[Characters] The Hunters

[savoylen]

The Sigils and "List" for our Guild Members.

OOC: Post your current Bounty Hunter Character Description here. Since its very helpful to EVERYONE (the players and the GM will want to see your details, etc. as we play), please link your CS (Character sheet) to your Forum Name. See the instructions below if you need help with this.   For example, if you select my name (Savoylen) in the top, left corner of this post, you can then click on "Bravo" and go directly to his current CS (Its actually Post's, but you probably get the idea). Cool feature isn't it!! To do this, go to your profile by clicking on your name (View Public Profile), and then select the "About Me" tab. By clicking on the pencil icon to edit the two options (name and link) of one of your character fields you can enter a name and a link (to the CS). Combat Posts and the DASHBOARD For all combat posts, please include the following stats block and action summary in a spoiler at the end of your post. You may wish to store this example in the Notes section of your character sheet. Like this:   PHYSICAL STATISTICS Str -/- Dex -/- End -/- Int -/- Edu -/- Soc -/- Psi 0/0 DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3 Senses: normal Rad. Dose: - Non-Combat: Initiative Result : Current Armor: Combat: Free Actions: Minor Actions: Significant Actions: Reactions:   [SPOILERBUTTON="NAME Dashboard"][SIZE="1"] [B][U]PHYSICAL STATISTICS[/U][/B] Str -/- Dex -/- End -/- Int -/- Edu -/- Soc -/- Psi 0/0 DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3 [B]Senses: [/B] normal [B]Rad. Dose:[/B] - [B]Non-Combat:[/B] [B]Initiative Result : [/B] [B]Current Armor:[/B] [B]Combat:[/B] Free Actions: Minor Actions: Significant Actions: Reactions: [/SIZE][/SPOILERBUTTON]   [TABLE]NAME | UPP Base of Operations | - Species| Human Description | - Age | - Rad. Dose | -[/TABLE] [TABLE][B]Physical Characteristics[/B] | [B]STR[/B]ength| - [B]DEX[/B]terity| - [B]END[/B]urance| - [B]INT[/B]ellect | - [B]EDU[/B]cation| - [B]SOC[/B]ial| - PSI| - [/TABLE] [TABLE="head;width=50%;css=cent;css=padded"]{colsp=7}[SIZE="1"]Dice Modifier Table[/SIZE] [SIZE="1"]Ability[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]0[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]1-2[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]3-5[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]6-8[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]9-11[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]12-14[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]15+[/SIZE] [SIZE="1"]DM[/SIZE] |[SIZE="1"] -3[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]-2[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]-1[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]0[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]+1[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]+2[/SIZE] | [SIZE="1"]+3[/SIZE] [/TABLE] [B][U]SKILLS AND TALENTS[/U][/B] [TT="Skill Points MAX "](EDU + INT) * 3[/TT]/Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE] [TABLE][B]Skill (specialty)[/B] | [B]Rank[/B] Admin | Advocate | Animals | Athletics (STR) | Athletics (DEX) | Athletics (END) | Art | Art ( ) | Art ( ) | Broker | Carouse | Deception | Diplomat | Drive | Drive(wheeled) | Electronics | Electronics (Comms) | Electronics (Computers) | Electronics (Remote Ops) | Electronics (sensors) | Engineer | Engineer ( ) | Explosives | Flyer | Flyer(Winged) | Flyer(Rotor) | Gambler | Gunner | Gunner(Turret) | Gun Combat | Gun Combat ( ) | Heavy Weapons | Heavy Weapons ( ) | Investigate | Jack of all Trades | Language | Language ( ) | Leadership | Mechanic | Medic | Melee | Melee (Blade) | Melee (Unarmed) | Navigation | Persuade | Pilot | Pilot(Small Craft) | Profession | Profession () | Recon | Science | Science ( ) | Seafarer | Stealth | Steward | Streetwise | Survival | Tactics | Tactics ( ) | Vacc Suit | [B]Untrained [/B]| -3 [/TABLE] [B]TALENTS[/B][TABLE]Name | Description - | - - I - -| - [/TABLE] [U][B]ATTACK ACTIONS[/B][/U] [B]HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS [/B] [TABLE]Weapon | TL | Cost | Wgt | Range | Damage | Type | LL Unarmed Strike | — | — | — | melee (close quarters) | 1D6 | — [/TABLE] [B]RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS [/B] [TABLE]Weapon | TL | Cost | Wgt | Range | Damage | Type | LL Revolver | 4 | Cr150 | 900g | 1 | ranged (pistol) | 2D6 | P | 6 [/TABLE] [U][B]GEAR[/B][/U] Leather Coat, Pistol (standard issue), shotgun (standard issue) [SPOILERBUTTON="Life Path"] [TABLE]Event | Description - | - - | - [/TABLE] [/SPOILERBUTTON] [SPOILERBUTTON="Character Notes"] Your Character Notes and story goes here. [/SPOILERBUTTON] [SPOILERBUTTON="NAME Dashboard"][SIZE="1"] [B][U]PHYSICAL STATISTICS[/U][/B] Str -/- Dex -/- End -/- Int -/- Edu -/- Soc -/- Psi 0/0 DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3 [B]Senses: [/B] normal [B]Rad. Dose:[/B] - [B]Non-Combat:[/B] [B]Initiative Result : [/B] [B]Current Armor:[/B] [B]Combat:[/B] Free Actions: Minor Actions: Significant Actions: Reactions: [/SIZE][/SPOILERBUTTON]

This area will list Guild Members who are available to your particular mission or bounty.

[savoylen]

Cruciatum

 

 

 

 

Cruciatum Board Balance Sheet

Imperial Date	Mode	Notation	Amount	Running Total
1106.47	CREDIT	Ram	kCr. 100	kCr 100
-	-	-	-

[ogamodyna]

