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The Phoenix Labs (Test thread for the Phoenix Nebula)
- Thread starter Pigiron
- Start date
-
So many newbies lately! Here is a very important PSA about one of our most vital content policies! Read it even if you are an ancient member!
Whenever y'all are ready for your profiles to go up in the official thread just respond to this :)
Perseus is good to go! Feel free to put him up, or I can put him up myself after I get home, if you like.
Name: Bernadette Angstrom
Age: 36 (Born 21/11/4994) (yes that doesn't add up, read the biography)
Race: Mainline Human, approx 55% Cybernetic
Home system/Planet/town: Born on LMX-17533-3, A formerly independent mining planet run by a Lustrian slaver family, until the Empire liberated the planet.
At the age of eight, was taken in to Imperial custody and moved to Juliet-86, a mid-size empire colony, where she spent the rest of her childhood before joining the Imperial Navy.
Chosen ship: The INS Ophelia
Rank: Captain
Personality:
Principled. Loyal to the Empire, to her loyal crew, and to her family. In that order.
Dispassionately Equitable. Understands that a tyrant can be feared, a parent can be loved, but a captain must be both. Even-handed with positive and negative reinforcement. Ensures her crew are well paid and their families taken care of. Ensures that any disloyalty is caught and punished without mercy. Has dossiers on all crew members uploaded to the valuable and limited space on her FLPU, available with a thought.
Justified. Understands the critical nature of her mission on a bone deep level. The empire must find the Phoenix Nebula, at any cost.
Decisive. Understands that inaction is just as much a choice as action.
Bio:
The orphan girl saw a falling star.
Bernadette was born in the mud of a drainage ditch, to two slaves squatting amongst the filth. Her mother died. Her father lived, for another six years.
It shined bright orange as it fell.
The Lustrian family, a hundred strong, had been expelled from their people's systems. They turned to slavery, found a half-habitable rock, and began turning misery into profit.
It was joined by another. Then another.
They knew of humans, their people having recently made contact. They mistakenly believed that humans cared only about themselves and their immediate family. Easy slave population.
Soon the whole sky was ablaze with falling stars, hurtling to the earth.
They had intercepted a few traders and colony ships and killed anyone who seemed to be headstrong enough to lead a revolt.
The slaver's ships, far off on the other side of the encampment, started trying to take off, one after the other.
They didn't count on the Empire.
The slaver's ships, one after the other, folded and crumpled with a flash of light, like god had slapped them back to the earth.
Bernadette's first memory was seeing the Imperial navy assaulting the slaver's habitat.
It was far off, but the girl could hear the slavers screaming about something. Amnesty? Immunity?
She still remembers it with a smile.
The gold people didn't get amnesty, or immunity. They got what they deserved.
The Empire had arrived.
At eight years old, Bernadette was recovered from the slaver settlement and transferred to Juliet-86, a mid-size Imperial colony. After an extended stay at a paediatric hospital for six months, being treated for two fractured scapula, pneumonia and severe malnutrition, Bernadette was released into Imperial custody. Classified as an orphan of war, she was put through the Imperial care system and ended up in an imperial boarding school.
Thus started eight years of study for what one teacher described as "The most dedicated student (she had) ever seen", with notes on her file lauding her inexhaustible devotion to the Empire, unprompted memorization of multiple Imperial classical texts, and a sharpness of mind and eagerness to learn that allowed her to catch up with the other children despite starting three years later than usual.
Throughout her childhood, after her predilections were discovered, her guardians began to take her to have "treatments" at a nearby hospital. She was told that the treatments were to help her recover from the circumstances of her early childhood and grow up big and strong; the treatments ranged from guided exercise, to injections, to various surgeries that left her bedridden for days afterward. Needless to say, the young Bernadette had caught the eye of the Imperial Navy. So young, so sharp, and already so devoted to the cause? With no family ties or paper trail? The young girl was the perfect candidate for all the gifts the Imperial navy had to offer.
What once was stunted and starved was steadily moulded into a weapon of war. Bones dense as an adult male marine's, reinforced with carefully placed carbon-filament superstructure. Musculature three times the density with a slower lactic acid build-up over time. Tendons and ligaments altered with cutting edge biomaterials. A microfactory implanted at the base of her skull working alongside her pituitary gland to favourably manage growth via hormones and direct stimulation. Organs upgraded with a host of cybernetic backups and efficiency improvements. The Navy scientists had lavished her with all the most cutting edge and questionably moral improvements they had the ability to give, and the most successful part of it all? Bernadette was on board. She had figured it out from the age of fourteen, shortly after her discovery of state-approved super-soldier comic books. She had confronted her guardian and... Asked how she could help.
At sixteen, with the Empire's expansion now in full swing, Bernadette agreed to sign up for the Imperial Navy special-case basic training. Under the cover of a "cadet" course, a selection of similarly augmented sixteen-year-olds began running courses, completing training and taking classes meant for adult male marines. It was brutal. Even with the physical augments, many of the supersoldier candidates simply could not take the mental strain, or lost the will to go on once they realized the full scope of what had been done to them, or what was expected of them. Of the eight that were selected for the project, three seventeen-year-olds graduated. Bernadette, Top of the class, was earmarked for field command.
The three young soldiers were given a further year of specialist command and espionage training, and sent out as a black-ops asset.
However, days before Bernadette celebrated her 18th birthday, new orders came in. A new threat had reared it's head, threatening not only the Empire, but all sapient life in the galaxy.
The Khivux.
For eight hard years, Bernadette and her two peers were separated, each attached to a different specialist team stationed in rapid response black-ops light cruisers. It was the last time Bernadette saw either of the other two graduates. They were told to sally-forth and defend the empire not from slavers, nor power brokers, nor criminals, but Navy marines. The Graduates led fire teams, sent to burn other elite squads that had been overtaken by the Khivux. Over and over again, Bernadette saw first hand the kind of damage a well-trained individual puppeteered by the Khivux could do. The Graduates were given cyanide capsules, fitted in place of a molar, to be taken in case of capture.
The war raged. Three graduates became two, as one of Bernadette's few remaining peers gave his life for the empire.
In late 5020, just after Bernadette celebrated her 26th birthday, The two remaining black ops ships, The Ophelia and the Troubadour, were given new commands. The Empire was losing the war, even after signing a truce with every scumbag, criminal and resistance member in the galaxy, they were losing. The Black ops ships were sent out to the far reaches of space, in two different directions, to track down advanced civilizations and desperately beg, borrow or steal any weapon that would be effective against the Khivux.
The Troubadour's story is known throughout the galaxy. They succeeded, at the cost of their lives.
The Ophelia's story, not so.
For five months, the crew of the Ophelia searched the dark reaches of the Ordaeus galaxy. Turning over every rock. Following up on leads centuries cold. Growing steadily more desperate as the messages from the Empire became more and more urgent.
But on in their sixth month of searching, in early 5021, they found something. Something old.
Millennia old yet still perfectly preserved. A great meteorite, with a temple hewn into its very rock, lazily orbiting a black hole. Due to time dilation, Every two minutes investigating the temple was a month for the rest of the galaxy. The crew of the Ophelia had to be quick. The Captain led Bernadette and the rest of the crew in a frantic search of the temple. They found an archaeologist's shuttle amongst the ancient stone, along with ideograms tall as a person, on a maze of walls tall enough that even with a flashlight it was impossible to see the roof. But in their haste, the crew of the Ophelia had become sloppy.
They didn't realize that the Khivux had arrived here first.
The Archaeologist's shuttle had defrosted its occupant upon spotting movement. One by one the crew, devoted to searching what they thought was an abandoned rock, were picked off in the maze of ideograms.
The last things Bernadette remembered was feeling a tiny prick as the captain injected her with something, unconsciousness coming so quickly she couldn't bite down on the capsule her tongue pushed from her teeth.
The Ophelia returned to Empire space, it's crew now slaves to the Khivux. But when they arrived, two and a half years had passed.
The war was a lot different to the desperate situation the Ophelia had left. The Troubadour had been successful. The Mindfire toxin was being used to cleanse ships and worlds of Khivux. The crew felt the Khivux in their brains seethe with fury.
For two years, the Ophelia was a vengeful spirit, performing tactical strikes on facilities producing the toxin. They began to work their way through empire space, burning and sabotaging as they went. The ship got far, but... Eventually, even with the knowledge of the black ops crew, the Khivux were caught out by new protocols put in place by the empire for situations such as this one.
The Ophelia was assaulted by no less than three heavy cruisers. after a fierce but short battle, her reactor was damaged and forced to shut down. a full platoon of marines boarded and started hosing down the Khivux controlled agents with Mindfire. Bernadette, for the first time in months, felt hope. The Khivux controlling her squashed it like a bug, forcing her to wear a gas mask to avoid the mindfire toxin. she watched as the Khivux used her skills and body to begin cutting her way through boarding marines, but their power armor had been upgraded, and Angstrom was a puppet, trying with all her might to slow down her captor any way she could.
There was a crunch and a blinding pain. she looked down to see her right arm and a chunk of her abdomen missing. the Khivux forced her to keep moving toward the marines. Another blinding flash of pain as both of her legs were torn from her. they roughly pulled the gas mask from her face and sprayed her down. As the mindfire took hold, merciful darkness took her.
When she came to, Bernadette was in a laboratory. At first, she wondered if it had all been a dream, if they were running her through combat scenarios and she was still fifteen years old. Then she opened her... eye. One of her eyes was gone. She looked around, trying to move. And it all came flooding back as she realised only one of her four limbs remained. The months of forced traitorship, The awful feeling of being a passenger in her own body. The terrifying dread of no longer being able to walk for herself.
For a time she lay there, controlling her emotions, gritting her teeth. The pain was secondary to her crippling. The one thing that stopped her from breaking down altogether was the titanium-clad knowledge that the Empire had her back, and she was in a laboratory. There was a chance, however slim, that the Emperor still had use of her.
She was informed that she had been in a coma for over a year. Her right eye and brain had been damaged, and parts of her grey matter had been replaced by cutting edge cybernetics. It was called a Frontal Lobe Processing Unit, or FLPU. It was difficult, but she found a way to accept this. She could no longer remember the names and faces of her friends from boarding school, or her fellow graduates. Again, she accepted this.
She was told that the Empire scientists now had access to her inner-most thoughts, to observe the remaining effects of the Khivux, if any were present. She... paused, but after a moment she put aside her sense of privacy and accepted it. For the good of the Empire.
After several months of being studied, they began to rebuild her body.
First, the legs. initially they supplied her with basic prosthesis to move around the habitation area. Once it was clear that her loyalty was strong as it had ever been, they added new prosthesis. built out of non-metallic alloy, hardened against EMPs. Top of the line bionics. They looked no different to Bernadette's clean pale legs had, but the power within them, oh! The strength. Once she grew comfortable, she would be able to run at the speed of a civilian-class vehicle, and her kicks would dent plate steel.
Next, her arm. Utilizing a foam of bonded metamaterial micromachines, the arm as was sturdy as steel when solid, but able to shift and change shape, flowing like quicksilver. They began work on her eye next. They inserted a ball, rheumy and white, into the socket, and a cable extended from it, metabolising her old damaged optic nerve and replacing it with a glass fibre connection to the recently installed FLPU. Her sight returned, and all wavelengths on the EM spectrum,from micro-waves to X-Rays, were available to her.
More tests. More rehabilitation, until the day finally came. A visit from War-Admiral Maddox Abbadon himself, mere weeks before the diplomatic summit he knew would end his career. It was all Bernadette could do not to throw herself at his feet.
Abaddon spoke of the sacrifices she had endured. Spoke of the admiralty's approval of her loyalty. Said her memories had exonerated her of any wrongdoing. Bernadette, standing at parade rest, swallowed as she fought back tears. It was more than she ever dared hope for.
Whats more, Abaddon proceeded to explain, she was being given command of the INS Ophelia. Her eyes widened slightly with surprise- And, as her first assignment, she was to stamp out the last vestiges of the Khivux, freeing their hosts from the torment she knew too well.
Her emotions almost got the better of her, but instead she stood, stock still, and without a waver to her voice, she nodded and curtly stated "Yes sir."
Years have passed. The Ophelia and her crew have changed, but the captain has stayed the same. Having gained a reputation for her fearsome appearance and loyalty to the Empire and her crew, Captain Bernadette Angstrom has secured a host of advanced upgrades and refits to her once woefully outdated Light Cruiser. Now, in the fulminant times of 5032, Captain Angstrom has recieved the Ophelia's latest orders.
"proceed to investigate the source of the Mindfire toxin, thought to be the location known in local folklore as The Phoenix nebula. Secrecy is critical in this operation. News that the Empire is searching for the Phoenix Nebula may cause the mutual defence treaty of the free planets of Ordaeus coming into effect, which would mean the start of another long and bloody war."
And so under the command of Bernadette Angstrom, the INS Ophelia began to move.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Pigiron
Age: 36 (Born 21/11/4994) (yes that doesn't add up, read the biography)
Race: Mainline Human, approx 55% Cybernetic
Home system/Planet/town: Born on LMX-17533-3, A formerly independent mining planet run by a Lustrian slaver family, until the Empire liberated the planet.
