[Characters] Starting Lineup

[Imveros]

You can post a quick write-up and link your sheets here!

Standard priority gen and then add 10k and 7 karma. This means that you may initiate/submerge as long as you bring some karma over from character gen.

[Blackfyre]

The Free Safety - Cacciatore Quick and dirty write-up: It's been 50 years since old Fabiana Romano uprooted her family and moved to Seattle. Of her children, only the two boys Dario and Silverio, are of import. Both showed talents that endeared them to the mob. Dario's mind for numbers made him an excellent accountant and Silverio's agility and lack of qualms about killing easily found him a place as well. Sometimes as an unobstrusive protector, sometimes as a stealthy shadow, sometimes as a quite killer. Now, the former loves his fantasy sports, but, for some reason, football in particular. And while Silverio only cares for sports if a bet makes him money, he couldn't very well say no when Dario told him about this potential new star and that there was a job out to protect him for the Seahawks.

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Mechanically good at: Ranged combat, shadowing, observing, being stealthy.

[Ysolde]

Shiruku, as she is known in the shadows, is a Shinto practitioner of magic. She dresses in a version of a Shinto Shrine Maiden outfit and has an ability to act demure and shy or stern at need.

Her ethereal elven beauty and ability to charm most people she speaks with seem counter to the fact that she is a powerful mage with the ability to summon Shinto spirits to her aid, throw a powerbolt or powerball, and even change her shape or use illusion to mask her form.

She speaks english with an obvious Japanese accent and knows very little about this American sport called "Feet Ball" but she is exactly the sort of mage you'd go to when you need someone protected from magic, evil spirits, or even bullets.

[Salvation]

 

