sure they had actually left the area, before walking the short distance to Ben’s location. The door was closed, but unlocked. And so, thinking nothing of it, she opened it.

She instantly wrinkled her nose as the smell of rotted flesh, putrefied essence and acidic material washed over her as though she were back at her laboratory in the Tower. For a brief flicker of a moment, her prior memories as the Countess flashed through her mind, but no more. She winked to him as he whirled around to meet the opening of the door, and closed it behind her. ”Don’t get too excited, Ben… it’s only me.” She gave a snicker.

Ben’s shoulders immediately relaxed when he spotted Kat. He rolled his eyes at her snickering, a bit irritated at her amusement over his image. Public indecency was going to get him arrested one day if he couldn’t control the wolf. His frown deepened. Pushing the thoughts out of his head, he leaned over for his tunic and snatched it up with one hand. His back was turned to Katarina while he shoved his arms through each sleeve then lifted it down over his head.

One final tug, he then addressed Kat.

“Where are we? I can’t remember much clearly,” His voice held a bit of pain at admitting it.

”We’re in Nevada, Ben. Some stronghold of some of your witch friend’s, er, acquaintances, I suppose is the best way of saying it. Truth be told, I don’t know much more about this place than you do, only that it’s mostly safe from the arschloche that decided to fill us all with bullets.” Kat walked over and pulled Ben into a gentle embrace. His skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, and she subconsciously made an effort to match him temperature-wise, lest he end up hugging something cold as ice. He was soaked with sweat, and the aforementioned smell hung in the air like a miasmatic cloud - in the old days, people would have fled from the room in terror, frightened that the smell would somehow infect them or sicken them. Kat knew better than that, though. And so did apparently modern humans.

”How are you feeling? A little better now that the poison is out of your system?”

“Terrible, like lukewarm death and worse,” Benjamin said as he let her hug him, unsure how to react.

After several moments, he gently removed her arms and pulled away. He jerked down the shirt to ensure his muscles were covered as he considered his next question. Once more he faced Kat.

“Where’s the White Witch now and who else came?”

Kat was slightly taken aback at Ben’s reluctance to engage in an embrace, but then, she remembered his earlier reluctance to do so in previous meetings. It was a peculiarity of his; one that Kat, truth be told, had no interest in delving into at any point in the near future. She gave a half-smile, and giggled as he pulled down the shirt. ”Aww… I was enjoying the sights… That’s not good to hear about your condition - though I would know about feeling like death warmed up, huh?” She sat down on a chair next to Ben, her nose now having been mostly innured to the scent of the… foul effusions that had marked the purge of the silver from Ben’s body. ”I don’t know where your witch friend is, actually… I saw her leave a while back, but haven’t seen head nor foot of her since… apologies. As for who else we have, I believe we have some friends of yours - twin werewolves, I think? Aside from us… nobody else. The French bitch scarpered shortly after we escaped from Vegas - she got us into that scheißsturm and then she vanished into the fucking night, with that robot thing that went with her. She, ah, how do you say it, brought the heat on us? And then ran like the coward she is.” Kat sighed and rubbed her forehead - she herself had not fully recovered from her own injuries, though Ben had suffered much worse, and Kat was acutely aware of such matters.

”The other twins, the man and the woman, they also left shortly after we escaped. I don’t know where any of those who left are, though… Knowing the French, though, I bet that one fled back to France, as they always do…”

Benjamin looked at Katarina with a hard set jaw, “Why do you say she had something to do with the goons that showed up?”

It was odd that a publically hostile group against supernatural would show up right after they met Odette. However, he had doubts she was suicidal enough to risk her own safety and nearly get them all killed. His neck hairs rose up at the thought of Odette causing him to growl in his throat slightly before he cleared it.

Taking a moment to calm himself, his eyes turned to Kat, “I have get my inner wolf under control. This is getting hard and I’m going to be found out if I don’t. I don’t want to end up in a laboratory somewhere being cut open or experimented on.”

”Ben. Think about it. This woman shows up bragging about her unimaginable power, only for the damned Hounds to show up, seemingly from nowhere, and engage us with heavy weaponry, and weaponry specifically designed to deal with us, ja? I mean, come on, I’ve heard of coincidences, but gottverdammt that’s too much, too convenient. Either she’s being followed and dealt with, or she… she led them to us. Either way, I don’t trust her one bit. She’s dangerous and I don’t like it…” Ben’s following statement raised Kat’s ire, however - of course, the humans still were suspicious of werewolves… superstitious fools. Cut up in a laboratory somewhere?

”Not if I have anything to say about it, they won’t...” She cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes - maybe there was some way that Ben could be taught? It would have to mean giving him over to the witch, and maybe the werewolf twins in the next room… but it beat Katarina trying to teach Ben herself, on a subject about which she knew precious little other than what she had briefly read and witnessed in person. ”I suppose the others in our little group could help with that. I don’t trust them either, but if you do, then I’ll go along with your decision…”

“I’m not saying she’s innocent or didn’t have something to do with it, but self preservation is a thing. If I’ve learned anything from Daniel, it’s never to jump to conclusions until you have evidence. It just makes things messier.”

Clearing his throat again, his eyes turned to Kat. He noticed the blood leaking to the surface of the clothing from the now obvious bullet wounds causing him to inwardly groan. Benjamin gritted his teeth a moment before he spoke.

“Did you even get looked at? At all?”

Kat sighed and shook her head. He was right, of course, jumping to conclusions such as that would only really serve to engender distrust and dislike between the members of the group - which for all they knew, might have been the purpose of the woman’s visit in the first place, and they could ill-afford fractious tempers at this point in time, particularly after the Hounds had wrought their bloody havoc. Speaking of which, the dull pain from her bullet injuries was back. It was a mild discomfort… well, perhaps mild was a slight understatement. They still were sore. She winced under Ben’s gaze as he asked the question she hoped he would not. He had a way of turning on the interrogative capability when he wanted to.

Of course she hadn’t sought any attention for her own wounds. His were worse at the time, and he wasn’t a vampire able to regenerate with the sinking of his teeth into a vein. She felt like laying that on him… but decided against it. ”N-no... I didn’t think it was necessary at the time… h-hey, most of the shrapnel worked its way out! I… uh… I think.” Oh dear. Not the best defence of her inaction. Probably could - and should - have phrased that better. She offered a hopeful smile!

“You’re going to make me take care of you, aren’t you?” Benjamin said the words in an annoyed tone, but the way he said it held a hint of threat. One that unofficially made it clear he wasn’t just going to let her walk away until those wounds were taken care of.

The hopeful smile had not worked. Damn. ”What do you mean by that? I’m sure these will be fine by morning… right? It’s only a bit of metal.” It was not just ‘a bit of metal’. And it hurt. A lot. But she was committed to the ruse now - and besides, his wounds were still worse than her own! Never mind that Kat, the vampire was the bloody rearguard for a group that included a giant robot thing and several werewolves… and that she’d done that to get Ben to safety as quickly as possible. Contradictions abounded.