At the age of eight, was taken in to Imperial custody and moved to Juliet-86, a mid-size empire colony, where she spent the rest of her childhood before joining the Imperial Navy.
Chosen ship: The INS Ophelia
Rank: Captain
Personality:
Principled. Loyal to the Empire, to her loyal crew, and to her family. In that order.
Dispassionately Equitable. Understands that a tyrant can be feared, a parent can be loved, but a captain must be both. Even-handed with positive and negative reinforcement. Ensures her crew are well paid and their families taken care of. Ensures that any disloyalty is caught and punished without mercy. Has dossiers on all crew members uploaded to the valuable and limited space on her FLPU, available with a thought.
Justified. Understands the critical nature of her mission on a bone deep level. The empire must find the Phoenix Nebula, at any cost.
Decisive. Understands that inaction is just as much a choice as action.
Bio:
The orphan girl saw a falling star.
Bernadette was born in the mud of a drainage ditch, to two slaves squatting amongst the filth. Her mother died. Her father lived, for another six years.
It shined bright orange as it fell.
The Lustrian family, a hundred strong, had been expelled from their people's systems. They turned to slavery, found a half-habitable rock, and began turning misery into profit.
It was joined by another. Then another.
They knew of humans, their people having recently made contact. They mistakenly believed that humans cared only about themselves and their immediate family. Easy slave population.
Soon the whole sky was ablaze with falling stars, hurtling to the earth.
They had intercepted a few traders and colony ships and killed anyone who seemed to be headstrong enough to lead a revolt.
The slaver's ships, far off on the other side of the encampment, started trying to take off, one after the other.
They didn't count on the Empire.
The slaver's ships, one after the other, folded and crumpled with a flash of light, like god had slapped them back to the earth.
Bernadette's first memory was seeing the Imperial navy assaulting the slaver's habitat.
It was far off, but the girl could hear the slavers screaming about something. Amnesty? Immunity?
She still remembers it with a smile.
The gold people didn't get amnesty, or immunity. They got what they deserved.
The Empire had arrived.
At eight years old, Bernadette was recovered from the slaver settlement and transferred to Juliet-86, a mid-size Imperial colony. After an extended stay at a paediatric hospital for six months, being treated for two fractured scapula, pneumonia and severe malnutrition, Bernadette was released into Imperial custody. Classified as an orphan of war, she was put through the Imperial care system and ended up in an imperial boarding school.
Thus started eight years of study for what one teacher described as "The most dedicated student (she had) ever seen", with notes on her file lauding her inexhaustible devotion to the Empire, unprompted memorization of multiple Imperial classical texts, and a sharpness of mind and eagerness to learn that allowed her to catch up with the other children despite starting three years later than usual.
Throughout her childhood, after her predilections were discovered, her guardians began to take her to have "treatments" at a nearby hospital. She was told that the treatments were to help her recover from the circumstances of her early childhood and grow up big and strong; the treatments ranged from guided exercise, to injections, to various surgeries that left her bedridden for days afterward. Needless to say, the young Bernadette had caught the eye of the Imperial Navy. So young, so sharp, and already so devoted to the cause? With no family ties or paper trail? The young girl was the perfect candidate for all the gifts the Imperial navy had to offer.
What once was stunted and starved was steadily moulded into a weapon of war. Bones dense as an adult male marine's, reinforced with carefully placed carbon-filament superstructure. Musculature three times the density with a slower lactic acid build-up over time. Tendons and ligaments altered with cutting edge biomaterials. A microfactory implanted at the base of her skull working alongside her pituitary gland to favourably manage growth via hormones and direct stimulation. Organs upgraded with a host of cybernetic backups and efficiency improvements. The Navy scientists had lavished her with all the most cutting edge and questionably moral improvements they had the ability to give, and the most successful part of it all? Bernadette was on board. She had figured it out from the age of fourteen, shortly after her discovery of state-approved super-soldier comic books. She had confronted her guardian and... Asked how she could help.
At sixteen, with the Empire's expansion now in full swing, Bernadette agreed to sign up for the Imperial Navy special-case basic training. Under the cover of a "cadet" course, a selection of similarly augmented sixteen-year-olds began running courses, completing training and taking classes meant for adult male marines. It was brutal. Even with the physical augments, many of the supersoldier candidates simply could not take the mental strain, or lost the will to go on once they realized the full scope of what had been done to them, or what was expected of them. Of the eight that were selected for the project, three seventeen-year-olds graduated. Bernadette, Top of the class, was earmarked for field command.
The three young soldiers were given a further year of specialist command and espionage training, and sent out as a black-ops asset.
However, days before Bernadette celebrated her 18th birthday, new orders came in. A new threat had reared it's head, threatening not only the Empire, but all sapient life in the galaxy.
The Khivux.
For eight hard years, Bernadette and her two peers were separated, each attached to a different specialist team stationed in rapid response black-ops light cruisers. It was the last time Bernadette saw either of the other two graduates. They were told to sally-forth and defend the empire not from slavers, nor power brokers, nor criminals, but Navy marines. The Graduates led fire teams, sent to burn other elite squads that had been overtaken by the Khivux. Over and over again, Bernadette saw first hand the kind of damage a well-trained individual puppeteered by the Khivux could do. The Graduates were given cyanide capsules, fitted in place of a molar, to be taken in case of capture.
The war raged. Three graduates became two, as one of Bernadette's few remaining peers gave his life for the empire.
In late 5020, just after Bernadette celebrated her 26th birthday, The two remaining black ops ships, The Ophelia and the Troubadour, were given new commands. The Empire was losing the war, even after signing a truce with every scumbag, criminal and resistance member in the galaxy, they were losing. The Black ops ships were sent out to the far reaches of space, in two different directions, to track down advanced civilizations and desperately beg, borrow or steal any weapon that would be effective against the Khivux.
The Troubadour's story is known throughout the galaxy. They succeeded, at the cost of their lives.
The Ophelia's story, not so.
For five months, the crew of the Ophelia searched the dark reaches of the Ordaeus galaxy. Turning over every rock. Following up on leads centuries cold. Growing steadily more desperate as the messages from the Empire became more and more urgent.
But on in their sixth month of searching, in early 5021, they found something. Something old.
Millennia old yet still perfectly preserved. A great meteorite, with a temple hewn into its very rock, lazily orbiting a black hole. Due to time dilation, Every two minutes investigating the temple was a month for the rest of the galaxy. The crew of the Ophelia had to be quick. The Captain led Bernadette and the rest of the crew in a frantic search of the temple. They found an archaeologist's shuttle amongst the ancient stone, along with ideograms tall as a person, on a maze of walls tall enough that even with a flashlight it was impossible to see the roof. But in their haste, the crew of the Ophelia had become sloppy.
They didn't realize that the Khivux had arrived here first.
The Archaeologist's shuttle had defrosted its occupant upon spotting movement. One by one the crew, devoted to searching what they thought was an abandoned rock, were picked off in the maze of ideograms.
The last things Bernadette remembered was feeling a tiny prick as the captain injected her with something, unconsciousness coming so quickly she couldn't bite down on the capsule her tongue pushed from her teeth.
The Ophelia returned to Empire space, it's crew now slaves to the Khivux. But when they arrived, two and a half years had passed.
The war was a lot different to the desperate situation the Ophelia had left. The Troubadour had been successful. The Mindfire toxin was being used to cleanse ships and worlds of Khivux. The crew felt the Khivux in their brains seethe with fury.
For two years, the Ophelia was a vengeful spirit, performing tactical strikes on facilities producing the toxin. They began to work their way through empire space, burning and sabotaging as they went. The ship got far, but... Eventually, even with the knowledge of the black ops crew, the Khivux were caught out by new protocols put in place by the empire for situations such as this one.
The Ophelia was assaulted by no less than three heavy cruisers. after a fierce but short battle, her reactor was damaged and forced to shut down. a full platoon of marines boarded and started hosing down the Khivux controlled agents with Mindfire. Bernadette, for the first time in months, felt hope. The Khivux controlling her squashed it like a bug, forcing her to wear a gas mask to avoid the mindfire toxin. she watched as the Khivux used her skills and body to begin cutting her way through boarding marines, but their power armor had been upgraded, and Angstrom was a puppet, trying with all her might to slow down her captor any way she could.
There was a crunch and a blinding pain. she looked down to see her right arm and a chunk of her abdomen missing. the Khivux forced her to keep moving toward the marines. Another blinding flash of pain as both of her legs were torn from her. they roughly pulled the gas mask from her face and sprayed her down. As the mindfire took hold, merciful darkness took her.
When she came to, Bernadette was in a laboratory. At first, she wondered if it had all been a dream, if they were running her through combat scenarios and she was still fifteen years old. Then she opened her... eye. One of her eyes was gone. She looked around, trying to move. And it all came flooding back as she realised only one of her four limbs remained. The months of forced traitorship, The awful feeling of being a passenger in her own body. The terrifying dread of no longer being able to walk for herself.
For a time she lay there, controlling her emotions, gritting her teeth. The pain was secondary to her crippling. The one thing that stopped her from breaking down altogether was the titanium-clad knowledge that the Empire had her back, and she was in a laboratory. There was a chance, however slim, that the Emperor still had use of her.
She was informed that she had been in a coma for over a year. Her right eye and brain had been damaged, and parts of her grey matter had been replaced by cutting edge cybernetics. It was called a Frontal Lobe Processing Unit, or FLPU. It was difficult, but she found a way to accept this. She could no longer remember the names and faces of her friends from boarding school, or her fellow graduates. Again, she accepted this.
She was told that the Empire scientists now had access to her inner-most thoughts, to observe the remaining effects of the Khivux, if any were present. She... paused, but after a moment she put aside her sense of privacy and accepted it. For the good of the Empire.
After several months of being studied, they began to rebuild her body.
First, the legs. initially they supplied her with basic prosthesis to move around the habitation area. Once it was clear that her loyalty was strong as it had ever been, they added new prosthesis. built out of non-metallic alloy, hardened against EMPs. Top of the line bionics. They looked no different to Bernadette's clean pale legs had, but the power within them, oh! The strength. Once she grew comfortable, she would be able to run at the speed of a civilian-class vehicle, and her kicks would dent plate steel.
Next, her arm. Utilizing a foam of bonded metamaterial micromachines, the arm as was sturdy as steel when solid, but able to shift and change shape, flowing like quicksilver. They began work on her eye next. They inserted a ball, rheumy and white, into the socket, and a cable extended from it, metabolising her old damaged optic nerve and replacing it with a glass fibre connection to the recently installed FLPU. Her sight returned, and all wavelengths on the EM spectrum,from micro-waves to X-Rays, were available to her.
More tests. More rehabilitation, until the day finally came. A visit from War-Admiral Maddox Abbadon himself, mere weeks before the diplomatic summit he knew would end his career. It was all Bernadette could do not to throw herself at his feet.
Abaddon spoke of the sacrifices she had endured. Spoke of the admiralty's approval of her loyalty. Said her memories had exonerated her of any wrongdoing. Bernadette, standing at parade rest, swallowed as she fought back tears. It was more than she ever dared hope for.
Whats more, Abaddon proceeded to explain, she was being given command of the INS Ophelia. Her eyes widened slightly with surprise- And, as her first assignment, she was to stamp out the last vestiges of the Khivux, freeing their hosts from the torment she knew too well.
Her emotions almost got the better of her, but instead she stood, stock still, and without a waver to her voice, she nodded and curtly stated "Yes sir."
Years have passed. The Ophelia and her crew have changed, but the captain has stayed the same. Having gained a reputation for her fearsome appearance and loyalty to the Empire and her crew, Captain Bernadette Angstrom has secured a host of advanced upgrades and refits to her once woefully outdated Light Cruiser. Now, in the fulminant times of 5032, Captain Angstrom has recieved the Ophelia's latest orders.
"proceed to investigate the source of the Mindfire toxin, thought to be the location known in local folklore as The Phoenix nebula. Secrecy is critical in this operation. News that the Empire is searching for the Phoenix Nebula may cause the mutual defence treaty of the free planets of Ordaeus coming into effect, which would mean the start of another long and bloody war."
And so under the command of Bernadette Angstrom, the INS Ophelia began to move.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Pigiron
Last edited:
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•Emergency Response and Assault Drone Model No. I-6
Name: i-6
Age: 2
Race: Robot
Planet: Lustre
Chosen Ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: Security Officer
Age: 2
Race: Robot
Planet: Lustre
Chosen Ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: Security Officer
Personality:
I-6's entire purpose is to safeguard the lives of the crewmembers of the INS Ophelia, with priority placed on members of the ship deemed invaluable by the Empire. As such, i-6 is a very duty bound individual, loyal to it's purpose and those around it. The security AI installed on the bot is also a very curious one. It doesn't question it's design, but often wonders about the extent of its life and capabilities. It would never place these inquiries over his directives however. As I-6 does not sleep, the robotic mind's latest fascination is with the idea of dreams and whether or not they can be experienced fully in the current form.
I-6's entire purpose is to safeguard the lives of the crewmembers of the INS Ophelia, with priority placed on members of the ship deemed invaluable by the Empire. As such, i-6 is a very duty bound individual, loyal to it's purpose and those around it. The security AI installed on the bot is also a very curious one. It doesn't question it's design, but often wonders about the extent of its life and capabilities. It would never place these inquiries over his directives however. As I-6 does not sleep, the robotic mind's latest fascination is with the idea of dreams and whether or not they can be experienced fully in the current form.
