MachineSoul

Star Wars: Opposing Forces (Need Sith Players)

- Beta-Testing hype 2015 -

Star Wars: Opposing Forces (Need Sith Players)

Aleko Gordan

Species: Human, Kashyyykian

Age: 25

Appearance

Personality: Patient. Aleko usually takes some time to observe patterns, behaviors, the smallest of hints before taking action; when he does make an action, he makes sure that it counts towards achieving his goal. As such, he prefers to remain inconspicuous during most situations, but if needed, he dons a comforting and understanding attitude while using his own good nature to drive others' will in his favor. Although he generally prefers to use a more defensive style of approach, he has no trouble stepping into the offence with calculated counters, ripostes and feints. He occasionally throws force abilities in his combinations, but he prefers to keep both of his hands on his lightsaber.

Bio:

Aleko was born to a single mother, Tasha, from a family of immigrants residing within an old, small community of human refugees on the planet of Kashyyyk. Even without a fatherly figure, he was blessed with a relatively normal childhood, growing up with a healthy set of morals imposed by Tasha. He wasn't the most popular of the children due to his very calm and collected nature, as they all preferred to have a more adventurous, if not mischievous. While he also dreamed of leaving the planet and explore the galaxy, he preferred not to burn out his wish so early in life. He especially wanted to to fly around the star systems not by himself but with an entire crew of explorers set out on an important quest.

That determined him to join the New Republic military division that was responsible with handling security on Kashyyyk. While his mother did not agree entirely with his plans, she allowed for her only son to fulfill whatever dream Aleko had in mind. During his service, Aleko was praised for his level-headed approach to all situations he was appointed to, not a very easy task to accomplish; mostly because the indigenous Wookies were not very keen on having humans play police on their planet. Through the power of speech alone, he was able to placate most conflicts. He rarely had to draw the stun baton to make his voice heard, as his good nature and sheer presence drew attention.

Thanks to his performance on Kashyyyk, Aleko was quickly moved up as a security officer aboard a New Republic ship; he made his farewells and promised his mother to make her proud through his duty, the hopeful Kashyyykian raised his gaze to the vast emptiness of space. He knew that he reached his goal, but yet, he knew there was more to it. Three years into his service aboard ships, travelling through stations and landing on various planets along the inner and outer rings of the galaxy, Aleko was graced by the presence of a very peculiar Corellian that took interest in the modest security officer. It was there and then Aleko would redefine his purpose to the galaxy. It was there and then he would learn about a legend from not too long ago, in that very same galaxy.

Stats and Skills:

• DEX:3
• PER:4
  
  • Persuasion - 5 pts
• STR:5
  
  • Lightsaber dueling - 7 pts
  • Melee attack - 6 pts
• TCH:1
• FOR:3
  
  • Telekinesis - 4 pts
  • Mind trick - 4 pts
  • Calm aura - his presence within the force brings calmness and comfort to those around him - 4 pts

Equipment: Jedi apprentice robes over some dark blue linen clothing, standard black leather gloves and boots. A single blade lightsaber with a green crystal.

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Aleko ver. 2.0.1 If you still don't think it's right, I'm more than glad to bring changes

Star Wars: Opposing Forces (Need Sith Players)

@Gisk Soooo, should I redo my CS with the new stats and everything? (In case you did receive my CS, I'm having connection problems on my end)

Star Wars: Opposing Forces (Need Sith Players)

OT

@Gisk

Just like that, you've won yourself another player. I'll definitely finish the CS and send it to you guys in a bit

Star Wars: Opposing Forces (Need Sith Players)

All of this sounds nice. I really hope that the whole PvP aspect will come out all right and there will be no personal quarrels between players.

I will cook up a CS shortly, but I do have a few questions:

1. Just how proficient can our characters be? As in, are they allowed to study multiple lightsaber fighting forms/try to combine multiple ones in an individualized fighting style?