Boom Bobby "Boom" Bronson is a towering wall of muscle, standing at 6 feet and 8 inches of just pure bulk. Broad shouldered and built like a tank, he is an orc who looks ready to plow through a brick wall at a moment's notice. The top of his head is a bright flourish of blondish red hair that definitely looks orange in the right light. The sides and back of his head are shaved to the skin. His eyes, sharp and intense, feel like they are staring a thousand yards past you from within the dark smudges he paints around them. The full visage is anchored by a wide, square jaw bristling with rough stubble all the way down to his chin and framing the bottom lip where two prominent tusks jut upwards. His gear and clothing are practical and fitting for the obvious heavy hitter that he is. He wears a dark gray armored jacket layered over with crossing straps that wrap to his backside. While the front has several pouches fastened, the back slings his sheathed katana and T-250 long barrel shotgun. Both of the weapons are just an over the shoulder draw away from being put to use. The jacket is fairly plain except for the Seahawks logo woven into the left shoulder sleeve and the number 54 woven into the right. His lower half is just as solid as the rest with tree trunk legs wrapped within dark gray military-style cargo pants. Instead of pockets there are velcro flaps on both outer thighs of the pants, an unusual choice for the garment you might think if you weren't familiar with their purpose. The heavy black boots on his feet are also a bit odd in that they have no laces at all. Orc Street Samurai Close Quarters Combat Specialist In brief: Played Linebacker in college and blew both of his knees out in a rigged game. Both of his legs have been replaced with cyberlimbs, both of which have compartment space for a concealed SMG and other items. Massive Seahawks fan and sports enthusiast in general, will talk about blitz packages for every down and yardage situation until noone is left to listen Has worked a lot of security events and high value target captures while working in the shadows. Known for his signature close quarters style and high athleticism using his augmented legs to close distances and drop the "BOOM" on the unlucky targets. The Big Game Friday night, almost a decade ago, the stage was set. One of the biggest rivalries in the Pacific Northwest Collegiate League, the Seattle Orcas faced off against the Cascadia Grizzlies for the league title and a chance to go for the National. The Orcas were a Cinderella story at the time, mostly metas and very few blue chips among them but by the end of the season they were stacked with rising stars. Chief among them was star middle linebacker Bobby Bronson, nicknamed "Boom". All of the work that got him through the season came down to one final moment. They had the lead 31-27 with 3 seconds left in the 4th quarter. The Grizzlies were 3 yards away from a game winning score. A field goal wouldn't do it, they needed the big one. All the Orcas had to do was make one... more... stop. Bobby dug his cleats into the turf, sweat rolling down his temples as he scanned the formation. The Grizzlies lined up in a goal line jumbo set – three tight ends stacked on the far side and two backs in an offset “I” behind center. His first instinct was a blast up the middle. Good old-fashioned smashmouth football. It didn’t add up though. Their star halfback Tyson Blast had been chunking yardage on them all game, but he wasn’t a power back, he was a burner who needed lots of space to make you miss. This close to the goal wasn’t his territory. The fullback then, Bobby thought - but that didn’t work out in his head either. Dobson holds onto a ball like a wet bar of soap. He only subs in to block. Bobby decided to test them a little, get in their heads. He jerked forward, feigning a jump on the snap count. The center just barely flinched, hand tightening slightly on the ball and the quarterback – Cascadia’s golden boy, all smug confidence and corporate grooming – flashed a wide-eyed glance at him, a flicker of uncertainty touching his expression. Bobby’s intense eyes blazed right back at him, but the cadence continued. No line shifts, no blitz check being called. They knew he was coming, and they were committing to the play. It had to be a fake. Then, movement from the far side. One of the tight ends started a motion to the weak side and Bobby tracked him immediately. He whipped his head to the edge rusher and started barking “Pick him up! Pick him up!” The edge pulled back from the three point to shift into coverage as the tight end posted up on his side. Definitely a fake, Bobby determined. He had it figured out. Goldy was going to roll out and try to hit the route or run it in himself. His lips curled in anticipation. He was going to break this kid in half. “HIKE!” Everyone burst into action. The lines collided and melded into a messy scrum of bodies pushing and twisting and shoving each other for leverage. Goldy spins back to make the handoff as Tyson bursts forward, lunging into the pile with every shred of momentum he could muster. Bobby didn’t bite, his eyes were on Goldy and he started strafing his feet to the weak side. Sure enough, as Goldy made his turn there was the ball still in his hands. It didn’t look like he was thinking pass at all. It was a straight up bootleg. Big powerful strides launched Bobby forward, a freight train of muscle with only one purpose in this moment. Those same wide eyes were starting at him as the distance closed. This kid was toast. Only one thing Bobby didn’t account for. The tight end wasn’t really running a route. Bobby didn’t even see him coming back toward him and diving low. A chop block – straight to the knee. Dobson came from the other side to get the other knee. His entire world tilted as both legs twisted inward at the wrong angles. Pain. White hot, blinding, screaming pain. Both knees were shattered. When the rest of his body hit the turf, his breath was gone and he couldn’t hear a sound. It was a moment of shock that came and went. When the haze cleared, he saw the golden boy being carried off by the rest of the team. The clock on the scoreboard was ticked to 0. The final score. Orcas 31, Grizzlies 33. Next came anger. Where were the flags? Chop blocks were illegal as hell. The touchdown shouldn’t count. The refs were already walking off the field. If his legs would only work, he would be chasing after them. It was no use; the medical cart was already coming to get him. His last memory is looking up at the VIP boxes as he was being loaded up. A bunch of corpos celebrating and back clapping each other. He knew right then that the Orcas were never supposed to win. Some of his own teammates were probably in on it. No matter how long it took... one day... they would all feel the Boom.

[Drifter One]

Name: Randy "Booster" Rollins
Role: Rigger (Wheelman)
Race: Human
Background: Randy Rollins was a well known, almost world famous NASCAR driver, yet never quite made it to the top. Often lost and forgotten in the mid or backfield, Randy would very occasionally finish in the top ten and get a slight bit of recognition. However, Randy, ever a socialite thanks to his rich parents upbringing, who also financed his career in Racing, found it difficult to behave himself in the public eye and often found himself in uncomfortable positions all over the media. His career ended prematurely due to one particular incident which became front page news, but he refuses to discuss it. However, his story didn't end there, for he had made many contacts all over the US from his NASCAR tours, and one corporate bigwig gave him the opportunity to trial an illegal performance enhancing narcotic to try and win the NASCAR championship. Randy Rollins burst back on the racing scene being offered a seat with Formerly Yamatesu RacingEvoTech Racing and immediately made an impact. He began regularly featuring in the top ten before advancing to top 5 spots at the finish line. His second season with EvoTech produced 7 race wins and his popularity exploded. He had hit the big time and the undetectable enhancements in his body could not be traced.