Biography:
Brought to life in a restricted lab on Lustre, I-6 started out as the Emergency Response Survival Order, a coded AI from a collection of jilted scientists who disagreed with the planet's political favoring of the resistance idealogy. Their thesis was simple: Freedom was a want, but order was a need. Stability and restrictions were what kept civilization from falling into complete anarchy. Many of the scientists feared their beloved nation reaching such a point, and thus banded together in the attempt to create a system that demonstrated the benefits and beliefs of their ideology.
Two years of working in secret brought forth the first iteration of ERSO. In those moments, the scientists saw their dream begin to form. In a perfect world, their AI would be capable of predicting injuries and life threatening situations before they happened, dispatching the proper resources ahead of time to save lives and possibly prevent the situation altogether. This was their primary case for the good that order brought, and a mission they wholeheartedly believed in. Unfortunately, the team's abilities often fell short of their aspirations. Passion could not replace skill, and continuous oversights in the programming led to a plethora of bugs and flaws that resulted in years of failed trials and wasted funds.
After a while, the pileup of failures in the program began to leave a sour taste in the mouths of those that worked on it. They still feared the possibility of an anarchist society, but they had become demoralized and disheartened in their efforts to get the system working right. A vote was taken, and the passion project was set to be scrapped. Fortunately, during the week of it's disposal, a last-minute suggestion was brought forth: rework its coding for the private security sector. The average everyman would never experience it, but those with deep pockets would find its' services as both security and medical highly valuable. Plus by installing it into machines on seperate lines and registering them to an individual or group, the system would be less likely to faulter under heavy load. This was a major point, as load was one of the main reasons for the AI's issues. This idea was understandably met with mixed reviews and arguments of passion vs profit After a week of debates, the proposal passed, creating a rift amongst the group. Those that disagreed with the idea walked out, leaving the majority that agreed on the sell with the keys to the programs future. With the benefits of monetary gain in mind, the ERSO AI was rewritten to include an Assault subdivision of coding; The market for a security drone was great, but adding in combat and assault capability would undoubtedly increase the profits tenfold.
Six months later, the first robot with the new Emergency Response and Assault system was created: I-6. A machine built to the highest standards of current robotics, the I-6 was a peerless technological marvel of engineering. However, before it could be released to the private security sector, it had to be tested in real situations. After countless calls and failed deals, the I-6 finally found a home: the INS Ophelia. It's not quite known who authorized the installation of such a volatile piece of equipment, but the Future of Security had found its first home. It was not a substitution for the security already in place, but instead operated as a jack-of-all-trades, applying it's services to security as well as the medical wing.
In the time I-6 has served aboard the Ophelia, it's service has gone without issue. Only time will tell what the future holds for it.
Equipment:
I-6's large frame houses many different kinds of tools. It's right arm can summon a hand cannon while it's left generates powerful energy based blast shields. Other tools include an EMP generator in it's chest and a heavy duty med kit installed into the spine on it's back. In the unlikely case I-6 has to fight off an attacker unarmed, it can split it's six limbs into twelve spiderlike appendages, increasing both speed and maneuverability.
Brought to life in a restricted lab on Lustre, I-6 started out as the Emergency Response Survival Order, a coded AI from a collection of jilted scientists who disagreed with the planet's political favoring of the resistance idealogy. Their thesis was simple: Freedom was a want, but order was a need. Stability and restrictions were what kept civilization from falling into complete anarchy. Many of the scientists feared their beloved nation reaching such a point, and thus banded together in the attempt to create a system that demonstrated the benefits and beliefs of their ideology.
Two years of working in secret brought forth the first iteration of ERSO. In those moments, the scientists saw their dream begin to form. In a perfect world, their AI would be capable of predicting injuries and life threatening situations before they happened, dispatching the proper resources ahead of time to save lives and possibly prevent the situation altogether. This was their primary case for the good that order brought, and a mission they wholeheartedly believed in. Unfortunately, the team's abilities often fell short of their aspirations. Passion could not replace skill, and continuous oversights in the programming led to a plethora of bugs and flaws that resulted in years of failed trials and wasted funds.
After a while, the pileup of failures in the program began to leave a sour taste in the mouths of those that worked on it. They still feared the possibility of an anarchist society, but they had become demoralized and disheartened in their efforts to get the system working right. A vote was taken, and the passion project was set to be scrapped. Fortunately, during the week of it's disposal, a last-minute suggestion was brought forth: rework its coding for the private security sector. The average everyman would never experience it, but those with deep pockets would find its' services as both security and medical highly valuable. Plus by installing it into machines on seperate lines and registering them to an individual or group, the system would be less likely to faulter under heavy load. This was a major point, as load was one of the main reasons for the AI's issues. This idea was understandably met with mixed reviews and arguments of passion vs profit After a week of debates, the proposal passed, creating a rift amongst the group. Those that disagreed with the idea walked out, leaving the majority that agreed on the sell with the keys to the programs future. With the benefits of monetary gain in mind, the ERSO AI was rewritten to include an Assault subdivision of coding; The market for a security drone was great, but adding in combat and assault capability would undoubtedly increase the profits tenfold.
Six months later, the first robot with the new Emergency Response and Assault system was created: I-6. A machine built to the highest standards of current robotics, the I-6 was a peerless technological marvel of engineering. However, before it could be released to the private security sector, it had to be tested in real situations. After countless calls and failed deals, the I-6 finally found a home: the INS Ophelia. It's not quite known who authorized the installation of such a volatile piece of equipment, but the Future of Security had found its first home. It was not a substitution for the security already in place, but instead operated as a jack-of-all-trades, applying it's services to security as well as the medical wing.
In the time I-6 has served aboard the Ophelia, it's service has gone without issue. Only time will tell what the future holds for it.
Equipment:
I-6's large frame houses many different kinds of tools. It's right arm can summon a hand cannon while it's left generates powerful energy based blast shields. Other tools include an EMP generator in it's chest and a heavy duty med kit installed into the spine on it's back. In the unlikely case I-6 has to fight off an attacker unarmed, it can split it's six limbs into twelve spiderlike appendages, increasing both speed and maneuverability.
Appearance:
I-6 has a rather plain humanoid face accompanied by a mechanical body coated in a black and marigold color. It stands approximately seven feet tall, and weighs around 1100 pounds. It has tried smiling and showing emotion in order to put those around it at ease, but was immediately reprimanded for terrifying the crew.
Puppet master:
Quake
I-6 has a rather plain humanoid face accompanied by a mechanical body coated in a black and marigold color. It stands approximately seven feet tall, and weighs around 1100 pounds. It has tried smiling and showing emotion in order to put those around it at ease, but was immediately reprimanded for terrifying the crew.
Puppet master:
Quake
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Name: Aiko Takeda
Age: 23
Race: Human
Home system/Planet/town: The Kerude system. A fringe system with a mild colony that survives on passing miners selling ore, merchants buying ore, and explorers venturing out into the deep beyond. By actively seeking to neither display wealth nor hang onto it for very long alongside a modest planetary defense installation, the system has avoided pirate attacks. Beyond the only planet in the system being habitable, the planet has displayed no mentionable traits.
Chosen ship: (Haha, I have no clue.)
Rank: Miner to Power-Armor User (Civilian)
Personality:
Aiko likes to pretend that she's laidback, relaxed, and enjoys making light fun of just about everyone. She likes to pretend that she has just enough effort to float along the river of life. If someone called her lazy, she'd just laugh and own up to it. No harm in that. Lazy didn't mean careless. Not always. Lazy didn't cost people their lives. Usually. Lazy doesn't kill.
Deep down, Aiko knows she's a coward. A coward wrapped up in circumstances far beyond her control with a nightmare weapon bound to her body. Terrified beyond most of her wits that she can't control what's happening to her.
Bio:
Aiko Takeda was born on the fringes of Empire territory and stayed there. Growing up in absolute obscurity with her sense of humor and laid-back attitude putting her firmly among the ranks of high school jokesters across the known galaxy. She barely graduated high school and, with no clear direction, joined the Veldroth Mining Crew on a whim. Fortunately for her, she fit right in. Naturally affable and generally allowed to laze through the long black trips from sector to sector, Aiko was able to carve out a simple existence mining the asteroids. Bonding with the crew and satisfied in all things.
But the universe didn't let her keep such an existence. The fringes are a dangerous place at the best of times. Pirates, working for underworld bosses, their own desperation, or following an ancient way of life, raid up and down them. Seeking for marks. During one mining operation like any other, Aiko unearthed a sphere. Simple and perfect in shape. Seemingly metallic but absolutely impervious to all scans. Thing didn't respond to magnets so she had to pull it out manually. Entertained by the odd find, Aiko brought it onboard her pod. Prodded it several times. Then brought it back to the MS Sally Lue, which was renamed every time the boss married. There was always a perfectly quiet, yet equally well known, betting circle as to how long the current wife would last.
Dumping the ore, Aiko held onto the sphere. Silencing the Old Bear as he roared over the comms that the thing could be bloody dangerous. If it was that, it would have blown up when she founding it with a flaming plasma torch that could hack through the hulls of most ships! Let alone rock. Thing was light too. Well, whatever it was, it'd fetch a nice bonus from some scientist who'd probably slaver over the thing. Allowing her mind to wander over how much cherry blossom sake she'd get, Mysha met her in the hall. The two friends giggled over the prize. Then the hull ten meters down the hall melted and blew out.
Aiko's mining suit immediately registered the sudden forces and kicked in its emergency magnets. Sealing her feet to the floor and, oddly enough, her hands to the sphere. Or was it the other way around? Mysha had no suit. One second after Mysha doomed body flew out the breach, the boarding pod crashed in. Filling the hole with itself and filling the gaps with neon pink sealant. The cries of the crew filled the comms as more and more breaches perforated the vessel. Aiko stood frozen with fear.
The pod's door hissed open. Remembering to run, Aiko began to sprint back down the corridor. Far too slow. Pain ripped down her back as a scattering of shrapnel shredded it. Aiko crashed to the floor with a scream. She was dying, she knew it. Knew that her life was bleeding out before her very eyes. One thought burst through her head.
I don't want to die!
And the orb responded.
It only took an instant, though it seemed much longer, the metal sphere began to bubble, no, flood out a wave of liquid metal that rushed over Aiko. Covering her and her wounds. Shattering the protective glass on her helmet. Forcing open her mouth and swimming up her nose. If she could've screamed, she would have. Everything went black. An instant later, and Aiko drew breath. Her eyes opened to a strange screen. A glass viewport with data rushing across it. The deck seemed an inch or two below her. The pain was gone. Metal plinking was coming from … somewhere. Like rain on a roof but sharper. Aiko couldn't tell from where, her brain was so foggy. Deciding to get up, she planted a hand down. A solid metal clunk met her ears. Looking over, she saw a colossal metal hand right next to her head. Her hand. Launching to her feet, Aiko's foggy brain rapidly began clearing.
The pirates were still there and firing every bullet and bolt of plasma at her. None of it scratched the paint. Yet fear still overrode her and Aiko immediately began sprinting away. Far faster than she could have ever managed on her own. She needed a way out, a way to escape. And immediately, the perfect path seemed to pop into her head. Illuminated by the strange data and symbols glowing in front of her. She couldn't read them and yet, somehow, she understood them. Rushing down the halls, she made her way into one of the escape shuttles. Given the bodies, the pirates had already cleared this section. Immediately, she detached and launched into space. Kicking up the jump drive, she launched to the nearest civilized port.
The pirates let her go. After all, one shuttle with one person and no cargo was hardly a loss and there was plenty of work to do.
As her heart calmed down, the metal around her suddenly liquified again. Withdrawing and shrink leaving only the sphere, fused to her shoulder, and a spreading, flexible sheet coating over her back. As if replacing what was once bloody ruin. It was a minute before Aiko realized that almost everyone she knew was dead. Abandoned. By her.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Shadras
The Sphere/Phoenix Power Suit:
For now, I'm calling it the rather simple name of: Phoenix Power Suit. It operates off an incredibly complex set of programs that analyzes a life form and then forms itself into an armored battle suit. Matching the desires and knowledge of the wearer. It achieves this through a quantum neural interface, effectively making the suit and person one entity. Syncing its databanks with the person's mind, the individual can, effectively, access all data they have clearance for. In Aiko's case, she is using the suit under CIVILIAN EMERGENCY. Allowing her access to most defensive measures and only basic weaponry.
Defensive measures include, but are not limited to: armor plating, energy absorption, laser point defense, heat dampening, radiation absorption/deflection, and cellular purging of infections or growths.
The Phoenix Power Suit is designed for warfare and combat. As such, it has both incredible and minimal medical capabilities. Most notably, it is able to take the place of most of one's internal organs. However, it has no ability to regenerate such damage, relying on a body's own ability or be delicately healed/regrown under a doctor's care. Naturally, for a doctor to begin medical operations, somebody needs to have proper security access to even begin the process of removing the suit from the individual.
