Noxious

Cyberpunk 2020 - A Ghost in the Machine

@piercetyler1994 Once you post, I will. :)

Pandaemonium

Laef

Name: Laef’Tani Stris
Race: Angel, Dominion Caste
Gender: Female

Appearance

Backstory:

After thousands of years it’s hard for her to articulate the defining moments. Truly she always remembered the most random incidents at the most random times.

She remembered the gates, a shining beacon of power, splattered in blood from the jugular of her once kin as she ripped her teeth from the traitor. She also remembered, they’d once been friends, but she doesn't remember why. She remembers other moments from the War of the Adversary. Terrible and beautiful moments that began the twisting of morality.

God’s grace is beyond reproach; God’s might fuels her rage.

Immortality always causes kinks in perspective. There was no exact point when her personality fractured. Her zeal became overzealous and her faith became blinding. It would be easy to blame the wars. It was easy enough for her to blame the demons, especially when she was surrounded by them.

She didn’t mind Pandaemonium though. When she was first sent here her youthful face scrunched into one of distaste. It seemed like a demotion being sent to this literal hell hole, but she had grown accustomed. She enjoyed strolling about; her shoulders back so that her wings arched behind her, tucked yet still dragging in their glorious breadth. It was hard not to stare at an angel, almost as hard as staring directly at one. She often had to quell the sin of pride. Especially when surrounded by so many abominations.

Lately she had become fascinated with Old Ones and their philosophies; sacrilege to be sure, but somehow appealing. She often tried to seek them out and thus her strolls had started entering more dangerous territory; both mentally and physically.

The Kin Bane - A Wild West Style Undead Hunting Campaign - Closed

Did I break it? :(

One word story.

cantaloupe

Tales of Edonia (Darog + Grif of Hearts)

I'm just going to stalk this a little. <3

Pandaemonium

It's been tearing me up on the inside trying to decide on what type of character to make. I'm 90% settled, expect a sheet soon.

The Kin Bane - A Wild West Style Undead Hunting Campaign - Closed

Maeve walked behind Mr. Twain; the doctor, not the author. Once they were out in the street it seemed the chaos had not ended with the death of John, but had escalated to something entirely different. The Sheriff seemed a mess and the bodies were piling up and no one seemed to be paying much attention to John or the man Mark had. For a moment she pictured a dime western in which some hideous villain would start yowling and shooting blasts into the air while the law men hollered back and the women and children dove for cover.

If there is one thing you can always find in chaos, it is opportunity.

Maeve knelt down next to John, the red and black of her skirt puffing about and getting that tinge of dust that seemed a daily battle out here. She wasn’t complaining. It was better than the filth you could never clean out of the city. She wrapped her fingers like a claw around a chain on John’s neck and with a quick whip of her wrist she pulled it free of the dead man. She dug through his pockets like a pro, masking her movements as if she was adjusting him for the pearly gates he’d never see. She didn’t waste her time looking through what she’d attained and instead pushed all of it into the tight confines of her corset. She’d figure it out later.

As she stood she gave John a little kick. She had caught the fuss about Westbrook not being dead and for just a moment she hoped maybe John wasn’t dead either. She didn’t want to have to torture his wife. She’d never been fond of hurting women for their husband’s faults. God knows how easy it is to get caught up with the wrong man. John didn’t move. She assumed they were talking in metaphors or something about the dead not being dead, she’d just have to accept that there was no more thoughts to steal from the stiff. She kicked him once more for good measure. Yep, he was dead.

She smoothed out her skirt, mind set to follow Twain to talk to the Sheriff but as she looked around the street she realized Twain was gone. The body he’d been carrying was being shuffled about by the puppy dog deputy who was, surprisingly, handling this situation even worse than the Sheriff. The Sheriff at least knew what he wanted as he walked purposefully towards the saloon howling back something about needing a drink.