Bjorn Ullers aka Thunar or Thunder Bjorn Ullers (Thunder Bear (or Thunarbjorn)) 869885-0 Base of Operations Cruciatus Species Humani Description -Not quite six-feet tall (or right at 180cm) Bjorn weighs in at a solid two-hundred-two pounds, or roughly ninety-two kilos. He wears his iron-shot hair close-cropped on the sides, and a little longer and disarrayed on top. Eyes that are dark brown or maybe charcoal colored peer from a face worn with exposure on various planets. There are laugh wrinkles at the corners of those eyes and around his often stern looking mouth. The solid weight comes from a surprising amount of muscle for a man of his age. Then again, Bjorn still works out and plays grav-ball and a few other sports that are normally reserved for younger, stronger men. Only recently has he had to admit that some of that is now show-muscle from his conditioning and weight training. His clothing is never untidy, nor is it immaculate. Even the service awards on his older uniforms are faded and often patched from wear and tear. To complete the look, Bjorn has a number of tattoos, of various styles and cultures, although a bear figures prominently in one or two of the inkings. Age 42 Rad. Dose Physical Characteristics   STRength 8 DEXterity 6 ENDurance 9 INTellect 8 EDUcation 8 SOCial 5 PSI 0 REP 0 Dice Modifier Table Ability 0 1-2 3-5 6-8 9-11 12-14 DM -3 -2 -1 0 +1 +2 SKILLS AND TALENTS (EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE] Skill (specialty) Rank Admin   Advocate   Animals 0 Astrogation 0 Athletics 0 Athletics (STR) 1 Athletics (DEX)   Athletics (END)   Art   Art ( )   Art ( )   Broker   Carouse   Deception   Diplomat   Drive   Drive(wheeled)   Electronics 0 Electronics (Comms)   Electronics (Computers)   Electronics (Remote Ops)   Electronics (sensors) 1 Engineer   Engineer ( )   Explosives 1 Flyer   Flyer(Winged)   Flyer(Rotor)   Gambler   Gunner Gunner(Ortotillery) Gun Combat 0 Gun Combat (Slug) 3 Gun Combat (Energy) 2 Heavy Weapons 0 Heavy Weapons (Artillery ) 1 Heavy Weapons (man portable) Investigate   Jack of all Trades   Language   Language ( )   Leadership   Mechanic 0 Medic   Melee 0 Melee (Blade) 1 Melee (Unarmed) 1 Navigation   Persuade   Pilot 0 Pilot(Space Craft) 1 Profession   Profession ()   Recon 1 Science   Science ( )   Seafarer   Stealth 1 Steward   Streetwise   Survival 0 Tactics 0 Tactics (Military) 1 Vacc Suit 3 Untrained -3 Study Period Training In Skill Week of 24 Study Periods Complete Note TALENTS Name Description The Guild Member Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code - I -   - - Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival Fidelity Dragon Lord Allies Lords of Fire Contact Armory, munitions and supply depot senior enlisted who survived a marine assignment with Ullers. He provides intel, training and hardware for the Bounty Hunter. - - Finances Pension 0 Debt 0 Cash on Hand 10,200 Banked (Imperial) 0 Monthly Ship Payments Living Costs 1k Off Ship living TAS Ship Dividends 6k/annum - - ATTACK ACTIONS HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type LL Unarmed Strike — — — melee (close quarters) 1D6 —   Blade 2 100cr 1kg Melee (close quarters) 2d6     RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type Traits Auto Pistol(x2) "Gemi and Nigh" TL5 Cr200(x2) ikg 10m ranged (pistol) 3D-3 Mag 15(10crx6) Shotgun TL4 200cr 4kg 50m Ranged 4d6 Mag 6 (10crx3) Advanced Combat Rifle "Lady" TL10 1000cr 3kg 450m Ranged 3d6 Mag 40 (15crx8) ___Grenade launcher under ACR TL10 - - 250m Ranged Arc Grenade type dmg Mag 1 (grenade cost) Laser Carbine (Pewtunia) TL9 2500cr 4kg 150m Carbine Ranged 4d6 Mag 50 (1000crx2) Grenade Launcher RAM(Sweet Miranda) TL 8 800cr 2kg 250m Ranged Arc As Grenade Mag 6 2 dozen each grenade type Frag Smoke 540cr 540crsale pending               1 dozen each grenade Stun and Aerosol 540cr sale pending.               4 blocks plastique explosives(800 cr) 1/2 sale pending               1 TDX (1000c)               Weapons maintenance kit               Weapons Kept in secured rolling trunks and weapon cases               GEAR Balance of Cash 10,200 Cloth Armor | Protection 8 | TL10 | 3kg| - | 500cr Mobile Com | Com Dot | TL8 | Audio Visual | Computer-0| 150cr+10cr Breather Mask | - | TL8 |Filter and Respirator | - | 150cr   Event Results Characteristics Rolled Boon x3 Background skills No rolls Animal from farm life, Survival from hunting and reaching new colony, Athletics as a bored fit youngster; animal-0 Athletics-0 survival-0 Failed Academy entry, failed Marine enlistment, drafted to Scouts Vacc suit-0 Mechanic-0 Gun-0 Pilot Spacecraft-0 Astrogation-0 You discover a world, item or information of worth to the Imperium. You are automatically promoted to Scout(rank 1). Advancement skill Dex +1 Rank table Vacc suit 1 Benefits for exiting Scouts Int+1 Edu+1 Term2 Enlisted Marines Melee Blade-1 Tactics-1 Advanced to Lance Corporal Vacc suit Gun (slug)-1 Life Event Travel: You move to another world. You gain DM+2 to your next qualification roll. Term3 Transferred to Ground Assault after being moved to a new planet. Gun (Slug)2 Advanced to Corporal No benefit but rolled Gun (Energy) 1 Event You are on the front lines of a planetary assault and occupation. Gain one; Recon 1, Gun Combat1 Leadership 1 or Electronics (comms) 1. Took Recon 1 Term 4 Ground Assault Campaign continued Vacc Suit-3 Advanced to Lance Sergeant(rank4) Gun Energy-2 Event Trapped behind enemy lines, you have to survive on your own. Gain one of Survival 1, Stealth 1 Deception 1 or Streetwise 1. Age 34 Reduce all three physical characteristics by 1 Mustering Benefits 20k cr, TAS, Ship Sharesx6, Weapon Term5 Hunter Athletics(str) 1 Failed advancement Advanced training covered material Ullers was already familiar with. CONNECTIONS Jonus led the Marine side of an operation while Bjorn's hunter unit suffered a bad ambush on a corollary bounty. Gained +1 Unarmed. Ag38 While he has maintained his Strength, joints and maneuverability have suffered minor attrition. Term 6 Moved to Tech Ops to support other stalkers and maintain gear. Tutored classes in Marksmanship Gun(slug)-3 Event Advanced training made zero sense to this middle-aged "recruit" Advancement Failed Age 42 Age related reduction of mobility. Connections Coda provided information and assistance to locate the traitor behind the previous ambush. Ghost provided further intell, and both helped with evading capture when Bjorn administed his own particular version of a subtle response. Gained +1 Explosives Mustering Benefits Weapon, Contact: Armory, munitions and supply depot senior enlisted who survived a marine assignment with Ullers, and provided intel, trainging and goods for the Bounty Hunter's "investigation" of a traitor.   The Colony Great, eggs and nutracakes for breakfast! again. And after that I get the pleasure of feeding the livestock and shoveling product into the auto-composter. Good thing I only have a major quiz in xeno-phys this afternoon. Wouldn't want it to be something I should...maybe...study for? In an adult, the voice would have been sardonic, sarcastic, or angry. In a teenager's transforming voice, it was just kind of whiny. Life in a farming and food production colony was not exactly exciting. There was only so much excitement that could be generated from weed-bots, gro-chems, and assorted types of feed or manure recycling gear. But the days were long enough that a teenager was generally too tired at the end of the day to cause too much trouble for entertainment's sake. Besides, Bjorn was actually better off than many of his schoolmates. And yes even the backwards colonies provided basic education to their young, even if it took fewer hours of the day than labor. But Bjorn tolerated class, and tolerated the labor, and rarely complained because his parents seemed passionately interested in his future. In fact, the whole family was waiting expectantly for replies to his application to several off-colony schools and programs. Then came the Vargr. At the time, most of the colonists were aware of a threat, but not the raw deadliness of the predators in the region. When those raiders struck, it was their appearance and savagery that ruled the day, even more than their weapons or organization. Colonists tried to flee, but most were captured or killed outright. Only the healthiest were taken aboard the Vargr vessel. Bjorn would normally have been one of that lot. Large for his age, muscular and supremely healthy, he would have been a healthy paycheck for anyone selling such "labor". But his father handed him their survival kit and shoved him and his two younger siblings towards the wilds even as an older brother and his mother took up position to slow down attackers or even drive them off. You run, kids. Don't look back, don't circle around to avenge anyone, and don't dawdle. Quesmark is almost a week away on foot, you make it in half that time. And take care of Serene. Bjorn, as oldest, you're responsible for the others. Get them across the mountains and wait for us. We'll be along. If we can... That came from the older brother who was going over the ready-list for the energy rifle in his hands... for the fourth time. Shut it, Eirik. They have enough to worry about. And we only have a few moments before the raiders head this way. You three, don't listen to him. Just go. We will be along. And if we are not, then we will watch over you from the stars. For two weeks the trio marched through the woods, and across a mountain chain to seek help at the next colony. Travel was slow because the younger sib, a sister, had been sickly even before the raid. Brother bear, that was her special name for the burly brother with a thick mane of unruly hair and the beginning of a beard if his mother didn't make him shave. Bjorn, can we rest for a day or two? I'm tired of walking, and sleeping on the ground. In marked contrast to his rugged appearance, Bjorn's voice was soft and his encouraging hand gentle on the small girl's shoulder. There's no good place to stop, Reen. We have to keep moving to avoid most of the predators in this area, and there's no place with more than a bed of moss to soften the ground. We're halfway there, though. Tomorrow should see the other side of the mountains. Then it's downhill and an easy walk the rest of the way. Try to get more of the broth down and maybe a few bites of the smoked meat. Roughing it on a rustic planetoid had done nothing to improve Serene's condition. To be fair, it was a daunting journey, even to her older and healthier brothers. Between predators, barely bearable weather, and a diet composed of nuts, berries, and meat that a small caliber survival rifle could take down, it was not a hike for the faint of heart. Serene gave out completely a day before they reached the next community. The two brothers carried the bundle that used to be their sister into a village with smoke hovering over many of the buildings. The survivors took them in. They adopted the two brothers, or tried to. Word had reached Quesmark ahead of the siblings. They fought the raiders off and took only minor casualties, and very few people lost to the slavers. They couldn't give the boys the same news of their own community and family, though. Everyone not taken, was killed, except for a handful of the youngest who fled to the wild. And none of them had done more than hide and return to the devastation. None but Bjorn and Sef. Two days after the boys arrived at their neighboring community, a ship landed with strange colors, and devices emblazoned on its bow. The troops that emerged were as organized and well equipped as an Imperium guard. But they weren't wearing Imperium uniforms. They might have had an Imperium contract of some sort. A hall was setup, and a few of the strangers took statements and dragged all the information they could from the villagers. At the end of three days, they left a small cache of medical and food supplies, then hopped into their ship in pursuit of the raiders. Their last message had been an assurance that formal authorities were on the way with help. It wasn't until the ship was a good day or two outbound that they discovered their roster was larger by one. When an irate first officer asked exactly what the hell that stowaway thought he was doing, Bjorn answered in a voice with very little of the youth he had been. [B]I'm following the manure that took away my everything. Well, everything but my revenge, I'll still have that. Outbound and Down "How do you think it's going down there?" Bjorn directed his question to the junior quartermaster tasked with monitoring him. "Are those the same Vargr that raided my colony?" Apparently a secondhand revenge was both unsatisfying, and boring. What he really wanted was to be down on the surface with a gun in his hand and gleeful homicide in his heart. What he got was a dull hour or two as the Guild Hunters made their approach, verified their target, and started a stealth approach to ending this particular band of predators. In response to the youngster's boredom and rather tiresome questions, the quartermaster cleared his throat and asked the man at comms a favor. "Can you put one of the spotter drones on the screen over there. Let junior here keep up with the action. Hell, maybe he can help ID these mutts." Three hours later, it was over. Bjorn hadn't been able to verify that these were his raiders. But verification came from the ground. "Tell the Stowaway, he has family down here. They'll be up shortly. He needs to be prepared, though. It won't be easy to see." The family he had was his mother, the eldest brother, and a middle sister that was not even in the village but working outside. Apparently, it had been a large-scale raid on more than one colony. His brother was the worst. The slavers had tried to break his will. Instead, they went too far and broke his health. Blinded, with traumatic brain damage and partial paralysis, the brother had two seizures while being transferred. His mother watched over him like a hawk, while sparing as much time as possible for the older sister. Annika had been a bright, vibrant young woman with a dozen suitors and an assured position in the colony. Now she was withdrawn and silent unless someone spoke directly to her. "Don't worry too much, kid." The medic and one of the senior officers spoke with him together. "Your mom is in fine shape. They wanted her for some tech skills and maybe domestic use. Your sister even got off better than normal. The dogs don't like damaging goods, and she was pretty enough to bring a decent price in the right markets. But they told her, frequently and explicitly, what they had in mind for her. That and she had to watch your brother being conditioned. They will all survive this." "Survive it?" The whininess had somehow transferred to a mature, deeper voice edged with bitterness. "But how are they going to live with it? We lost everything, our home, more family, all our possessions." "As to that." The medic nodded at the officer. "He handles social situations like this. We have contacts with Imperium aide offices. There are forms to be filled out, but there is help for people like yours. We've also set aside a share of the loot recovered. Your family will be able to relocate and get a fresh start, but someone will have to provide an income. I'm guessing that will be your responsibility, or at least a fair chunk of it. But we have some assistance there too. I have a voucher to get you anywhere within a moderate distance for university testing." "Does that apply to the Academies as well?" Bjorn's intensity and rage were matched with a certain youthful eagerness, or maybe it was impulsiveness. "We can try that, if you want to take that route. But military Academies are highly competitive. Once you land there, you're on your own. Succeed or fail on your own merits." As it turned out, failure was not only an option, it was the only option. After failing to join the Academy, Bjorn trudged down to present his papers to a Marine recruitment office. The recruiter looked at the youngster's downfallen expression and then glanced at the worn clothes that were probably his best. "Son, I hate to spoil it for you, but our office has hit its quota. I can't send another recruit for the next six months. Maybe you should pop your name into the draft queue on that computer. Even with our office on hold, it's possible you could be drafted through the lottery system there. It's the best chance you got for becoming one of us before you run out of living money." Reluctantly, Bjorn walked over and presented his ID for the Service Draft computer. The recruiter snuck a glance over the Bjorn's shoulder and then beamed a grin as he clapped the youngster on the back "Hey, kid. That's prime. You must have a lucky angel or someone watching over you. Becoming a Scout is a good job. And an Explorer Scout? Man that's double prime." SEMPER FI-nally "Son, you are covered in glory and four-leaf clovers. Why would you want to leave the service now? Hell, they're talking about naming a resupply base after you when that planet is fully vetted and occupied. You made official Scout rank in something close to record time. If you give me ten more years, I can almost guarantee you leave here with your own ride. How about it, son? " The senior officer in the local branch of the Scouts was offering more than Bjorn would have ever expected. The Marines had been his dream, but he lucked into this career on the fringes. It was rewarding sure. But there were still people being raided and traded like cattle. And he never had gotten in his punches against the type of people who terrorized his family, and killed a few of them as well. "Respectfully, sir. I am grateful for the promotions and recognition. But there are things I need to do. And I can't do them from the cockpit of a survey ship. I would appreciate a letter of recommendation sir, but I understand if you ain't comfortable with that." The officer shook his head with genuine regret on his face, and then reached for a comm/corder. "Who do I address the letter to, son? I don't agree with you. But it is not my life. Go with my blessings." "Just make it out to the local Marine Recruiter, please, sir." It must have been one hell of a recommendation. The Marines waived half of the hoops a new recruit usually jumps through and had "Private Ullers" suited and ready to board pirates in very short time ineed. They did give him training