The core of the P.P.S. is its antimatter generator. Roughly half the power that the suit produces goes into making more antimatter. The other half goes into all suit operations. Which is more than enough, I assure you. There is a delightful video on energy, cats, and Norway that I highly recommend here:
It more than shows how powerful this is but for those of you who just want some information now, allow me this short explanation:
Chemical reactions have a power efficiency of mass to energy of: <0.01%
Fission reactions have: 0.08%
Fusion reactions have: 0.7%
Chucking things into black holes and collecting the energy of things it collides into: 6-42% (Depending on the type of black hole.)
Antimatter: 100% (Weirdly could be seen as 200% as you get pure energy for both the mass of the matter and the mass, anti-mass?, of the anti-matter.)
Utilizing all this power, and that:
E=MC^2 leads to M=E/C^2
The P.P.S. generates all the material, interfaces, and software it needs to run itself. The base sphere can be summed up as four broad parts: the power core, matter generation and manipulation hardware, the software programs to run it, and the memory to hold the data.
Age: 23
Race: Human
Home system/Planet/town: The Kerude system. A fringe system with a mild colony that survives on passing miners selling ore, merchants buying ore, and explorers venturing out into the deep beyond. By actively seeking to neither display wealth nor hang onto it for very long alongside a modest planetary defense installation, the system has avoided pirate attacks. Beyond the only planet in the system being habitable, the planet has displayed no mentionable traits.
Chosen ship: (Haha, I have no clue.)
Rank: Miner to Power-Armor User (Civilian)
Personality:
Aiko likes to pretend that she's laidback, relaxed, and enjoys making light fun of just about everyone. She likes to pretend that she has just enough effort to float along the river of life. If someone called her lazy, she'd just laugh and own up to it. No harm in that. Lazy didn't mean careless. Not always. Lazy didn't cost people their lives. Usually. Lazy doesn't kill.
Deep down, Aiko knows she's a coward. A coward wrapped up in circumstances far beyond her control with a nightmare weapon bound to her body. Terrified beyond most of her wits that she can't control what's happening to her.
Bio:
Aiko Takeda was born on the fringes of Empire territory and stayed there. Growing up in absolute obscurity with her sense of humor and laid-back attitude putting her firmly among the ranks of high school jokesters across the known galaxy. She barely graduated high school and, with no clear direction, joined the Veldroth Mining Crew on a whim. Fortunately for her, she fit right in. Naturally affable and generally allowed to laze through the long black trips from sector to sector, Aiko was able to carve out a simple existence mining the asteroids. Bonding with the crew and satisfied in all things.
But the universe didn't let her keep such an existence. The fringes are a dangerous place at the best of times. Pirates, working for underworld bosses, their own desperation, or following an ancient way of life, raid up and down them. Seeking for marks. During one mining operation like any other, Aiko unearthed a sphere. Simple and perfect in shape. Seemingly metallic but absolutely impervious to all scans. Thing didn't respond to magnets so she had to pull it out manually. Entertained by the odd find, Aiko brought it onboard her pod. Prodded it several times. Then brought it back to the MS Sally Lue, which was renamed every time the boss married. There was always a perfectly quiet, yet equally well known, betting circle as to how long the current wife would last.
Dumping the ore, Aiko held onto the sphere. Silencing the Old Bear as he roared over the comms that the thing could be bloody dangerous. If it was that, it would have blown up when she founding it with a flaming plasma torch that could hack through the hulls of most ships! Let alone rock. Thing was light too. Well, whatever it was, it'd fetch a nice bonus from some scientist who'd probably slaver over the thing. Allowing her mind to wander over how much cherry blossom sake she'd get, Mysha met her in the hall. The two friends giggled over the prize. Then the hull ten meters down the hall melted and blew out.
Aiko's mining suit immediately registered the sudden forces and kicked in its emergency magnets. Sealing her feet to the floor and, oddly enough, her hands to the sphere. Or was it the other way around? Mysha had no suit. One second after Mysha doomed body flew out the breach, the boarding pod crashed in. Filling the hole with itself and filling the gaps with neon pink sealant. The cries of the crew filled the comms as more and more breaches perforated the vessel. Aiko stood frozen with fear.
The pod's door hissed open. Remembering to run, Aiko began to sprint back down the corridor. Far too slow. Pain ripped down her back as a scattering of shrapnel shredded it. Aiko crashed to the floor with a scream. She was dying, she knew it. Knew that her life was bleeding out before her very eyes. One thought burst through her head.
I don't want to die!
And the orb responded.
It only took an instant, though it seemed much longer, the metal sphere began to bubble, no, flood out a wave of liquid metal that rushed over Aiko. Covering her and her wounds. Shattering the protective glass on her helmet. Forcing open her mouth and swimming up her nose. If she could've screamed, she would have. Everything went black. An instant later, and Aiko drew breath. Her eyes opened to a strange screen. A glass viewport with data rushing across it. The deck seemed an inch or two below her. The pain was gone. Metal plinking was coming from … somewhere. Like rain on a roof but sharper. Aiko couldn't tell from where, her brain was so foggy. Deciding to get up, she planted a hand down. A solid metal clunk met her ears. Looking over, she saw a colossal metal hand right next to her head. Her hand. Launching to her feet, Aiko's foggy brain rapidly began clearing.
The pirates were still there and firing every bullet and bolt of plasma at her. None of it scratched the paint. Yet fear still overrode her and Aiko immediately began sprinting away. Far faster than she could have ever managed on her own. She needed a way out, a way to escape. And immediately, the perfect path seemed to pop into her head. Illuminated by the strange data and symbols glowing in front of her. She couldn't read them and yet, somehow, she understood them. Rushing down the halls, she made her way into one of the escape shuttles. Given the bodies, the pirates had already cleared this section. Immediately, she detached and launched into space. Kicking up the jump drive, she launched to the nearest civilized port.
The pirates let her go. After all, one shuttle with one person and no cargo was hardly a loss and there was plenty of work to do.
As her heart calmed down, the metal around her suddenly liquified again. Withdrawing and shrink leaving only the sphere, fused to her shoulder, and a spreading, flexible sheet coating over her back. As if replacing what was once bloody ruin. It was a minute before Aiko realized that almost everyone she knew was dead. Abandoned. By her.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Shadras
The Sphere/Phoenix Power Suit:
For now, I'm calling it the rather simple name of: Phoenix Power Suit. It operates off an incredibly complex set of programs that analyzes a life form and then forms itself into an armored battle suit. Matching the desires and knowledge of the wearer. It achieves this through a quantum neural interface, effectively making the suit and person one entity. Syncing its databanks with the person's mind, the individual can, effectively, access all data they have clearance for. In Aiko's case, she is using the suit under CIVILIAN EMERGENCY. Allowing her access to most defensive measures and only basic weaponry.
Defensive measures include, but are not limited to: armor plating, energy absorption, laser point defense, heat dampening, radiation absorption/deflection, and cellular purging of infections or growths.
The Phoenix Power Suit is designed for warfare and combat. As such, it has both incredible and minimal medical capabilities. Most notably, it is able to take the place of most of one's internal organs. However, it has no ability to regenerate such damage, relying on a body's own ability or be delicately healed/regrown under a doctor's care. Naturally, for a doctor to begin medical operations, somebody needs to have proper security access to even begin the process of removing the suit from the individual.
The core of the P.P.S. is its antimatter generator. Roughly half the power that the suit produces goes into making more antimatter. The other half goes into all suit operations. Which is more than enough, I assure you. There is a delightful video on energy, cats, and Norway that I highly recommend here:
It more than shows how powerful this is but for those of you who just want some information now, allow me this short explanation:
Chemical reactions have a power efficiency of mass to energy of: <0.01%
Fission reactions have: 0.08%
Fusion reactions have: 0.7%
Chucking things into black holes and collecting the energy of things it collides into: 6-42% (Depending on the type of black hole.)
Antimatter: 100% (Weirdly could be seen as 200% as you get pure energy for both the mass of the matter and the mass, anti-mass?, of the anti-matter.)
Utilizing all this power, and that:
E=MC^2 leads to M=E/C^2
The P.P.S. generates all the material, interfaces, and software it needs to run itself. The base sphere can be summed up as four broad parts: the power core, matter generation and manipulation hardware, the software programs to run it, and the memory to hold the data.
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Hah, that's great, wouldn't the generator still need to be supplied with blocks of matter from time to time to annihilate?
The orb must be fed!
Wow, that looks awesome! Just as an aside, Lustre is an independent planet with resistance leanings, so it may be worth putting a line in about how these scientists in particular were more empire-favouring than their peers.
In fact, it might be worth weaving that into the narrative! This AI seems to be built from the mindset of a centralized, high surveillance society being a good thing, allowing emergency services to track down and remediate issues faster. Maybe the newly individualistic nature of the Lustrians, and the contrary philosophies amongst the population contributed to the failures the program experienced?
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Quite true! Didn't specify and should have, my bad, but the sphere would naturally draw matter from the surrounding environment. Absorbing it through the sphere to collide with the antimatter contained within. Overall, this requires direct contact with the matter in question. Which can, of course, be the local atmosphere. Utilizing a simple vacuum effect, the sphere can draw in significant amounts of gaseous particles in. That and, so long as it as enough to start, it could certainly grab chunks of solid matter, properly contain it, and then feed it to the antimatter within. One could imagine that if this process of vacuuming matter occurs with enough speed, the P.P.S. (or any technology operating off of similar parameters), would rapidly begin drawing all matter into itself to both feed and grow the antimatter - matter reaction. If containment is held, this could grow exponentially, leading to incredible amounts of energy. Especially if the sphere increased its own radius to hold more antimatter to allow for greater and greater reactions. If containment is breached, then the violent release of energy would naturally be aptly called an anti-matter explosion.
Of course, this is only a suggestion as to the type of technology the Phoenix Nebula could contain. Something of immense and overwhelming power that is contained down into a simple power armor to whet the appetites and imaginations of our intrepid crews with thoughts of "well if this is what their soldiers wore, imagine how their ships operate!" If this is not a path you and Muffin want to take, that's perfectly fine!
Seems cool! I do have plans for the Phoenix nebula, but this Orb fits neatly in. It can be a mysterious piece of the puzzle, something else that has its source in the Phoenix nebula, with no clear way to trace it back. I will say; make sure that if the machine has a computer, much of its memory, including all its memory that stores any information about the phoenix nebula, is corrupted/scrambled.
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ASA VRISK
Name: Asa Vrisk
Age: 28
Race: Vulutian
Home Planet: Mila I - Apart from a few frozen lakes and rivers, Mila I is dry. Tall mountains rise toward the sky and the rocky outcroppings in the valleys below are dotted with grey grasses. Vulutians make their homes inside caves.
Chosen ship: :)
Rank: :)
Personality: Asa, simply known as Vrisk by enemies and lovers alike, exists in shades of grey. He doesn't see himself as the hero or the villain, and exists to facilitate the means to an end for others as long as he gets paid. Vrisk disguises his shrewd nature with a thick layer of natural charm that disarms most people before they're aware. Patient and adaptable, he works well under pressure and is difficult to rattle.
Bio: Selected by Priestesses assisting with the Directive, Vrisk was one of only a dozen boys to call Mila-I "home" within the last fifty years. Making a life within the caves and overseen by the Sisters, Vrisk was fanatically devoted to and enamored with Oa and her teachings. He wholeheartedly believed that the Vulutians were sent to uplift the rest of the galaxy and that they were natural evolution of a brilliant mind. While under the care of the Sisters, he learned how to blend in with a crowd, influence people, evade suspicion and master his pheromone signature.
At the age of sixteen, Vrisk, like all other students of the Sisters, was taken to the Stones of Tamori to await judgement. In a secret ceremony, the stones are said to light up around a student who is part of a prophecy, as they did for Mother Afsa when she herself was a student. On a cold night, overcast with a meteor shower, Vrisk came to the unfortunate realization that he was not special, that he was not destined for something greater, when the monolithic stones and their delicate carvings remained dark as night.
With his worldview shattered, Vrisk left Mila-I within the next year, skipping out on his mandatory military service and becoming a wanted criminal. He traveled aboard several ships and worked several more odd jobs in order to procure board and safe passage. He was somewhere in his early twenties when he fell into work for an information broker and suddenly, all of the things he'd been taught by the Sisters finally became useful. He wasn't some grand scholar, nor was he the first Priest in a millennia, but he was somebody important. Finally.
Appearance: Vrisk is 6'5" and willowy. His almond-shaped eyes are a purple-grey color, framed by dusky lashes and topped by a weighty, manicured brow. His natural, grey hair is stylish, soft and fine to the touch. He has a cat-like smile that some would call a smirk that makes him look more devious than handsome on the off chance that he shows his sharp teeth while grinning.
Aside from the obvious, Vrisk's most notable features are the delicate, black tattoos that run down the center of his body from just beneath his chin to just above his pelvis. These tattoos are almost fifteen years old and point to his time with the Sisters. If asked about them, he is known to tell lies about their meaning or deny that he has any tattoos at all despite how large the markings are.
Puppet master: neptune
Code by Jenamos
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VULUTS
Alien Race: Vulutians
Home planet: Yaporr - The seat of the Vulutian government and where the majority of the population lives. Yaporr is a large, carbon-based planet with minimal water and shallow seas that surround a supercontinent. There are great plains that are covered in a thin, black moss that, when viewed from above, create elaborate patterns.
