TESTING Applo: Code Borker of Hut 33



Esme Scott


O V E R V I E W


Name: Esme Scott (nee Sarah Almen)
Nickname: Inker, Twinkle Tits
Age: Twenty-Two
Role:Containment Operative

Appearance: Esme is the sort of person who people notice. At five feet, eight inches tall with long flowing ginger hair, she is hard to miss even if she is trying to be discreet. More often than not she lets discretion go hang. Green eyes are often framed with face paint, and the rest of her body is decorated with amateurish tattoos common amongst badland denizens. Bodily, Esme is not anything special. Her body could be described as athletic if one was feeling generous but not so much the most people notice.




P E R S O N A L


Personality: The end of the world is a grim and serious thing, but Esme doesn't let it cramp her style. Bright, sparky, goofy and seemingly eternally optimistic, this red-head is either a candle in the darkness, fucking irritating or horrifyingly psychotic depending on your point of view. Not much ever seems to put a damper on her mood; even the dispatching of Armis victims too far gone to save is normally done with a smile and a cheerful vigour.

Of course, like pretty much everyone in New America, Esme has seen and experienced plenty of darkness in her time. How does she deal with it? She doesn’t. When conversations move onto topics that she doesn't want to talk about, like her past, she will change the topic however she can. Bad feelings are something to be locked away, drowned out and avoided by any means necessary. The past belongs in the past. The future is what is important.

Backstory: No one trapped outside the safety of the cities ever really intended to become savages. It just sort of happened. With a lack of leadership, food and security, people flocked to those who promised to return to them what they had lost. In the small lakeside town of William’s Bay, the man who stepped up was Sheriff Blake Almen; Sarah’s father. Perhaps it was the semblance of normality a man of the law provided, or perhaps it was because in the small town he had access to the biggest guns and the most bullets. Either way, overnight the man became the undisputed leader of a small nation and things only went downhill from there.

Things started out innocuous enough, shops were raided for supplies, the sick were driven out to spare others, and justice was meted out in a rough and ready fashion for rough and ready times. However, as the situation got more desperate, things accelerated downward. As the ‘chiefs’ daughter, Sarah was very much expected to contribute to this new society, to be an example to others. While she found a lot of what was going on increasingly distasteful, she also trusted her father. She saw that he was only doing what was needed to keep her and everyone else they cared about safe. Might was right.

The tattoos her father insisted everyone get were a symbol of commitment to the group. The supplies stolen were needed to feed their own people. The lives taken, well it was a case of us or them, so it had better be them. Everything bad was being done for good reasons. There was no government or society any more. The only people they could rely on to look after them was her father. Debate and dissent were luxuries they couldn’t afford. If people didn’t like how her father was running things, they were free to leave and see just how well they fared without him.

The problem with this sort of thinking is that once you are in the habit of it, the standards of what is acceptable slips, and it becomes easier and easier to excuse the inexcusable. Down that road savagery lies and for the better part of two years it was the road that Sarah and all the other William’s Bay survivors followed. Another problem is that it takes something really extreme to shake a person out of this mindset and by then, it is often too late. For Sarah, this event was being gifted to a rival tribe.

Two years of post Armis life had whittled down the number of groups of survivors through a process of amalgamation and decimation. For the Williams' Bay survivors, their neighbours and main rivals for supplies were the Fox Lake Fiends. The fiends were known cannibals who had grown out of a captured military base. Not only were they strong enough to defend their territory, they were still expanding. The memory of the night her father told Sarah that she was marrying their leader was the night that her delusions about the man came tumbling down. As they argued, she realised that every awful thing he had done, that she had done, that everyone had done, had all been to serve her father's interests and his interests alone.

Sarah tried to run there and then, but it was clearly a move her father had foreseen; two of his goons that she had recently called friends grabbed and subdued her before she even got out of the house. Her next opportunity didn’t come until she had been dragged halfway to Fox Lake, but she was better prepared with a plan. Taking advantage of a guard's long unrequited crush on her, she got free with only one more life weighing on her consciousness and ran south. She had heard about Springfield and a few of the other remaining cities before, but she had always believed the life she had had with her family was better. Now she knew how wrong she had been. Adopting the identity of Esme Scott was a split-second decision when the guards at the entrance of Springfield asked her name. Sarah Almen was a name associated with too much pain.

Joining the Reapers was done as a means of making amends with the universe. Her past was filled with things that Sarah didn’t want to think about and could never truly forgive herself for. What she could do was try to bring civilization back to the world, so people like her father no longer hold sway.




A B I L I T I E S


Skills:
Savagely Resourceful: In the badlands, pretty much everything is a precious commodity and replacements for lots of things are near impossible to find. This scarcity has fostered a certain creative genius for seeing the alternative uses for things. It is a creative genius that Emerald has in spades.

Badlands native: Having spent more time in the badlands than most Reapers, Trinity has a gut instinct for how the savages and anarchists that populate it think and what they will do.

Iron cast spirit: Whatever the situation, Esme can see the sunny side of the situation.

Weaknesses:
Marked: While she isn’t shy about her tattoos and face paint, plenty of the folk found in the badlands see her as a traitor for joining the reapers and uncover new levels of ire just for her.

Not exactly military: Esme doesn’t have a whole lot in the way of formal training, especially when it comes to fighting. She is scrappy and her dad taught her a few moves years ago but that is about it.

Hard to miss: Something about Esme makes her unusually un-stealthy.





O T H E R


Her birth name and the details of her former life are cards that she holds incredibly close to her chest. She doesn’t fear her old life catching up with her, but she would much prefer it to stay in the past. As far as nearly everyone is concerned, she was born Esme Scott.



I Wanna Get Better - Bleachers ​

 
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How much R hurts R
 

  • Name
    Tamsyn Trelawney, née LeMorrigen

    Age
    Twenty-Seven​

    Appearance
    To the trained eye, Tamsyn’s aristocratic pedigree is clear to see. Her face is gracefully longer and more angular than typically seen amongst the lower classes and has the sort of prominent, well defined cheekbones that on anyone else would be their most striking feature. Her body is more like that of a dancer than someone who has to toil in a field for their daily bread; while she does have more developed muscles than typical for a woman of her background, at 5’10 she also stands taller than most which gives her a lithe frame rather than a stocky one. Her head is crowned with a flaming mane of auburn hair that is often wound into a tight plait that reaches the middle of her back and her skin is the fair, freckled affair that often goes with such hair.

    Of course, all of this is merely the background of the tapestry that is Tamsyn. Her most striking feature, the one that has quite possibly determined the strange and twisting path her life has taken, is her eyes. One is a brilliant emerald green, the other vivid blood red. Few people remember much else about Tamsyn.

    Typically she wears practical garb favoring sturdy trousers, a shirt and a hard wearing leather jacket. Around her neck an eight inch marlinspike is her only normal concession to wearing jewelry. She does still own a very modest collection of dresses and jewels befitting of a lady that she keeps for the rare occasions they are required or when she needs to make a certain impression.​

    Personality
    To be born into the ruling classes is to be born with a god given confidence about your place in the world and Tamsyn has this in spades. She is equally as happy haggling over the final price of shipment with men considered thugs and brutes as she is negotiating the quite possibly equally dangerous waters of a society ball. On the tailcoats of this confidence comes a generally relaxed and friendly demeanor and a certain generosity of spirit. For the most part, the only thing she refuses to talk about is her past, preferring to keep those she has left behind secret from anyone else. Additionally, as a result of her upbringing she has a taste for the finer things in life to a degree that borders on hedonistic and given the opportunity will lose herself debauched carousing.