2. On the same note, what about force abilities? Over-the-top Starkiller style or a more toned-down approach?

3. I suppose there will be a form of hierarchy within the Jedi and Sith order. As such, will everyone be an apprentice or will we have more advanced/inferior positions also? (initiates, acolytes, padawans, knights)

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

Her eyes were scanning the entirety of the bay, trying to identify each and every face that seemed familiar. Nothing. Seeing that everyone was getting involved with unpacking and moving crates around, she also moved in to help with whatever she could; it would be better if she did something, rather than just standing eerily still in the middle of the hangar. It would help push back the mounting self-degrading emotions. Some time passed, she couldn't tell for how long she's been pushing, pulling and hauling stuff around, but at last, the colonel assembled several small groups and gave them all tasks. She tugged at her own clothes, making sure they would all neat and tidy even after doing a bit of grunt work, but otherwise, she seemed mostly absent-minded. It took her a second to realize that the fox was looking straight at her. She didn't catch exactly what he wanted from her, but her intuition told her he wanted to talk to the BGen, Benjamin Harper. She blinked twice and nodded her head deeply before she gestured the colonel to follow her.

"Sir." She muttered.

Keep it together. She scolded herself as she turned her body to face the doors leading to the main corps.

She kept her mouth shut for the majority of the trip, all she did was to walk down the familiar corridors among other racing officers that interrupted everything they were doing to salute the colonel and the major as the passed by. The arrival of the "black sheep" stirred the hive quite a bit, mostly in the logistics and administration department, as they were tasked to handle resources, refitting, refueling and upgrading the GEARs. As for the rest, they were split in two categories: those who actually couldn't care less and others that thought the arrival of the Parvan's Claw is a bad omen. As for Major Archer, she wasn't interested in opinions and logistical nightmares, all she cared about was to fulfill her new duties properly.

Her mind was empty, as she vehemently pushed back flashing images of a certain figure, as she would nearly gasp every time she would glance over some random individual and see his face instead. It was as if her brain wanted for him to just pop out of nowhere, to have some sort of closure. She was too busy focusing on her psychological nuisance to try to converse with the red fox; while she was sort-of glad to see this one bloke alive and well and still one eye short, she couldn't find the strength to smile and properly welcome the officer back home. They had free passage for the most part of their walk, but the last corridor leading to the map room had a blast door that required a special sort of permission to gain access; Patricia stopped in front of the blast door and turned left, where there was a paper towel dispenser and a sort of device with no buttons visible, indicating that it most likely had a touchscreen of some sort. She pulled one towel and proceeded to wipe the tip of her nose, which she then planted against the touch screen; the device came to life and photographed the tiny imprints, crevices and buds, which then searched its database to look for a match. Soon enough, the device beeped and the door's hydraulics hissed as the thick block of metal slid up into the ceiling, revealing an eerily white corridor with a black stripe running down on the floor straight to another blast door in front; just as they entered, a couple of guards popped from left and right to do a final check on the two officers before they would admit them. Patricia sighed after the whole ordeal was done and wiped her nose again with the other side of the towel before she threw it in a rubbish bin discreetly placed on the left side of the corridor, a bin just as white as the corridor that made it nigh-on invisible. The final door that lead to the map room was also rigged with a nose-print scanner and a paper towel dispenser just next to the device. Finally, the feline turned her head to face the colonel.

"Like what they've done with the place? With the recent development of - certain situations - they've upped the security on the compound; back when you were young" she purred with a fiendish smirk, "this facility wouldn't receive top priority tasks so often."

"But ever since we've sniffed North and South activity dangerously close to our borders, Antaria Flats suddenly became an important outpost. You know what that means? That means your timing is quite spot-on, Silver. You'll be given some high-end upgrades and then they'll send you off to do some mid-to-high priority task with your new equipment. And I'm your super-secret supervisor, as if you'd be thoroughly surprised by that." She scoffed, rolling her large eyes.

"Brigadier General Harper's been awfully proud about our upgrade, not to mention that he found a vicarious side to him. Our work is his success and that's the way it is. Other than that, he's still the same slow deer you know."

"All those aside, though, it's good to see you're in one piece, sir. Well, I mean the 80% that's still left of you." She smiled, for once in a long time, as her eyes rolled off his face and behind him, almost seeing someone one inch taller and with a brownish fur coloration. To her dismay, no one was there.