”Though… maybe I do need taking care of… this is actually quite painful.”

“Yeah,” Ben sighed then sat back down on the bench.

His hand reached for his collar then loosened the tunic around it enough to expose his skin. He turned his head until she could get a full view of the artery and added.

“Come on. Let me get you fixed up before you pass out on me.”

”Benjamin, no! You’ve only just recovered from what they did to you, the last thing you need is this…” Kat’s demeanour quickly recovered from the initial shock of Ben’s idea on how to ‘get her fixed up’. Of course. This was the only actual way to get it done, without injuring anybody else or infecting them with the Kiss. Kat sighed and shook her head, irritated at her need for blood - her own weaknesses coming to the fore once again. ”But… ugh… Fine.” She got up from the chair and walked over next to him, nuzzling her head into the gap between his head and his shoulder. And then, with some degree of hesitation, she bared her fangs, and sank them deep into his flesh, his warm vitae draining from the wound down her throat, a surge of energy flowing through her torpid veins. The bullet wounds ceased bleeding, and began to close over as she slaked her thirst.

She withdrew her head from the bite area, and wiped at her mouth. The bite site itself closed over quickly, to avoid too much sanguination. ”I wish I didn’t have to do that…”

“And I wish I wasn’t a werewolf, but that’s not how the world works,” Ben pointed out as he wiped away the remains of his blood.

He didn’t mention he felt weaker than before. Kat would only mother him and he couldn’t handle that right now. It didn’t stop him from twisting about then laying his head against her lap.

“I think I need some sleep before we do anything else.” He yawned.

”I’ll say…” Katarina stroked his hair as she closed her eyes… It would be good to catch a decent amount of shut-eye.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

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Time: Evening, Three Weeks Before Satellite Attack
Location: Undisclosed Location, New York City, New York State

Sergeant Fred Moonill was on front watch. Watch duty in the middle of a city, on a safe house the location of which was known to only a few. It was, perhaps, the most boring job that one could think of. Sitting on his ass behind a reinforced steel door which was designed to stand up to anything those mutie freaks could throw at them. His assault rifle was on his lap, his monitors scanning the areas outside for any unusual activity by the city's denizens... it was boring, but hell it beat anything else. Fred flicked through the screens - some hobo sitting in an alleyway, some fancy businessmen walking down the road outside, probably plotting the death of the American economy as they always did. A pretty girl with blonde hair standing by a street lamp with a cigarette in her hand... looked smart, but was treated like a hooker from the attention of the fatasses walking by. Fred's stomach turned... to him, the fatcats and the muties were one and the same - vicious pricks who wanted nothing more than to put their own world view in place, and ride roughshod over everyone else, the consequences be damned.

Fred took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply on the smoke. He had a propensity to grow agitated easily, and smoking was really the only way he could calm down. Besides, he'd come from a family of smokers - his mom and dad both smoked, his gramps and granny did too. Jeff did, Lisa did... it was just what you did. He held the cigarette between his teeth as he checked over his rifle for any spots or rust - a holdover from his days in the Army - and went back to checking the screens. A couple of them were fuzzy, and the blonde was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Fred smacked the side of the monitor several times to clear it up, but it was no use. The monitors were fuzzing over, one by one. "God damn it." He'd have to call up the techs in the basement to get this fixed. He reached for his radio and pressed the transmit button. "This is two-one, reporting in. I've got some interference on the cameras, can I get someone from tech up here to clear it up?" No sooner had he finished his report, than two of the cameras went black. No report. Nothing. No input feed. Frowning, Fred checked the back of the monitor to see if any of the cables had come loose, but nothing was out of the ordinary. "Shit, this is the last thing I need... I'm a soldier, not a god damn technician." He got to his feet and slotted a magazine into the well of his M4, before walking over towards the door.

In a split second, Fred's world exploded. A blinding flash of light and an overwhelming surge of pain, followed by darkness.

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The door had been blown clean from its mounting in the front door, blasting away several chunks of masonry as it had cannoned into the front room of the safe house. The watchman had been standing behind the door as the charges had detonated, from the looks of things, whilst the camera monitor had also been blown from the desk and lay in a pile of wiring and dust shaken loose from the shockwave of the charges' detonation. Cracks had appeared in the surrounding structural walls, and clouds of smoke and plaster dust filled the air. In the doorway was the woman responsible for such an initial onslaught - Rubis. She was dressed head-to-toe in black, with a maroon beret atop her head, sloped to the left as was the custom, and a tactical vest with several grenades, spare RPK magazines and a black assault pack in which contained several large blocks of shaped charge plastic explosive - Semtex, to be precise. A shrill alarm rang, shattering the brief silence following the detonation of the explosives, no doubt alerting the occupants as to what was going on, as if they needed any other information. Rubis unhooked an RGO and cast it into an adjacent room, which looked like a ready room or break room. Inside, two dazed and confused Watchmen were struggling to reorient themselves after having witnessed a rather significant emotional event, and neither of them noticed the small bundle of explosive Soviet joy that had been tossed into the room to accompany them. One had the common sense to run out to check what was going on, only to be met by the repetitive bark of a raised AK-74N firing at fully automatic. The heavy 5.45mm AP rounds punched clean through the body armour - unsurprising at such close range - and sprayed crimson clouds onto the cracking walls behind the Watchman, followed by another deafening explosion as the RGO Rubis had tossed into the break room exploded, shredding the unfortunate sod who was still in the room with shrapnel, and probably concussing him badly to boot. He was alive, but no threat, whimpering and sobbing from the shock and pain of the grenade's explosion - Kseniya unholstered her PPK and put a bullet into the man's brain. She didn't need his whining whilst she was trying to get a job done. The watch room only had one other exit - another reinforced door that no doubt led downstairs into the basement areas of the safe house which would hold the target location.

Kseniya slung her rifle back over her shoulder and jogged through the still-swirling clouds of dust and smoke to the door, and unzipped her backpack to prepare another two charges. However, as she did so, the door slid open to reveal a nasty-looking chap in a black armoured bodysuit, with an M16 at the ready and aimed directly at her. Snickering, the Watchman pulled the trigger, rounds thumping into Rubis' head with tremendous force and frequency. In response, Kseniya gave a guttural yell of defiance and charged down the Watchman, her shoulder impacting squarely with the man's testicular area. Armoured or not, that would sting... and sting it did. The Watchman screamed in agony, his grip on his rifle slackening as both he and Rubis flew down the steps to a landing area halfway down the staircase. The Watchman got the worst of the landing, cracking the back of his bereted head on the concrete wall, a splatter of blood erupting from the impact point. Death must have been instantaneous. Further down the stairs, two other militiamen readied their guns and one called into his radio; "All units, this is two-four, we have a confirmed intruder alert, all security to general quarter- argh!" He was cut off in another spray of crimson liquid, as Kseniya had gotten to her feet, unslung her 74N and loosed off a burst in the militiamen's direction. The radioman took several bullets in the chest and left shoulder, dropping him almost instantly - the other had sensibly dove for cover in a nearby doorway, but it wouldn't avail him for long.