    With that said, to look on Tamsyn as some lost little lady playing at being a smuggler would be to underestimate her. She has achieved everything she has in her life by sheer force of personality. Fighting against the tide expectations has forged within her an iron will that could hold fast the largest of ships in the roughest of seas. When Tamsyn sets her sights on a goal, she will keep going until the world is the way she wants it to be.​

    History
    To be born different, is to be born touched by fate. Some folk say this is a blessing; others, a curse. Really only those who fall outside of the world’s expectations for them can tell and when it comes to subverting expectations, Tamsyn LeMorrigen is quite possibly the person to ask.

    Born the daughter of a relatively minor noble house of Fief Thiah, the life planned for Tamsyn was simple and well established. She would love and respect her parents; learn as much as was appropriate; be matched with a boy from a suitable family and when the time was right marry them. From then on she would tend to her husband's household and provide him with as many heirs as she could. Such had been the lot in life of noble women since time immemorial and such should have been Tamsyn’s. Fate had different ideas.

    The mutation was only a minor one. The child was born with one eye green as an emerald, like her father, but it’s partner, it’s partner was red as blood. In every other respect Tamsyn was a perfectly ordinary newborn but all anyone could see, or would talk about in hushed tones, were her eyes. Yes the church taught that everyone should be judged on their deeds, but even in the well educated ranks of the nobility, the old faith still held sway. To be flawed of the body as the newest member of the Lemorrigens was, was to be flawed of the soul; as she grew, Tamsyn only seemed to prove the value of this ancient wisdom.

    Wilful was what her mother, a woman with three sons and only one daughter, called her. Disobedient, selfish and wicked were words many other folk including her father used. Certainly, Tamsyn was rarely where she was supposed to be or doing what she was supposed to be doing. If you were to seek the youngest LeMorrigen, it quickly became common knowledge that her chambers were the last place you should bother to look, and her tutors the last people you should ask. Music and needlework held no interest for Tamsyn; she much preferred to watch ships pulling in and out of the town’s harbor from her window and imagining where they were going or spying on the castle's men-at-arms as they practiced their sword work. It practically took chains and shackles to keep her where she was meant to be.

    Unsurprisingly this determined individuality caused a strain in familial relations. While Count LeMorrigen wasn’t wholly concerned by the actual behaviour of his daughter, the reputation that Tamsyn was quickly building for being different and difficult was another matter. At the lower end of the noble pecking order, marriage prospects for the scions of House LeMorrigen were already limited. Tamsyn’s unique visage and behavior meant that by the age of ten, long after the age when these things were normally settled, her father had still not been able to secure a promise of marriage for her. His response to this growing embarrassment was to take an increasingly active and authoritarian role in his daughter's life. Tamsyn responded in kind by rebelling against what was expected of her in increasingly daring and brasher ways.

    In an attempt to foster some harmony between father and daughter, Lady LeMorrigen, having noticed her daughter’s interest in the activities of the harbor, persuaded her husband to teach Tamsyn to sail just as he had his sons. These lessons did achieve a modicum of understanding between the pair, Tamsyn deriving the same joy from being on the water as her father, but they also planted the seeds of devastation that were to come.

    Shortly before Tamsyn’s sixteenth birthday, Count LeMorrigen finally secured a betrothal for her. The groom-to-be was seven years younger than his daughter and the fifth son of a family of even lower status than the LeMorrigens, but at this point Count LeMorrigen was ready to seize any match he could get. His daughter was not; partly because she had fallen in love and been having a secret relationship with Roland, a fisherman's son, and partly because the family with whom her father had arranged the marriage with were barely more the shit stained pig herders to her mind.

    Whatever familial harmony had been hard fostered over the years was shattered. For weeks the arguments and shouting matches went on, neither side giving an inch until finally Count LeMorrigen offered his daughter a choice. Accept the marriage, try and join the order of the Iron Rose or leave and never darken his door again. For Tamsyn the marriage was out of the question and she had no interest in joining the Iron Roses because a nun with a sword was still a nun and she had already discovered the thrills sharing a bedchamber. That left her with one option.

    One night she wrote a short letter for her parents to find, shaved her head, bound her chest, wrapped a bandage over her deviant eye, donned some of her brothers more worn out clothes, and snuck out to meet Roland at the docks before boarding a ship heading south. From then on the pair traveled from port to port, staying in one place only as long as their coin lasted before signing on to a crew for a new journey. The confines of sea travel meant that Tamsyn's attempts to pass as a man were often seen through but rarely before she had had chances to prove her worth as a sailor. While most captains were irritated at having been deceived none could deny the girls usefulness as a deckhand.

    Tamsyn’s first foray into smuggling began innocuously enough whilst crewing aboard The Walrus, a ship working the trade route between XXXXXX and XXXXXX. The captain offered Tamsyn a week's pay if she would row a package ashore for him and deliver it to his agent, explaining that the man who should have done it was sick. Tamsyn jumped at the chance for extra coin and happily took the package ashore. She knew what she was doing, smugglers had been one of the problems that had vexed her father greatly but Tamsyn decided to feign ignorance of it for a while, only confronting the captain when he asked her and Roland to sign on as deck hands again and using it to leverage better pay from the man. Despite Roland’s reservation, this was the last time the couple signed onto a new ship. For a couple of years they sailed with the same crew, making little deliveries to anyone who had coin for what they had.

    While this was a happy time for Tamsyn her relationship with Roland was beginning to fracture. The love that had once burned so fiercely now cooled and the couple argued more and more. After a night of drinking in a XXXXXXX tavern a particularly vicious argument erupted that resulted in Roland hitting Tamsyn. Generations of noble blood boiled and she struck him back and the ensuing fight ended with Roland, lying at the bottom of a flight of stairs with a neck that was visibly broken. Realising what she’d done Tamsyn fled through the city streets fighting back tears as made for the safety of The Walrus. Not much fuss was made when Roland wasn’t aboard by the time The Walrus left port the next day but for Tamsyn everything felt wrong. Her life before had been an adventure but now she was just reminded of everything she had lost and began to increasingly feel like she’d made a mistake leaving XXXXXXX. Roland had been a little piece of home and without him she felt lost. Part of her desperately wanted to go back to XXXXXX but she was too scared of how her father might react to her presence. Instead she stayed with The Walrus feeling increasingly despondent, trapped and rudderless until the day they sailed into a sleepy XXXXXXX port and she saw the most beautiful boat she’d ever seen.

    Most sailors would have considered the sloop that had caught her eye little more than the local Count's plaything, but to her it was perfect. Big enough to be a home, her home, but small enough that she could sail it by herself if she needed to, it was a chance to start and truly seize control of her fate. Stealing the boat was easy enough, the noble family's jetties were guarded at night but all it took was a little outrageous flirting with the definite promise of more to come and one of the guard actually walked her to the boat with a spring in his step. After that it was a simple matter of hitting the lecherous idiot over the head with a cudgel,hauling up the sail and sailing out of the port. By the time a ship had been readied to give chase Tamsyn had long disappeared into the night.