That was until midway through his third season with EvoTech Racing when new developments from the Biotech industry found new ways to implement bloodtests, and this was adopted by NASCARs policies. Randy's worlds came crashing down. A random bloodtest showed the nanoparticles in his blood which had genetically enhanced his reflexes and reaction times, confirming he had indeed been cheating. EvoTech, not wanting to take the PR hit, immediately sacked Randy as a show of defiance and washed their hands of him. He lost his fortune and now finds himself back in Seattle, wondering what to do with his life.

Then things took a turn, and it all started with a ball game...

[PopCultureBard]

Lady on Deck Larissa 'Ris' Ionescu Princess Dwarven Decker and Pint-Sized Pistolero Prelude Larissa Ionescu was born into money. Her parents are the children of oligarchs, as were their parents before them. Her mother has ties to Prestovai Petroleum, with controlling interests in refineries across the former Romanian annexed Ukranian territories. Her father's family made a substantial buy-in on early pre-Saeder-Krupp corporate interests and managed to weather both consolidation and Lofwyr's take over with skillful negotiation (ie. backstabbing). This lifestyle afforded Ris anything she could desire, leaving her wanting for nothing but her parent's attention. Constantly away, working some business angle or conducting not-so-secret extramarital affairs, her parents were home maybe five months out of the year, and only two at the same time. Her birthday in May and Christmas were pretty consistent so she tried not to complain much. The funds available and a lack of parental oversight led her into tech at an early age, and illicit tech not long after. Jailbreaking comm-links and running Matrix short grifts gave her enough of a rush to consider putting in real work. With some cash spread to local fixers and CIs, she forged a name for herself in the shadow community with enough cred to get a few real runs under her belt. Her skill, alongside being willing to do literally any job that put money on the table, earned her a more legitimate rep and soon had her accepting jobs further and further from home. Then things started going wrong. A job went bad because of countermeasures she hadn't anticipated. Ones that shouldn't have been there at all. Her personal assets began disappearing in chunks from secret accounts across the Caribbean. Her father's plan went down over Germany because of 'undeclared technical failure'. It didn't take more than that to recognize that she was being targeted. Packing up, she distanced herself from her mother publicly in hopes of sparing her reprisal. Moving to Seattle wasn't her first choice but it offered the best chance to vanish and stay vanished. The Look Ris holds to the belief that just because she is poor now doesn't mean she has to look like it. A big factor in pushing her to work job after job is trying to maintain a lifestyle she is no longer suited for. Her hair, dark at the roots and red further down, is professionally maintained sleek with a deliberate shag at the ends. Dark brown eyes, their color selected from a wheel of options during enhancement, gleam when the light catches the wire inlays. It is clear on inspection that her parent's ensured a certain level of symmetry with genome enhancement in the womb, the slight uptilt to her nose and the sharpness of her jawline desirable in their European social circles. Cosmetics lighten and highlight her features in any expected social situations, up to and including in-person runs. If you're gonna risk death, leave a beautiful corpse. Her attire would scream 'street chic' in any clothing catalogue, and while she makes an effort to present that leather and l look so common among those in her field she can't stop herself from buying high-end jackets and designer jeans. Patches and artificial scuffing work to disguise the nature of that but she can't disguise her discomfort when a job gets dirty or bullets fly and the damage to those items is real. One of a few hold over traits from her life of luxury that still set her apart from the average runner, and have earned her that unfortunate moniker. Try as she might, Princess has stuck and doesn't seem likely to fade. Like her attire, Ris does her best to maintain the highest-end gear she can to keep things running smoothly. Gear for running the Matrix is easy for her to assess the quality of, and being able to repair and update those things herself cuts down on overhead. Unfortunately, she often conflates price with value in other aspects of her life and is more likely to buy a servicable, but flashy, handgun over a more reliable but drab version. The demands of her role and this particular failing keeps her bank account consistently low.

Larissa.pdf