She should probably go back to work. This was something of a rush for Brogden. Everywhere she had ever lived, death makes people thirsty. The thought made her smile, until the weird atmosphere permeated herself and she became more conscious of her surroundings. She watched as the Sheriff disappeared into the saloon and then glanced around the street. It appeared she was alone. It would have been growing dark but the moon hung high enough for her to make out the shapes of the main street, the most welcoming light flooding from the Saloon. Her smile was replaced by a chill as she instinctively rubbed her bare arms. She thought she heard something of a whistle, but immediately following was the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

It rattled her from her hallucinations of monsters coming out of the night. This wasn’t tumbleweed terror of the unknown; nope, those were real life bullets. She hiked up her skirt and quickly ran towards the Sheriff’s building, slamming the front door as she went. She looked around at those still gathered in here, appearing a bit surprised. One, someone had left a native in here practically unsupervised and two, she had a straight line of sight to the back door and the darkness. She thought about bolting the front, but who is to say these occupants weren’t the trouble makers?

“Who the hell is shooting now?” She wasn’t asking anyone in particular and she was keeping a steady eye on the backdoor. She pulled up her skirt to the garter and palmed a collection of throwing knives, keeping them at the ready. She silently cursed her luck. Stuck in a Sheriff’s station and her rifle was in the Saloon, with the Sheriff. Someone was having a serious case of the monday’s.

The Kin Bane - A Wild West Style Undead Hunting Campaign - Closed

One, I am super excited still. ACTION PEOPLE! WOOOOOO!

Two, Goldeagle I am going to sort of follow your lead. No need to do a collab but I kind of want Maeve to rob that body your carrying really quick so if you could, you know, have your character set him down. :) Though I understand if you attempt to throw the body at Westbrook. hm...

ςнαяαςтєяş × яøℓєρℓαчş

Ise

Handle:

• Skugga - username
• Ise - offline
• Isabella Jakobsson - most recent alias

Name:

Isabella Hägg‏

Occupation:

Net Cowgirl; Freelance

Age, Date of Birth:

26; December 2nd, 1993

Birthplace:

Stockholm, Sweden

Ethnicity/Nationality:

Swedish

Style

• Clothes – Kevlar armor jacket in black, loose fitting tank tops. Tight pants and combat boots. Aviator sunglasses.
• Hairstyle – Waist length braids and dreadlocks with organic circuitry woven in. Her natural pale blonde hair predominant over a few thin red, blue, green and yellow cables.
• Affections – Large tattoo of a Balron demon that crosses her back, curling around her right hip up to her left shoulder; a nod to Rache Bartmoss. Barcode tattooed across her right shoulder in homage to transhumanism. Multiple metal piercings laced through her ears.

Family Background

• Lucas Hägg, ‏Brother - Fixer, used to sell information for Ise. Missing for almost 5 years, presumed dead.
• Father - Deceased.
• Mother - Deceased.
• Extended Family - Unassociated

Motivations

• Traits – imaginative, hallucinatory, intellectual, detached, she just wants to watch the world burn
• Valued Person – Lucas Hägg‏, Missing/Dead.
• Value Most – Knowledge and Vengeance
• Feelings Toward People – Neutral
• Valued Possession – Metal and wood necklace containing a datachip with pictures of her family

Life Events

Born- Exceedingly pro-cybernetic parents. Father a Corporate Executive; Mother is a Professor. Both children are introduced to cybertech early on.
Age 2- Mother dies
Age 3- Father starts teaching her programming and lays the foundation for all future knowledge.
Age 6- Becomes fascinated with RF signals and starts manipulating equipment.
Age 9- Starts to get comfortable with the net.
Age 15- Starts pushing the limits on the Net, outgrown the usefulness of school.
Age 16- Father murdered, she believes by a corporation and this shapes her driving motivation. Her brother and her begin working as a team to steal and sell secrets and information.
Age 17- Goes into Corporate Training.
Age 19- Gets involved in corporate espionage. Brother disapproves and they fight for the first time. She convinces him to continue helping her sell information.
Age 22- Final argument with brother. He disappears and no one has seen him since.
Age 23- Realizes that she is in too deep. She suspects the Corporation may have killed her brother. She disappears, spending a large sum of money to hire help to “ghost” herself. Stows away and arrives in America. Meets up with contacts from the Net who help get her on her feet.
Age 26- Still picking up random jobs; mainly for anti-corporate fighters, but not against working for some corporate ladder climbers to make a buck.