"Shall we? I'm pretty sure he saw us coming through the cams. Yeah, we've got cameras almost everywhere now."

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

A few days earlier

The Flats were rather quiet that morning, a sort of silence that would send creepy crawlies up one's fur should they stare too long at the glistening horizon until the complete absence of background noise would drive them insane. Patricia couldn't explain to herself why there seemed to be very little activity, save for the usual vehicles rolling around the base, blocks of trainees jogging their hearts out and a patrol strolling around with enough enthusiasm to yawn and fall asleep while walking. Although she had been busy with personally babysitting a bunch of pilots just enough to distract her from boredom, she couldn't help but notice weird feelings creeping her out from the moment she woke up that morning. She allowed extra long breaks that day so that she could regain her wits after loosing her patience quicker than ever, but the main reason for her patience burning up so quick was different; so different that she couldn't put her finger on it. It couldn't be that she was going more and more eager for the Parvan's Claw to make its approach for the base, there was still roughly a week left before they would pack their stuff and head towards the Antaria Flats. She and her superior, colonel Harper, were some of the few people who knew of the landcruiser's trajectory and somewhat secret reinforcements supply; it seemed that the 101^st had lost quite a number of GEAR pilots during a skirmish and needed some better troops to replace the lost ones.

The thoughts of seeing him warmed her and gave her some more strength to pull through the day, chalking off the number of days left until the rendezvous with the cruiser in her head. Seeing a personal message in her inbox made her smirk as her slim finger tapped the touchscreen of the PADD, but that smirk quickly faded as she examined the eerie content of the message.

1993142 00010 131 00 142 00 551 00 155 00 144 00 412 00 555 00 108 00 178

She couldn't find any logical pattern within the message in her initial attempts, suspecting that he had encrypted the message somehow using some sort of algorithm unbeknownst to her; but since he did send that message in the first place, she realised that he would expect her to crack it before his arrival. As soon as she placed the PADD beside her so she could stand up and stretch, she fell on the floor in the very next instance, waking up to a burning sensation on the right side of her face and a sharp pain cutting her right leg in the thigh; she groaned as she tried to recover from the fall and as soon as she tried to put some weight on her hurting leg, she realised that it went completely numb: she couldn't feel her own weight, she couldn't feel the pants, the floor beneath, warmth, it almost felt as though the leg wasn't there. Lucky her, there was no one around to see her stumble and fall, then clumsily pull herself back up on her seat, waiting for a while to recover. The weird sensation that followed her through that day had been replaced with emptiness, which was slowly replaced with dread. It all came to her without really knowing why, which worried her deeply.

Present Day

Her eyes were closely following the landcruiser's treads as it made its approach to dock at the base, having a rather good view over the approaching vessel from her own separate bunk. The gargantuan piece of machinery looked as tired and rusty as her whole musculature after so many days of training the recruits, every fibre in her body tense and giving off that satisfying ache of a good workout. Maybe back in the days, that thing had some decency in its design and integrity, but it looked like an old fart of an ugly car to her right now. She did not want to start worrying about the whole technological incompatibilities between the newer GEAR models and the docks inside that wheeled hangar, but she could imagine the kind of mess the poor technicians had to clean up and sort out. The cruiser inched closer and closer, to the point she could already see the nuts and bolts holding the hull together and once the main hangar door seemed to crack open, Patricia woke up from her semi-dormant state and stood up from her desk, rearranging the fur on her face where she had rested her head against her fist. She did not want to see the inside of the machine, but there was no choice.

She sighed deeply, then, proceeded to tie her long, flowing onyx hair into a stylish, but military acceptable bun she hid under a carefully placed officer's navy beret with a distinctive spade-shaped patch depicting a dagger punching through a skull crossed by two lightning flashes. She grabbed her thick PADD and a magnetic pen before she stormed down flights after flights of stairs until she reached the ground floor, then she rushed over to the ramp heading out to make contact with the Claw with long strides. As she approached, she spotted a few of the recruits she supervised for that last week eager to to occupy their own spots on the ride to hell; Patricia blew an ear-piercing whistle with the help of her thumb and index fingers.