    From then on Tamsyn pretty much sailed wherever she thought she might make some coin. Sometimes she would take on a hand but mostly she sailed by herself. The Eel, as she had dubbed her boat, was to her mind the perfect craft for a smuggler, large enough to handle rough seas, small and shallow enough that it could travel a good way further up many rivers and inlets than most boats and it was faster on the wind then any boat she’d been on before. Her stock and trade became weapons bought in the north and sold to those who wanted them in the south. While The Eel was her home, Baytown was a natural port for Tamsyn to base herself in as a place to sell any excess cargo she had and to resupply. A the demand for weapons grew Tamsyn was only too happy to cash in on this lucrative trade.​

    Art Credit
    @Lady Luindis (Except for the hatchet job that is the eye color. That bit of vandalism is all me.)
  • Attributes
    Strength: 2
    Dexterity: 2
    Fitness: 2

    Intellect: 2
    Intuition: 3
    Willpower: 2

    Bearing: 4
    Guile: 3
    Composure: 3



    Skills

    Mental

    Academics
    2
    Administration
    0
    Artisan
    1
    Craft
    2
    Investigation
    1
    Lore
    0
    Medicine
    1
    Survival
    0
    Social

    Animal Handling
    1
    Empathy
    3
    Mingling
    2
    Perform
    1
    Persuade
    3
    Subterfuge
    2
    Languages
    Kelene (Western) - 3
    Tradestongue - 1
    Low Speech - 1
    Physical

    Athletics
    2
    Awareness
    4
    Defend
    2
    Melee
    1
    Ranged
    1
    Stealth
    4
    Unarmed
    0

  • Training
    Smuggler extraordinaire: Smugglers have few friend. Their clients will try rob them; the authorities will try to catch them; and the sea will try to break them. It is not a profession in which the dull and slow witted thrive and Tamsyn has very much thrived.
    - Stealth
    - Awareness
    - Defend

    Knowledge
    A (mostly) proper upbringing: The daughter of a noble house Tamsyn was provided with teachers and tutors who understood their subject better than most and despite their pupils best efforts, imparted some choice knowledge and skills on their young charge.
    - Academic
    - Artisan
    - Medicine

    Familiarity
    Between two worlds: Between her aristocratic childhood and her criminal adulthood, Tamsyn
    - Empathy
    - Persuade
    - Subterfuge


  • Offence
    Melee:
    3
    Ranged:
    4
    Unarmed:
    2
    Defence
    Defence:
    4
    Parry:
    2
    Evade:
    2
    Block:
    2
    Misc
    Speed:
    4
    Initiative:
    7
    Combat Pool:
    6
    Physical Soak:
    2
    Magic Resistance:
    2
    Health: 10

    Condition: 20
 
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  • Name
    Reva (The Burning Dawn, née Sylva of Keswark)

    Age
    Uncertain (Twenty-Seven)​

    Appearance
    Reva has a youthful, lean, but well muscled 5’8” body that is littered with a multitude of scars. Most of these disfigurements seem to be old and minor wounds long since healed. However a pair of jagged red marks running over Reva’s shoulder blades seem to be from a more recent injury and still cause her enough pain that she habitually sleeps on her stomach. Additionally her hands and feet are both heavily calloused and more than a few of her fingers and toes sit at strange angles. Likewise her nose has clearly been broken and set multiple times. Despite all of this, the strange and defining aspect of the Reva appearance is her eyes. Emerald green and glowing like light shining through glass; most people notice little else apart from them

    Clothes wise Reva appears to favour light garments that offer minimal protection but plenty of room to move easily. Her arms are wrapped in leather strips with her wrist being particularly well wrapped and small, thin leather pads covering her elbows. Reva’s legs sport similar wrapping but these are covered by a pair of thin, flat soled fabric boots.​

    Personality
    If there is one thing Reva likes, other than booze, it is to be moving. Confine her in a room for more than an hour or two and she will begin to sour whereas out in the fresh air she will be content. When it comes to others, Reva is mostly content to live and let live, although there are a few exceptions. People who ask lots of personal questions also get on her nerves.

    When she is drunk, which is every night if she can help it Reva can be more of a relaxed, open individual. That said, those who try to plumb Reva’s depths when she is intoxicated run the risk of letting loose the emotions bottled up inside of her or having to listen to her talk in maddening circles. At least when she drinks she doesn’t scream in her sleep.

    When it comes to violence, Reva doles it out without much thought or compunction. Fighting comes as naturally to her as walking where as thought and diplomacy do not, and violence or at least the threat of imminent violence is her default method of problem solving. This isn’t to say she is a violent lunatic attacking anyone that looks at her funny; just that to standing between Reva and her goal with no obvious or easy way for her to go around is an undesirable place to be.​

    History
    To be born different is to be cursed by the gods. Even those who appear blessed by the gods have been cursed, for they will draw fate’s gaze and she cares not for the gods or their machination; only her own amusement. And nothing amuses fate like stories filled with suffering.

    The story of Reva begins, like all stories of mortal beings, with a birth. The midwife knew there was something different about Sylva LeMorrigen the second she laid her eyes on the child. She had seen her fair share of mutant babes before, midwives probably saw more than most, but Sylva was different. It was her eyes; green as emeralds, they shone like a new dawn's sunlight streaming stained glass. Before she had even made a sound, the unremarkable life planned for the child in which she would grow, live, learn love and finally die, was gone. Fate’s plans were already in motion.

    It didn’t take long for words that a child with a shining soul had been born. First the witch was summoned because the midwife was smart enough to know she was out of her depth. Before the day was over most of the village had been to see the strange child. By the next day people from neighboring villages had begun to arrive to the blessed child and where the peasantry flock, those in power are sure to follow soon.

    Word of a miraculous child was always bound to bring the church and its inquisitors to Sylva’s crib; they liked to keep a tight rein on celestial intervention in the material realms. The holy thugs weren't so crass or foolish as to outright threaten the child, but after taking little more than a cursory glance at Sylva they sat her parents down and began to suggest that the family should go with them to the House of Mercy for the sake of their daughter’s safety. Possibly that would have been the last anyone would have seen of the family had another interested party not chosen that moment to make themselves known.

    To nearly everyone, including senior members of the church, Eotran Monks are an enigma. Almost as secretive as the beasts they hunted, the strange men and women that now crowded around Sylva offered a third way. The family would come with them. Sylva would be trained in their esoteric ways to hunt the undead and when she came of age would be free to choose to follow that path or make a life of her own. It wasn’t really a choice. Before the week was out, mother, father and daughter slipped through the gates and beyond the churches reach

    For a couple of years, the family lived in a small compound just outside the temples walls. However, once Sylva no longer needed her mother's breast she was taken inside the temple while her parents remained outside. As far as the Eotran’s were concerned, their role in her life was all but done. For the next two decades, Sylva seldom set foot outside of her temple home save for the occasional training expedition. From the moment she could sit she was educated in the dangers and ways of vampires. Once she could walk, unending training in martial combat was added to the girls daily regimen. All of this was done with one aim, to mold the girl into becoming a living weapon. Her shining soul a torch against the foul darkness of her foe.

    At the age of twenty-one, Sylva passed her final test, slaying a vampire in solo combat, and earned her Blessed Dagger. The young babe they had brought to their temple was a fully realised hunter and had been crafted into a divine weapon of righteousness; the solitary thing that all those pilgrims who had seen Sylva as a babe would recognise was the brilliant green eyes which still shone with an ethereal glow. Taking on the title of The Burning Dawn, Sylva set about fulfilling what she saw as her destiny and rid the world of the vampiric taint.

    So it was that for the next five years, Sylva and a small group of compatriots travelled the world, rooting out the evil, corruption and suffering caused by vampires and expunging it. They suffered losses and setbacks along the way but their faith in the righteousness of their mission kept them going. There was in fact something about traveling that she rather enjoyed. Constantly being on the move soothed the one spot in her soul that had really chafed for all those years she had spent confined in the temple.

    Events came to a point when Sylva and her companions hired a ship to chase a fleeing fiend out to sea. They didn't realise this was a trap until it was too late. Two other ships loyal to the vampire joined the fight and the crew of Sylva's ship was quickly overwhelmed. One by one, Sylva companions and the crew of their ship were slain until only she was left standing. The righteous fury of a Eotran monk is a terrible thing, but standing alone against a vampire and its followers there was only so much that she could do and eventually Sylva was beaten down. Unlike the rest of her friends and crew though, she was taken prisoner.