Kseniya opened fire again at the doorway, peppering it with hot lead to suppress the militiaman behind it as she surveyed the situation. She noted that the hallway in front of her was reinforced concrete, almost like the top levels of a bomb shelter - these guys were serious when it came to the construction of their hideouts. From the end of the hallway came forth a veritable squad of infantrymen - at least six militia from the Watchmen. They opened fire, several rounds striking Rubis in the torso, but without effect. Grimacing, Kseniya unhooked another grenade from her vest and threw it down the hallway, scattering the militia behind what cover they could find. The man from earlier, however, wasn't done - he had gotten to his feet, and rushed Kseniya as she finished throwing the grenade. Knocking her to the floor, the militiaman straddled her torso and landed several blows to her head - though again, with little effect beyond irritating her. She took hold of the man's head and slammed her own into his face, definitely breaking a nose from the sound of the impact, whilst in the distance, the grenade detonated, showering shards of shrapnel all through the hallway in a steel rain of fragmentation. Several fragments embedded themselves into the Watchman atop Rubis, shortly before she pushed him back and then kicked him in the chest with both legs, shattering ribs. Those four who had survived the grenade earlier were now once more opening fire, forcing Rubis to ignore the critically-injured man in front of her and return her attention to the others. She reached over and took hold of her rifle and fired a long burst down the hallway, which drove the others into cover.

The magazine was dry.

Quick change, drop the old, take hold of a fresh magazine, slot it in, check the charging handle. Textbook quick reloading under fire. The survivors had retreated behind the door, and sealed it shut. Rubis didn't know how many there were behind it, nor how many rooms lay beyond... she would simply take one problem at a time. The keypad on the side of the door was bright red, with text reading SECURITY BREACH: LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. Like that would stop her. She still had plenty of charges... she reached into her backpack and placed down four 500-gram charges on the corners of the door, wiring all four up to a single detonator she held in her hand. She unwound the wires down the hallway, and then looked over at the dying Watchman to check he wouldn't be a problem... he was bleeding out. No issue. Two... one... fire! The blasts blew the door clean off its hinges and shattered the surrounding brickwork. The door itself flew backwards and down some steps into a central room filled with several large computers and screens, and terrified technicians hiding under desks. On one particularly large screen was shown a map of the state and Watchman activity. The door itself had taken out the four men covering behind it in rather... gruesome fashion, but Rubis wasn't finished yet, as another four of them made themselves known at the other end of the room, firing wildly at the doorway in an effort to suppress Kseniya's advance. It would work... if bullets actually had an effect on her. Striding forth through the gunfire, Kseniya raised her rifle and fired controlled bursts at each militiaman in turn, killing or gravely wounding each and every one of them. She looked around at the technicians... they were all staring at her, some with fear, some with hatred in their eyes. Kseniya shrugged and slung her AK over her shoulder, unholstering her PPK once more. They all had to die. They were all responsible for their organisation's actions. One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four. Five. Five suited bodies, with bloodstained wounds. C'est la vie. She emptied the last round in her pistol at one of the technicians who she thought had been killed.

Kseniya walked down the stairs, finally able to catch her breath after the adrenaline and excitement. The map was quite something - she opened an inner pocket on her tactical vest and took out a USB flash drive. This was the purpose of the safe house - and all it took to get there was the deaths of over a dozen militiamen, some technicians, and some Semtex blocks. "Pathetic, really. You call yourselves an army..." The alarm still rang in her ears as she downloaded the intelligence maps and databases onto the flash drive - its continued ring was troubling for Kseniya... were there more on the way? Was there an external alarm room that was calling in extra security forces as she stood there, waiting for the download to complete? Evidently not. She finished up the download, and headed out, back the way she came, with the disk drive in one hand, and her AK in the other, a broad smirk on her face.

Nobody fucked with Rubis.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

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Time: Shortly after the attack in Las Vegas
Location: Hoover Dam, Black Canyon, NV

The portal ejected the group forcefully onto a concrete structure the likes of which Katarina had never seen before in all her years of life. The violence with which the portal threw them through was unwelcome, to be sure - Kat fell awkwardly on her injured leg, grimacing as she stumbled back to her feet. The Frenchwoman - may God forever curse her for this! - was saying something about how she expected Marie to be in one piece and unmolested by the time she returned. Kat sideswiped a glance at her, a venomous glint to her eye, but said nothing, even when the damnable woman called her 'vampire girl'. Girl? She was hundreds of years older than all of these mortal scum combined, how dare this insolent whelp refer to her so? Why, were she at her full strength, she could wipe this foolish young woman from the face of this planet, or condemn her for an eternity of undead slavery with but a look! Did she have any idea whom she was dealing with?

No, of course not... This was not 1600. This was the 21st century... people had long forgotten her Red Reign and all it stood for. And she was not the Katarina of that time. And more pressingly, she was wounded. For all her indignation and fury, Katarina knew that she wasn't in any great shape to fight, and simply held her tongue - albeit with great difficulty. The frog would win this little battle... lull her into a false sense of security, make her think she was in control of the situation and she could order everyone about with impunity. Whatever wary appeasement there was between the frog and Marie, Katarina would have none of it. Kat would work with this odious little carbuncle for as long as it suited her, and then, when she had regained her power, she would excise the frog from the skin of humanity, and it's little golem construct with it. Ambassador title be damned. As the Frenchwoman opened her own little portal to... wherever, Kat returned her attention to the stricken Ben. His condition had not improved, and it seemed that the group, at the moment, was unable to counteract the doubtless-horrific effects the silver was no doubt wracking upon Ben's system. Kat herself was too injured to contemplate what she would normally do, otherwise she would attempt to at least concentrate the silver in one area and draw as much of it out as she could with her teeth, but she could not afford such a high concentration of silver in her weakened body... for now, anyway. It seemed that once again, the Red Countess was powerless in the face of adversity, just as she had been 400 years ago. She sighed and slammed her fist onto the fence atop the dam's walkway, crushing the steel framework with ease. She didn't care for the damage. Only that she was incapable of protecting those she felt obligated to do so. And the one person she desperately did.