"Ten-HUT! Ya'll better make a good impression in front of colonel Blade or I'll send your sorry arses back to The Grinder and have ya'll become fucken chefs. Col. Blade's one of us, so you'd better stop looking like miserable mongrels and show him a new generation of Spec Op agents looks like. A'ight, game face on, kids, let's move!" Her voice betrayed her young age, but her tone was still serious enough not to make her look like an overgrown child; she knew she didn't look quite the part, but she preferred to let her actions and reputation speak about her instead of looks alone.

Her head shot back towards the bay, dread gnawed again at her throat as she could already see the inside walls of the old hunk of metal, thinking that he must have walked along those walls and up those catwalks. She swallowed down a painful knot as she could finally see the bay wide open, GEAR docks mostly empty and only a handful of crewmen running around; up front stood the colonel himself, an aged, sly fox that had experience etched all over his face, accompanied by a younger red panda officer that still looked as stunning as the last time Patricia saw her. The feline looked to her right, then to her left, before she finally walked over the connecting ramps to salute the colonel and his assistant, making sure to look as sharp and confident in her moves as ever. She had to rehearse her introduction a few times in her mind, but she felt that she wouldn't stumble on her words yet.

"Colonel Blade. XO Jacquo. It is good to see you both arrive safely, considering what you have been through. Our facility's prepared to give your tin box a makeover and add no less than six new pilots, including me, to replace the lost ones." She said, nodding her head only slightly. Her eyes kept darting left and right, waiting for something to happen, waiting for a miracle.

"They've made it through The Grinder pretty well and I personally vouch for their talent and capabilities; sure, they're a handful of misfits: the youngest is 22 years old, Vega's his name. Comes from a military family, so he can't be half-bad. We've got a pilot from the Xiguang Principality... Hongli Lang; different culture, aye, but they speak GEAR language pretty well. We've got another born in old Wulfram before the collapse, Claudia Hildebrand. A charming lady. I'm pretty sure one of the pilots is also connected to a PMC, namely Zodiac Arms, but as far as I can tell she's no trouble to us; yes, Sergios' her name. Lastly, we've a cowboy, Nordegg, but he's behaving. For now." She put the PADD away at her back and lifted her gaze at the fox, her expression finally visible.

"And I presume that I may skip the courtesies, colonel. I haven't changed my name, nor do I plan to soon."

Not anymore.

[Zamokra41] - Avalon Empire - [MachineSoul]

Seeing the envoys retreat one bye one, most of them paying reverence towards the emperor, the dog nodded back to each and every of them, displaying a small smile as they made their way out of the council chamber. Left only with Cyrus, whose vocabulary seemed to contain more and more words of praise; he started to believe that the old man had been trained like a common dog to spew nice phrases by all emperors and lords before him. He knew that at this point it would be fruitless to try to change the man's vocabulary, since his first attempt solved nothing. Feeling his innards rumble and form a familiar gap, Aleko acknowledged that he would have to pay the dining area a visit soon, but, he wanted to relax a little more in his chair and think some more over the decisions he took today. The more he reflected upon them, though, the more alternate solutions he could find, to his own dismay; but putting them through a more thorough scrutinisation, he realised that he preferred his final decision more and more, which made him appreciate his guts for knowing exact what to do. He hated his own mind for trying to find error in everything that he tried to do, mostly because he would always demoralise himself whenever he could think of a different path, a different idea or notion. He pushed all of those thoughts away, but it seemed that he remained affixed to his chair, staring down at the polished hardwood table with wide eyes, a heavy frown and pursed lips; hearing a scribbling sound in his right ear, he threw a glance over his shoulder where he found the scribe jotting down something about him. He felt a chuckle tickle his throat, thinking that the poor thing found his brooding somewhat interesting, for some reason.