    The vampire delighted in torturing and tormenting his prize. For several seemingly unending days Sylva endured constant pain as the beast tested her body while at the same time raking her shining soul with unholy rituals. The foul creature didn’t seem to be in a rush, and repeatedly whiled away the hours between individual acts of torment by telling Sylva of its plans. It wasn’t just torturing her for the joy of it. It was going to turn her to its own ends. Her knowledge of Eotran’s would be their undoing and she would rid the world of them for her new master. She would become its champion against the order of mortals that had brought the final death to so many of its kin. She would be its reaver.



    The first thing this red-head remembers is waking up on a boat, tangled in a rectangle of strangely patterned fabric and coughing up water. A ship had found her floating on a piece of driftwood and hauled her aboard. She possessed no memory of how she had ended up in the sea or even who she was. When the boat crew asked for her name there was only one word that floated into the near drowned woman’s mind; Reva. The crew had more questions for their strange catch but darkness claimed Reva as her body began to pay back the debt it had run up keeping her alive in the ocean.

    The next time she awoke, the first thing Reva noticed was that the world was still. She had barely noticed everything had been rocking before but now the stillness was noticeable. Sticking her head out of the room, she had woken up in, Reva found herself looking out into a practically empty drinking hall. After calling out to the one person she could see, Reva soon learned that the captain of the boat that had pulled from the sea had left her with his cousin to recover.

    As the tavern owner spoke to Reva, they soon learned that women with one glowing green eye and one dark red eye standing in front of him not only apparently still had any memory of how she ended up in the ocean, but she additionally had no coin or idea of where she should go. After a short while the pair came to an agreement. For as long as she needed to, Reva would work in the man’s tavern doing whatever needed doing in return for room and board. So for the next few weeks Reva washed floors by day, served food and drink in the evening and at night drank herself to sleep to the gentle glugging sound off the inn’s still; alcohol helped to keep the nightmares that otherwise filled every unconscious moment away. During this time Reva explored her new home town a little and learned a little about how the world worked in Baytown, a town filled with the lost, broken and otherwise unwanted. In many ways, she was a perfect fit.

    Of course the problem with a place where those considered outlaws by the rest of the world gather, is that there are plenty of people who are used to taking what they want and hanging the consequences. With her unique visage, Reva attracted plenty of the wrong kind of attention. One night after shutting the tavern, the red-head was pulled from fretful slumber by a hammering at the door. Opening it she found several men who she vaguely recognised as customers who had been chased from the bar by the owner because of their lecherous behaviour towards all of the barmaids. Almost immediately they forced their way inside, pushing Reva back until she was pinned against the bar. The leader of the group was a large man. A man who had earned everything he had by sheer thuggery and brute force and he grinned as he petted Reva’s face before interlocking his fingers with the laces of her bodice; he crumpled to the floor with a broken neck. The first to react snatched their last breath with their own sword sticking from their armpit. One by one the pattern continued, the armed men falling to the unarmed barmaid till she was the only one left standing, blood covering her face and hands.

    The tavern’s owner found Reva like that the next morning. It only took him a moment to workout what should have happened. What had actually happened puzzled him even after he got the blood covered woman to explain it to him. Still he didn’t turn Reva into what could lauthingly be called the law in Baytown but rather helped her get rid of the bodies. Obviously she couldn’t stay at the bar anymore, too many of the men’s friends might figure that the red-head was the last person to see their mates alive and the tavern owner couldn't have that happen under his roof, but he did set her up with a less salubrious friend. Just like that Reva fell into a life of freelance thuggery.

    When debtors need reminding to pay what they owe or there someone needs to learn a lesson in manners, the red-head with almost glowing green eyes is the one who they find at their door, if she hasn’t already kicked it in that is.​
  • Attributes
    Strength: 3
    Dexterity: 4
    Fitness: 4

    Intellect: 1
    Intuition: 2
    Willpower: 3

    Bearing: 2
    Guile: 1
    Composure: 1



    Skills

    Mental

    Academics
    0
    Administration
    0
    Artisan
    0
    Craft
    0
    Investigation
    1
    Lore
    0
    Medicine
    1
    Survival
    0
    Social

    Animal Handling
    0
    Empathy
    1
    Mingling
    1
    Perform
    0
    Persuade
    1
    Subterfuge
    1
    Languages
    Kelene (Western) - 3
    Low Speech - 1
    Physical

    Athletics
    3
    Awareness
    2
    Defend
    5 [Dodge]
    Melee
    1
    Ranged
    1
    Stealth
    4
    Unarmed
    6

  • Training
    Eotran Monk: Reva's mind may have forgotten her decades of training but her body hasn't
    - Unarmed
    - Defend
    - Stealth

    Knowledge
    Instincts of a Vampire Hunter
    - Medicine
    - Lore
    - Survival

    Familiarity
    Between two worlds: Between her aristocratic childhood and her criminal adulthood, Tamsyn
    - Awareness
    - Mingling
    - Subterfuge


  • Offence
    Melee:
    5
    Ranged:
    3
    Unarmed:
    10
    Defence
    Defence:
    9
    Parry:
    5
    Evade:
    5 + dodge focus?
    Block:
    5
    Misc
    Speed:
    7
    Initiative:
    8
    Combat Pool:
    11
    Physical Soak:
    3
    Magic Resistance:
    3
    Health: 10

    Condition: 20
 
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Age
Twenty-two

Sex
Female

Nationality
German (German Democratic Republic)

Appearance
Team Yankee is lousy with people who fit the general image of a military individual.With electric-blue hair topping her slight 5’5 frame and crudely improvised make up surrounding her gray eyes, Sabine looks about as military as a barn; a punk through and through, this is just the way she likes it. Her particular taste of self-expression is also evidenced by the multitude of tattoos in the post nuke style that cover the rest of the East German’s body; her arms barely have a square inch of un-inked skin between them and the area to the left of her navel has a piece that traces the line of a large and jagged scar.

Of course living in the end times and playing the role of a soldier has forced some aspects of Sabine appearance towards the new normal. Her muscles are noticeably more defined then they ever were before the bombs dropped and her hands carry the kind of calluses and scars that would only have been found on the most veteran of factory workers; once styled finger nails are now cracked, dirt and paint caked affairs with distinctly chewed, jagged edges. Additionally her taste in clothes has shifted away from the outrageous, towards mostly sensible garments in muted colours that don’t rip at the slightest provocation and that have lots of pockets.

Backstory
With every generation, some souls are born out of place. In Sabine’s case, she was born less than one hundred meters out of place; one hundred meters on the eastern side of the Berlin wall to be precise. From as soon as she could crawl, the West called to Sabine, a fact that caused considerable familial tension with her party loyalist father. Whatever ties she had to the eastern status quo were severed when at the age of ten, her mother died and her father remarried within the year. By the age of fourteen Sabine had run away from home and was living in a squat filled with people who yearned for the freedoms of the west like her; undesirables as the government and the Stasi labelled them.

The government's mistrust was not entirely unwarranted. The degenerates, scum and malcontents that shifted in and out of the squat were natural targets of recruitment for those who wanted to throw off the soviet shackles by any means necessary. Sabine was no exception. Her longing for the freedoms of the West had only grown as she had fallen in with a punk crowd, its anarchic, anti-authoritarian ideals having chimed deep in her soul. Within a year of running away from home, Sabine was a foot soldier in a secret rebellion. Mostly she spread pamphlets, graffitied buildings with slogans and occasionally threw bricks through the windows of government buildings.