in some of their more advanced weaponry and boarding tactics, but Bjorn had a good grounding in vacuum suits from his time in the scouts. Battle Dress became just another suit of work clothes. But the fighting. Man you're never as alive as you are when death is trotting alongside. And he dealt some death. Some of the others kept count of captives and kills. Bjorn just went back to the armory and cleaned his gear or tinkered to make sure it was ready for the next chance to hunt down pirates or raiders. He was going over the armor again when his squad leader approached. "Hey Ullers. Got your stripes. That drone footage of you chopping up the big Aslan wasn't something they could ignore. Congratulations, Lance Corporal." The two worked together to add the stripes to Bjorn's uniforms and harness. Just as they started on the last set of stripes, a blaring horn through the intercom indicated a high priority announcement. "Attention, all Star Marines. Effective immediately, this system has ended all Marine operations. You did an amazing job gentlemen. Maybe it was too good. The local government has declared the State of Emergency and Operation End Piracy, complete and inactive. Talk to your commanding officers to receive new orders, discharges, or transfer to another branch. That is all." Ground and Pound The Platoon Leader in their drop bay tossed a dark grin towards Bjorn. Well now, Star boy, how do you feel about dropping out of high orbit in a polymer egg and your vacc suit? This ain't like skipping through a couple of airlocks to stab a pirate or two. We'll be dropping into an area of mixed hard targets and areas marked "No Fire". I know that probably seems pretty simple to you, but let's make sure. No Fire areas mean, do not shoot within or in the direction of those buildings or populations. Your suit HUD will flash green if you're facing a legitimate target. Don't shoot anything that isn't green. This is a saturated defense area as well. Expect everything from small arms, to mounted heavies, rail guns, and possibly an armoured fighting vehicle or two. Understood? Roger sergeant, wilco. Believe it or not, I've seen a HUD before. If any civvies get shot, it won't be my weapon that does it. Bjorn made sure to look his "superior" in the eye before going back to checking his loadout. The shotgun was a new addition to his toys, come to that, so was the laser-carbine. But he still had the blade on one side of his suit and an auto-pistol on the other. The armorer tossed in a few grenades and a disposable rocket launcher for good measure. Three days later Bjorn still hadn't shot any civilians, but it was becoming ever more difficult to avoid firing in a No Fire zone. The reason for that was, he'd been hiding in that No Fire ever since his unit got pushed out of position by an ambush. Most of the men he dropped with were dead. Bjorn did another check for friendly vitals on his HUD. The three he could get to all seemed in better shape than he himself was. None of them outranked him, though, so it didn't seem like a good idea to ask for orders or instructions. He hadn't heard from any of their leaders in over twenty-four hours. That left the hefty Marine with few options. Reluctantly, he used his chin to key the whisper comm. "Jenkins, Barker, Martinez, this is Lance Corporal Ullers. I've had no orders or contact with superior officers in over a day. it's up to us to get our asses out of this. Everyone converge on the church at grid tree-seven-niner-alpha. From there, we will move as a unit to the north. No ranged weapons for the first mile. Melee only. Repeat, Melee only, and don't start punching little old ladies. We move out quietly and only fight if something tries to stop us." Fortunately, no civilians got in their way. They were over halfway out of the zone before anyone found them. The few local combatants that tracked them down soon learned that even without a gun, a Marine is not someone to take lightly. After that first mile, things got more interesting. The four survivors shot, fought, burned and blew up anything between them and the final emergency retrieval beacon. Once they reached the ship, it was revealed that they weren't the only survivors of their platoon. They were the only survivors of a full company. Once more, Bjorn faced an order to disband. This time he didn't request a transfer, though. He requested discharge. More than one officer asked the veteran with all the service ribbons why he wasn't sticking around. He never explained himself, and he showed no one the little Gold Coin handed to him by the operator of that last extraction shuttle. Good to see you, kid. But I thought you headed out for the Academy. Looks like you grew up, even without any bars or stars. Those stripes and rockers are good enough for some people I know. And your service record, not to mention our initial investment in getting you off-world, well those also count for something with my people. Take this gold coin to these coordinates. You won't have to explain anything. Just hand over your dog tags and the coin. All the pertinent data will be there and you will find someone that can give you options for the future. Welcome kid... if you make it. Hunter Bjorn pulled the chem tab that started heating his Reddi-meal. There was a certain amount of nostalgia in a familiar thing like Marine issue food. It wasn't exactly enjoyment, since field rations were made to sustain life, not to win culinary awards. But it was... "comfortable" was the word. Marine rations had been a part of his life for close to a decade. The briefing with another very earnest stumpy block of a Marine was another bit of familiarity. That was the best part of this assignment so far. He immersed himself in the culture, and even set aside some personal time outside of the briefing to talk to Jonus the marine leading this particular mission. That had helped him prepare and get his feet under him before they split from the marines to head to their own contracted assignment. Maybe he didn't drink as hard, or talk as loud as he had as a younger jarhead, but he stayed with Jonus and his crew for as long as seemed prudent. After all, there was no point in alienating his new companions for a brief fling with his old ones. It was just that, in his new role, with new rules, unfamiliar faces, and so many questions about things, a nice comfortable piece of his solid past comforted some of those uncertainties. Which was more than could be said for his present leader. Aren't you a little long in the tooth to be starting this path, rookie? The Warden for his first team rarely glanced at the newest recruit without a shake of his head. After all, few men in their late thirties opted to hunt down bounties. Come to think of it, few men Uller's age even wandered around exploring the types of planets they might be expected to actually fight on. Bjorn let an easy grin mold his worn and scarred face. Warden, sometimes it feels like I was born old. But I've still got some juice in the powerpack. Hel's frosty tits, you let me drink enough and I might even forget how much my knees hurt. Some of the younger members of the team laughed. They were probably laughing at the elder recruit rather than with him. But at least they weren't actively mocking him... at the moment. There had been plenty of that in his first few classes. Some of those same jokers went with him to the weapons range for their initial training, though. Those recruits didn't tend to make fun of him anymore. Then again, Bjorn had viewed shooting as an entertaining break in real classes. There wasn't much their instructor showed them that the old Marine didn't already A hiss of surprise from their leader cut the laughter short. "Fudge nuggets. I'm spotting a lot more shooters down there than we were told to expect. And the damned position is heavily fortified. None of this matches our contract. "Sir!" One of the other recruits reached blindly for their Warden's shoulder. A quick glance showed why he was too busy to look around for the target of his groping hand. There's a sweeper team in the woods behind us. Looks like some kind of tracker with them. Can't tell if it's animal or robot though. Its following our trail almost exactly though. It didn't even slow down at the stream. And behind that thing are at a couple dozen armed sweepers. "Damn it. The warden snarled and stuffed his binocs into a pouch. Something told me not to take this bounty. But did I listen? Okay, folks. We have a factory to our left with a fortified wall and then the buildings themselves. Our ride is waiting on the other side of it. We could circle to the right, but that leads back into the city and it might double or triple our time to get back. Ahead is an alerted and ready fortification. While behind us is an ambushing force two or times our number. Unfortunately, that seems to be our best option... unless someone has some intell I don't. For the first time, Bjorn unslung the heavy duffel he was carrying. It was an old style Marine issue, and he caught some flak for it from the other recruits with their sleek packs and high-tech harnesses. Nobody made fun when he pulled one of his favorite toys out of the duffel. He affectionately patted the grenade launcher as he pulled it out and swapped the rounds in it for some RAM-HE or Rocket Assisted Multi-purpose High Explosive grenades."I have one bit of intel for you, sir. That factory wall isn't a problem. Not with sweet Miranda here. The Warden stared for perhaps two long seconds before letting out a belly laugh. You know what Recruit. Let loose the Storm. Let's make it thunder. Just another maintenace pogue. The kid that wandered into the Armory seemed too young for his boots, much less the ranger-mohawk and black beret he wore at a jaunty angle. The pace of his speech was only slightly faster than his anxious stride. That was probably the result of the uncertainty he conveyed to the faceless oldster in coveralls with a digital checklist to go over the armor. Hey Mac, is my armor gonna be ready? They're loaning me some new Battledress for this run. I don't need it to mess up. The first couple of times I used the armor were bad enough. And I think they might give me a failing eval if I don't do better on this bounty. But the worst part is, I don't even know what they expect. Well, son... The iron haired worker paused to run a sealant line along one joint in the elbow. Nobody brings the same stuff to the guild. And very few people expect the same things. For instance, Fernando over there. He pointed towards a slightly older Hunter in immaculate Protec and a sharply creased and starched uniform. Fernando considers this something like the fabled Knights Errant you read in old Terran books. He views himself as a shining protector of the downtrodden. And if you ain't a paragon of virtue, then the best you're getting out of him is condescension and a barebone tolerance. He made a mark on the checklist and scanned it once more to make sure nothing got missed. With a nod, he started stripping off the coveralls as he continued speaking. Whereas someone else might tell you, this is a job. Sometimes, it's a scary job. It's almost always a dirty job. But it's a job that you get paid to do. And sometimes, its even something you want to do. When Bjorn finally stepped out of the coveralls, the youngster took a step back with wide eyes. Under that everyday work uniform, this old man had a worn and patched set of Marine BDU cammies. But the surprising part was the collection of service medal patches that were themselves worn and even ripped and closed with clumsy stitches. Multiple combat ribbons were bad enough. But there was a planetary star with clusters from the Scout service...on the Marine Uniform! Almost without thinking about it the youngster changed his demeanor. Sir... That helps I think. Thank you, sir. Son, don't call me sir. I work for a living.   “They do not know anything well enough to testify. But everyone in the building certainly suspects that their boss was behind this. The lieutenant in the last office was practically screaming his suspicions. I am surprised even you could not hear it." The words were clear and distinct even if Bjorn’s ears recorded nothing but silence. That was probably because the other new hunter that went by “Ghost” was probably not bothering with tiresome things like vocal chords. Silent communication was just part and parcel for the enigmatic figure striding along in the older, and currently sterner Hunter’s trail. Ghost didn’t make anything of it, if the psi even picked up on Bjorn’s unease or skepticism about the communications. "I picked up nothing from inside the inner office though. Either she was not in there, or it was heavily shielded. That is not something I would expect from a minor officer in the Marines. It makes one wonder what else she might be." Bjorn shook his head. "Brother, I don’t care what else she is. If she was behind what happened on that assignment, then I’ll personally make sure she doesn’t get anything from it that she hasn’t already collected, except some dues. Lady will have to pay her dues if she set up that ambush." "Ghost giving you one of his non-earfuls of information?" This time the voice was very definitely in his ear. In fact it vibrated along his jaw to that ear from the nerve induction abilities of his Comdot. And as vocalisations go, it created the exact opposite of unease and skepticism. The “Duchess”... it wasn’t her name, sigil, or even a real title, just the old Marine turned hunter’s nickname for her. But the Duchess had the kind of dulcet tones that made one settle down to enjoy the soothing sounds. She was also pretty good at making a listener actively want to buy whatever she was selling. "It’s more of a lack of information." Hel, might as well say it. The mysterious psion had probably picked up Bjorn’s skepticism already. " He says everyone in there suspects the good Major of some Shenanigans, but none of them have concrete proof. And to bring her to any formal justice, I need that proof." A melodic peal of chuckles came through the comms. "You can say that again. If you try to accuse someone like that, an officer in an Imperium unit, then you better have the evidence to make your case. If you can’t prove it, then she’ll sue you for slander, treason, cowardice in the face of battle, and criminal bad manners." Bounty hunter recruit Ullers grunted or growled his agreement before speaking. "Guess I better get some proof then." And that’s how he found himself evading the sloppy guard patrols in a quiet Marine camp, far from any enemy action. It was about two in the morning. So the guards were even less alert that unusual. Of course part of that might stem from the two cases of beer that somebody left badly hidden behind one of the barracks. As good guards, the patrol had been very responsible for taking that illicit alcohol from any potential violators. He waited for a long count of almost four-hundred seconds before moving to the bare stone wall in front of him. With barely the briefest of hesitations, he stuck the beehive cone of explosive to the wall, pulled the timer tab, then stepped back to wait. Despite previous assurances, he wanted to run for cover. But the guy who provided the explosives and the very comprehensive instructions was adamant. The charge would be directed entirely inwards. As long as Bjorn stuck it on the surface correctly, there would be no blowback, no collateral damage, and a lot less noise than one might expect. A second later, all those assurances proved correct. A muffled Whump! disturbed the air and made the old man feel like somebody smackeeight-foot an eight foot diameter pillow. It wasn’t enough to knock him down, or even sting. But it was certainly enough to trigger certain alarms. In the distance, he saw lights come on, and barely audible shouts could be heard in that direction. Three hundred seconds to go and I need to be somewhere else fast. He kicked a couple of loose bricks out of the wall and stepped in to apply the second toy to the large safe half recessed in the floor. This time, the charges went on both heavy hinges. According to his expert, the hinge side of the door was the proper target. The opening side was reinforced in all sorts of ways that might resist his attempts to gain entry. The hinges cracked, and the door shifted slightly in its tracks. Twenty seconds with a crowbar. Eighty more seconds shuffling through papers and reports. He considered making copies with his comm unit, but time was flying. Bjorn shoved the papers in a small flat pack and started at a jog for the near wall of the camp. The papers slid neatly behind a metal sign forbidding anyone from smoking or several other behaviors. Then Bjorn was over the wall and trotting towards the front. As he approached he couldn’t help overhearing a one-sided conversation between Ghost, and... Bjorn himself? The familiar voice cut off as the real Bjorn stepped into the vacant space beside the psi trooper. Ghost continued as if he had been speaking to the older hunter all along. "As I said, I do not follow such sports. But I can not accept your absolute belief in the superiority of your player above others of a similar caliber. Even your own thoughts are skeptical." Hey, Bjorn had to struggle for a second to remember what the cover story was. What had Ghost been telling the phantom Bjorn in audible range of the guard post? Oh, yeah. I don’t know what you think you’re hearing in my brain, but I’m telling you, Juanita Javelin is the best all out catcher that ever walked on the pitch. The two walked forward and into the visual range of the guard station. As expected, the whole surrounding area was in absolute chaos. Guards ran everywhere. Other troopers darted here and there with fire extinguishers, or comm units trying to clarify a whole slew of alarms that were going off. The Duchess was nothing if not thorough. It was worth the effort of convincing her that he wasn’t out to do a one man unsanctioned assassination. Without her connections, it was entirely possible that the guards would have responded to one real alarm, rather than a dozen fake ones. Thanks Duchess, I think I have enough evidence to at least start an investigation. It might not convict anyone, but it ought to get some eyeballs on an officer that her own people suspect. Even if she didn’t do my crime, she’s been up to some kind of shenanigans.