His concentration turned to unconscious dust, Aleko stood up and pushed every chair in the room towards the table, making sure everything was as neat as it were before the envoys and himself arrived. He turned and headed out of the room, quickly followed by the skeleton which seemed to enjoy tracking Aleko's every step. The canine decided to enter the dining area, where there was even more activity compared to that morning, he barely found a secluded place for himself to eat. This time around, he planned to feast upon a more scrumptious meal, since the scrambled eggs didn't quite made it far into the day. Just before he could take his seat, he was distracted by a young elf trying to catch his attention; he turned his whole body towards her and offered her a smile, his eyes quickly glancing over her body. Seeing her apologise to him about her interruption, the canine chuckled and shook his head.

"No need to worry, Anny, I am not that hungry. Please, have a seat with me." He said, gesturing the elfess to sit down at the table, while he placed himself across from her. "You have my attention, darling." He liked her, her eagerness to seek for help reminded him of himself back when he was still a snotty cadet.

Taking a look over her scribblings, he took note of the requested resources, including doctor Hawke's request; it looked to him that he could afford the grain, vegetables and fresh water, but the dusts and substances the man requested would no doubt leave a hole in their budget. Aleko hummed as he inspected the quantities of the materials the man needed and tried to come up with a compromise that would at least help the man with his research, or what ever other antics he was up to.

"Yes, we will stop this week for a resupply, I cannot have the envoys and generals starving aboard this castle. But those materials dr. Hawke requested will reduce the weight of this castle, that's how much gold those... dusts will cost. Reduce those quantities to a half and tell dr. Hawke that if he wishes to have the other half as well, he would better tell me what he intends to do with them; as much as I appreciate ingenuity and progress, I would like to have this sort of reassurance that it will be useful research. I can't afford to fund just about any crazy idea, at least not now. Would that be all, Anny?"

Once she had left him to his own thoughts, Aleko had enough time to get an order of the tonight's special: a hearty crab chowder in a stale, hard bread crust, pulled pork with sauerkraut and more stale bread and finally, strawberry pudding. No stale bread for desert though. He actually had dug through half of his portion of chowder when he could see with the corner of his eye someone approaching his secluded table, instantly knowing that the individual wanted to have a private discussion with him. When Aleko raised his snout to look at Korvious, he could feel his muscles tense and lock, he had to fight to suppress his emotions and drown the shock on his face: he completely forgot about him and his plan. To make it worse, the man actually had some tomatoes on his plate, which looked highly ridiculous, especially because the envoy was an undead. Looking at the tomatoes, than at the envoy nearly pulled a laugh out of him, amused both by the silly situation, but also by the fact that he completely forgot about the thousands of lives that needed his final input. The man had present his tomatoes and situation in a rather convincing manner, Aleko nearly believed he actually missed the ability to taste food and feel satiation after a good meal; then again, he nearly felt pity for an individual that suggested to bring death to a handful of pilgrims.

"Good evening, master Korvius, it is my pleasure to have you here." Alike politely replied, placing the spoon beside the improvised bowl of chowder. "Baked tomatoes do sound like a delicacy, yes, and I must first express my sincere regrets that you are unable to taste one of your favourite dishes; I believe, though, this sort of sacrifice must be compensated with other perks, or at least, I truly hope so. As for myself-"

Bullocks. He hesitated a little, nearly accepting the place of tomatoes.

"-I can't say that I have a particular fondness towards tomatoes, at least, not consistently. Maybe some other time I will enjoy some baked tomatoes. I hope that this does not insult your tastes, master Korvius, for I do not want to upset my loyal servants. I do promise, however, that we will enjoy meals together later in time."

I can't have those innocent souls murdered, at least, not this early. Let the pilgrimage turn into a monthly event and once it gains popularity, a sort of staged strike would be better suited. Aleko thought as he slowly blinked towards the envoy, a small smile on his muzzle to express his apologies.

Once the man was gone and he found himself finished the venison, he came to the realisation that he mad decisions for large masses of people he couldn't possibly know, but were highly dependent on his behaviour and choices as a leader. He didn't know if he would ever grow used to tasking such amounts of people, which would eventually grow as he would progress through his new life. The responsibility burdening his shoulders had siphoned his enjoyment for food, the pudding becoming a tasteless goop for him as he scooped away at the large bowl. The issue in on itself wasn't an issue since he was used to administrating resources, but it was the larger scale that made him worry over pointless nothings. He stood up from his table and walked out from the dining area, bidding farewell to all of the envoys that were still having discussions among themselves.