This all changed when Danya Vasilievich became general secretary of the communist party. Fearing regression to the bad old days of Stalin, Sabine’s cadre decided they needed to take more direct action to free the people of East Germany. Obviously they could never match the strength of the Soviet forces, instead they decided to model themselves on the French Resistance. They would become saboteurs. This began a wild and dangerous six months where Sabine and her comrades were hunted around East Germany by the Stasi as they ripped down power lines, derailed trains and held up prison transports. Quite by chance, this wound up with Sabine pretending to be the good Soviet girl her father had always wanted as a guard, who five minutes after she left was killed by an improvised bomb, showed her around a checkpoint only a few miles from the Fuldra Gap just a day before the soviet attack.

The horror of those first few days of war also held opportunity. The Soviet advance had punched a hole in the border and left chaos in its wake. For the first time in years, there was a way to the West for those brave enough to take it. Some of the cadre’s members thought they should stay and fight, but Sabine and a few others decided they had done enough. They were sure that soon enough the NATO forces would beat the Red Army back and the border would seal tight once more. Now was the time to seize the future they wanted for themselves. The group were just south of the town of Northheim when the first bombs fell and their dreams turned to dust.

In the days that followed, all of Sabine's comrades headed back east to try and find loved ones. Sabine knew she didn’t care if her father had perished and so kept heading northwest with a new plan. She would get to the coast and get a boat, to London or Bristol, or even New York; really anywhere away from Germany where she could be herself.

Sabine never worked out where the soldiers were from. She didn’t recognise the uniforms and they didn’t speak any German or English that she heard, not that it really mattered. They found her huddled in a barn and decided everything that was hers was actually theirs and took it. The only things they left Sabine were the ripped clothes on her back and a jagged, bleeding gash in her side. Somehow, miraculously even, Sabine had enough strength to stagger through the night until she came face to face with a British patrol before collapsing. It was the voice that brought Sabine away from the darkness and back into the light. The voice she had heard on a thousand illicit radio programs. Opening her eyes she saw a face topped by light brown hair staring back at her. Only one word came to her cracked lips. London.

Doctor Tom Abbot never managed to shake Sabine after that. During the many conversations the pair shared as doctor and patient, she would take every opportunity to quiz the good doctor about his home city, living her dreams vicariously through his answers. When eventually she was well enough to leave Hannover, Sabine found she had no desire to; at least not without Tom. Leaving him behind would have been like leaving part of herself behind so she stayed. It was as simple as that.

Skills
David and Goliath struggles are never won by the smaller party in a single blow, except in stories. Taking inspiration from the French Resistance and the Afghan Mujahideen, Sabine and her friends hoped to help push the Soviets out of Germany through the doctrine of death by a thousand cuts.

While knowing how to fight is important to this, the most important skill a guerilla fighter can possess is the ability to find an enemies weakness and a way to exploit it.Why break down a door if fluttering eyelashes will get it opened for you? Why guard a road if a few bombs will make your foe too scared to use it? Why fight a platoon if killing one man will break them? In short, why do anything when with a little thought, the same result can be achieved for a much lower cost. Of course to achieve this Sabine has picked up a little engineering, mechanical and medical knowledge. She doesn’t know enough to really fix anything, but just enough to help her break things more effectively.

Relationships
Dr. Tom Abbot: The man who saved her life and became the family that she had never had at home or in the squat. Sabine loves Tom like a brother and will listen to him and his point of view in a way that she will with no one else. For the better part of two years, Sabine slept on Tom’s floor until he managed to gently persuade her to find her own space.

Nurse Berkhalter: Thanks to some well intentioned but very unwanted attempts at conversations early into their relationship, Sabine has always viewed the nurse with cool disregard.

Frans and Mika Fischer: While she has never been very comfortable around children, the Fisher siblings are important to Tom and so Sabine has tried to fit herself into a role of an aunt to them.

Lena Schmidt: A friend from before, Lena crossed the border with Sabine, only to turn back almost immediately to look for her family when the bombs fell; quite by chance she found her way to New Hannover in 1987 having found none of her relatives. After Tom, Lena is perhaps the person Sabine trusts the most and the pair live together as flatmates.

Equipment
Primary Weapon: L4A1 Bren Light Machine Gun with a Bi-pod.
Secondary Weapon: Sig-Sauer P220 Pistole 75 with a suppressor.
Spray Paint Cans in whatever colour she can find them.
A small tool wrap containing a variety of tools including adjustable spanners, hacksaws and hammers.​

 
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Human | Tweny-Eight | Female

Appearance

In stature, Aoife is quite unremarkable. Her 5’8 frame is a little taller and a little more muscular than might be expected, but not to the point where most people would notice. Bigger, stronger women are not hard to find. What makes this former guardswoman stand out from the crowd are the accents of her appearance. With bottle green eyes, auburn hair and the fair, freckled complexion to match, even before her brush with death, Aoife had more than her fair share of striking features. The long, ragged scars that now cover the right side of her face and body just happen to be the most striking of the bunch. While some might wish to hide such disfigurements, Aoife makes no effort to do so; if anything she chooses to subtly highlight them.

In the relative safety of town, Aoife will typically be seen wearing a dark, metal studded jacket over a nondescript tunic teamed with the hard wearing trousers and a pair of study boots. In the wilds this outfit is often augmented by a boiled leather cuirass and pauldrons and some slightly sturdier steel banded vambraces. Jewelry is noticeably absent from Aoife’s presentation, her experience is that it tends to shine at precisely the wrong moment and thus she tends to eschew it unless she needs to make a certain impression on someone. The closest thing to jewelry that Aoife regularly wears is a flint and steel hanging from a strap on her belt.​

Primary Motivation

“I owe someone in the Atherstone Keep a knife between their ribs. After that debt is settled it all get more complicated, but things will change... eventually.”

Aoife isn’t the type to just forgive and forget, especially when it comes to the wrongs done to her by those who set themselves above their fellow man. Someone gave an order for her to be killed and she intends to repay them in kind. Her experience in how far the ruling classes will go to protect their position has also reinforced her belief that that whole system needs to be torn down, just as soon as she can work out how without exposing the people of The Shroud to the horrors of the lands beyond its walls that she knows far too well.​

Breif Backstory

To be a human in the Cursed Lands is to live a hard life. Of course, humans being humans, some live much harder lives than others. Some would think that being born within the protective embrace of The Shroud would be a blessed existence, but they would be wrong. While the citizens of this bulwark of civilisation need not fear demons in the same way most of their kin around the Cursed Lands must, they must deal with another malevolent force instead; the cruel indifference of the nobility. To be born at the bottom of this society is to be born into a life of crushing poverty with few ways out and even fewer that any sane person would take.

It was into this world that Aoife was born. To say that she grew up in the gutter would be to overstate it; gutters are at least paved. Her parents were bonded farmers, working the land for unseen nobles. When times were hard the food that they worked their fingers to the bone to pull from the earth was ripped from their hands to fill the stomachs of the aristocracy and knightly orders. Even as a child she could see the injustice of it, the lies that the higher powers spread to keep the populace in their place failing to twist her mind into obedience. When her father dropped dead shortly after the birth of his second daughter, the only response of the ruling classes was to remind his widow of her obligations to them and the cost of not meeting them. There was no honour in such a pitiful existence; no future worth having.