Kat couldn't quite explain her infatuation with the werewolf. Deep inside her, emotions that she had never really been able to show were finally making their presence known - feelings such as compassion, and selflessness; perhaps even love. During her initial sojourn amongst the living, Katarina had never seen mortals such as Ben and his comrades as anything other than tools, or playthings - items to be used until broken, and then thrown away, left to decay and rot amongst the rest of the detritus of human civilisations. Yet here was a man whom she had saved from assault, who had then taken her in (although with some difficulty), given her a bed, a place to stay... normally, she would have exploited this ruthlessly. More fool the man who shows mercy to the Countess, and all that, yet Kat felt no desire, no longing to do so. Perhaps she had learned from the Fall. The cattle were still powerful, in sufficient numbers - the Crusade had put paid to any thoughts of inherent vampiric superiority over any and all opposition. No. Perhaps this time would be different. She put this to the back of her mind - Kat would have plenty of time to ruminate on her predicament and internal emotional turmoil later.

Instead, she turned her attentions, albeit reluctantly, to her surroundings. And what a landscape she found herself in. She had never known the existence of construction of this scale. The Hoover Dam, it was called by the mortals - a sheer face of concrete, impounding the terrifying force of nature in the Colorado River. Kat gazed at the cascading tumult of released floodwaters cannoning down from the slipways and jet-releases further down the dam, a terrifying two hundred and twenty metres (though Kat had no real way of determining the height of the dam) below her. It was... hauntingly beautiful. To watch what was once an unstoppable force which had carved out this massive canyon, impounded by physics, engineering and sheer human determination. Humanity had advanced far since the days of the 1500s. No longer did the peasants live in wooden and mud hovels, thatched with straw from offshoots of wheat farming. Instead, humanity had progressed to damming even the most powerful rivers, to housing thousands, if not millions, in urban agglomerations formed of glass, steel and concrete. It had seemingly not yet occurred to Katarina just how far humanity had advanced since her defeat, and now, looking at the white cascade of river water that gushed forth from the dam, it almost struck her in one blow. The aforementioned cattle were cattle no more. No vampire had ever been able to construct such massive feats of engineering - nay, even the Tower and Schloss Neuhausen paled in comparison with the Dam. And it didn't stop there, not with the Hoover Dam. Nuclear power. Nuclear weaponry. Aircraft carriers larger than some buildings. Supertankers even larger still. It didn't matter that Kat had also been exposed to humanity's fractious and oft-tribalistic nature. There were always bound to be those who opposed the marching of progress. Doubtless there were those advocating for a return to the 'old ways', before the days of mass mechanisation, globalisation and massive feats of engineering.

Maybe it was worth giving these humans another shot.

Alas, for all this, it was time to leave. The White Witch had deigned that they needed to move elsewhere to receive treatment for Ben and her own wounds - some place known to those of Fae origin. It was with a slightly heavy heart that Katarina acquiesced. She would have loved to stay at the Dam until sunrise... but needs must.

Legion's Characters

Vierinissa Aleaniryn

| {Full Name & Title} |

Vierinissa Sarienna Aleaniryn, Duchess of Aldetera & the Western Sea, Lady Protector of Castle T'puuliniar, Darksong Knight of the Faith, Guardian of the Council of Six, and Heir to the Consular House of Aleaniryn

| {Age} |

Though she is 236 years of age, Vierinissa's bloodline of the House of Aleaniryn is blessed with exceptionally long lifespans, even by Ilythiiric standards.

| {Species} |

Ilythiiric Noble (subspecies of Ilythiiri, off-branch of the old Selari)

| {Gender} |

Female

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| {Alignment} |

Largely considered to be Neutral Good, though perhaps with a more Lawful bent than usual.

| {Appearance} |

Ilythiiri are unmistakable to the eye. With dark, oftentimes black skin, bleached snow-white hair, red eyes and typical 'knife-like' ear tips, they are perhaps the last true remnant of the elven race in the world, though a far cry from the Selari of old. Somewhat unusually, Ilythiiri operate on a kind of biologically-driven caste system, with two sub-species of their kind in existence. The majority are simply 'Common' Ilythiiri, who are shorter, slighter and do not boast much magical prowess, if any at all. Such Common Ilythiiri almost entirely comprise the lower classes, such as burghers, farmers, sailors, and soldiers, though even the Common Ilythiir can find themselves in a position of power - though such occasions are rare indeed. Common Ilythiiri born to a noble house, however, are often the object of ridicule and apathy - some are simply disinherited or even murdered at young ages.

Yet, amongst the common folk, every so often an individual is born who is simply genetically and biologically superior - in all likelihood they grow to be stronger, taller, and often can command the force of magic naturally from a young age. Such individuals are termed 'Noble' Ilythiiri, and the epithet is particularly appropriate, as they also comprise almost all of the aristocratic ruling classes of the Ilythiiric state. The occasion of a Noble's birth to a common family is one of great celebration and opportunity, for it is not unknown for the Great Houses of the Ilythiiri to adopt (or marry) such individuals into their own dynasties, with the individual no doubt bestowing favour and prestige upon the family from whence they came. The overwhelming majority of Noble births, however, are amongst the so-called Great Houses, whom, as stated earlier, are comprised of almost entirely Noble Ilythiiri. Nobility, to the Ilythiiri, is not simply hereditary - it is congenital.

Vierinissa, however, is a particularly remarkable example of her race. Standing at just over six feet tall, Vierinissa cuts a most imposing and powerful figure amongst even Noble Ilythiiri. Her snow-white silky hair falls to about her upper back, and is rarely constrained or tied back, except sometimes in battle, where it is tied back into a singular ponytail. Her eyes are sharply pointed oval in shape, with piercing blood red irises, that often glow in times of heightened emotion - particularly anger, and she is never seen usually without purple eyeshadow, and her lips are usually painted red with carmine. In civilian engagements, Vierinissa is often seen clad in a shimmering spider-silk dress, with the silvered ducal ring of Aldetera on her right hand - and a silvered knife at her side.

In battle, however, Vierinissa eschews the traditional modus operandi of the Ilythiiri - that being agility and lighter equipment over heavy plate - and goes to battle in a custom-fitted set of white adamantine plated armour over light mithril mail. Vierinissa's approach is not entirely unheard of, though few take it to her extreme; her armour is capable of resisting almost all weapons on a battlefield short of siege artillery (against which it has admittedly never been tested). In addition, Vierinissa also bears a circlet of black adamantine with a spire at its front - known as the Crown of the Black Guards. This old enchanted item protects its wearer from blows (and projectiles) aimed toward the head and shoulders by use of magical power, and allows its wearer to enjoy heightened senses in the midst of battle to more easily identify weaknesses in the enemy, be it tactical or even whilst duelling a single, or multiple, foes. Offensively, Vierinissa wields a white adamantine two-handed sword - the legendary Divine Reckoning. The sword is perhaps an item of even greater magical power than the Crown of the Black Guards, and is easily capable of cleaving through mundane materials such as iron or even tempered steel with its enchanted edge. Though lesser Ilythiiri would struggle to even heft such a mighty weapon, Vierinissa's strength and stamina are such that she wields it with almost-consummate ease.