Scheming for a coup, I presume. Bah, what am I thinking?

Wishing to meet with Cyrus at the library, he headed straight towards the chamber, only to be halted by a guard that just told him that the area was off-limits, even for him.

"Well, I was living under the impression that I had the most privileges in this flying castle. Would you know why master Cyrus wants me outside the library?"

He was given no concluding answer, but Cyrus did make the situation a little more clear. Aleko couldn't help but find this whole situation peculiar, mostly because of the way the problem was dealt with: strange noises come from the library, guards are posted outside the door that grant access to no one, but for the person who was responsible with answering the issue, which was the court wizard. Why the court wizard and not a mechanic was the question that baffled Aleko, and, the more he thought about how the whole situation sounded, the more worried he grew.

"Terrific. As a by the way, I am still waiting for your opinion assessment, master Cyrus."

Once the man had bid his farewell and good night, Aleko lagged a little to throw a curious look around the library's hall, marvelling at the stupefying amount of books, a number of which he recognised instantly, since, he also owned a copy of each in his personal collection. He picked up Astralus Halloen’s Documented Personalities of Importance from the History of Avalon to take a look inside and skim the pages, his eyes following the paper sheets as the folded over and revealed blocks after blocks of texts, occasionally accompanied by illustrations. He threw a glance over his shoulder every now and then, convinced that one of the guards posted outside was peeking inside the room, waiting for the emperor to exit the library so he could lock the door for tonight; it seemed that the door was still closed and Aleko was fairly convinced that he was alone in the entire sector. With such thoughts in his mind, the canine placed the book back in its place and left the library behind, feeling a slight chill on his back that lifted his fur up.

He decided to retreat to his own quarters, where he politely asked a servant to bring him a large carafe with cold water and a steel waster. By the time his water was brought to him, Aleko had stripped from his more elegant clothes down to an undershirt and changing his exquisite trousers for a pair of loose pantaloons; the canine accepted the water with a smile and immediately took a few swigs to cool his throat, then accepted the blunt longsword from the servant with a nod. He then tried to clear the room's centre of any furniture, so he would have enough room to practice without risking to break anything. Once he was sure that there were no risks of property damage, Aleko swung his worries and doubts away as he initialised practice drills involving longsword fencing. He could feel some of the tension disappear as he focused more and more on his footwork, on his technique and hypothetical edge alignment to the imaginary target. With every passing minute, the drills intensified in voracity and speed, the dog starting to grunt in tandem with heavier swings or more difficult maneuvres that had him twist his torso, step sideways or forwards while he would moulinet the sword around his body to fine tune his technique. The training concluded two hours later, when he found himself gasping for air after an intense drill in which he accidentally etched a notch in his drawer with the help of the sword. The thing was blunt, sure, but it was thin enough (and Aleko swung with enough force) to actually leave a dent in the hard wood. He chucked the waster aside, which landed on his bed and assessed the damage; when he saw that it was purely cosmetic, he waved his hand dismissively and threw his undershirt off too, heading to take a cold shower to cool himself down. With not much else to do, the canine sat at the side of the bed and gazed at the large window viewing the outside world.

And down there are the people that trust my decisions and my way of thinking. I've just changed a bit of their lives with everything that I've said back in that room; I could write a law that bans farting and I'd start to see people floating up from all the fart growing in their bellies.

The mental image made him snicker a little. He laid down on the bed next to the training sword, which he lazily pushed a bit further from him, and took off all his clothes, already feeling the heat of training coming back to him. He didn't feel quite tired enough to fall asleep straight away, so he pulled the first book that his hand fell upon and opened it. He recognised the tome about ancient sword fighting techniques, where the information was nothing new to him. It took him several pages to feel his hand fall on his chest, the book sprawl on his abdomen and his body fall into a comfortable abyss, where his worries were washed away by emptiness.