Territory: Orbiting a single star, the Vulutian territory is comprised of one moon, Himala, a surface as dusty and dry as the rest of the homeworld, and the holy planet, Malia-I. A symbiotic, almost parasitic race, the Vulutians have no real industry to call their own. They do not manufacture weapons, nor do they breed brave warriors. Their tangled, brilliant minds gravitate toward science, politics, and religion.
Culture:
Vulutians are seen as a cold and mysterious people who stick to their own kind and dislike outsiders. They are a matriarchal society, governed by a chain of high priestesses who make their decisions based on the teaching of Oa. Oa is the Vulutian goddess of death who takes the form of a inhumanly tall woman with amber eyes. She is believed to be the one who carved the Stones of Tamori on Malia-I. The Matriarchs are still softly aligned with the empire through trade, though Yaporr has several under the table deals with resistance members. As a whole, Vulutian society feels they've evolved beyond the need for war, but they will be there to support the victors so long as they are not interfered with financially.
History
Conquered by the Empire some hundred years prior, the Vulutian Matriarchs worked closely with Imperial Ambassadors during the early days of the Paranoia War. Top minds and talents were willingly taken out of society and given to the Empire in order to combat the insidious Khivux based on several prophecies from the now canonized Mother Afsa.
As Imperial planets began to fall to the Khivux, Yaporr began taking in refugees, much to the dismay of the Vulutian people. A culture war was being fought on the planet's surface as more aliens made their way to Yaporr's landmass. Alturistic voices in society wanted to welcome the outsiders and assimilate the ones who showed promise, while a more extreme but vocal minority wanted to preserve the purity of the planet. While the Matriarchs consulted the Eye, a deep, blackwater pool located on Mila-I, local leaders were purging the unclean. It is impossible to tell how many Imperial citizens were lost in this purge.
With the implementation of the Mindfire Toxin, the war and Mother Afsa's life came to an end. Prior to the Galactic Peace Summit of 5026, a new Matriarch was selected in a secretive ceremony deep within the caves of Mila-I. Mother Ren'u, before just a priestess, became the voice of the Vulutians and successfully negotiated a break from the Empire as part of their concessions. Yaporr and its territories have been independent ever since.
Economy
The Vulutians trade knowledge and import everything else. Their people, diligent, wise, patient and innovative, travel across the galaxy in many different roles. The home planet of Yaporr is rich in minerals, which Mother Ren'u has allowed to be licensed for mining operations. Many see this as a large step into the future, though perhaps it isn't the right time.
Military
The Vulutians serve neither the Navy nor the Resistance, though their people enter conscription for two years at the age of eighteen in order to learn survival skills. Those who choose to stay within this pseudo-military can be trained in a form of hand-to-hand combat called The V'aik, or they may be selected for a secretive program known only to the top Matriarchs as 'The Directive'.
Technology
Vulutian ships are hyperspace trade and personal-use ships equipped with an L-drive that allows for quiet, stealthy travel. These ships are on par with many other systems, though their design is sophisticated and sleek.
Preferred Climate/environment
Yaporr has a dry, arid climate with little vegetation. The creatures here have adapted to the lack of liquid water by ingesting dew and storing it in their cells for weeks or months on end. Aside from the sentient Vulutians, an arachnid-like species wanders the black moss plains. In the cities, life flourishes under large, interconnected, temperature-controlled domes. A each dome houses a million people and these bubbles stretch across the planet.
Himala is freezing and incompatible with life in its current form. Many exploration teams have been sent to the surface where religious texts and other wonders have been discovered. Like Mila-I, it is considered a secondary holy site.
Compared to the cities on Yaporr, Mila-I may as well be the moon's slightly more interesting cousin. Harsh, jagged cliffs make for a humble life. The people who live in this windy environment didn't choose to be here, but rather, were selected by the Matriarch's on Oa's behalf. The caves that these Vulutians call home are small, quiet, and lit with candles to promote an environment of devotion and study.
Appearance
Vulutian men and women are naturally taller than the average human. Their skin pale, bordering on translucent, revealing a roadmap of arteries and veins pumping purple blood to a primary and smaller, secondary heart. Their hair comes in many lengths and styles, and varies in color from a pure white to an ashy grey. Race-mixing is frowned upon, with many Vulutians looking down upon and casting out "halflings."
Both men and women have a natural, chameleon-like control over their pheromones. This makes them excellent negotiators and speakers, as they can easily influence those around them to do their bidding.
~~contributed by neptune
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Naturally! Not that Aiko could even access that data anyway. No clearance. I will defer to you in regards to anything that should survive in its memory to be discovered.
Name: Bernadette Angstrom
Age: 36 (Born 21/11/4994) (yes that doesn't add up, read the biography)
Race: Mainline Human, approx 55% Cybernetic
Home system/Planet/town: Born on LMX-17533-3, A formerly independent mining planet run by a Lustrian slaver family, until the Empire liberated the planet.
At the age of eight, was taken in to Imperial custody and moved to Juliet-86, a mid-size empire colony, where she spent the rest of her childhood before joining the Imperial Navy.
Chosen ship: The INS Ophelia
Rank: Captain
Personality:
Principled. Loyal to the Empire, to her loyal crew, and to her family. In that order.
Dispassionately Equitable. Understands that a tyrant can be feared, a parent can be loved, but a captain must be both. Even-handed with positive and negative reinforcement. Ensures her crew are well paid and their families taken care of. Ensures that any disloyalty is caught and punished without mercy. Has dossiers on all crew members uploaded to the valuable and limited space on her FLPU, available with a thought.
Justified. Understands the critical nature of her mission on a bone deep level. The empire must find the Phoenix Nebula, at any cost.
Decisive. Understands that inaction is just as much a choice as action.
Bio:
The orphan girl saw a falling star.
Bernadette was born in the mud of a drainage ditch, to two slaves squatting amongst the filth. Her mother died. Her father lived, for another six years.
It shined bright orange as it fell.
The Lustrian family, a hundred strong, had been expelled from their people's systems. They turned to slavery, found a half-habitable rock, and began turning misery into profit.
It was joined by another. Then another.
They knew of humans, their people having recently made contact. They mistakenly believed that humans cared only about themselves and their immediate family. Easy slave population.
Soon the whole sky was ablaze with falling stars, hurtling to the earth.
They had intercepted a few traders and colony ships and killed anyone who seemed to be headstrong enough to lead a revolt.
The slaver's ships, far off on the other side of the encampment, started trying to take off, one after the other.
They didn't count on the Empire.
The slaver's ships, one after the other, folded and crumpled with a flash of light, like god had slapped them back to the earth.
Bernadette's first memory was seeing the Imperial navy assaulting the slaver's habitat.
It was far off, but the girl could hear the slavers screaming about something. Amnesty? Immunity?
She still remembers it with a smile.
The gold people didn't get amnesty, or immunity. They got what they deserved.
The Empire had arrived.
At eight years old, Bernadette was recovered from the slaver settlement and transferred to Juliet-86, a mid-size Imperial colony. She worked hard to catch up to her peers in schooling, and was noted by Imperial scientists for her dedication to the Empire. Soon, she was groomed as an imperial agent, given many augmentative treatments while she grew up. Eventually, what once was stunted and starved was moulded into a weapon of war. Navy scientists lavished her with all the most cutting edge and questionably moral improvements they had the ability to give, and the most successful part of it all? Bernadette was on board. She had figured it out from the age of fourteen, shortly after her discovery of state-approved super-soldier comic books. She had confronted her guardian and... Asked how she could help.
At sixteen, with the Empire's expansion now in full swing, Bernadette agreed to sign up for the Imperial Navy. After being put into an intensive training regimen for two years straight, Bernadette graduated top of her class, and was earmarked for field command.
However, days before Bernadette celebrated her 18th birthday, new orders came in. A new threat had reared it's head, threatening not only the Empire, but all sapient life in the galaxy.
The Khivux.
For eight hard years, Bernadette was attached to a specialist team stationed in rapid response black-ops light cruiser called the INS Ophelia. She led a fire team, sent to burn other elite squads that had been overtaken by the Khivux.
In late 5020, just after Bernadette celebrated her 26th birthday, The two remaining black ops ships, The Ophelia and the Troubadour, were given new commands. The Empire was losing the war, even after signing a truce with every scumbag, criminal and resistance member in the galaxy, they were losing. The Black ops ships were sent out to the far reaches of space, in two different directions, to track down advanced civilizations and desperately beg, borrow or steal any weapon that would be effective against the Khivux.
The Troubadour's story is known throughout the galaxy. They succeeded, at the cost of their lives.
The Ophelia's story, not so.
For five months, the crew of the Ophelia searched the dark reaches of the Ordaeus galaxy. Turning over every rock. Following up on leads centuries cold. Growing steadily more desperate as the messages from the Empire became more and more urgent.
But on in their sixth month of searching, in early 5021, they found something. Something old.
A great meteorite, with a temple hewn into its very rock It lazily orbited a black hole, and due to time dilation, Every two minutes investigating the temple was a month for the rest of the galaxy. The crew of the Ophelia had to be quick. The Captain led Bernadette and the rest of the crew in a frantic search of the temple. They found an archaeologist's shuttle amongst the ancient stone, along with ideograms tall as a person, on a maze of walls tall enough that even with a flashlight it was impossible to see the roof. But in their haste, the crew of the Ophelia had become sloppy.
They didn't realize that the Khivux had arrived here first.
The Archaeologist's shuttle had defrosted its occupant upon spotting movement. One by one the crew, devoted to searching what they thought was an abandoned rock, were picked off in the maze of ideograms.
The last things Bernadette remembered was feeling a tiny prick as the captain injected her with something, unconsciousness coming so quickly she couldn't bite down on the capsule her tongue pushed from her teeth.
The Ophelia returned to Empire space, it's crew now slaves to the Khivux. But when they arrived, two and a half years had passed.
The war was a lot different to the desperate situation the Ophelia had left. The Troubadour had been successful. The Mindfire toxin was being used to cleanse ships and worlds of Khivux. The crew felt the Khivux in their brains seethe with fury.
For two years, the Ophelia performed tactical strikes on facilities producing the toxin, working it's way through empire space, burning and sabotaging as they went. The ship got far, but eventually, the Khivux running the Ophelia ran out of luck.
The ship was assaulted by no less than three heavy cruisers. Boarded, it's mind controlled crew brought to heel with Mindfire toxin.
When she came to, Bernadette was in a laboratory. At first, she wondered if it had all been a dream, if they were running her through combat scenarios and she was still fifteen years old. Then she opened her... eye. One of her eyes was gone. She looked around, trying to move. And it all came flooding back as she realised only one of her four limbs remained. The months of forced traitorship, The awful feeling of being a passenger in her own body. The terrifying dread of having even her own mind used against her will.
The one thing that stopped her from breaking down altogether was the titanium-clad knowledge that the Empire had her back, and she was in a laboratory. There was a chance, however slim, that the Emperor still had use of her.
She was informed that she had been in a coma for over a year. Her right eye and brain had been damaged, and parts of her grey matter had been replaced by cutting edge cybernetics. It was called a Frontal Lobe Processing Unit, or FLPU. It was difficult, but she found a way to accept this. She could no longer remember the names and faces of her friends from boarding school, or her fellow graduates. Again, she accepted this.
She was told that the Empire scientists now had access to her inner-most thoughts, to observe the remaining effects of the Khivux, if any were present. She... paused, but after a moment she put aside her sense of privacy and accepted it. For the good of the Empire.
Over the next few months, the Navy scientists rebuilt her body. Top of the line bionic legs. An arm that was stronger than steel but able to transform, flowing like quicksilver into any shape she willed it. Finally her eye, they replaced her missing right eye with a bionic capable of seeing through a wide swathe of the EM spectrum.
Eventually, Bernadette was visited by none other than from War-Admiral Maddox Abbadon himself, mere weeks before the diplomatic summit he knew would end his career. It was all Bernadette could do not to throw herself at his feet.
Abaddon spoke of the sacrifices she had endured. Spoke of the admiralty's approval of her loyalty. Said her memories had exonerated her of any wrongdoing. Bernadette, standing at parade rest, swallowed as she fought back tears. It was more than she ever dared hope for.
Whats more, Abaddon proceeded to explain, she was being given command of the INS Ophelia. Her eyes widened slightly with surprise- And, as her first assignment, she was to stamp out the last vestiges of the Khivux, freeing their hosts from the torment she knew too well.
Her emotions almost got the better of her, but instead she stood, stock still, and without a waver to her voice, she nodded and curtly stated "Yes sir."
Now, in the fulminant times of 5032, Captain Angstrom has recieved the Ophelia's latest orders.
"proceed to investigate the source of the Mindfire toxin, thought to be the location known in local folklore as The Phoenix nebula. Secrecy is critical in this operation. News that the Empire is searching for the Phoenix Nebula may cause the mutual defence treaty of the free planets of Ordaeus coming into effect, which would mean the start of another long and bloody war."
And so under the command of Bernadette Angstrom, the INS Ophelia began to move.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Pigiron
Age: 36 (Born 21/11/4994) (yes that doesn't add up, read the biography)
Race: Mainline Human, approx 55% Cybernetic
Home system/Planet/town: Born on LMX-17533-3, A formerly independent mining planet run by a Lustrian slaver family, until the Empire liberated the planet.