Weapons

• Budget Arms C - 13
• Vz61 Skorpion - shoulder holster
• Switchblade

Skills

• Interface; ability to manipulate interface programs
• Education; electrophysiology and neural network emulation
• System knowledge; knowledge of the Net
• Programming; write programs and re-program computer systems
• Hide, evade; losing pursuers, covering tracks, evading people on your trail.
• Electronics; maintaining, repairing and modifying electronic instruments
• Electronic security; installing/countering
• Cyber tech; repairing and maintaining cyberware

Augmentations

• Neuralware Processor
• Cybermodem
• Cybermodem Link; translates net images
• Interface Plugs : back of scalp. stud directly into machines
• Kerenzikov Boosterware; boosts her response time
• DataTerm Link; can access DataTerm information on the go
• Nanosurgeons
• Interface plugs in scalp
• Implanted Fangs w/ poison injectors

Equipment

• Modified Portable Cyberdeck
• Cybermodem
• Security Scanner
• Tech Scanner
• Tech Tool Kit
• Electronics kit
• Collection of Chips; chips boost skills
• Ammo

ςнαяαςтєяş × яøℓєρℓαчş

Maeve

Name: Maeve Devlin

Age: 17

Nationality: Irish

Profession: Opportunist, most often working in a saloon

Looks

Clothing

Combat Skills:

Basic shooting - Knife fighting - Throwing knives - Scrapper/dirty fighter - Evasive maneuvers

General Skills:

Horseback riding - Pick pocket - Lock picking - Poker - Bartending - Alcohol tolerance - Lying & telling when others are - Moral flexibility - Generally devious

Languages:

English - Gaelic

Weapons:

Martini-Henry Rifle - Throwing knives - 1880 Bowie knife

Possessions:

Clothes - Ammo - Flask - Tobacco - Moderate money stash - Dapple quarter horse - Friends in low places

Personality:

She wasn’t raised in a community that valued fair play or fair fights. The girl can take a punch. She’s learned to work with what she’s got and adapt to survive. Even at a young age she became a manipulator; using others almost instinctively. Sleight of hand and quick with her tongue. Lies fell from her lips without notice while her true self was locked away.

She has extremely good control over her emotions, mind and body. She can act with a clear head even in extreme pain or chaos. She pushes her emotions down and centers her energy on a goal, scheming with patience.

But with all that said, she’s outwardly very sweet. She seems a little ditzy even. Acting 101: Damsel in distress. She has the giggle and blush down, but getting on her bad side would be a mistake. She’ll slit your throat while you sleep without thinking twice and then cry at your funeral with no one the wiser. In such a cruel world, who suspects the young helpless girl?

History:

Her family came to America in 1874, landing and staying in New York. Her father was a miserable drunk since mom got sick, as long as she could remember. After her mother passed her father got worse. With the help of her brother she put him out of his misery. The problem with killing their last parent was that soon they were homeless. She became tough.

On the streets they survived any way they could. It was during this time that she met James. His family favored illicit activity and used the swelling numbers of homeless youth as their personal army. They taught her to be tougher. She learned to keep her ears open. Secrets were a valuable commodity, but they alone didn’t keep her fed though so she also picked up a variety of other tricks.

One of these such tricks got her hauled in by the police, who decided to sentence her to one of the correctional orphan asylums. At first she thought it would be a nice reprieve from the street; but she was surrounded by the dregs of society. She became tougher still.

When she was fourteen James offered to marry her so she would be released to his custody. The first time he hit her was seven months later. She became tougher. She drank and smoked and prayed for infertility once James decided to consummate.

James was a monster; she had to believe that. She shot him in the chest for their second wedding anniversary. She used his rifle, the same one she carries today. She cleaned out the safe and took any easy to trade valuables and headed out of town. Her husband was a monster, but then again, so was she.