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

There you go, boss, here's my other character

BUT

Accept aedaeenn in the RP too or RIOT.

GEARS - Mecha Sci-fi with Anthro characters. RP in a detailed, story-driven world.

Character Name: Patricia "Onyx" Archer

Age: 24

Species: Black Cat

Appearance:

At 170 cm and 55 kg, Patricia's body did not suffer any modification from the intense training she partook during boot camp, but she did build her strength and agility. Her visage does't say much about her mental state as she tends to keep an emotionless expression most of the times, albeit having gentle and bright features. Even though she displays complete emotional neutrality, she has expressive golden eyes that give away the curious and intuitive characteristics of her personality. On duty, she wears standard military attire issued by her Special Ops branch, a set of navy shirts and tank tops coupled with endless pairs of olive BDU pants. Off duty, Patricia takes great care in regards to her choice of attire and accessories, making sure she looks elegant in any situation.

Personality: Highly insightful, inquisitive, quiet and frank in her choice of words, Patricia comes off as a pleasant presence due to her calm and detached demeanor, but she's not much of a conversationalist. Not that she is unable to speak or connect words together and avoid being condescending, but she does not feel the need to speak to others unless it is absolutely necessary; she is most able to keep a conversation alive and does find pleasure in conversing with others, as she can be a lovable small feline. She is known to have quite a short fuse, though. Should anything annoy her in any way, she is easy to jump up and generally become an insufferable feline. She dislikes incompetence with a passion and looses her patience quickly, especially when it affects her and her performance.

Patricia has learned to be independent, take action on her own accord, take full responsibility over her decisions and use her intuition to pull herself through most tight situations. Due to the nature of her specialization, she rarely is dependent on another teammate's support, which pushes her senses reflexes to maximum; it's here that she is most patient, preferring to face days of starvation and tension rather than someone's idiocy.

Personal History: Patricia was the only child of an upper middle-class family residing in a more civilized sector of Landren. With her mother being away on business trips for the most of her early life, Patricia picked up many of her father's passions, such as sports cars, video gaming and military GEARs; with those, she also started to show great interest in her father's field of work, him being a freelance concept designer working for several companies. He had the liberty of working at home, which influenced the development of Patricia's independent personality, her father teaching her to be self-sufficient while taking care not to spoil his little brat; her mother would come home every once and a while, which lead to a sort of distant relationship between the two. That would be aggravated by the almost inevitable conflict between the two. In a way, she did feel her absence just like any child would long for their mother, but her old man made sure she could handle herself regardless of his or her presence.

The more pleasant part of Patricia's life ended abruptly with the definitive separation of her parents, the growing distance between them finally putting their marriage to an end; due to a loophole within the legal system, Patricia ended up living the last half of her teenage years with her mother and many of her boyfriends. This change pushed her more and more towards her father's pastimes, nurturing a ravaging want to walk in her father's footsteps so that one day they would work together. During this time, Patricia picked up some tricks from her mother, appreciating her taste in attire and courtesy; those were the only two characteristics that made Patricia's mother half-decent in her eyes. This positive impression about her mother was soon erased as she made sure that Patricia's dream would be crushed by her insistence, pushing her daughter to take up a career in business instead, promising her that money and wealth were the two parameters men were most interested in, besides beauty. Seeing that there was no room for passion in her life due to her mother's constant pressure, Patricia gave up on education, on her personal life, on all of her friends and joined the military on a whim. She did not have a particular reason to do so, but she felt it was the right move. She enjoyed physical effort and she believed that this would also increase her mental fortitude, but most importantly, she would get away form her life.

Regret soon followed, but she was already halfway towards selection by then; she tried to convince herself that her father would have agreed to this decision. She would have loved to talk to him, but since the divorce, he nowhere to be found. Having that as a motivating factor, she gave her very best during boot camp, achieving high marks and remarks from her superiors; she had opted to take up GEAR piloting, knowing that her old man would beam in glee at the thought of his daughter piloting a giant robot. To her delight, she was accepted in a Spec Ops task force thanks to her performances. Years of brutal physical and mental trials made her a resilient and reliable woman, a real artist of a pilot. Once she was given her distinctive patches and decorations, Patricia was immediately drafted for a campaign with the 13^th "Spectre" in the Badlands, where she had the chance to prove her innate talent and gain more respect and renown.