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 8/8 Dex 6/6 End 9/9 Int 8/8 Edu 8/8 Soc 5/5 Psi 0/0
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: normal
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

Initiative Result :
Current Armor:
Combat:
Free Actions:
Minor Actions:
Significant Actions:
Reactions:

[97mg]

Cyrella Vincero (The Coda) Cyrella Vincero (Coda) 58699C-0 Base of Operations Species Human Description - "A gift, yet also a liability", or so I have been described. I am cautious, yet also inquisitive. My oft peaceful façade conceals a mind that constantly seeks answers and the correlation of facts. Blessed with features fine, it is difficult to hide what was once childhood charm, but nowadays that influence is weaponized. You'll probably notice that I do my best to maintain an impeccable appearance. Long dark hair that styles itself according to this moment's purpose. Bright eyes that flash glances, deliver lures, and equally seek both truth and acceptance. My physique is lean, and you would be correct to assume that is it more accustomed to wandering through cocktail bars, archives and meeting rooms, than wielding the likes of weaponry or tools. Instead, I hope to wield influence through manner, communication, and the kind of underestimation that only a woman would know. Age 38 Rad. Dose Physical Characteristics   STRength 5 DEXterity 8 ENDurance 6 INTellect 9 EDUcation 9 SOCial 12 PSI 0 REP 1 Dice Modifier Table Ability 0 1-2 3-5 6-8 9-11 12-14 DM -3 -2 -1 0 +1 +2 SKILLS AND TALENTS (EDU + INT) * 354 Skill Points MAX /Used: -/54 Skill (specialty) Rank Admin 0 Advocate 1 Animals   Athletics (STR)   Athletics (DEX)   Athletics (END)   Art 0 Art ( )   Art ( )   Astrogation 1 Broker 1 Carouse 2 Deception   Diplomat 1 Drive   Drive(wheeled)   Electronics 0 Electronics (Comms)   Electronics (Computers)   Electronics (Remote Ops)   Electronics (sensors)   Engineer   Engineer ( )   Explosives   Flyer 1 Flyer(Winged)   Flyer(Rotor)   Gambler   Gunner   Gunner(Turret)   Gun Combat   Gun Combat ( )   Heavy Weapons   Heavy Weapons ( )   Investigate 0 Jack of all Trades   Language   Language ( )   Leadership   Mechanic   Medic 1 Melee   Melee (Blade)   Melee (Unarmed)   Navigation   Persuade 0 Pilot 0 Pilot (Spacecraft) 1 Profession   Profession ()   Recon 1 Science 0 Science (Psychology) 1 Seafarer   Stealth   Steward   Streetwise 0 Survival   Tactics   Tactics ( )   Vacc Suit   Untrained -3 Study Period Training In Skill Week of 24 Study Periods Complete Note TALENTS Name Description The Guild Member Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code - I -   - - Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival Fidelity Hare Lord Allies Lords of Wood Ally Kellen “ Myrlock” Myrik (Bounty Hunter) Contact TBC (Media Influencer?) Finances Pension Debt Cash on Hand CR41890 Banked (Imperial) CR200000 Monthly Ship Payments Living Costs CR5000 (Rich) - - ATTACK ACTIONS HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type LL Unarmed Strike — — — Melee (close quarters) 1D6 —   Dagger 1 CR10 0.5 Melee (close quarters) 1D+2 —   RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type Traits Single Shot Pistol 10 Cr500 0.3 2m ranged (pistol) 2D P Laser Pistol 9 Cr2000 2 20m ranged (pistol) 3D P GEAR Cloth TL 8 Protection 8, - Cloth Armor TL 10 Protection 10, - Reflec Armor TL 10 Protection 10 (vs lasers only), - TL12 Computer TL11 Intelligent Interface TL11 Security Software TL11 Expert Software TL11 Laser Transceiver   Event Mechanics Characteristics As rolled Background Admin 0, Art 0, Carouse 0 Term 1 University: Advocate 1, Science (Psychology) 0 Uni Results Failed to Graduate Pre-Career Event Carouse 1 Term 2 Career: Noble (Administrator), Admin 0, Advocate 0, Electronics 0, Diplomat 0, Investigate 0, Persuade 0 Career Event DM+1 to any one Benefit roll Advancement Failed to Adv. (Current Rank 0) Term 3 Career: Noble (Dilettante), Carouse 2 Career Event DM+1 to any one Benefit roll Advancement Failed to Adv. (Current Rank 0) Muster Out TAS Membership, CR50000 Term 4 Career: Bounty Hunter (Fixer), Streetwise 0 Career Event Life Event of Ally, REP +1 Advancement Passed. Rank 1. Broker 1 Ageing None Term 5 Career: Bounty Hunter (Fixer), Diplomat 1 Career Event Advanced Training. Pilot 1 Advancement Failed to Adv. (Current Rank 1) Ageing None Muster Out Ship Share, CR200000, Contact Connection Assisted Thunder Bear and Ghost Revenant with dangerous heist. Recon 1 Connection Assisted Spectra with infiltration of gambling ring. Connection Performed first aid on mutual ally with White Rook. Medic 1 Connection Performed first aid on son of Catspaw. Connection Sub-contracted work to Angel. Team Skill Package Astrogation 1 Team Skill Package Flyer 1   Fifteen Minutes, More Or Less A musical youth prodigy. The daughter of a professional family. Cyrella Vincero was focused on success and fortune from the very beginning, be it through parental enforcement or personal ambition. She rose to fame during her early teens via televised talent quests, soon to be followed by her own original music and songwriting. Well, mostly "original", but we'll delve into that a bit deeper, later. As her fanbase, followership and quality of art grew, so did her dear father's interest in her rather unexpected calling. He began to sacrifice progress in his own profession, as a political journalist, to invest more time with his child. He was supportive and also her harshest critic. By the time her second official album was contractually due, he suggested, insinuated, and at times freely inserted new lyrical angles. The introduction of deeper... more mature material. The songcrafting shifted from a sweetheart's musings and solar fairytales, to themes that through careful and deliberate metaphor, addressed the populous, subversively calling into question the morals of leaders, the corruption of governing bodies, and the ever-looming fate of the impoverished. Click! In the time it takes for stage photographer's flash to disperse the darkness, it all came crashing down in the name of "censorship". The studio where Cyrella recorded her works was raided, copies of works and archives destroyed. The latest releases had gone too far. The messages had irritated and crawled under the skin of nameless entities, the corrupt and their obedient servants of greed. After a tipoff that all was going askew, the Vincero family swiftly fled to a remote and harsh-of-climate outpost somewhere Behind The Claw. It was here that the inquisitive outcast girl found evidence of her father's previous negotiations with bounty hunters. Yes, suspecting that he was responsible for several political assassination attempts over his lifetime, the impetuous and naïve child opened communications with a person she presumed might be her father's primary "contact". She tried her very best to remain anonymous in what became an ongoing exchange... but no. Whoever it really was she was messaging, they had access to electronics and hacking equipment beyond her wildest dreams. Her independent research was born of curiosity, an outright dangerous one! In the end, her occasional texts with an alleged member of a Bounty Hunting Guild provided little insight into the Vincero family's large cupboard of skeletons, though the contact was as wary, as he was impressed with the girl's bravery and resourcefulness. In the years that followed, the nameless man on the other side of the screen silently began assessing the young woman for potential future recruitment. Perhaps, one day, when she was more mature, and prepared to truly begin to unravel the Vincero network's influence, she'd be ready for a completely different kind of fame. An Icy Planet With Those Drinks? Patience is a virtue, and Cyrella learned a lot about waiting, the management of boredom, and the long-game whilst trapped in a dull and backwards corner of whatever starsystem this was. Her parents continued as best they could though, to prepare her for something that might equate to a future. Was it hopeful thinking to assume that one day she might find freedom? If she was provided an alternate identity, might she one day attend university? Were their hopes born of pride and loyalty to the family name? Or something more nefarious? Either way, professional writing, and all manner of uninteresting administration techniques were forced down a once musical throat. In her spare time Cyrella studied other things, continuing to write songs and develop a better understanding of the function and forms of "art's" vaguery. This wasn't enough though, not nearly a satisfying amount of stimulation for a young and tragically optimistic mind. Her solution came in the form of a few new friends. Fellow displaced youngsters trapped in an ice-encrusted, harsh dull world. What did these youth get up to? Well, a lot of experimentation with liquor, among other things. A lot of laughing. Quite a bit of mischief. One of the gang's aunts worked in the communal kitchens, equating to many a late evening's unauthorised access to wine, and this really brought out and began to hone Cyrella's ability to not only hold her drink, but also exert influence on peers. Charm, looks and personality were just as useful as homeschooling and study, it seemed. Smuggled Out & Burned Out Her days of home-schooling and flirting with friends would not last forever. Gifted a false identity, Cyrella's parents funded a journey to one of the few actual universities in the system. It was hardly a top-listed establishment, nor famous for the development of any current professionals of note, but at least it was something new! Very new. She entered law school, fresh and invigorated, vainly hoping that knowledge in the field might be a means to undo her family's plight. As a minor subject, she chose psychology, more out of personal interest than a desire to chase her mother's footsteps. But something was even more interesting, addictive and fresh than mere study. People! Peers from all backgrounds and walks of life. The young woman found herself easily distracted and gravitating towards the likes of the University Bar, concerts and copious numbers of private parties. Alas, her end of term results were quite a bit less than ideal. It appeared that failure was set to continue, and the taste of a stable life was unlikely to be rediscovered. Being of Service Having failed to graduate, Cyrella returned to the family's temporary, yet thus far rather "long-term" hiding spot. With a tail between her legs and a downcast gaze, she suffered the slings and arrows of burnt pride, disappointment, and a good many lectures from her parents on "education" and the "temptation of vices". Vices? Vices! The guilt was now overshadowed by anger, hatred at the irony and manipulation, and a burning need to leave a mark. She left home, likely for the last time. Cyrella and her bank balance took off to a planet where public servants for the Imperium lined the tables of large office networks. She put her performing skills and past experience to the ultimate test, landing work under a false identity, backed up by substantial personal wealth, as a ruler's advisor over a small, but not strategically insignificant domain. The career went well, for a time. So much so that she reached a point where it became time to seriously consider "coming out". Foolishly and with arrogance she advised her superiors of their new employee's true past. Sure, she delivered the facts with charm, grace and (mostly) honesty. Indeed, in great detail did she argue how she might represent something very positive for the Imperium. Proof that even subversives, revolutionaries and political foes might sway when witnessing and appreciating the Imperium's glory! She could be an example, a figurehead, right? Proof of Imperial mercy and progressive thinking! Oh this must have been rattling the cages back home! In fact, an uncle who didn't particularly appreciate his brother's world view, sent her something of a financial gift around this time. "We all have to make a stand eventually, and wisdom is the foresight to know when to change sides." This was the note within the transfer of quite some significant funds. Unfortunately, Cyrella's co-workers and the surrounding high society members weren't as appreciative. Who was this noble fraud to challenge the established ways? A checkered history, oh my! Suffice to say, eventually Cyrella's self-administered unravelling became her downfall. Though the well-presented arguments and theories had weight, they were no match for ingrained doctrines and well-installed corporate fear. There was simply too much opposition from above, below, and on the same very floor. This woman was a massive liability. Hence, after four years of service and with all prospects of career progression erased, she unceremoniously resigned. Cyrella faded into a populous' sea of faces. Another life lesson, through failure. Little did she know that this might continue to be a repeating theme. Dilettante Days Far from desiring to return home and be further scorned and blamed by her parents, or even captured on their behalf for a bout of brainwashing and abuse, Cyrella began to insert herself into society as a free agent. With ample funds to support her, she gravitated to that which was familiar. The arts scene, and the nearest bar in sight. Was she ready to rewind the dramas and damage done by adult life, and recommence creating things of beauty and deeper meaning? No. The scars were too deep, wide, and devoid of adequate treatment. These days were a battle against depression. Even with a basic study of psychology, she was unable to self-diagnose the chocking grip of a family unit's turmoil, a dependence on social drugs, or wherein to find a semblance of inner peace. A privileged dropout. A waste of oxygen. An empty burnout. Everything formed a distraction for her now, a way to bury the shame of truth. The young woman fluttered about between whatever was up-and-coming in the fleeting present moment. From one party, opening, dinner date, casino or underground concert to the next. The styles of work and the faces drawn to them ever changed, the only constant being the liquor in her hand and the layer of charm slathered upon a dark, self-sustaining emptiness. Fixing