For Aoife escape from this crushing existence came from within. Whether the Stag, the Wyrm, the Raven or even the Handmaiden had answered her silent prayers, or whether the connection to the essence had been there from birth nobody knew or really cared. All that mattered was that the flame haired girl could control torrents of flame. Quite naturally the city guard more or less claimed her for their ranks. While not the most enviable of positions, being a guard was far better than where she was starting from. It was a role that could lift the family out of the deepest throws of poverty. It was a chance for something better

It wasn’t an easy fit to begin with. The anti-authoritarian streak years of simmering class hatred had developed made it hard for Aoife to follow order easily. Fortunately for her career and her family's prosperity, she was smart enough to spot an opportunity when it came knocking on her door that made it easier to bite her tongue. Large swathes of The Shrouds’ aristocracy kept their wealth and power by viciously controlling the flow of goods in and out of the city. As a member of the guard, Aoife was in a position to circumvent this. What started out as an attempt to get tools for her family at a reduced price quickly blossomed into a wholesale smuggling racket with Aoife at the head. For a short while life was good and coin plentiful. Unfortunately, success drew the wrong sort of attention.

Retribution was sudden and should have been final. In the middle of an arduous trading expedition to some of the western human settlements, Aoife awoke to find a sword to her neck, three more hovering above her face and her hand bound. The men who she had thought were her allies explained to her that she should have known her place and not tried to cheat her betters out of what was rightfully theirs. That small camp by a raging mountain river should have been the final place Aoife drew breath, but fate had other ideas. Mere moments before her throat would have been slit, the demons attacked.

Distracted and unprepared, her captors were lambs to the slaughter for the Misshapen. Unarmed and bound as she was, Aoife also fell victim to the fiends evil assault. It was only when a chance blow loosed the bonds around her wrist that she was able to drive the back with flames. Even then though, with her human assailants felled, she harboured no illusions that she would survive. The demons outnumbered her perhaps fifteen to one and she knew their fear of fire would only hold them so long.

Jumping into the river wasn’t an act of escape, Aoife did it to choose her own death. Waking up and vomiting water on the river bank in Molestown was an unintended, but happy consequence. Since that fateful day, Aoife has built a small life for herself earning enough to sustain herself as she plots her return to the shroud and the destruction she will wreak on those that rule it.​

Skills

~ Standard Combat Training
As a citizen of The Shroud, Aoife received the same training in arms that every boy and girl of the city does. Joining the cities guards required further training as well as providing her with the opportunities to put what she had learned into practice.

~ Human Fire Magic
If there is one thing that changed the path of Aoife’s life the it is her ability to control fire. Her actual ability is actually rather rudimentary. What education she did receive largely focused on increasing her raw destructive power rather than any finesse.

~ Cursed Lands Scout
Despite her less than legal side business, Aoife was part of The Shroud’s guards for the better part of a decade. One of the forces recurring duties was to provide an escort to what few trade expeditions the city sent out. Generally on these trips it was held that discretion was the better part of valour and to that end the guards with experience taught the rookies how to move across the wilds of the Cursed Lands while drawing the minimum amount of attention from the hellish foes.

~ Underworld Knowledge
With mortal society so fragile in the Cursed Lands, the criminal fraternity is a relatively small one and names travel. If you are looking for someone to sell you a horse of dubious ownership at well under market value or someone who will buy jewelry no questions asked, Aoife probably knows who you should look for and where to find them, or failing that, who to ask. At the very least she will have a pretty good idea of where to look for such ne'er do wells and how to approach without sending them running for the hills.​

Inventory

~Short-sword
A decent quality blade not much longer that Aoife’s forearm. The only special thing about it is that it is hers.

~Hand-Crossbow
Smaller and packing less punch then bigger models, this crossbow has the advantage of being much easier to handle and leaving its wielder a free hand.

~Tinder Kits
Water resistant pouches of carefully selected and packed tinder as well as a flint and steel hang from Aoife’s belt to keep them in easy reach at all times.

~Travelers Pack
The stand fare of water skins, rations, an animal skin for sleeping on, a cloak for keeping the weather at bay and a length of rope.

~Hooded Lantern
A lantern designed so that the user can limit the amount of light it gives out via means moving metal panels. Useful for moving around after dark without letting the whole world know where you are.​

 
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Puntling | Persian | Tweny-Seven | Female

Appearance
On Punt, Asra’s appearance is unremarkable. Away from her homeland, Asra is unmissable because of how much she stands out from the crowd; although at a little over seven feet tall perhaps stands over it would be a little more correct. If this wasn’t enough for someone seeking her company to pick her out then her ocean blue skin, greenish hair and muscles that would make even members of the Shah’s order weep with envy certainly should be. On closer inspection one would notice that this imposing physique is littered with faint but very deliberate markings.

When it comes to dressing herself, Asra is not fussy or flashy. At home, she would wear the simple hard-wearing clothes of the common folk she was from. In the rest of the empire, this puntling will wear whatever she can find that will fit. If her strange style is a source of mirth for others, she does not appear to let it bother her.

Personality
Asra is a good daughter. Her mother always told her so; her grandmother too. This title is one that she always tries to live up to. She is kind and polite to all those who she meets and generous to those whom she thinks needs it. Deceit is not something in this Puntling’s nature. If you get a promise or oath from her lips, you can expect Asra to do her absolute utmost to keep it and that she will feel guilty and remorseful if she can’t.

This belief in the bond of her word is something Asra naturally extends to the promises of others. Some would say she is trusting, although plenty of others would say this is foolish naivety. Those who seek to take advantage of this open handed nature are unlikely to find themselves on the receiving end of a Puntling’s Wrath. Violence is not something Asra is comfortable with at all. People who have wronged her and been caught will just find her generosity and trust withdrawn, unless she really thinks they might need her help.

There is one aspect of her psyche that Ara has allowed to blossom, despite the disapproval of her elders, and that is her love of chasing the horizon. For as long as she can remember, the promise of the unknown has always called to her, a siren song pulling her into its grasp. One day she will return home, she has promised as much, so now, Asra longs to see as much of the world as she can

Occupation
Like near everyone from her village, Asra is a fisher. She cannot remember the first time she sat in a boat, but being on and under the water is as natural to her as eating and sleeping.

Backstory
Not everyone's history is interesting or filled with intrigue. For Asra, life began as it had for generations of her forebears in a unremarkable fishing village on the rocky fringes of Punt. Her family, like near every other family in the village, made their livelihood from the bounties of the sea. When she was young, Asra helped to prepare the day’s catch, once she was big enough she helped to gather the daily harvest with net and spears. No one would call the lifestyle Asra of her family lived luxurious, but it was comfortable. They had what they needed. Life was good.

The only wrinkle in the silk-like existence for Asra was an eternal desire to see what lay beyond the horizon. It called to her. While others were content to spend what free time they had at home, Asra would always be out exploring every inch, every nook and cranny of her island home. When she was young, this was enough to satiate, at least temporarily, her wayward desires. But, as was surely inevitable, one day in the early years of her womanhood, this daughter of giants found her homeland devoid of new secrets for her to uncover. At first there was a sense of satisfaction in this achievement, how many of her kind had seen all that their island home had to show. Soon though, satisfaction soured into sorrow. Asra yearned to see more in a place that had nothing more to give. Sorrow eventually ripened into despair and for several years, Asra stopped living and began just existing, living each day under a cloud of misery.

It was a moment of serendipity that was to lift the young Puntling from the depths of her gloom. A lost merchant ship, replete in the splendor of the empire, pulled into the bay that was Asra’s home. She had always known about the empire in a vague way, but to see these strange folk, so short in stature, was a revelation of sorts. In an instant her mind was made up.

Her family did not want her to leave, but Asra was resolute, and loving as her parents were, they could see the hurt in their child’s soul. They accepted her promise to return because they knew she was a good daughter and let her board the ship with their blessings. Since that day Asra has roamed the lands of the empire, working when she needs to and adventuring every day she can. The horizon calls to her and now she can answer.