| {Physical Abilities} |

• A Peerless Swordswoman: Vierinissa is one of, if not the, finest fighter in the Hexarchy. Her skill with a blade is unmatched in her homeland, and she has dispatched countless foes in service to the Six, and she is perhaps one of the greatest warriors the Ilythiiri have ever seen. Be it arming sword, zweihänder, or dagger, Vierinissa is a fearsome force to be reckoned with.
• Strength and Honour: Vierinissa's physical prowess extends further than simply her skill with a blade. She is in peak physical condition, with her strength and stamina in excess of all save a few of her peers. Though it is not her primary method of combat, Vierinissa is no less dangerous when she is unarmed, having also trained herself in hand-to-hand fighting.
• Basilisk Rider: As a noble of the Hexarchy, Vierinissa is also trained in the art of mounted combat - more specifically, the riding of an ancient and most-feared creature; the basilisk. Reputedly able to kill with a glance, basilisks have long been hunted by the Hexarchy's noble families for sport, but a select few are also raised from egg to maturity to serve as mounts for the Hexarchy's most powerful and influential servants. Vierinissa's basilisk, Ktonos, has served as Vierinissa's loyal steed for over twenty years.
• A Font of Wisdom: Vierinissa, for all of her other abilities, is also... well-travelled, let us say. Though she hates to admit it, there does come a certain amount of wisdom and intelligence when one has been alive for 236 years, and she has been known to act as advisor, counsellor and simply companion to those who require her aid. She is also no stranger to acting as a liaison between individuals as well in times of conflict, strife and crisis, and though not always successful, Vierinissa strives to smooth tensions and calm heads when necessary.

| {Magical Abilities} |

• Divine Might: As a devoted - and high-ranking - servant of the Faith of the Ilythiiri, Vierinissa can almost-freely call upon the divine power of the goddess Eilistraee to smite her foes in physical combat, or to tolerate injuries that would otherwise lay her low. With but a thought and a prayer on her lips, Vierinissa has slain mighty wild creatures with a single sweep of her sword, and endured much pain and hardship in the service of the Council.
• A Gentle Touch: Vierinissa's main magical prowess and power, however, lies in the art of restorative magics. She is a master healer, able to staunch the flow of blood and heal even grievous wounds with the simple act of laying a hand on the injured person and reciting a prayer to her goddess. Those suffering from sickness or poison, too, can benefit from Vierinissa's ministrations, as the healing power of the Darksong Knights extend beyond simply that of battlefield injuries into other realms such as disease and poisoning, as well as mental injury or illness such as stress, hallucinations, insanity or melancholia.
• The Vengeance of the Faithful: Vierinissa's magical ability is not just limited to restoration, however. By calling upon the power of Eilistraee directly, Vierinissa can bring forth extreme displays of violence, be they coruscating storms of cleansing flame, an earthquake that splits the ground asunder, or the so-called Holy Word, which has the capacity to obliterate any demonic or evil entity against which it is spoken.

| {Limitations} |

• A Race's Reputation: Many in the world see the Ilythiiri as dangerous, reclusive, and above all, evil. Tales of their infamous slaver raids on the shores outside the Sea of Storms abound from coast to coast, and those who have survived such ordeals are invariably those most eager to spread tales of such wanton violence, bloodshed and destruction, the cackling laughs of the Ilythiiri corsairs still ringing in their ears, along with the terrified screams of their victims as they are hauled away into the depths of the slave ships, almost certainly never to be seen again. Such actions tarnish the reputation of the Ilythiiri, and have done to such an extent that they are considered persona non grata in many civilisations, and even in those areas where they are legally tolerated, fear and hatred abound towards them, even in the face of beneficence and kindness.
• Fearless And Unbreakable: Vierinissa knows no fear, and will never surrender. Facing down a situation of certain death with hopeless odds to allow her companions to escape, even if it meant sacrificing her own life? Consider it done. Where another might exercise caution and retreat, Vierinissa refuses to countenance such actions. For as long as she draws breath, the enemy will die.

---

| {Personality} |

As stated before, many in the world see the Ilythiiri as dangerous, reclusive, and above all, evil. Tales of their infamous slaver raids on the shores outside the Sea of Storms abound from coast to coast, and those who have survived such ordeals are invariably those most eager to spread tales of such wanton violence, bloodshed and destruction, the cackling laughs of the Ilythiiri corsairs still ringing in their ears, along with the terrified screams of their victims as they are hauled away into the depths of the slave ships, almost certainly never to be seen again.

So what, then, would they make of someone whose word is honour, whose intentions are noble, and whose heart is kind? For despite the presence of such barbarism, the Ilythiiri are not a monolithic race of evil sadists, whose sole purpose is to rape, pillage, burn and enslave - indeed, there are powerful factions within the Hexarchy that would see the corsairs hanged for their actions. Vierinissa is one such proponent. Corsairdom is illegal in Aldetera, and it is one of the few crimes that merit an automatic death sentence, for it is "an irrevocable assault on the freedoms and rights of other living beings", according to Vierinissa herself. She is devoted to helping others, even when perhaps the laws of the land might dictate otherwise, and if confronted, will not hesitate to speak out against injustice or the curtailment of individual liberty. Indeed, such matters are apparent in the manner of her rule of Aldetera - though by law she is an absolute ruler, Vierinissa carefully manages her realm through the use of councils of lesser noble families, clergy and aldermen from the urban areas, and takes note of any petitions for redress directed at acts of injustice or tyranny on the part of local powerholders. This has the impact of not only reducing any popular discontent towards the ruling class, but also empowering local citizenry to take (albeit limited) charge of their affairs, free from the chafing restrictions (like sumptuary laws) that dog other areas of the Hexarchy - a combination that has made Aldetera rich and stable indeed. Others see Vierinissa as weak and incapable of ruling alone. Vierinissa simply points to the ledgers and smiles.

| {Place of Origin} |

Castle Mithniar, Duchy of Aldetera

| {Background} |

Vierinissa is a woman born under auspicious signs.

Legion's Characters

Ryndarra Kirileth

Jedi Temple Public Records - File #REK9047582

Name: Ryndarra Elinwen Kirileth
Species: Pureblood Sith
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Height: Six feet, one inch - 185.42 cm
Weight: 198 pounds - Approx. 90 kg
Date of Birth: Estimated 3670 BBY
Faction: Jedi Order
Rank: Padawan
Date of Elevation: 3655 BBY (Age 14)
Master: Jarr Gantor, human male, aged 59. See File #JMFG6439888 for more details.

---

Imperial Acquisition Notes - Pureblood Sith Ryndarra Kirileth - Fabricated by K. A. N. Sydarai

_{When and where was the prisoner acquired?}

This prisoner was acquired during the Great Purge of the Coruscant Temple during the war. This prisoner was subdued after a fire-fight, which indicates that the prisoner is perhaps not as well-trained in the skills of the saber as other Jedi taken prisoner from the temple compounds.