At the age of eight, was taken in to Imperial custody and moved to Juliet-86, a mid-size empire colony, where she spent the rest of her childhood before joining the Imperial Navy.
Chosen ship: The INS Ophelia
Rank: Captain
Personality:
Principled. Loyal to the Empire, to her loyal crew, and to her family. In that order.
Dispassionately Equitable. Understands that a tyrant can be feared, a parent can be loved, but a captain must be both. Even-handed with positive and negative reinforcement. Ensures her crew are well paid and their families taken care of. Ensures that any disloyalty is caught and punished without mercy. Has dossiers on all crew members uploaded to the valuable and limited space on her FLPU, available with a thought.
Justified. Understands the critical nature of her mission on a bone deep level. The empire must find the Phoenix Nebula, at any cost.
Decisive. Understands that inaction is just as much a choice as action.
Bio:
The orphan girl saw a falling star.
Bernadette was born in the mud of a drainage ditch, to two slaves squatting amongst the filth. Her mother died. Her father lived, for another six years.
It shined bright orange as it fell.
The Lustrian family, a hundred strong, had been expelled from their people's systems. They turned to slavery, found a half-habitable rock, and began turning misery into profit.
It was joined by another. Then another.
They knew of humans, their people having recently made contact. They mistakenly believed that humans cared only about themselves and their immediate family. Easy slave population.
Soon the whole sky was ablaze with falling stars, hurtling to the earth.
They had intercepted a few traders and colony ships and killed anyone who seemed to be headstrong enough to lead a revolt.
The slaver's ships, far off on the other side of the encampment, started trying to take off, one after the other.
They didn't count on the Empire.
The slaver's ships, one after the other, folded and crumpled with a flash of light, like god had slapped them back to the earth.
Bernadette's first memory was seeing the Imperial navy assaulting the slaver's habitat.
It was far off, but the girl could hear the slavers screaming about something. Amnesty? Immunity?
She still remembers it with a smile.
The gold people didn't get amnesty, or immunity. They got what they deserved.
The Empire had arrived.
At eight years old, Bernadette was recovered from the slaver settlement and transferred to Juliet-86, a mid-size Imperial colony. She worked hard to catch up to her peers in schooling, and was noted by Imperial scientists for her dedication to the Empire. Soon, she was groomed as an imperial agent, given many augmentative treatments while she grew up. Eventually, what once was stunted and starved was moulded into a weapon of war. Navy scientists lavished her with all the most cutting edge and questionably moral improvements they had the ability to give, and the most successful part of it all? Bernadette was on board. She had figured it out from the age of fourteen, shortly after her discovery of state-approved super-soldier comic books. She had confronted her guardian and... Asked how she could help.
At sixteen, with the Empire's expansion now in full swing, Bernadette agreed to sign up for the Imperial Navy. After being put into an intensive training regimen for two years straight, Bernadette graduated top of her class, and was earmarked for field command.
However, days before Bernadette celebrated her 18th birthday, new orders came in. A new threat had reared it's head, threatening not only the Empire, but all sapient life in the galaxy.
The Khivux.
For eight hard years, Bernadette was attached to a specialist team stationed in rapid response black-ops light cruiser called the INS Ophelia. She led a fire team, sent to burn other elite squads that had been overtaken by the Khivux.
In late 5020, just after Bernadette celebrated her 26th birthday, The two remaining black ops ships, The Ophelia and the Troubadour, were given new commands. The Empire was losing the war, even after signing a truce with every scumbag, criminal and resistance member in the galaxy, they were losing. The Black ops ships were sent out to the far reaches of space, in two different directions, to track down advanced civilizations and desperately beg, borrow or steal any weapon that would be effective against the Khivux.
The Troubadour's story is known throughout the galaxy. They succeeded, at the cost of their lives.
The Ophelia's story, not so.
For five months, the crew of the Ophelia searched the dark reaches of the Ordaeus galaxy. Turning over every rock. Following up on leads centuries cold. Growing steadily more desperate as the messages from the Empire became more and more urgent.
But on in their sixth month of searching, in early 5021, they found something. Something old.
A great meteorite, with a temple hewn into its very rock It lazily orbited a black hole, and due to time dilation, Every two minutes investigating the temple was a month for the rest of the galaxy. The crew of the Ophelia had to be quick. The Captain led Bernadette and the rest of the crew in a frantic search of the temple. They found an archaeologist's shuttle amongst the ancient stone, along with ideograms tall as a person, on a maze of walls tall enough that even with a flashlight it was impossible to see the roof. But in their haste, the crew of the Ophelia had become sloppy.
They didn't realize that the Khivux had arrived here first.
The Archaeologist's shuttle had defrosted its occupant upon spotting movement. One by one the crew, devoted to searching what they thought was an abandoned rock, were picked off in the maze of ideograms.
The last things Bernadette remembered was feeling a tiny prick as the captain injected her with something, unconsciousness coming so quickly she couldn't bite down on the capsule her tongue pushed from her teeth.
The Ophelia returned to Empire space, it's crew now slaves to the Khivux. But when they arrived, two and a half years had passed.
The war was a lot different to the desperate situation the Ophelia had left. The Troubadour had been successful. The Mindfire toxin was being used to cleanse ships and worlds of Khivux. The crew felt the Khivux in their brains seethe with fury.
For two years, the Ophelia performed tactical strikes on facilities producing the toxin, working it's way through empire space, burning and sabotaging as they went. The ship got far, but eventually, the Khivux running the Ophelia ran out of luck.
The ship was assaulted by no less than three heavy cruisers. Boarded, it's mind controlled crew brought to heel with Mindfire toxin.
When she came to, Bernadette was in a laboratory. At first, she wondered if it had all been a dream, if they were running her through combat scenarios and she was still fifteen years old. Then she opened her... eye. One of her eyes was gone. She looked around, trying to move. And it all came flooding back as she realised only one of her four limbs remained. The months of forced traitorship, The awful feeling of being a passenger in her own body. The terrifying dread of having even her own mind used against her will.
The one thing that stopped her from breaking down altogether was the titanium-clad knowledge that the Empire had her back, and she was in a laboratory. There was a chance, however slim, that the Emperor still had use of her.
She was informed that she had been in a coma for over a year. Her right eye and brain had been damaged, and parts of her grey matter had been replaced by cutting edge cybernetics. It was called a Frontal Lobe Processing Unit, or FLPU. It was difficult, but she found a way to accept this. She could no longer remember the names and faces of her friends from boarding school, or her fellow graduates. Again, she accepted this.
She was told that the Empire scientists now had access to her inner-most thoughts, to observe the remaining effects of the Khivux, if any were present. She... paused, but after a moment she put aside her sense of privacy and accepted it. For the good of the Empire.
Over the next few months, the Navy scientists rebuilt her body. Top of the line bionic legs. An arm that was stronger than steel but able to transform, flowing like quicksilver into any shape she willed it. Finally her eye, they replaced her missing right eye with a bionic capable of seeing through a wide swathe of the EM spectrum.
Eventually, Bernadette was visited by none other than from War-Admiral Maddox Abbadon himself, mere weeks before the diplomatic summit he knew would end his career. It was all Bernadette could do not to throw herself at his feet.
Abaddon spoke of the sacrifices she had endured. Spoke of the admiralty's approval of her loyalty. Said her memories had exonerated her of any wrongdoing. Bernadette, standing at parade rest, swallowed as she fought back tears. It was more than she ever dared hope for.
Whats more, Abaddon proceeded to explain, she was being given command of the INS Ophelia. Her eyes widened slightly with surprise- And, as her first assignment, she was to stamp out the last vestiges of the Khivux, freeing their hosts from the torment she knew too well.
Her emotions almost got the better of her, but instead she stood, stock still, and without a waver to her voice, she nodded and curtly stated "Yes sir."
Now, in the fulminant times of 5032, Captain Angstrom has recieved the Ophelia's latest orders.
"proceed to investigate the source of the Mindfire toxin, thought to be the location known in local folklore as The Phoenix nebula. Secrecy is critical in this operation. News that the Empire is searching for the Phoenix Nebula may cause the mutual defence treaty of the free planets of Ordaeus coming into effect, which would mean the start of another long and bloody war."
And so under the command of Bernadette Angstrom, the INS Ophelia began to move.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Pigiron
Last edited:
Name: Blaster (nicknamed Aster)
Age: ???
Race: Science experiment gone off the rails. He was a fox once upon a time, but rounds and rounds of testing later and he appears to have a functioning humanoid brain, as he has the ability to talk and and to think critically. Sort of.
Home system/Planet/town: A science lab on Pertcann-9, a moon known for its seedy practices in trade.
Chosen ship: The Cotopaxi
Rank: Explosives expert
Personality: The best word to describe Aster is probably unhinged. He has a one-track mind in the sense that he's madly in love with bombs and all things explosive, which often puts the lives of his crew at risk, whether they know it or not. When he's not talking shop (which is rare) he can usually be found ridiculing someone to tears or cracking himself up with his own jokes. Deep, deep underneath all of that, however, is a creature who loves his friends dearly. Not that he'd ever say it to your face, moron. He has an unfortunate tendency to scream at night, one of the few fox-like genetic predispositions he's kept. Also, he prefers living underground, making the Resistance base the perfect home for him.
Bio: Aster is unable to remember his life prior to waking up in that lab. His first memories are of unimaginable pain and suffering, which probably has a lot to do with the caustic asshole he's known to be today. At some point he was able to piece together the source of the pain: a team of AI scientists were attempting to create cyborgs housed in a human-animal hybrid body, and he was the butt of it all. Literally. Don't ask. His liberation came in the form of the New Resistance. They arrived on Pertcann-9 to trade, initially, but they also did damage where they could in the sentient beings rights department. This included decommissioning the AI where he was housed and running like hell before anyone important noticed. The first person he saw as he stepped outside the lab was none other than Gabi Burnett, and he latched onto her like a leech to a dumbass kid running through the sprinklers. Ever since then the fox has been living on Zhar and "helping out," if you could call it that. He was the first to volunteer when word got around that The Cotopaxi needed a new crew. After all, who knows what kind of fun toys he can find in space. For weapons, Aster is never without his satchel full of various explosives, and a shortsword that's modified to cut through different types of metal. He is very, very bad at wielding it, and often does more damage than good. He also has a cybernetic arm, as he lost one during testing.
Appearance:
Puppet master: muffinphobia
Age: ???
Race: Science experiment gone off the rails. He was a fox once upon a time, but rounds and rounds of testing later and he appears to have a functioning humanoid brain, as he has the ability to talk and and to think critically. Sort of.
Home system/Planet/town: A science lab on Pertcann-9, a moon known for its seedy practices in trade.
Chosen ship: The Cotopaxi
Rank: Explosives expert
Personality: The best word to describe Aster is probably unhinged. He has a one-track mind in the sense that he's madly in love with bombs and all things explosive, which often puts the lives of his crew at risk, whether they know it or not. When he's not talking shop (which is rare) he can usually be found ridiculing someone to tears or cracking himself up with his own jokes. Deep, deep underneath all of that, however, is a creature who loves his friends dearly. Not that he'd ever say it to your face, moron. He has an unfortunate tendency to scream at night, one of the few fox-like genetic predispositions he's kept. Also, he prefers living underground, making the Resistance base the perfect home for him.
Bio: Aster is unable to remember his life prior to waking up in that lab. His first memories are of unimaginable pain and suffering, which probably has a lot to do with the caustic asshole he's known to be today. At some point he was able to piece together the source of the pain: a team of AI scientists were attempting to create cyborgs housed in a human-animal hybrid body, and he was the butt of it all. Literally. Don't ask. His liberation came in the form of the New Resistance. They arrived on Pertcann-9 to trade, initially, but they also did damage where they could in the sentient beings rights department. This included decommissioning the AI where he was housed and running like hell before anyone important noticed. The first person he saw as he stepped outside the lab was none other than Gabi Burnett, and he latched onto her like a leech to a dumbass kid running through the sprinklers. Ever since then the fox has been living on Zhar and "helping out," if you could call it that. He was the first to volunteer when word got around that The Cotopaxi needed a new crew. After all, who knows what kind of fun toys he can find in space. For weapons, Aster is never without his satchel full of various explosives, and a shortsword that's modified to cut through different types of metal. He is very, very bad at wielding it, and often does more damage than good. He also has a cybernetic arm, as he lost one during testing.
Appearance:
Puppet master: muffinphobia
Last edited:
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Alien Race: Sentiri
Home Planet: Sentris, The Eternal Daybreak
Territory: None
-
Culture:
A desert planet steeped in sunlight year round, Sentris is home to only a handful of alien species. Few can make it in the wild sands, but none can navigate them like the Sentiri. The only somewhat humanoid species on the planet, these tribal nomads live in caves and atop mountains, migrating in search of new homes every fourth sun. While civilization outside of the desert planet has advanced countless years, the Sentiri are a simple people with simple lives and simple aspirations. They are quick to reject anything new and stick to what they know when it comes to technology or teachings that would defy their age old beliefs. Despite this stubborn mindset, they are a kind people as long as you obey their rules and finding yourself amongst them is easily the safest place on the dunes.