Skills
Puntlings may be the descendants of giants, but Asra is a child of the sea. Years of working above and diving below the ocean's surface has left her as much at home in water as on dry land. She is a keen swimmer and diving beneath the surface while no longer some she has chance to do frequently, is practically second nature to her. This wholly physical lifestyle combined with the gift of long-lost forebears has given Asra strength and endurance that humans can never come close to achieving. Another boon of her slightly backwards existence is understanding that nature can provide. There are few things that Asra can not find a substitute for by turning to the gifts of the world with an experienced eye and practical hands.​
 
Thieves & Beggars

In 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first human to slip the silky bonds of earths atmosphere and fly free into the void beyond humanities sheltered home. Back then, this was a moment of hope and excitement. The beginning of a new age full of wonder and miracles.

Well 1961 was a very long time ago and if most of humanity could go back in time, they'd probably make sure that souyez rocket never left the ground.

In 2496, space holds little wonder for the vast majority of the 15 billion souls of humanity spread across the Sol system. For near all, the dream that gets them through the day is somehow becoming rich enough to be eligible for a Terra passport. Humanities cradle has long since recovered from its trials and tribulations of the early 21st millennium. With most industry and most off humanity shipped off world, the planet has become something of a garden world. Pretty much the only idustry on the planet is agriculture.
 
Thieves & Beggars
 
Background.png

So you lot are finally awake, huh.

No no, don’t try to move. The drugs those corpo stooges pumped you full of for transport will wear off in a bit. Till then, why don’t I tell you a little story, eh? Well, you don’t really have a choice, so listen up kiddos.

You know your history right? How back in 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first human to slip the silky bonds of earth's atmosphere and fly free into the void beyond humanity's sheltered home. How a few months later, Alan Shepard became the second. Well, you see back then, space travel was the hope of humanity that would usher in an age of unparalleled prosperity and with it a utopia unknown in all of time.

Those 20th century idiots were sort of right.

As we spread through the system, there was prosperity aplenty to be had, as long as you were the shareholder of a company with the billions of credits to spend. Yes, on occasion, some lone wanderer playing their luck and taking the chances on the frontier struck it rich, but for most of humanity, life got a lot harder.

Now here we are in 2469, where a few people are born to live a life of untold opulence while the rest are born to die toiling to earn enough to buy a lungful of stale air and a splash of recycled water. For most of our kind, destiny now follows birth, which ain't the way it is supposed to be at all. It used to be anyone could make something of themselves if they really wanted to. Not so much these days.

Still, the human spirit is like a cockroach. Just as soon as you think it's dead and gone, it springs up again. For those few souls brave or crazy enough to risk everything, well they can always do as people did in the tales of myth and legend, and run away to sail the solar seas as a Free Booter. The authorities call the criminals and pirates. The corps and their mouthpiece media make them out to be pitiful thieves and beggars. You know what they really are. They’re Legends.

Everyone in on any backwater moon knows how the crew of the Brightwing stopped a frigate from detonating its drive core right above Mars’ biggest settlement or how Malcolm Lawson and his men cut the head off of the snake that was the Belt Gate Water Syndicate when they tried to cut off supply routes to the outer planets. Not all of them are heroes of course, the Sisters of Flames robbed their way from one side of Pluto's orbit to the other and there wasn’t a single spacer who didn’t fear seeing Captain Blisk’s Crimson Raider on the sensors.

Do you know the one thing all of them had in common?

That’s rhetorical, shut ya traps, I ain't don’t yet.

The thing they all had in common was, it didn’t matter where they came from or who they were, they all chose to live by their own rules and seized the opportunity when it presented itself to them. That's how you become more than just a sack of muscle and bones in this system. Sure you might die trying, but at least you would have tried.

Now then kiddos, I’ve yapped enough, why don’t you tell me about yourselves, not that it matters, might help pass the time, though. How'd you end up in a System Alliance prison transport?​

Rules
  • Follow all Iwaku rules.
  • Practice basic role-playing etiquette. This means no godmodding, powerplaying, etc.
  • Don’t be an ass. If you have a problem with the RP or another player, talk to me so we can try to resolve it in a sensible grown-up way.
  • There will be a three week posting cycle (Hahaha). If you don’t post in that and don’t talk to me in that time, I reserve the right to bunny your character along for the rest of the group/scene.
  • There is no posting order. Also don’t feel you are limited to one post in a GM cycle. That said if some of you are having a lot of back and forth (Perhaps your characters are doing some zero G smooching.) consider if your post could be a collaboration.
  • Artwork for the character sheet is required. Not excessively anime please.
  • One Character per player and no more.

Character Sheet Template
If you could fill this out in the style of a prison file etc. it would be appreciated, but it isn't essential. I just think it would be fun.

Name:
Age:
Origin: (Earth Born, Colonist, Belter, Spacer + If you want a paragraph or so about their home town/port/city/colony/ship etc. Can be left as unknown if you wish.)
Gender: (optional, it is 2469 after all)
Appearance: (picture and a Paragraph please)
Psychological Evaluation: (Personality (at least a paragraph)
Notable Skill:
History:
Criminal Charges: (Why is yo butt in jail. Can be a set up, wrongful imprisonment etc. but still.)

Lore​

Government​

The System Alliance Senate is the overarching government for the whole of the system. Based on the officially neutral and highly symbolic territory of Luna (The Moon) the Senate was originally set up to mediate between Earth and Mars after the secession wars of 2217. Since then its role has gradually expanded to be the ultimate seat of power in the system. Five thousand Vox Populi make up the body of the Senate and officially all are equals. In reality the Speaker of the Senate is the one who sits upon the throne, chosen by the Voices and is widely known to be more equal than others.

The will of the Senate is expressed by what are known as the four hands of Luna.

The first hand are the Justicars. These men and women carry the legitimacy of the Senate. It is their role to disseminate the laws of the Senate and to make sure the local government bodies do not breach them.

The second hand is the Guardian Core. Across the System, justice tends to mean very different things. The Guardians exist to reduce the inequity. A governmental policy agency guardians travel where they are needed to uphold the rulings of the Senate and the Justicars.

The third hand is the Combined Alliance Force, A small but exceptionally well equipped and trained special operations military task force.

The fourth hand is the Agency. Almost nothing is known about the agency. In fact all that is really known is that it answers only to the Speaker of the Senate and its agents have the power and discretion to do whatever is needed to complete their missions.

On a more local scale, Governing is a far more piecemeal affair. While major planets such as Earth or settlements such as The Huwan Colony on the moon of Io have systems of government and statecraft that mirror the Senate, in smaller colonies and aboard ships the Captain or more commonly the owner decides what is and isn’t the law, in accordance with what is decreed by the Senate of course…

Law enforcement
While the Guardian Core provides system wide law enforcement, the truth is the core would need to be a thousand times bigger to provide universal coverage. They act more as a guardian angel force, swooping in where they are needed while keeping a discreet eye on the rest of the system.

Most law enforcement is provided by local forces either paid for by whatever constitutes a state or just as often by the corporations looking to maintain order and their will in the settlements they support.

Corporations
If the Senate is the Ultimate power is the system, Corporations are ones who pull the strings making sure the laws the Senate produces are to their liking. There are thousands of major corporations that wield significant power. While each corp is different, many maintain a paramilitary element to act as their enforcers and guards. Company settlements are relatively common and it's not unusual for a person to be born, live and die all under the carefully calculated care of a singular corporation.

People
The population of humanity stretches into the trillions. Most of these can be found in the central belt of Earth, Mars and the Astroid Belt though there are settlements the entire width and breadth of the System.