_{What is the prisoner wearing? Is this what the prisoner wore prior to capture?}

When captured, this prisoner was in the possession of fairly typical clothing of the Jedi Order: Knee-high brown leather boots, snow white cloth trousers, a snow white cloth tunic and robe, and a brown leather belt.

The prisoner's injuries were severe in the raid on Coruscant, and as a result, currently the prisoner is recuperating in a kolto tank. As such, it has not been deemed necessary to issue the prisoner clothing as of this moment; however, her old clothing is in storage - perhaps reuniting her with them may spark an emotional response, which can be latched onto and exploited. The prisoner had no padawan braid; initially, I thought that this was as a result of her inexperience and low rank within the Jedi Order - perhaps an initiate of some kind - but upon investigation, I have been able to determine that this was actually as a result of the firefight that occurred just prior to the prisoner's capture in the Temple, and that the prisoner *is* a fully-fledged padawan. According to reports from those who captured her, a stray grenade fragment seems to have scraped the side of the prisoner's head, close enough to burn flesh and hair. The remnants of a braid could be seen on the left side of the prisoner's head, close to several minor shrapnel lacerations.

The prisoner's injuries are, as ranked in order of severity:

Blaster bolt impact to the Chest - Severe
Shrapnel wounds to the head, chest, left arm and left thigh - Severe
Blaster bolt impact to the left shoulder - Serious
Blaster bolt near-miss to the left leg - Minor
Concussive shock to the brain - Minor

These injuries should be left to heal in the kolto tank, in my most humble opinion. The chest injuries in particular will be particularly debilitating to the prisoner if left unhealed, rendering her useless in a matter of moments under torture.

_{Were any items confiscated upon capture?}

There was one item of note confiscated upon capture; a surprisingly ornate lightsaber. The blade is yellow in colouration. The handle of the lightsaber is silvered with intricate gilded decorations around the hilt and hand guard - the exact chemical composition of the grip is yet to be analysed. Such an intricate weapon is most unusual in this instance. It should be investigated.

In addition, the prisoner was armed with a standard-issue Imperial blaster. It seems that the prisoner, instead of using what lightsaber skills she possessed, preferred to take her chances with a blaster against Imperial personnel. The likely course of actions she took was that initially she used her lightsaber, and then armed herself with the blaster once Imperial personnel outnumbered her considerably. According to reports, she was able to dispatch several troopers before succumbing to multiple injuries. If anything, this shows her versatility and willingness to use alternative methods to achieve her goal - something that could prove useful were she to be turned to the Empire.

_{What mistakes led to the prisoner’s captivity?}

The prisoner was, like many of these unfortunate wretches, in the wrong place, at the wrong time - at least from a Republic point of view. For us, however, a most valuable boon. It seemed from the setup of the room she was captured defending that she was preparing to meet with her master, perhaps to depart on a new mission out of Coruscant Temple. The room was a reading chamber of some sort, and Imperial personnel breached the door, gunning down a Jedi librarian inside before they were able to react. However, the prisoner was quick to respond, and felled several troopers before arming herself with a blaster and proceeding to use the gun to pin down Imperial reinforcements until eventually, the prisoner was subdued by a combination of wounds sustained from blaster fire and several grenades thrown into the room.

The prisoner had no real place to run. Defeat was inevitable; that she survived at all was fortunate.

_{What talents, if any, has the prisoner demonstrated with the Force?}

The prisoner did not demonstrate visibly much talent with the Force. What was shown was primarily basic Force powers, such as limited telekinetic ability, limited healing and Force-assisted acrobatics. Imperial Intelligence have estimated her abilities to be the following - bear in mind this also includes intelligence extrapolated from decrypted Jedi records of the prisoner, including age and estimated strength with the Force:

( ESTIMATION LEVELS: Untapped Potential / Green / Regular / Well-Versed / Crack / Elite )

Basic Force Powers - Regular
Force Healing - Green. Likely taught to her during her initiation. Unsure as to why, but perhaps it has been to assist in the purging of the Dark Side from her body and spirit. This will need to be kept under close observation.
Crucitorn? - Possibly Green - This is implied given her resilience to injuries sustained during the Coruscant Raid. Whether she is trained in it or not, I am unsure.
Force Stun - Green

_{Has the prisoner demonstrated any other skills?}

The prisoner, as explained before, has a remarkable talent for versatility in the heat of the action. Instead of continuing the battle with her lightsaber, the prisoner instead seemed to fall back on some form of soldier training, finding cover and utilising a blaster, pinning down Imperial troops in the doorway to the chamber. This implies to me that the prisoner is at least versed in common military tactical manoeuvres and training, which is unusual for a Jedi. It is of course possible that the prisoner may have simply been acting on instinct, but this is countered by the prisoner tricking several members of the Imperial military into entering the room after assuming that she had been incapacitated, only to gun them down and, in the confusion, reload and re-arm! Such a trick, although primitive, nevertheless indicates a highly tactically-focused mind.

In addition to this, the prisoner's files from the Jedi Temple, which have been recovered thanks to the efforts of several Intelligence personnel, indicate that the prisoner has quite a wide-ranging education, ranging from history (of course, told from a Republic standpoint, which no doubt will influence her view on the galaxy), mathematics, language, law, chemistry (of all things) and medicine. She is sharp-witted and sharp-tongued - Jedi records state that many times she has strayed from the Jedi Code's teachings, proving that she is vulnerable to corruption, yet also versatile in her approach to matters. She is also an excellent card player, indulging in games of sabacc, cribbage and bridge - according to files from her master, their preferred method of relaxation was a game of bridge with tea and cakes. A most civilised occasion. Perhaps this can be used?

Another interesting note; the prisoner speaks with a Dromund Kaas accent. You can take the Sith out of Kaas City, but you can't take the Kaas City out of the Sith.

_{No doubt prisoner resisted capture. What lightsaber form(s) did the prisoner demonstrate training in?}

The prisoner's primary lightsaber form is undoubtedly that of Form I: Shii-Cho. The prisoner also displayed elements of Form III: Soresu during the fire-fight that resulted in her capture, able to deflect blaster bolts with surprising ease and regularity, which would indicate at least a basic understanding of the tenets of Soresu. Whether the prisoner is able to utilise Form III in any way aside from blaster avoidance is unknown at the current time.

---

Jedi Classified Records - File #REK9047582 - Decrypted by K. A. N. Sydarai

_{How powerful is the padawan in the Force?}

The initiate has the potential to be great with the Force. Her Sith Pureblood lineage is no doubt the cause of this strength, for Republic intelligence has informed us that Ryndarra is the daughter of a high-ranking member of the Sith Order. According to further intelligence, this parent is known to be Seshan Kirileth, with her mother being Idirelle, a pureblood Sith that Seshan enslaved after a duel, and kept as a slave for the purpose of furthering the family. This undoubtedly would go a long way in explaining her power. However, she has been unable to temper her raw power with proper adherence to the Jedi Code, and as such her training has been somewhat retarded in its scope until Ryndarra can learn to embrace the Code more fully.