Things Up It felt like the better part of a lifetime since she'd messaged an actual real-life Bounty Hunter, all those years ago. Then, mid-descent into an alcohol-fueled oblivion, one morning her communicator pinged. A gallery opening with free champagne? A hook-up request from the man-of-the-day? Reaching for her device on the bedside table, there was a loud clatter as her trembling hands deliriously knocked the gizmo to the floor. "Arrgh! No. Not today. Now where are those vitamin boosters? Come here to me..." A trip to the medicine cabinet ensued, and many long moments were spent surveying its interior, crammed tighter than an Imperial prison with the likes of pill bottles, hypodermic boosters and beauty treatments. Somewhere within, she located the ritual morning's "perk-up". A vial of energy-inducing liquid loaded with compounds allegedly safe and able to provide invigorating detoxification. As part of this daily occurrence, some time would be spent staring into the door's mirrored surface. That flat panel of reflecting truth oft witnessed a chain of heartfelt, but less than committed words. "I'll get out of this, today. It has to end. I can't keep going on like this. No purpose! Nothing! Righto then, so where did I put that vodka..." Soon afterwards, she returned to the abandoned communicator, lifting it up and waiting for the blurry spin of her vision to settle. Her eyes narrowed. Peering. Gazing. Her jaw dropped. It was "him"! At last you are ready. At last you have lived. From privilege to ruin. From allegiance to allegiance. You may be but a hollow shadow of your former self, yet now an emptiness is ripe to be filled. Midday, grid reference L42F89. Come alone. Through some kind of miracle, Cyrella made it to the meeting almost sober. The details of this exchange could be a whole story of their own! Suffice to say, the advocate worked with her to "get clean", and prepare her to learn the truth. The truth about how an individual might impact on society in ways other than music, university degrees, political posturing, or associating with self-absorbed patrons of the arts. There was hope, if one was willing to bend those few remaining morals, and commit to making the world a better place through something tangible. The elimination of not only one's self-doubt, but also the very souls who acted as a barrier to progress... Yes, a Hunter. Sounds glamorous, right? Well, not exactly. Her service began with such duties as paper-shuffling and remote networking. With foundational skills in the workings of the law, administration and investigative work, Cyrella soon found herself "coming into her own". Even though the tasks formed preliminary steps in project goals both dubious and extreme, the designation as a "fixer" suited her. The first four years on this new road went unpredictably well. Surely this was her calling! A way to earn money and reputation. A way to make a difference. A purpose that could combine the unusual blend of a charming socialite, with a strong penchant for connecting leads, jobs and the dots of individuals on... well... a hit-list. But how does one manage the guilt? How do you cope, with the knowing that your actions lead to people's demises and falls from grace? Quite unexpectedly, Cyrella came to realise that there was more to "fixing" than just increasing the steps on progress bars and Gantt charts towards an ultimate conclusion. The duty came too with power. The ability to make choices and steer undertakings to places of personal benefit, be they emotional or financial. From here at her desk, she could exact a drawn-out, satisfying, and elaborate form of revenge...     The cage in the veterinarian office was cramped, the smell of antiseptic mixing with dust and stale air. Varon Kell sat hunched inside a large kennel, glaring through the metal bars. “Hey! Hey, you! My back’s killing me. Can I get out and stretch?” he whined, shifting uncomfortably. Rook didn’t look away from the window. “Be quiet, or I’ll stun you. It’ll make hauling you harder, but I’ll enjoy it more.” Kell grumbled and slumped back into the cramped cage. Rook turned his attention back to the street. The Mark had been better connected than expected—better connected and a hell of a lot more trouble. Local law enforcement and syndicate enforcers were now actively hunting them. The team needed to cross the city and make it to the port before their ride left. The ship wasn’t waiting. He tapped his comm. “Coda, how’s it going? Our window’s closing.” “I’ll be done when I’m done,” The Coda declared with a touch of venom in her tone. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, flipping through the medpad on the table beside her while trying to work with shaking hands. A rarity that was. The hardened bounty hunter gritted his teeth. “Are you using a pair of pliers back there?” he rasped. “I am using pliers, and you’re lucky I am,” Coda shot back. It was the first time she’d put her informal Medic training into live practice, and there was no anesthesia to dull the pain. Myrlock, a hardened bounty hunter with a reputation, was finding out the hard way that even veterans weren’t immune to bad luck—or embarrassment. He’d made one rookie mistake: never turn your back on a Mark. Myrlock had tasked The Coda and Rook with securing Kell while he checked the door. Kell had fumbled for a hidden gun, dropped it, and the misfire had planted a bullet right in Myrlock’s backside. If word got out, it would haunt him for years. “You’ll survive,” The Coda quietly declared, carefully extracting the bullet. “We’re not saying a thing,” Coda assured him, bandaging the wound. “But you'd be wise to get this looked at properly when we’re back at the Hall.” Myrlock groaned and didn’t argue. Rook’s voice came through her comm again, sharp and urgent. “Targets inbound. We need to move. Now.” The Coda exhaled, double-checking the bandages before packing up her gear. “On my way.” Rook glanced one last time at the street. “Hope you’re ready,” he muttered, gripping his stunner as he moved toward the back room. “This is gonna be a sprint.” The Coda's life had always been plagued by risk, be it through the plotting of foes, simple over-indulgence, or rarely spoken "family matters". Too bad her university education had ended so soon all those years ago. If she'd actually graduated, she'd have had half a mind to transfer into medical school. Sure, psychology was remotely interesting, but today's antics had proven that more physically-oriented skills were a whole lot more useful when it came to life or death, or slugs lodged in ally's rear ends. Too late to turn back now though. Her private study and personal investment into obtaining a first aid certificate, was going to have to be enough, and there was a sense of gratification in saving her first arse. Time to Fly Her heart set on climbing the ranks as a Fixer, Cyrella continued to serve with enthusiasm and rediscovered a sense of achievement. As the years rolled on, so did the complexity of the contracts stacked neatly in her filing system. Some of the names within were big ones. Some of them she'd known for a very very long time. People of influence. Faces familiar both to the public and in upper circles. This wasn't the music industry, or the endlessly shifting landscape of a transient arts scene. The projects and their impact, were getting "real". Failure could have crippling repercussions. Success, if it could be found, would be life-changing. Her duties began to require networking and a little espionage in-person at receptions, meetings, forums and at private interludes with figures of significance. Sure, she was familiar with the high society ways, but what was appropriate in one circumstance, could not be applied to the rest. She learned how to behave and interact with nobles both higher and lower than her on the scale of family privilege and influence. True dignitaries and officials were now part of the mix. Surely an increase in rank was imminent? No. Just before submitting a request to climb the paygrade, her advocate suggested a most enticing alternative, and it didn't come in a bottle either. Formal training in a technical skill. The aim, enough confidence and chops to be able to pilot spacecraft. Why was this so crucial, right now? Her method of transport had usually been thanks to the TAS, or via limousines or taxis as the case may be. In what world would she ever actually need to "drive"? For starters, future work might require a new level of discreetness. The less people who knew your journey's paths, or current location, the better. It was a consideration for both safety and career progress. Furthermore, it might form a way to prepare for potential, unfortunate, future events. Nothing in this field of work was guaranteed, so just knowing that you could operate and navigate a vessel, when you really needed to, to escape harm's way, formed a more than worthy investment. Skills, appreciation, Cyrella was really changing. A subject of quite some discussion by her co-workers though, was that which didn't change. Somehow, as of yet, the effects of the piling-on years and prior self-abuse refused to take a toll. For all intents and purposes, she still looked fresh, and her mindset had never been in a better place. She was in her prime, for now...   A short sequence of musical notes, perhaps familiar to those in their middle years, chimed out of the office terminal. Behind her desk, The Coda took a moment to gently deliver an exhalation of breath. A pocket of air that came with aromas both minty and rose-tinted. The days of turning up for the "job", wreaking of spirits, were over. Replacement therapy, and Tindill's lozenges were a far lesser evil. They also helped conceal the evidence of any break-time... indulgences. The hive surely buzzes this day. Come to me, little bee, what have you brought? She clicked and opened the latest in a long line of meeting requests. Such things needed to be dealt with via immediacy and precision. Its fate would lay at The Coda's delicate and well-manicured fingertips. Of the possible destinies, there were few. Deletion was a common one. As was relocation to the "tomorrow problems" folder, or her favorite, the "forward". Sender: Thunder Bear Recipient: The Coda Subject: Meeting Request: Seeking Fixer for Independent Opinion and Analysis > Who better to assess the work of a Fixer, than a Fixer. I have a proposition for you. Meeting details below. A smile began to slowly creep across her face as she leaned forwards. How very enticing, thanks to a lack of detail. The Coda couldn't resist. On the surface level this prospect sounded rather, well, refreshing. It was worthy of some delving! And delve she did, in the usual manner of subtle string-pulling, a few calls and messages, and the sharing of a meal with... well... a person she almost trusted. Information on this Thunder Bear was interesting, to say the least. Accessing folk's military history was off the table, unless extra resources were to be spent, but she had enough to go on. The request seemed genuine. The man was a Hunter. He would be spared the deletion for now. It was several days later that a reply was sent to one Thunder Bear, leading to an exchange of messages and a meeting in-person. A cocktail bar. Her territory. Somewhere safe, just in case. He found her waiting in a dark corner's booth, splashed with the reflections of neons pink and blue. The woman showed no noticeable signs of battle scars, nor any real evidence of "hard" work. Yes, she presented as though just one of many wealthy patrons that night, but without a doubt she was the most... enticing. It would take a man with a rough past to see through the silky facade, and the Thunder Bear was just that man. The Coda? The Duchess more like it. Now, where had he seen that face before? This Fixer was... dangerous. Not in the literal getting stabbed way. More in the, bees being served honey fashion, the kind of honey that could spread fate from one colony to the next. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you." She smiled, The Coda's eyes glistening with curiosity. Sure, she'd met Hunters before. Arrogant ones. Sneaky and underhanded ones. Honest ones. When you drift about in high society you learn pretty fast how to identify souls who are real, and those who are all show and no go. Thunder Bear had "go". She could be sure of it. He appeared in every way to be exactly what he was. A hardened man with a brutal past, and hands thick enough to wring more than one neck at a time. She innately trusted him, and this trust only grew when he finally revealed the nature of his woes. "Far from my usual kind of work, indeed, but I'm ready to make allowances. You seem like a..." Good sort? Honest bloke? Not entirely. "...reliable individual, and I'll confess that you're someone I'd much rather work with, than have to flee from on some future day. My hands are tied as far as direct intervention goes, but I know someone who might just possess something that will assist in your discovery process." A drink was slowly lifted to a set of red lips, and then placed back on the table in an almost flowing, well-practiced and graceful motion. "I should warn you though. This someone I speak of, he has a knack for sniffing out and identifying many flavors of... how would you say... ********. If you're harboring any secrets, I'd recommend proceeding with extreme caution." A light, potentially disarming chuckle followed. "You might say that's why I've never met him in person, myself."   