Economy
The economy of the system is based on the Universal Credit also known as Creds. A centralized digitized currency that is legal tender all across the system

Free Booters
There is no one true definition of a free booter. Many call them pirates and criminals and that is not an incorrect description. Others call them heroes and freedom fighters. That is equally correct. Really what makes a Free Booter is a drive to live for oneself, not the System Alliance, A corp or some other bullshit institution. Also having their own ship helps.

Technology
(OK so if you want to know why I was delayed posting this OOC, this is the reason. This bit has been a pain. In the end I’ve decided to keep it vague and only bring up a few key bits of technology, the rest we shall forge as we go. If there is something specific you wish to know about, ask and we can work on working out that reality)

Faster Than Light Travel
FTL travel is a reality across the system. The Reach of the System Alliance and its hands wouldn’t be possible without it. Using Alcubierre Gates that stretch and bend the very fabric of space time, journeys that would take years, decades even at sub-light speeds can be completed in a matter of hours and days instead. FTL jumps are only possible between linked Alcubierre gates. The Network of gates that stretch across the system are known as the Webway. Access to the network is controlled either directly by the Senate or subcontracted to the relevant local government or corporation.

Long Distance Communication
Communicating across the system is a matter of using the Coms Buoy Network. Working in tandem with the Webway, this network of relay buoys will bounce a message around the system to get to its recipient. This process can take hours or days and so can only be used for sending messages rather than holding live conversations.

Quantum Entanglement Communicators are the way around this. Using two entangled particles that act in accordance with each other no matter how far between them, a signal can be sent instantaneously across the System. As a bonus, no one can spy on your message in transit either. This sort of technology comes with a cost and is usually only in the hands of high-level government actors and corporations with a seriously over-stuffed petty cash jar.

Cybernetics and Bodily Enhancements
Cybernetics and other personal enhancements are a common enough sight around the system. You guys have relatively free reign here, just keep everything sensible and fun.

Laser Weapons
They are a thing. We can all pew pew. Rejoice.

Backgrounds
Backgrounds aren't just an identity. They are something that can be medically detected. The different environments that humans grow up in leave telltale marks on their body that are almost impossible to reverse.

Earther
People raised on Earth are almost exclusively born into lives of extreme opulence and comfort. Even those whose bank account don’t have more digits than you can count with your fingers live lives of supreme comfort, living as they do on the near garden paradise earth has become. Menial tasks are nearly entirely performed by virtual intelligence guided robots. Generally the lowliest of people on Earth are acclaimed chefs or Lawyers talented enough to bill obscenely by the minute.

Colonist
This term generally applies to people raised in settlements on planets or moons. Martians for example are still considered colonists even though as the single most populated planet in the system the term colony no longer really applies. The rule of thumb is that the settlement shouldn't need artificial gravity. Life experience as a colonist scales the full range of the human experience. The cities of Mars can provide a comfortable metropolitan life if you have the skill whereas life on one of mercury’s moons is not for those with any hint of weakness.

Belter
The under-appreciated powerhouse of the system, the asteroid belt is home to almost uncountable settlements. Generally these settlements last for no more than a few decades, surviving only as long as whatever resource there is to be harvested from the asteroid it is based on. Some of the larger belter settlements have survived the depletion of their home, having reinvented themselves as quasi space stations. For most life in a belter settlement is back breakingly hard with little reward. Artificial gravity is a necessity in these settlements. The term Belter also applies to people from settlements on free floating objects outside of the asteroid belt.

Spacer
Some are raised never having set foot on natural dirt at all. Spacers are those whose life is spent amongst the stars, sleeping to the hum of thrusters and water recycling plants as they drift across the system. Some spacers come from great flotillas of nomadic peoples, others just grew up on spacecraft because that was the life they were handed.​
 
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PEARLS OF PERSIA



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Nascence - Ambient Background Music

It is said that shifting sands do not a good foundation make*, and yet the seat of Eastern power has rested on the golden sands of Persia for nearly a hundred years. Peace in its basest form has managed to persist by the shah’s order. And in that peace, a restlessness has grown in any aspiring individual. Idle hours can only draw discontent, and to those with formidable spirits, the remaining option to them is often one of great enterprise.

One need not go far to seek thrill and adventure in the Persian Empire.

The silk road takes many a bravehearted man or woman through Persia's sprawling reaches. Through arid deserts teeming with the treacherous Rocs and sand golems, and over jagged, snow-capped mountains, where scaled, winged monstrosities are rumoured to perch in their lofty peaks. Sailor upon sailor cross the waxing iridescence of the Black Sea, hoping and praying that the massive Leviathan that lurks below does not come to surface. Fantastical beasts flock the skies above. And the mysterious djinn of Arabia lie amongst the shadows, a fleeting dream to the unsuspecting traveler. The simurgh’s song rises above it all, falling across the great city of Isfahan like a sitar’s lullaby.

And adventure still lies in the folds of Eastern deities. For where there are gods, there is trickery, and none are so tempting, so tantalizing as the ones that surround the treasure they covet and hoard. It is said to solve Ananias’ Square will leave a man richer than even the shah himself. And legend tells it that to find the temple of Bastet will lead to the discovery of the greatest treasure trove history has ever seen.

It would be a shame to leave such treasures untouched...would it not?


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It almost seems too good to be true.

Treasure hunting is hardly a viable profession. Often occupied by the of the odd scholar, bandit, and wayman, those who pursue the riddles of the gods and ancients often come away empty-handed. Most ventures are fruitless and needlessly expensive. Rarely do those succeed.

But the taste of adventure often lingers in one’s soul. And wasted efforts or not, the promise of unimaginable riches is sweetness to the mind.

The dawn of the first day of Huvarshta you receive the letter. Sent by falcon, no doubt, leaving no question about the financial status of the sender. When you open it, it is a simple invitation embossed in gold lettering to the home of a man named Habbas for the first night of the festival. You pay careful attention to the subscript near the end.

”I hear you are a person of great enterprise. I would like to propose to you a show of generosity...the gift of limitless treasure.”

The letter ends there. And there the questions begin.


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RULES
  • We all know the basic Iwaku rules. No powerplaying, godmodding, etc.
  • I accept only art images for characters. Sorry, I’m racist towards real life.
  • No doubling up on characters. Stick to your one and done.
  • Characters must be posted for at minimum biweekly. If you can not meet that requirement, please let me know. If I do not hear from you after two posting periods (four weeks), you will be ejected from the rp.
  • I encourage players to create lore and explore the world as they set fit. However, no changes will be made to pre-established lore. Before you implement something new into the world, discuss it with me. More often than not I’ll accept it - so long as it does not interfere with the lore already in place. And speaking of lore…
  • Please, please, PLEASE read the lore before asking questions! I know there’s a lot of info there, but 9 times out of 10 your rp question just might be answered by information already there.
  • Don’t post WIPs on the sign-ups. I will break you.
  • This is NOT first come, first serve. Again, I am capping the players off at 6. I reserve the right to reject character sheets. Please do not take it personally if you aren’t chosen!
  • I’ll be accepting a maximum of two Aspect characters. If this is something you are interested in, please DM me, and we can discuss your abilities.
    The most important rule: if your username is Applo, you can’t join. I will shoot on sight.

CHARACTER SHEET

Name:
Race: (human, aspect, or Puntling)
Nationality: (If you’re attempting to make a character whose nationality does NOT fall under those pertaining to the Persian Empire, message me first.)
Age:
Gender:

Appearance: (not required if you have a picture)
Personality: (can be brief. 1-2 paragraphs)

Occupation: (What do they do? Sum up their work for me)
Backstory: (can be brief as well. I’ll take anything at or more than a paragraph)

Inventory: (WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!)(totally optional, btw LOL)
Skills: (what’s ur guy/gal good at? Can they fight? Do they even lift?)


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