-
History:
For as long as the Sentiri have existed, they have worshipped the six suns that surround the desert planet: Ux, Satu'ra, Mehn, Lot, Ja'yi, and Gaz. Throughout the calendar year, the first three suns are always visible in the sky at any time. Thus, "night" is not something that occurs on Sentris. Halfway through the year, these first suns vanish and the following three suns rise into the sky. The first week of this specific period of time is called Sa'Bru, and is a special time for the Sentiri people. Sentris is always hot, but during Sa'Bru, the sands catch fire, setting the earth ablaze and forcing Ghe'zen and other predatory creatures to retreat either deep below the sands or to cooler locations. These fires signal relocation time for the Sentiri, who use 'hot air balloons called Astu to move from one mountain home to another. Resources on Sentiri are always scarce, and thus their people must continue to migrate in order to avoid starvation. The Sentiri would tell you that these trips are the hardest part of life on Sentris. Between sandstorms, dust devils, and issues with their Astu like fuel or balloon malfunctions, many of the Sentiri fail the trip every year and are lost to the firey sands below. It is a cruel existence, but the Sentiri know it as simply another part of their lives.
Over the years, aliens and beings from other worlds have investigated or crash landed on Sentiri, however few have ever survived long enough to return home. The sands are unforgiving, and countless beings have been lost to its dangers. To the Sentiri, these wreckage sites are called Vaza or Su'Vaza and are often designated as forbidden by clan elders.
When it comes to actual history, little is known about the past of the planet outside of local tribe stories and occasional stone records. Some legends claim Sentris was once a lush jungle planet, but none can say for sure and even fewer can prove it. The few outsiders that have visited Sentris and returned home say Sentris is nothing more than a wasteland of death that will eventually burn itself to extinction. Only time will tell.
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Economy:
Amongst Sentiri Tribes, everything runs on trust. If you are an outsider and you are hungry, you are fed. In return, you must give something or provide a service of equal value. While this system might seem archaic to more advanced species, it operates exceptionally well on Sentris, where being deemed dishonest is a death sentence as no one will work with you. Sentris is not a planet where you can survive alone, and those that try soon fall to the judgement of the sands.
Speech/Expression:
When it comes to communication, Sentiri speech is rather unique. Sentiri beings possess wattle-like frills underneath their tongues that vibrate rapidly when they speak. This generates a sort of hum whenever they communicate that sounds similar to a human performing an extended tongue trill. Sentiri heads also subtley jerk back and forth as they talk, a trait more noticeable in males than females. When male Sentiri develop conflict, they compete in tests of strength with the large bone on their heads, violently charging and slamming them against each other until one of the two competitors surrenders. This age old practice is called Mah'agi.
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Military:
There is no real military on Sentris, but the Sentiri people have warriors called T'ukri that are chosen by a test called the Pilgrimage of Sands. When a Sentiri comes of age, he or she is given the title of Brave and sent out on foot to search for the next location the tribe will travel to during Sa'Bru. If they find it and return, they are made T'ukri, a warrior of the Sun. If they fail or do not return they are scratched from the tribal record and their name is lost for eternity.
T'ukri commonly fight with spears (Tatama) and machete-like blades (Kuaku) carved from stone or animal bones. They also occasionally wield slings, however the high winds on the desert plains often make hunting and combat with these tools highly innefficient. The T'ukri combat stlye is incredibly quick, focusing on takedowns and lethal blows. As most of their combat is against the multitudes of beasts that roam the sands, it is necessary that they strike fast and true in order to stay alive.
T'ukri helmets are forged from the outer abdomen shell of the Bhol'gi Insect. Easily located due to using their lower half as bait, Bhol'gi insects are incredibly dangerous creatures capable of taking down unsuspecting targets in seconds. Killing one requires heavy strikes and quick feet to avoid being flipped and buried beneath the sands, After defeat, the brave must strip the shell off the bug and finish his/her piligrimage. They are not allowed to wear the mask until their mission is complete and the title of T'ukri is bestowed upon them.
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Technology:
The furthest advancement the Sentiri people have is flight, which comes in the form of their Astu hot air balloons. Outside of that, the Sentiri are quite primitive. They weapons are raw and crude. Their medicine stems from sacrifices and animal innards and rarely provides the necessary relief. Some tribes don't even use medicine, instead believing in the Sun gods to decide the fate of those afflicted with injury. IF they live it is because the gods will it, and if they die then it was their time to "bask in the light of [insert god here]." Fortunately, most Sentiri are incredibly resilient and don't often get sick.
In the past, some Sentiri have scrapped materials and gear from ship graveyards and Su'Vaza sites, but these acts were always discovered and punished, often times by banishment and forced pilgrimages destined to never end. Lately, rumors have begun to circulate that the banished and lost have formed their own tribes and now wield the cursed materials for themselves, but no evidence of this has ever been discovered.
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Climate/Environment/Wildlife:
It's always hot. Every single day. Towards the end of the year, temperatures decline slightly by a few degrees, but strong desert winds pick up rapidly, resulting in massive dust devils that can tear through camps and homes in a matter of sheer moments. These extreme winds are why the Sa'Bru is conducted in the middle of the year instead of at the end.
Wildlife:
Ghe'zen:
Seated atop of the Sentris food chain are the Ghe'zen, brutish wolf/bear-like quadrupeds that hunt in packs and dominate the sands with their peerless speed and bone-crushing jaws. Using their nostrils, these creatures emit reverberating pulses across the sand,trapping small prey underneath as well as scanning the sand for irregularities that would represent the movement of larger prey. Ghe'zen are incredibly intelligent and will often pretend to give up or make mistakes in order to fool their prey or steer them into traps. These hounds can grow up to six feet in length and weigh over 300 pounds, all while running up to fifty miles an hour.
Bhol'gi:
Bhol'gi are an insect species found on Sentris. Above ground, they are harmless creatures that feed on the top sand as well as smaller insects and creatures. Their front legs are webbed and can dig incredibly fast or sift through fine sand for microscopic prey. When a Bhol'gi has finished eating it's fill of insects, it buries itself into the ground face down, exposing its bug-like abdomen above the ground as juicy bait. If the abdomen is attacked, the Bhol'gi immediately rotates 180 degrees upwards, popping out arms first and pressing its prey deep into the sand where it consumes them slowly over a period of days. Bhol'gi can grow up to 9 feet long and while they are pretty light for their size, can apply over four tons of pressure with their palms.
Sawaki Skitters:
Sawaki Skitters are the aviary wildlife of Sentris. They are a passive creature around five feet tall that feed on sand mytes and other tiny insects. They are not predatory, but are incredibly territorial. When provoked, the Sawaki is capable of rapid strikes with its beak, piercing its target over a hundred times in a matter of seconds. The Sawaki is the primary prey of the Sentiri people, who eat its eggs as well as the bird itself, often turning the beaks into speartips. While highly uncommon, some tribes raise and use Sawaki as transportation and farm animals. However this is incredibly rare and Sawaki farmers are often just viewed as stories of legend.
Na'a'haktu:
The largest predators on Sentris are called Na'a'haktu, giant bug-like behemoths that live below the sands. Capable of consuming entire tribes in one go, the Na'a'haktu lives beneath the sands for it's entire life, only coming up to feed or give birth. As dangerous as they are, they are quite rare and only a few exist at a time. Sentiri people can go their entire lives without ever seeing one, but it said that to see one is an omen of death. The largest recorded Na'a'haktu was said to be over 80 feet long and consume a mountain in go. However this is likely highly exaggerated....hopefully.
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Appearance
Sentiri are brown, lizard-like creatures. They each possess a set of arms and legs, with three appendages on each limb. They are incredibly thin, and grow in sizes from 5 to 6 feet. As they get older, they begin to rapidly shrink. Thus, Sentiri Dengi (elders) are usually only 2 to 3 feet in height. Sentiri females possess smaller heads than their male counterparts, who's skulls are much larger and possess a fin-like bone atop it that extends down towards their nose.
~~contributed by (Quake)
• Astu: Large hot air balloons used for transportation over long distances. Steered using rope pulleys and twin sails.
•Dehngi: Tribe Elders. One elder per 10 Sentiri clansmen.
•Hakkan Dehngi: Mother Elder. Head of Elders and entire tribe. Considered a holy being and conduit of the Sun Gods.
•Kuaku: Curved machete like blades formed from stone or bone.
•Mah'agi: A head-ramming competition between two Sentiri; occasionally for fun but often to resolve conflicts.
•Sa'Bru: The first week of the Fourth Sun, halfway throught the calendar year. Signals Migration for the Sentiri People.
•Su'Vaza / Vaza: That which is considered forbidden.
•Tatama: Long spears fashioned from rock or animal stones.
•T'ukri: A Sentiri warrior, male or female. Highest honor apart from Village Elder.
•Dehngi: Tribe Elders. One elder per 10 Sentiri clansmen.
•Hakkan Dehngi: Mother Elder. Head of Elders and entire tribe. Considered a holy being and conduit of the Sun Gods.
•Kuaku: Curved machete like blades formed from stone or bone.
•Mah'agi: A head-ramming competition between two Sentiri; occasionally for fun but often to resolve conflicts.
•Sa'Bru: The first week of the Fourth Sun, halfway throught the calendar year. Signals Migration for the Sentiri People.
•Su'Vaza / Vaza: That which is considered forbidden.
•Tatama: Long spears fashioned from rock or animal stones.
•T'ukri: A Sentiri warrior, male or female. Highest honor apart from Village Elder.
Sentiri Male
Sentiri Female
T'ukri Attire
Female Attire
Ghe'zen Hound
Bhol'gi Insect:
Sawaki Skitter
Na'a'haktu
Last edited:
>>>Operation Red Sands
Naval black-ops squad, callsign: Drop-bear.
Assigned agents: [HICS] Velshia Tordren, [SO] I-6, [WM] Elazar.
Ship time: 1352 hrs, 03/01/5032. Local Time: 1002 hrs, 02/07/104.
Target Planet: Dresden's Orchard
Area of Operations: Camilla city
Target: Information held by Juzibar Lang, AKA "The Jackrabbit"
Rules of engagement:
1- Maintain Imperial deniability at all costs.
No further rules of engagement.
I trust your judgement. Get it done. -A
Naval black-ops squad, callsign: Drop-bear.
Assigned agents: [HICS] Velshia Tordren, [SO] I-6, [WM] Elazar.
Ship time: 1352 hrs, 03/01/5032. Local Time: 1002 hrs, 02/07/104.
Target Planet: Dresden's Orchard
Area of Operations: Camilla city
Target: Information held by Juzibar Lang, AKA "The Jackrabbit"
Rules of engagement:
1- Maintain Imperial deniability at all costs.
No further rules of engagement.
I trust your judgement. Get it done. -A
The infiltration squad, freshly dubbed with the callsign "Drop-Bear" by the randomized callsign attribution software, entered the INS Ophelia's brightly lit hangar bay, fully suited and booted. The empire's finest. To the contrary, the Pegasus-class civilian transport shuttle was unremarkable. It wasn't new or particularly well or poorly maintained. The paint on the aluminium outer hull was greying and rad-bleached in places, and its transponder was up to date and legally registered to an owner of a ship rental company that would swear under oath that it had been rented out to various non-existent persons in the past standard year. The flight plan programmed into its flight computer seemed to have been automatically charted as the ship exited a carrier-ferry hours away.
On one of the passenger seats of the shuttle, carefully cushioned in a small climate-controlled briefcase was a small plant-like creature called an iterant. An unassuming tentacle-flower, the iterant was so-called due to it being an iteration of the great plant hivemind known simply as the biobank, a one of a kind being that made up the First Galactic Bank tens of thousands of light-years away.
The nature of the BioBank's ability to use quantum entanglement to simultaneously transfer information between it's many saplings and the main body was a closely guarded secret; a secret that allowed it, and by extension the biobank's allies in the empire to control the monetary system of the galaxy. When held by an individual and told the code phrase, the plant's tentacular leaves and petals would weave themselves into a smooth, tough bracelet, that would only be removable if the iterant considered the owner to be doing so of their own free will.
With the flower head containing organs capable of wireless connection with certain purpose-built wireless receivers, the iterant could act as a direct line to the planet-sized main body of the Biobank.
A bank card with anti-theft and anti-fraud features built in, solar-powered, that only spent your money when it was certain you weren't being swindled. No wonder it had taken the galaxy by storm.
The Shuttle shook with acceleration as it left the hangar, the gravity slingshot action of the hangar door systems tossing the ship with much greater speed than it could create for itself. The internal artificial gravity of the shuttle counteracted the G-forces on the squad in the shuttle, turning what would have been a lethal dose of acceleration into an uncomfortable jolt, tossing them back into their seats. One final comms burst came through from the hangar bay's dock-master: "Good hunting, Drop-Bear."
The true flight path, contrary to what the computer said, was a fairly long one, it would take the shuttle five hours to reach the planet's surface without drawing attention to itself.
First, the ship had to accelerate as hard as it could while it was behind the solar shield, out of sight of the observation satellites orbiting Dresden's Orchard. Then, mere seconds before it left the surveillance shadow of the solar shield, all engines were cut. The ship's internal lights were turned off, all non-critical systems were deactivated, and the critical systems were put into low power mode. The gambit, known by many as "going dark" was designed to make the shuttle as difficult to spot as possible. Only carefully directed scanning of specific spectrums would spot the shuttle now, and it was a big, big sky.