It was a secret that came with experience. An under-appreciated fact of life, that some of the best drinks weren't to be had at luxurious cocktail bars, or wine bars, or little holes in the wall. Sometimes it was nice to just stroll into a casino, where you could pretty much be assured that the mixing would be done just right, and single women were treated like dignitaries. Some of them actually were dignitaries, in their own mind. Cyrella had had a small flutter at an anti-gravity roulette table for a while this evening, before moving on to a tall glass of XT spirits with off-world fruitjuice at the bar. She was mid-sip when someone was so bold as to take a seat beside her. "You've been eyeballing those three men at the card table all night, dear. Is it Randal, Foxil or Baldie who has your attention? Oh, please tell me its not Baldie..." She knew their names! Of course she did. Every establishment had its regulars, and it was only a matter of time before fellow winners and losers became "friends". Unlike her barside guest though, she might incorrectly presume to know quite a bit more about this trio. Yet another "perk" of the job. Access to certain files. The trio were quite a bit more than a triplet of high-rollers satisfying an addiction. Cyrella turned and smiled to her visitor, a warm, smug, and strangely disarming one. "They're quite dangerous." Okay, she shouldn't have said that, but there was enough guilt to carry around already, without having to watch a stranger get stitched up on her night off. Astra took a long sip from her glass, eyeing the scene before her. The casino was quiet, in that hushed way that only high-stakes places could manage—buzzing with energy, but muted, like the world outside didn’t matter. She liked it that way. She preferred the silence of observation, the calm before the storm. She had been watching Cyrella for some time, sensing the sharp edge behind the polished exterior. The woman was something different, the kind of person who knew exactly how much to reveal and when, all while effortlessly playing the game. Astra's eyes slid over the trio of men at the table—dangerous, yes, but not nearly as interesting as the woman next to her. When Cyrella spoke, it wasn’t so much a question as it was a challenge, a subtle prod. Astra glanced at her, then back to the men. Randal, Foxil, Baldie—she knew the type. They were high-rollers with an agenda. The thought of getting involved with them, even indirectly, didn’t sit well. Still, she had no plans to be caught up in their web. "Foxil," Astra replied with a flicker of a smile, letting the words hang in the air. "He’s the one that’s going to crack first. I’m just waiting for the right moment." Her voice was cool, almost careless, as if she wasn’t talking about people’s lives, but a bet on a roulette wheel. Then, after a beat, she added, "And Baldie... he’s the easiest to read. People like him are always predictable." She leaned back, taking another sip, letting the moment stretch between them, eyes never leaving Cyrella’s face. * * * This barside meeting became more than a temporary pleasantry, or chance meeting. The two women, both trained professionals in their own right, began a little "project" together. In return for Cyrella arranging a formal introduction between Astra and these men, in a private VIP space of the gambling establishment, she was offered a small cut of whatever winnings were made. It was a few weeks later that Astra and Cyrella scheduled to meet again at the very same place. Cyrella politely declined the transfer of funds though, leaning forwards with a smile. "There's no need for that. I have a different proposition for you. Tell me a little more about how you convinced that trio to become a quartet? You see, usually I... well... get what I want by just asking for it. There are other ways though. Tell me, how do you know when people are lying, or bluffing in these games of chance?" She wasn't just asking about gambling tips. She was seeking some insight into techniques that might one day be useful, should deception ever come into play. Astra leaned back in her seat, her smile playful but knowing, eyes glinting with amusement as she met Cyrella’s gaze. "Ah, well," she began, her voice light but direct, "I simply seduced them, of course. Nothing too extravagant—just enough to keep their attention where I wanted it. As they celebrated their good fortune, I took my leave, slipping past their guards like I wasn’t even there. Electronic countermeasures? Pfft. Child’s play. I’ve danced around those more times than I care to count." She paused, her smile turning just a touch wicked. "And as for the rest... I came back for ‘dessert’—after all, what’s the point of the feast if you don’t savor the aftermath?" She let the words linger in the air, her tone both teasing and flirtatious, a slight twinkle of mischief dancing in her eyes. "But you already knew that, didn’t you? After all, you’re no stranger to playing games of chance yourself." Her gaze softened just a little, but the challenge in her eyes remained clear. "I could give you more tips, but something tells me you’d prefer to figure it out for yourself, wouldn’t you?"   The driver had done a fine job to get a certain woman to the training institute right on time. The luxury of a rental limo was that there had been ample space on that bench seat for her to consume some breakfast along the way. No, this lady was not a "morning person". Even in these days when hangovers were more a rarity, than a carefully scheduled daily occurrence, this time of day just didn't do it for her. One had to make exceptions though, and getting onto the roster for today's events hadn't been particularly simple. Accelerated training for a civilian equated to enough form-filling to even make her eyes burn. They'd just parked up when a vehicle stopped directly behind them, well over the clearly-marked and designated space of their choosing. "For real?" Relying on other people to provide transportation was the exact reason why the lady in question was here! Limos didn't come cheap, when every click, every second, was on the clock. The passenger was the kind of person who could be as equally stingy, as flamboyant with the use of credits. Still, this was more about principle, and also vehicular law. The limo door swung open, and out stepped... no, not a young cadet, but a woman dressed in a tailored power-suit. Not that kind of power-suit! The other kind. Formal attire befitting of a professional. Her movements were deliberate, powerful even, as with a shake of her head some waves of long dark hair flicked over to starboard, or was that port? Click click click went her expensive looking heels against the pavement, as she took a direct route right to the other vehicle's passenger window. The clicking continued, though this time it was of a sharply manicured nail against the glass. Her face moved closer, brows narrowing, a set of plush lips closing tight. Then they opened. She seemed to presume that the words could penetrate just about anything. "Might I enquire as to how long you propose to sit here, idling at my rear like a..." The woman stopped her complaining as Catspaw's six eyed lamprey-like head darted out of the rolled down window. This would be a good opportunity to teach Junior about using his appearance to put other sophonts off their guard. His tentacles started writhing to explain the technique to his off spring in the driver seat. Meanwhile, his voder croaked to life and he launched into a counter tirade to put this princess in her place "I'll allow my vehicle to idle until my business is completed and I will accept no further complaints about it..." A loud screeching sound cut him off, and 3 beats of his twelve chambered heart later he was flying through the air. Unlike so many beings, his brain was housed safely within his center mass rather than on some stunted appendage, so he recovered quickly and looked around. He was a little shaken that when he did his field of view in the dorsal direction was occluded somehow. But that shock quickly wore off when he looked at the amalgam of his vehicle and the one that had collided with him. For the woman who was an accuser, and now a witness too, the whole tirade of events was nothing less than shocking. She'd leaped back at the Hiver's revealing of itself, gasping with surprise. A good thing too, because that instinctive retreat had saved her from becoming further collateral. Cyrella ran to the large Hiver who'd been thrown from the wreckage, daring to touch it. "Are you alright? Let me get a look at you!" A tentacle pushed her away, whilst another one seemed to be pointing and jabbing in the wreckage's direction. Running to a rear window, cracked and lodged between twisted bodywork, she saw the limp form of a smaller alien, trapped between what was once an armrest and an A-pillar. She exhaled an expletive, grabbed the door's handle, and started pulling. "Help! There's a passenger!" There had been no chance as yet to check on the occupants of the other vehicle, but until help came they'd have to deal with this one victim at a time. Despite having lost his voder, the human woman seemed to have understood. That was good even though Hivers didn't really have familial love the way humans did, and he still didn't want to see Junior killed. He limped on four uninjured legs, and made his way to the wreckage. He quickly surveyed the damage and checked their surroundings. Car accidents did happen, but he had also used a drone-controlled car to smash into a Mark only a year ago so it would be the height of embarrassment to fall for the same trick. No suspicious vehicles lurking on the street, a fact he had already assessed when the human woman disturbed him. The driver of the other vehicle, unconscious, looked elderly, not a threat. The vehicles, not good but not likely to explode or suddenly shift. He limped to the trunk. It had been forced ajar by the impact and creaked open when he gave it a solid push. The old Hiver started pulling his offspring's belongings from the vehicle and tossing them to the ground, until he reached the tool kit for the spare tire. It will have to do he thought to himself as he took the pry bar - like tire iron and jack and crawled to the door, where the woman was attempting to help Junior. She seemed like she might give up soon, and move to help the other driver, but Sone grabbed her arm and shot her a six-eyed, five-eyed now, look and gestured pointedly down to Junior. Hiver's were highly resilient and it was easy to mistake one for dead if you didn't know what to look for. Jabbing the vehicle's jack between the bent door and the frame of the vehicle, Sone started to use the simple device to push the opening wider and wider, occasionally having to reset the jack deeper into the wreckage to find a stable spot. He worked methodically until the door opened wide enough that they were able to pull Junior free of the wreck, and lay him out on the pavement. As the woman started her work on Junior's wounds, Sone found his voder laying some 10 meters past where he had been thrown. He limped back happy to see the tell tale contractions of his off spring's respiratory stoma. He let the voder squeak to get her attention and held out his aftmost tentacle "You may have just saved my son's life, I owe you a debt." As they shook hands, Sone made a swipe with his finger that would normally complete a 'Handshake' with another Hiver. The meaning was surely lost on the woman, but that was fine by him he would remember. Cyrella was surely too busy to realise any strange additional meanings to the alien's actions, and to his thanks she replied, "I'm so sorry... don't thank me yet, this is my first time..." First time performing first aid? No. First time performing it on a non-humanoid? Most certainly! All she could do was apply logic, and the foundational rules of such a situation. Breathing? Check. Bleeding? Very much so. Her hands were well-covered in goop by now as she held a laceration closed. Thankfully her driver soon arrived with a small box from the boot compartment of her vehicle. A med kit! Now she just needed to dig out the wound-closure gel and get in squirted onto the right place.   Cyrella had just dabbed her finger on the "send" button, dispatching a message off to one of several fellow "fixers" on her list. This one was different though. Jana had a reputation for being tough, but also fiercely loyal. Her details appeared to match exactly the kind of assistant or freelancer that Cyrella needed right now. One to find a little... leverage. One who wouldn't squeak under mounting pressure. Unknown to Jana, Cyrella had a secret project on the boil. One Bjorn Ullers, ex-military, had recently made it known on the down-low that he needed an operative to undertake a little "theft" project. An operative with fairly specific skills. Well, Cyrella had an almost perfect candidate in mind, but this wasn't a funded piece of work. Think of it as being more of a "love job", for want of a better term. Sometimes Cyrella would take on projects for goals other than financial reward. Every possible contract was an opportunity to network... Sender: Cyrella Vincero Recipient: Jana Lyedeni Subject: RFQ [BEGIN SECURE TRANSMISSION] > Jana, please allow me to introduce myself. I am a fellow fixer by profession, though I note your previous experiences in a scholarly and scout-related fields. I have a contract that might be of interest to you. You may find it refreshing to not require the capture of an individual for a change, but the capture of some information instead. Please reply with a quote to perform the following: * A deep search in databases both public and private relating to a specific individual. I should warn you that this "civilian" may presently be involved in illegal work. * From the above, hack, access, or otherwise locate any information that is either classified, locked, or otherwise protected. You are welcome to sub-contract elements of this task, however please ensure that any fellow team members are not only trusted, but also willing to sign an enforceable non disclosure agreement. I await your reply, and look forward to your assistance in this matter. Yours Sincerely, Cyrella [This message is encrypted.] [END SECURE TRANSMISSION] Cyrella smiled and leaned back. This was going to interesting, to say the least. Interesting, and costly. Sure, she could have done this work herself, but being too close would make her a "liability", and that was a word she was rather tired of. If anyone were to back-trace the path of information, well... the more stepping stones to cross, the harder it would be. Jana read the message once. Then again. And then, just to be certain, read it a third time. "Well, well... Cyrella Vincero," she mused, rubbing a finger over her chin in thought. She'd heard of Vincero. Who hadn't, really. Rumors -- some of them even reliable -- said she was a fixer now, but getting personalized confirmation of that was a real kick in the pants. Might not be such a bad idea to get on her good side. If she had a good side. After the legal settlement with KitoraCorp over the mining rights on Vessack-4, cash wasn't a huge concern. She didn't want to price herself too low. People who didn't know their own worth didn't last long in this business, whether out of lost respect or lost limbs didn't matter too much. It all came down to the same thing. On the other hand, just a bit of a friendly discount might just give her leverage in the future. Always good to have someone owe you a favor, no matter how small. Jana sat down to compose a reply. Sender: Jana Lyedeni Recipient: Cyrella Vincero Subject: Re: RFQ [BEGIN SECURE TRANSMISSION] <message encrypted> Cyrella, I'm touched. No, really. It's always nice to be thought of under the right circumstances. I think we can make this work. You'll find a quote for my services attached to this transmission. Hard to pass up a job that sounds this intriguing. Feel I should warn you in return though. You've looked into my background. I've been told my sense of right and wrong is, let's say, overdeveloped. If you think this 'illegal work' is going to set that off in an unproductive way, then we might need to shake hands and part ways now. If you're still interested in my help, then I'll look forward to hearing the details from you. Cheers, Jana [END SECURE TRANSMISSION] The attached quote is a fair price for the contracted services, though a bit on the low end. This oughta be interesting, Jana thought as she sent the message off into the ether. She drummed heavy fingers on the desktop, then spun her chair around to face the spartan room she currently did business out of. Deep database dive and ensuing dig. She was going to need to brush up on a few things. Cyrella Vincero. Huh. Fascinating.   