_{What is the Jedi’s history? What events has shaped his or her life before and after joining the Jedi Order?}

-ERROR: RECORDS CORRUPTED OR INCOMPLETE-

(Sydarai, K. A. N.: This was discovered on a data crystal found with the prisoner, in a pocket. It seems to be some form of life story, perhaps dictated to keep a record of her life. She may have been undergoing stress in her daily routines, and felt it necessary to vent to this data crystal. As such, it may prove useful.)

Where to begin... I suppose one must start at the start. What I can remember is this; my name is Ryndarra Kirileth. My father, Lord Seshan Kirileth, is a member of the Sith Order, and my mother... I don't remember. I think she was some slave he kept around for his own personal entertainment. I doubt I was her only child, at the very least. But then again, maybe I was... I do remember him doting on me, indulging my seemingly every will, perhaps nursing me to power at an early age. I remember growing up on Dromund Kaas, the planet of constant rain. I remember a nanny who took care of me when father was out, or away, or off-planet, and I remember the guards who I used to play with. The guards in particular were nice to me... I remember them watching drilling every now and then, when I could get away from the nanny who would forever want me to practice my numbers or my letters in Aurebesh or Ancient Sith. It was so interesting to watch them fight each other, and it was even better when they used to spot me waving from the balcony, and then they'd do things to impress me, like marching up and down in perfect step! But I also remember the time when some associates of my father said that I'd have to go to Korriban soon. I think I was about five or six at the time; that's usually when the Sith send their children off to be taught - well, more like butchered, if any stories are true - at Korriban Academy.

I remember this so clearly it's unnerving. My father shook his head and muttered something under his breath, and then, when they had left our home, he flew into a rage! By the Force, I'd never seen him so angry. He said that he'd never abandon me to the Academy, that he could train me himself! I don't know why he said it, because he wasn't that strong in the Force, nor was he all that high in the Order, but he was adamant; I'd never see Korriban unless it was to be inducted. I don't know what the *rest* of the Sith Order would have made of that, mind... probably toss him out on his kiester and tell him to shape up or ship out. Or whatever it is the Sith do to those kinds of people. Probably not as nice as that, actually... But I never really did see Korriban, not with my own eyes. All I saw of it was from holo-vids and the like, never the actual planet. My father, apparently so keen to introduce me to the ways of the Sith, began to train me himself in physical exercises that I didn't really understand, or appreciate for that matter. He would work until I was sore and aching all over, and then make me work more, because he said that through pain came progress, and that pain and anger should fuel your energies. It was a real shock to the pampered life I'd led before. It took a while for the lessons to sink in... but they did, I think. The person who was supposed to train me in the ways of the Sith never arrived to the best of my knowledge.

What he then did I'll never be able to explain. He took me, his only child that he actually gave half a credit about, to the front lines. He was anxious to prove himself to the higher-ups, I guess, and he took me along to this world that the Republic and Empire had been fighting over for months, I don't remember the name. (The planet was Berdan III. - Sydarai) But the planet had mostly been taken for the Empire, so he decided to take me there to show me what happened to those who opposed the Empire. Up the Imperials, and all that. So you can imagine his shock when the Republic launched a counter-offensive that ended up driving all the way back to the starting trench lines! That was when the Republic simultaneously struck at the Imperial command tower that my father and I were residing in, with a Republic commando team, no less.

What happened on the planet after that is unknown to me. Master Gantor told me that I was found, half-dead and concussed, by Republic troopers sifting through the wreckage of the tower once it had been blown by the commando teams. At first, several of the troopers wanted to shoot me (Surely not! An innocent young girl, murdered in cold blood? That's not the Republic way... is it? - Sydarai) but their commanding officer, a man called Sergeant Arwine, said to spare my life and get me medical attention. It's funny, considering how often my father derided the Republic and called them spineless cowards - they came very close to shooting me in cold blood without so much as a by-your-leave. Perhaps the Republic aren't so spineless after all. I was loaded onto a medical transport and delivered to Coruscant, whereupon I was separated from the other prisoners - not that there were many - and taken to the Jedi Temple there.

There, my fate was decided. Some wanted me to have nothing to do with the Jedi Order, viewing me as unsuitable for its tenets. They said that the dark side ran strongly within me, and that the Jedi code was incompatible with such traits - far better to have me simply kept under guard at all times as a prisoner. Others saw me as too dangerous to be left alone with my powers with the Force, and advocated training me, but kept separate from all others - almost trained in a one-on-one situation. I don't exactly remember what they decided - obviously I was to train with the Jedi, but my early training I can't remember much about. But I do know the location of my training - H'Ratth. I can only guess that H'Ratth, with its emphasis on healing and rejuvenation, was the perfect place to purge the dark side energies in me. Whether it was successful or not, I guess only time will tell.

I was ostracised, isolated like a quarantine victim, a victim of my own blood. They kept me away from all the other children my age - all I knew were these people so much older than me, who taught me, who drilled the Jedi Code into my head. It seemed to defy the Sith Code in all things - there is no emotion, there is peace. But the Sith said peace was a lie. And then I think to myself - if peace was a lie, what would happen if the Empire won? Who would the Empire fight? (This line of thought needs to be purged from her. It's dangerous. - Sydarai) But the Jedi seemed to instil in me a sort of... peacefulness. A calmness that I'd not felt... probably ever before. I was much stronger in the Force than the others of my age, but still they held me away from the others... even when they thought I was able to control my dark side urgings. Why? Was it simply my Sith appearance? Was I some trophy to them, the first Sith raised from an early age to be a Jedi initiate? Perhaps trot me out at grand occasions? Or did they not know what to do with me? I'd passed my tests on H'Ratth, I was eligible to become a Padawan, and yet they kept me back... and back.

But then, Master Gantor arrived. He had heard of me and read up on who I was, where I had been and all about me. And he wanted to see if he could mould me into a Jedi Knight worthy of the Republic. So I began my training underneath him. Master Gantor was a warrior first and foremost. He was a man of action, a man of staunch resistance and stern temperance. A laconic man who believed he could forge me into a weapon of the Republic. He trained me, he taught me to control the darkness within myself, the darkness within perhaps all of us. I think Master Gantor saw in me something that nobody else saw; I think he saw a way to turn the dark side into the service of the light. We journeyed aplenty in the Republic, purging insurgencies on planets such as Sormoran IV and Jar Harrad, and he trained me in the art of the saber. The insurgencies were interesting - some were simply separatist movements, but others were more... insidious, some of them were Imperial cells. It made me think about things... inwardly, I felt wary about trusting people. Some of those we had met shortly after landfall on Jar Harrad had turned out to be members of an Imperial cell operating on the planet. It was strange, fighting those who you had once considered brothers or sisters-in-arms... Master Gantor was still wary of my potential, I felt... he didn't seem all that keen on expanding my knowledge of the Force. I never confronted him about it, but I felt the same thing as before - were the Jedi keeping me back as a result of my species, my bloodline?