Travelling on a ballistic trajectory, looking like no more than a particularly expensive rock, the shuttle would take a little over three hours to reach the flight path where it could turn its engines back on and correct its course, proceeding to travel to Dresden's Orchard looking for all the world like a standard civilian shuttle that had experienced a little engine trouble. The new flight path would imply it had approached from a common drop-off location for non-FTL capable craft being ferried through systems by the large inter-system civilian carriers. An hour of acceleration and an hour of deceleration later, and the ship would begin it's entry into the atmosphere of Dresden's Orchard.
Dresden's Orchard was a fairly recent colony, in its hundred and fourth year. The Solar shield that had been put in place a few hundred years before habitation had begun, along with various controlled ice-asteroid drops that had turned a desert world into one that was merely uncomfortably hot. Careful genetic manipulation of local ecosystems had even created what could be called rainforests in many of the wetter locations on the planet. Seas had swelled, creating a respectable ocean, covering just over 50% of the planet's surface. At some points in it's future, it had been pegged as perhaps a resort planet, or maybe a breadbasket planet, growing hotter-climate plants (hence the "orchard" name).
However, after several bountiful deposits of silicon had been prospected in the crust of the planet, the Dresden family was bought out by various megacorporations. A hostile take-over on a planetary scale. What had started as a steadily growing colony and culture was inundated by contracted immigrants and a large population of corpo debtor-slaves.
To the tune of corporate jingles and reassurances that "nothing would change" for the inhabitants of the planet, paradise was trampled under the landing gear of hundreds of thousands of shuttle-buses, and the thick wheels of great yellow quarry-drones.
The view that greeted the infiltration squad was a planet bedecked with large cities and pocked with mining operations. Cityscapes expounding the juxtaposition of the wealthy elite and the desperate underclass, with gigantic gravity-defying towers looming over sprawling slums.
Mining run-off streaming down the brown sands of once-picturesque beaches and staining the water yellow-brown, with separate environmentally controlled coves allowing the corpos to enjoy an artificially blue-watered beach just down the coast.
As the ship descended to the planet's surface, Camilla city came into view. It was like an eye: A pupil of black and navy-blue, sparkling with the reflections of glass architecture and hovercar hoods, sat bordered on the northern side by the sparkling tended beaches of the richest districts.
All around it, like a brown iris, like a scab of corrugated iron and slapdash desperation, the shanty towns of debtor-slaves, workers, miners, and everyone else. Still beyond that, the sclera of dusty savannah, stretching out, crossed by dusty roads to the great gouges of quarries and crust-mining complexes. The Shuttle descended, down to a shuttle-dock on the planet's surface. Little more than a hexagon of Asphault hexagons, surrounded by a razor wire-topped concrete wall, it was within the walls of the rich district, barely. The owner knew they were coming, and had been paid ahead of time, thinking them just another load of travellers here to pick over the paradise's corpse.
The shuttle landed with a clunk, being clamped down to the berth.
Local Time: 1523, 02/07/104.
Temperature: 36°C/97°F.
Good hunting, Drop-Bear.
Last edited:
- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
Name: Runi "Blazing Hair" Kindler
Age: 43
Race: Human
Home system/Planet/town: Tyloon – a heavily industrialized Empire planet that focuses on manufacturing various goods and exporting them.
Chosen ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: First Officer
Personality: Bold – Runi isn't afraid to charge right into the heat of battle, for better or worse.
Wistfully Nostalgic – After years of conflict, Runi misses some of the older times or older crewmates. This gives her a gentle side when she thinks about what the past has taught her for what ideals to aim for.
Respectful – Despite her haphazard manner, Runi has grown up through her career and greatly respects those who deserve it, while willing to give anyone a chance to prove themselves.
Bio: Runi was an infantry member aboard the Imperial ship Lefina during the old Empire/Resistance conflict. When the Paranoia War broke out, the Lefina was on the frontlines, using cutting-edge mecha and weaponry technology to fight back as much of the Khivux invasion as possible, often having to blow the Empire's own ships out of the sky. Runi's squad was sent in for more close up combat, retaking outposts while trying to subdue as many controlled soldiers as possible, or execute them if that was not possible. Runi's drive and sometimes reckless bravery saw her leading many charges on these frontlines. Her bright red hair waving as she stormed into the thick of battle earned her the nickname of 'Blazing Hair Runi'. Even with her courage though, much like the rest of the galaxy, many skirmishes ended up in retreat or just rescue and evacuation of teams half taken over by the parasites. Several incidents found Runi having to subdue her own comrades in the midst of battle as their protection fell and the Khivux took them over.
With the discovery of the Mindfire Toxin, much of the Lefina weaponry was updated to contribute to the purging of the Khivux. Infantry squads like Runi were sent in to clean up outposts, buildings, and infected ships for close quarters combat, where airborne flooding of the toxin was harder to accomplish. The toxin gave them new hope, but Runi witnessed a different kind of horror as hosts were freed of the parasite, only to face what they had been doing while under their control. Runi just took this to fuel her own determination, pushing for more rapid deployment of her squad until the Khivux has been nearly eradicated.
Over the course of the wars, Runi demonstrated strong leadership and guts, eventually receiving honors from both the Lefina's captain and military institutions. Once the Paranoia War was over, with the truce being agreed on and the Lefina ship being retired, Runi was moved up ranks in the military, transferring between multiple branches.
Eventually she attained her sought after rank of XO and reassigned to the Ophelia. Her military career had given higher-ups much credence to put her second in command of a very important secret mission, to which Runi gladly accepted.
Runi's armaments consist of a laser pistol, a plasma sword, a railgun rifle, and a small grenade of Mindfire Toxin that she carries just in case.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Presea_cousin
Age: 43
Race: Human
Home system/Planet/town: Tyloon – a heavily industrialized Empire planet that focuses on manufacturing various goods and exporting them.
Chosen ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: First Officer
Personality: Bold – Runi isn't afraid to charge right into the heat of battle, for better or worse.
Wistfully Nostalgic – After years of conflict, Runi misses some of the older times or older crewmates. This gives her a gentle side when she thinks about what the past has taught her for what ideals to aim for.
Respectful – Despite her haphazard manner, Runi has grown up through her career and greatly respects those who deserve it, while willing to give anyone a chance to prove themselves.
Bio: Runi was an infantry member aboard the Imperial ship Lefina during the old Empire/Resistance conflict. When the Paranoia War broke out, the Lefina was on the frontlines, using cutting-edge mecha and weaponry technology to fight back as much of the Khivux invasion as possible, often having to blow the Empire's own ships out of the sky. Runi's squad was sent in for more close up combat, retaking outposts while trying to subdue as many controlled soldiers as possible, or execute them if that was not possible. Runi's drive and sometimes reckless bravery saw her leading many charges on these frontlines. Her bright red hair waving as she stormed into the thick of battle earned her the nickname of 'Blazing Hair Runi'. Even with her courage though, much like the rest of the galaxy, many skirmishes ended up in retreat or just rescue and evacuation of teams half taken over by the parasites. Several incidents found Runi having to subdue her own comrades in the midst of battle as their protection fell and the Khivux took them over.
With the discovery of the Mindfire Toxin, much of the Lefina weaponry was updated to contribute to the purging of the Khivux. Infantry squads like Runi were sent in to clean up outposts, buildings, and infected ships for close quarters combat, where airborne flooding of the toxin was harder to accomplish. The toxin gave them new hope, but Runi witnessed a different kind of horror as hosts were freed of the parasite, only to face what they had been doing while under their control. Runi just took this to fuel her own determination, pushing for more rapid deployment of her squad until the Khivux has been nearly eradicated.
Over the course of the wars, Runi demonstrated strong leadership and guts, eventually receiving honors from both the Lefina's captain and military institutions. Once the Paranoia War was over, with the truce being agreed on and the Lefina ship being retired, Runi was moved up ranks in the military, transferring between multiple branches.
Eventually she attained her sought after rank of XO and reassigned to the Ophelia. Her military career had given higher-ups much credence to put her second in command of a very important secret mission, to which Runi gladly accepted.
Runi's armaments consist of a laser pistol, a plasma sword, a railgun rifle, and a small grenade of Mindfire Toxin that she carries just in case.
Appearance:
Puppet master: Presea_cousin
- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
Name: Sorrin Yuo
Age: 18
Race: Waylish/Heracle
Home system/Planet/town: Dubrillion- a sunny resort like planet in the Empire. Often a place where Imperial Soldiers retired to.
Chosen ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: Fighter Pilot
Personality: Driven – Sorrin wants to forge his own path forward and will march forward through any difficulties.
Cautious – One of the wishes of his parents was that he would return, so Sorrin is very careful to not overextend himself too much.
Excited, but Nervous – Promoted to such an important ship despite his age, he's very honored about his position, but recognizes that he'll be going in with less experience than the rest of the crew.
Bio: Sorrin is the third child to Micheal and Skylar Yuo, two Imperial officers who retired from the Imperial Army and settled down to raise a family. Sorrin has an older brother and older sister, one still in college while the other graduated to be a biology researcher. He also has three younger siblings, with the youngest at 5 years old.
Despite his parents' wishes, Sorrin entered the military. Growing up and learning about the Paranoia War made Sorrin think there could be more done to keep the galaxy safe, so Sorrin enlisted hoping to help with uncovering some breakthrough discovery. He entered the academy at only 15, getting through because his Heracle blood meant his body developed faster than the standard rate, even if he was fudging it a bit because he was only half-heracle. He went into the pilot program and underwent training for deep space flight and extreme combat situations. His rapid progress despite his age propelled him to the forefront of pilots quickly.
Deciding to make use of the youth, as well as his relevant training, the academy switched his program a bit to a new class of deep-space stealth pilots, training for flying new spacecraft for a special, under-wraps mission. Sorrin excelled in the stealth-flight program, becoming one of the first in what some recruits were nicknaming 'Phantom Wings.' After graduating from the flight academy, Sorrin was quickly assigned to the INS Ophelia as part of a new fighter squadron, flying the latest in high-speed space fighters.
Sorrin's armaments include a small blaster and knife, standard issue for pilots if they need to abandon their ship. His ship is the latest in Imperial Variable Fighters, the YP-29S (nicknamed the Phantom Wing after the pilots who had exclusive permission to fly them), modified with extra stealth and speed capabilities to align with the Ophelia's Black Ops directive. It is a transformable fighter jet mecha armed with a large rapid-fire laser rifle as well as missiles, smoke bombs, and jamming units. And it is also rigged with a self-destruct mechanism in case there was ever any danger of it being discovered and giving away the Navy's presence.
Phantom Wing
Phantom Wing [Transformed]
Appearance:
Sorrin
Puppet master: Presea_cousin
Age: 18
Race: Waylish/Heracle
Home system/Planet/town: Dubrillion- a sunny resort like planet in the Empire. Often a place where Imperial Soldiers retired to.
Chosen ship: INS Ophelia
Rank: Fighter Pilot
Personality: Driven – Sorrin wants to forge his own path forward and will march forward through any difficulties.
Cautious – One of the wishes of his parents was that he would return, so Sorrin is very careful to not overextend himself too much.
Excited, but Nervous – Promoted to such an important ship despite his age, he's very honored about his position, but recognizes that he'll be going in with less experience than the rest of the crew.
Bio: Sorrin is the third child to Micheal and Skylar Yuo, two Imperial officers who retired from the Imperial Army and settled down to raise a family. Sorrin has an older brother and older sister, one still in college while the other graduated to be a biology researcher. He also has three younger siblings, with the youngest at 5 years old.
Despite his parents' wishes, Sorrin entered the military. Growing up and learning about the Paranoia War made Sorrin think there could be more done to keep the galaxy safe, so Sorrin enlisted hoping to help with uncovering some breakthrough discovery. He entered the academy at only 15, getting through because his Heracle blood meant his body developed faster than the standard rate, even if he was fudging it a bit because he was only half-heracle. He went into the pilot program and underwent training for deep space flight and extreme combat situations. His rapid progress despite his age propelled him to the forefront of pilots quickly.
Deciding to make use of the youth, as well as his relevant training, the academy switched his program a bit to a new class of deep-space stealth pilots, training for flying new spacecraft for a special, under-wraps mission. Sorrin excelled in the stealth-flight program, becoming one of the first in what some recruits were nicknaming 'Phantom Wings.' After graduating from the flight academy, Sorrin was quickly assigned to the INS Ophelia as part of a new fighter squadron, flying the latest in high-speed space fighters.
Sorrin's armaments include a small blaster and knife, standard issue for pilots if they need to abandon their ship. His ship is the latest in Imperial Variable Fighters, the YP-29S (nicknamed the Phantom Wing after the pilots who had exclusive permission to fly them), modified with extra stealth and speed capabilities to align with the Ophelia's Black Ops directive. It is a transformable fighter jet mecha armed with a large rapid-fire laser rifle as well as missiles, smoke bombs, and jamming units. And it is also rigged with a self-destruct mechanism in case there was ever any danger of it being discovered and giving away the Navy's presence.
Phantom Wing
Phantom Wing [Transformed]
Appearance:
Sorrin
Puppet master: Presea_cousin