She met her secret significant other after being wounded in a quick ambush, she was quickly transported to a nearby military base hosting a medical company. She was instantly charmed by an eerily optimistic man with a dour sense of humour that sent shivers down her spine while allowing herself to laugh her worries away; it was weird to feel this sort of vulnerability so many years after she finished high school, especially after being trained to let no emotion escape and show no sympathy or empathy. It would seem that the woman had taken control over life once more, proving to herself that she could still make the best out of her life and enjoy what she was doing, even if it wasn't her dream. She knew that military experience would change her outlook on life entirely.

Weapons and Equipment:

• MP12 - Lightweight submachine gun toting 9mm rounds at a steady rate. Patricia has acquired a snub-nose sound suppressor and has attached a reflex sight on the top rail.
• M82SF - 9mm caliber handgun with a low sound profile, a sound suppressor can reduce this firearm's bang to a pop.
• Standard issue survival knife
• Advanced ballistic armour sleek enough to fit in a GEAR seat, but offers relatively good protection. (reference image)
• Advanced pilot helmet to fit the armour
• Tactical harness loaded with ammunition for both firearms and four flash bangs.
• PADD fitted with a reinforced case. It has its own pouch fitted on the tactical harness

Personal Theme: Jetpacks

GEAR sheet

GEAR Name & Serial Number: ADM-39 "Banshee"

Appearance:
Ignore that ridiculous tail-thing.

Role: GEAR interceptor, flanker, anti-infantry

Normal Loadout:

• M-112 20mm autocannon - A versatile compact rifle-like weapon with a moderate rate of fire and high accuracy. Patricia's model has a an under-barrel module that can act as an HE grenade launcher/rocket launcher, or take the role of an underslung shotgun. The rifle is loaded with 200 round beta mags, the GEAR carries a maximum of 6 mags.
• Right shoulder hardpoint - Single tube multi-purpose missile launcher. The "Banshee" can carry a maximum of 6 missiles.
• Left shoulder hardpoint - "Meteor" three-barreled gatling machinegun firing 7.62x41 mm rounds at 5000 RPM. The GEAR stores 2000 rounds in its shoulder
• Right hip mount - GEAR scaled machete

Other Systems & Equipment:

• The hallmark feature of the ADM-39 are the highly responsive linear frames that follow the pilot's arm and leg movement with high precision. For it to properly respond to the pilot's input, the GEAR has exemplary mobility and flexibility in its articulations, almost to the limit of an Arvaran's anatomical limits. Extensive training with this GEAR model can lead to successfully performing acrobatic maneuvers
• Intuitive optics and display systems
• Chest-mounted smoke/chaff/flare launchers
• 180^o rotative wheels mounted on both heels and the left "kneecap". The knee mounted wheel allows low-profile movement
• High-end electronic warfare heuristic countermeasures, radar scrambler and somewhat effective heat sinks to disperse and lower the GEAR's thin hull temperature
• Extra synthetic musculature and hydraulics in the calf and thigh of the GEAR designed for high power jumps, the current altitude record being 15 meters on an experimental version. Also useful for kicking.

Other notes: The 39th model from the ADM family was designed with a single purpose in mind: stealth. Rendering an entire GEAR invisible and undetectable may be considered a far-fetched goal, since invisibility technology is still in its very early stages and camouflage can only do so much; instead, the GEAR possesses a much lower sound signature and a sleek frame, sacrificing armor plating for flexibility and a less pronounced shape. The GEAR is nearly undetectable thanks to its hull shape and intelligent scramblers, making the GEAR very suitable for stealth operations under the cover of the night or extreme weather. It can hold on its own thanks to its high mobility and near-instant reaction times, but a well-placed missile can turn the fragile "Banshee" to confetti.