I guess only time will tell. We're going back to Coruscant for a while. Hopefully these matters will be sorted out soon. From one extreme to the other. That's the best way to describe my life so far. I was first to join the Sith, and then suddenly, here I am thrown into the Jedi Order, and expected to subscribe to their mantras of peace and serenity. When there's a war going on, I'm expected to be serene and peaceful when hundreds of thousands fight and die every day?

_{What associates does the Jedi have? How close is he or she to them?}

This individual has very few associations. This is of her own doing. (Hah! I think not. - Sydarai)

_{Has the subject encountered any Sith that are presumed to still be alive?}

No Sith encounters are recorded with this individual.

---

Out Of Character Information - Legion_X51

Any limits on what may happen to your character?
Not particularly. I'd prefer it if she wasn't executed, but if things go that way, then she might have to die.

How will your Jedi maintain his/her calm in captivity?
Like most Jedi, I think she'll maintain it largely through hope, meditation and bloody-minded raw will.

Is your Jedi able to hold out well against pain and torture?
Ryndarra is no stranger to a good physical battering. It will take a lot to get her screaming. Mentally, she's probably much more susceptible. Her raising by the Jedi and their treatment of her during her adolescence has riven great scars in her outlook on the world.

If given the chance to escape from the Sith Compound, will your character go for it?
If she falls? Hell no. If she remains true to the light, then she will try.

If not, why?
If she falls to the dark side, then she's going to want to prove herself on the other Jedi, that's for sure. If she doesn't escape from the prison and remains a Jedi, she might stay to help those gravely injured by the Sith's torturings.

What goals do you have in the IC?
Have fun. Anything else is optional.

Do you have any character secrets that the players and/or GMs can use? (you may send these in PM)
... ehehehe. Wait and see.

Legion's Characters

Character you have created:
Chorąży Kseniya Stanisława Zielinska

Alias:
RUBIS (French for the gemstone 'ruby')

Speech Color:
#ED145B

Character Alignment:
Walking the Line

Identity:
Known to some, but mostly 'secret-ish' in the United States. Those with sufficient intelligence clearance could be able to find out who she is by consulting with Polish intelligence networks.

Physical Image:

Taken approximately 15 years ago. Rubis, or Kseniya as she is known by to those close to her, seems not to age. This is no mere compliment - she claims she is just as strong, fit and healthy as she was as a young woman first joining the Polish People's Army in 1985. Biological analysis has proven impossible to prove this, but she most definitely doesn't *look* 50.

Description & Personality:
Kseniya takes no shit. From anyone. She's a fearless veteran with plenty of military experience under her belt, including brief stints in combat with the Polish Army and the French Foreign Legion. She's a hard-bitten woman, and her age sometimes shows in her demeanour, seeing those younger than her as childish and irresponsible, particularly those new to the 'superhero' malarkey - such an attitude is perhaps unsurprising for someone with almost 30 years of armed service behind her. Her English is slightly clipped and spoken with a Polish accent, though it has improved since her sojourn to the United States began. She is slow to trust and slower to befriend, preferring to keep others at a respectful arm's distance, but she will not hesitate to speak her mind. If it's stupid, she'll say so. If it's wildly out of proportion, she'll say so. In combat, Kseniya is a commanding presence, whose voice rises above even the din of combat to yell orders to those under her charge. She is a disciplined, demanding squad leader, though she will never order one of her own subordinates to do anything she herself would not consider.

Origin Info/Details:
Born on the 14th of September, 1968, Kseniya Zielinska is the eldest of three children by Viktor, a career soldier in the Polish People's Army, and Krystyna, a largely self-made woman who ran a successful launderette in downtown Warszawa. Her upbringing was perhaps much different to those used to Western comforts - food queues were a common occurrence, as the Polish economy, despite several attempts at liberalisation, was slowly being ground down to support the struggling Soviet economy. (WIP)

Hero Type:
Brick

Power Level:
High Street Level/Low City Level - though she's no slouch, she's only one woman. Though a one-woman army.

Powers:

The Immovable Object - Pretty much does what it says on the tin. Rubis is, for all intents and purposes, physically indestructible. She is immune to physical injury caused by significant emotional events such as, but not limited to, being shot, being stabbed, being gassed, and being submerged in water/boiling oil/molten metal and rock. She is not limited by the vagaries of age, disease or any such other damaging source or substance. However, she is still subject to the laws of physics - blast her in the chest with a shotgun, and she will go flying. She'll also be quite angry, so you'd better have a Plan B to restrain or subdue her when you realise that your little gun isn't going to stop this Polish juggernaut.

Attributes (Select one at each category):

Date of Birth: September 14th, 1968
Height: Five feet and ten inches (177.8 cm)
Weight: Twelve and a half stone (79.37 kg)
Strength Level: Above Human (but not by much
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Effectively limitless
Agility: Human
Intelligence: Above Average
Fighting Skill: Mastered. As a veteran of 30 years, I'd hope so.

Resources:
Medium. As a veteran of over 30 years' service, Kseniya has amassed quite the small fortune, due to her service in the Soviet Bloc being more lucrative due to her status. She has most of her cash invested in several bank accounts in Poland, Switzerland and Sweden, though she prefers to keep a sizeable sum of money on hand in case of 'emergencies'. Her estimated net worth is approximately €650,000 in her bank accounts alone, with another €75-€100,000 on hand immediately. However, given most of her arms trades are with the black market, such monetary reserves are not inexhaustible.

Weaknesses:
Rubis is not invincible to non-mundane forms of assault. She can be affected by psychic attacks and abilities targeting her mental health, though as a veteran of 30 years, she is quite hardened to horror, and she is strong-willed. She's also just one person. Surround her, capture her and restrain her. She might be immune to bullets, but she's still just a person, though perhaps stronger than one might expect, given how she can use her muscular structure to its fullest extent.

Supporting Characters - Family, Friends and Acquaintances

Pułkownik Viktor Zielinski, 64, M, Father - Resident of Warszawa. Colonel in the Polish Land Forces.
Krystyna Zielinska, 60, F, Mother - Resident of Warszawa. Retired launderette owner.
Jozef Zielinski, 44, M, Brother - Resident of Warszawa. Investment banker. Helps Kseniya with her financial matters.
Jan Zielinski, 40, M, Brother - Resident of Kolobrzeg. Fisherman in the Baltic Sea.
Jean Duchene, 54, M, Family Friend - Resident of Lost Haven. Retired Capitaine in the French Foreign Legion.
Charles Lerroux/Konstantin Tchorzewski, 51, M, Family Friend - Resident of Paris. Retired soldier, FFL/Polish Land Forces.
Caporal-Chef Arielle Francoise Lerroux - 19, F, Friend - Resident of Toulouse. Soldier, French Army.