Apologies for the late entry! It has been a very very long time since delving into some scifi... in fact the last game might have been some Robotech in the late 90s oh those rules lol. Anyway, this game concept seems really enjoyable... particularly the manner in which we're creating characters, and all those possible long-term futures... so couldn't resist! Commit to a long-term game: Full disclosure, I've never played Traveller. Have seen it "around" of course, but somehow never found an opportunity to be adequately introduced, or found friends interested in giving it a shot. Perhaps this can change! My interest after reading this game ad has led me to gobbling up a copy of the core rules and having a sniff around their pages. Thus, my experience with the system is miniscule, but I've played quite a few different games over the years and hope to learn a new one! It is not so much the mechanics, as the "world" and "theme" that are interesting, and a potential change of pace from the usual high fantasy that I often gravitate towards as both player and GM. Long-term? Thank you! There is something special about stories that are allowed time to evolve and really let players develop their characters. I honestly prefer long games to short one-shots or adventures. As a work-from-home person, I feel pretty comfortable in being able to make the commitment, if accepted in the end. Name & Core Personality: Cyrella Vincero is my name, but the chance that I'd tell you that... unless under duress, is highly unlikely. Did you just flinch though? Was an old memory just triggered? Your reaction might come as something of a confession, at least so far as your artistic tastes are concerned. So what kind of bounty hunter might I become? A string-puller you might say. Someone with connections that run a little deeper than bar owners or makeup-splashed "influencers". Okay, so yes, my preference is to avoid confrontations, and is more one of planning, logistics, background research and scene setting. Sure, there are times a young woman can use other means to get things done, be they via the creation of guilt, blackmail or merely creating a ripple that might grow in the shallows. A friendly smile? A seemingly honest "chat"? The sparkle of your reflection in my eyes? These are my weapons. Manipulation. Youth. Most of all though, being easily underestimated. My role in a team might be less about shooting to kill, and more about ensuring that we've actually located the correct target. A researcher, a note-taker, a delver into facts. Someone to help plan movements. A colleague who knows people in industries you'd be surprised to learn are of benefit. It might be more about choosing the contracts that really matter, for a greater good, than those that offer the greatest financial reward. You mention a roguish charmer? Well, that is sort of close, except more charm, and less rogue! Then again, you need to be something of a rogue to hide your true self. Of course, all this is on the presumption that you believe anything I say to begin with. Look, I really was someone once. Then obscurity became the best method by which to survive. One can't just disappear though, and as painful as that is, at least your allies don't just fade away either. Well... not all of them. Some strings remain intact, be they on a musical instrument, or attached to some media entity's secretly subversive upper management. Alias and Sigil: My alias is Coda. Funny that, right? No, not coder... Coda. Why? Because I like to bring things to an end. My end came all too soon, so it only seems fitting to assist others in coming to theirs also. My sigil is a four-pointed star, but if you look more closely each point is comprised of a musical clef. A risky move, I know, but some interpret it as the mark of an artist, whilst others know what it means... to be played. The Road Less Taken: The daughter of a psychologist and an esteemed (to some) political journalist, it almost feels like my early days were subject to a good deal of determinism. You could say I rose to the top far too fast. As they so often say, the descent, was even faster. The gleam of Cyrella Vincero's smile as she performed on young talent shows was as infectious as her art. How was it then, that a girl might weave tales into so many listener's minds, only to disappear from fame the very next day? I should blame my father for it, right? Well I do, but not without appreciation for the benefits of the aftermath. You see, being urged to follow your passions, and hence rising quickly to fame as a childhood prodigy, had a number of benefits. Money for starters, and also... influence. He saw this, and soon set about to training me to use my gift as a tool, or perhaps he was just using it for himself as the case may be. One by one the songs I performed in front of the faceless masses, evolved from being the dainty reflections of dreamy sweetheart, to those of political innuendo and a calling for change. They began to promote my father's allegiances and ideals, which by default at such a tender age were also mine own. And his ideals? Where were they from? Well, if only I'd been mature enough to ponder such things at the time. He called for revolution, the strength of unions, and fair rights for those underprivileged. Can you see the irony? My parent's success wasn't entirely their own either. He is perhaps at the deepest level, almost as "fake", as me... Suffice to say, the "success" went too far. The world of corporate greed would have its way. My art was banned, blocked and snuffed out. My family all but disappeared from the public eye. The game was over. We went into hiding for our own protection. The only way to proceed was to reinvent myself, but not all bridges were to erupt into flames. Out there I still had allies. Friends as lowly as a street urchin who'd pined over the girl who appeared to speak his language. Friends as high as producers in media companies, who sure, had been hushed, but that didn't mean that progress couldn't be quietly made... from the inside. I am a victim of corruption, and now desire to set about causing some corruption of my own. If the system is rigged, then why not piece by piece, work to tear it down. Recipient You still have friends here on the outside. Dig deeper. Look to the inside. He was up to his neck in it. The chime of the communicator woke me from slumber. Yes, the days of instinctively muting the device in the evenings, well they were long gone by now. A little known planet somewhere Behind The Claw was our new home. An outpost as sparse in interest, as it was in populous. Sure, I still received occasional messages from former fans, or those more interested in our demise, but father had acquired some kind of cryptic scrambler to keep our location untraceable. Until now, it seemed to have worked. No technology is water-tight though. I should have known it would only be a matter of time. For now, the more pressing concern was identifying this mysterious messenger. I exhaled in defeat. That wasn't going to happen. Not out here. I lacked the skills, or friends with the technical prowess to do such a thing. Leaning backwards, I flopped back onto my mattress. This sucked. It all sucked. Like so many evenings before, my eyes wandered over the imperfections in the ceiling's raw stone. A slab of grey, pitted and cracked in parts by material chalky and white. It wouldn't surprise me this all too, might soon come tumbling down. What would happen if the crevices were chipped away at? How long until all integrity was lost, and a unity become a fractured mess? A pile of rubble crushing those who had sought its protection. Metaphors for the Imperium were everywhere if you looked hard enough. Before breaking fingernails against the very walls around me though, I needed to complete some excavation elsewhere. Somewhere... close. The blanket was torn from my bed and slung around my shoulders. It was so cold here. Always so cold. Not enough meat on the bones, yet being slight of frame had its occasional advantages. I stepped gently out into the hallway with its endlessly flickering lights, barely able to flash pockets of dim reality against the darkness, and made for my parents doorway. Brushing dark hair away from my ears, I leaned against it. All quiet. Good. The next stop in this evening's journey was my father's "office". An industrial lock on the door? It seemed I was going to have to learn how to either be a thief, or somehow get him to absent mindedly reveal the combination. But that's another story for another time. Suffice to say, I got there in the end, and learned an amount that was equal to the volume of further questions raised. Amongst the unfinished works, the ledgers and rampant scrawlings, was one plain text file. Old friend, the time is near. The ways out are shut tight. The trap is laid. The bond for the bounty has been paid. See it done and we will move to the next. Comments: The concept is an ex-entertainer in hiding, out for revenge against politically affiliated corporations who executed her fall from fame, and the demise of her parent's professions and status. There are a lot of details and blanks to fill in, which I'm hoping can evolve as part of the game. I need to study the game's geography and politics a bit before nailing some of this down anyway, so very flexible to find a way to make it fit. I imagine her as a thinker and supportive role in the group, to take care of mediocre things as well as research, particularly about people and personalities. On the field, she'd lean on her colleagues heavily for support, and hopefully learn from them along the way. She could also provide a financial backbone for the team, a kind of investor, if that fits somehow. Was her father working with a Zhodani activist to unsettle the Imperium from the inside? Was the group he was using for assassination attempts, ultimately the cell that would actively recruit Cyrella at some later time? Is being remembered by some, a blessing or a curse?   Name Income Expense Running Total Reflec Armor - 1500 248500 Cloth Armor - 500 248000 TL11 Laser Transceiver - 1500 247000 TL11 Security Software - 1000 246000 TL11 Expert Software - 1000 245000 TL8 Medkit - 1000 244000 Dagger - 10 243990 TL9 Laser Pistol - 1000 242990 TL12 Computer - 1000 241990 TL11 Intelligent Interface - 100 241890 Fine Clothes & Jewelry - ? ?   TAS Membership: You are a member of the Traveller’s Aid Society (TAS), a private organisation that maintains hostels and facilities at all Class A and B starports in many parts of human space. Facilities are available (at reasonable cost) to members and their guests. Receipt of membership in the Traveller’s Aid Society as a benefit may be construed as a reward for heroism or extraordinary service to the Society rather than an official benefit from a career. Membership is for life and not transferable. Membership may also be purchased for MCr1, although it is possible for an application to be ‘black-balled’ by an existing member. The Traveller’s Aid Society is an exclusive organisation, made up of those who are truly citizens of the galaxy, not just a single world. The TAS invests its membership fees and other incomes; it uses its capital and return to provide benefits to its members. Every two months, it pays dividends in the form of one high passage to each member. This passage may be used, retained or sold. Originally Posted by savoylen THIS IS NOT CANNON, but 'here'... For now: TAS membership grants you Cr10,000 every two months to spend in travel vouchers, or you can cash it in for Cr 5,000 during the same time period. There are other benefits - access, etc. Ship Share: You have one or more Ship Shares that can be put towards obtaining a ship. Each share is worth MCr1 but cannot be redeemed for cash. The Advocate: Who is the mysterious Bounty Hunter contact who first communicated with Cyrella, when she read through her father's personal notes? Is this the same person who recruited her in Term 4? The Ally: Who is the Ally who who assisted her in Term 4, which increased her reputation? To Do: Starting equipment. PC crossovers.   PHYSICAL STATISTICS Str 5/5 Dex 8/8 End 6/6 Int 9/9 Edu 9/9 Soc 12/12 Psi 0/0 DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3 Senses: normal Rad. Dose: - Non-Combat: Initiative Result : Current Armor: Combat: Free Actions: Minor Actions: Significant Actions: Reactions:

[MrD]

NAME	ALIAS	UPP
Subject 9	Ghost	557587-B

---

Base of Operations	Unknown
Species	Humanti (with Zhodani blood in his family)
Description	Ghost is a rugged, battle-hardened man in his late 30s, his piercing eyes glowing with untamed psionic power. His scarred face, rough stubble, and unkempt dark hair streaked with gray tell of a hard life. A long, weathered coat with reinforced plating drapes over his lean frame, layered with scavenged armor and tactical gear. Faint cybernetic implants and jagged scars hint at brutal experiments in his past. He moves with quiet precision, a fixer who thrives in the underworld—calculating, relentless, and always one step ahead.
Age	38
Rad. Dose	-

Physical Characteristics
STRength	5
DEXterity	5
ENDurance	8
INTellect	5
EDUcation	8
SOCial	7
PSI	11
REP	0

Dice Modifier Table
Ability	0	1-2	3-5	6-8	9-11	12-14
DM	-3	-2	-1	0	+1	+2

SKILLS AND TALENTS
(EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE]

Skill (specialty)	Rank
Admin
Advocate
Animals
Athletics (STR)
Athletics (DEX)
Athletics (END)
Art
Art ( )
Art ( )
Broker	1
Carouse
Deception	3
Diplomat
Drive
Drive(wheeled)
Electronics
Electronics (Comms)
Electronics (Computers)
Electronics (Remote Ops)
Electronics (sensors)
Engineer	0
Engineer (Power)	1
Explosives
Flyer
Flyer(Winged)
Flyer(Rotor)
Gambler
Gunner	0
Gunner(Turret)	1
Gun Combat	0
Gun Combat (Slug)
Heavy Weapons
Heavy Weapons ( )
Investigate	1
Jack of all Trades
Language
Language ( )
Leadership
Mechanic
Medic
Melee	0
Melee (Blade)	1
Melee (Unarmed)
Navigation
Persuade
Pilot	0
Pilot(Small Craft)	1
Profession	0
Profession (Belter)	1
Recon	0
Science
Science ( )
Seafarer
Stealth	0
Steward
Streetwise	1
Survival
Tactics
Tactics ( )
Vacc Suit	0
Telepathy	1
Teleport	1
Untrained	-3

Study Period

Training In Skill
Week of 24
Study Periods Complete
Note

TALENTS

Name	Description
The Guild Member	Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code
-	-
-	-

Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival

Fidelity	Monkey Lord
Allies	Lords of Air
Enemy	Kara Voss (Bounty Hunter who betrayed him - was also his patron until he joined the Monkey Lord)
Enemy	Kenton Reis (A gunner from his Rogue days who betrayed him)

Finances

Pension
Debt	99,812Cr
Cash on Hand
Banked (Imperial)
Monthly Ship Payments
Living Costs
-	-

ATTACK ACTIONS

HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	LL
Unarmed Strike	—	—	—	melee (close quarters)	1D6	—

RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	Traits
Single Shot Pistol	10	Cr500	0.3	2m	ranged (pistol)	2D	P
Dagger + Psionic Interface	1	Cr12	0.5	Melee	1D+2	-	-

GEAR

Jack	TL1	Cr50	Protection 1
Teleportation Suit	TL12	Cr5000
Double	TL8	Cr4000
Standard	TL8	Cr1000

 

Event	Mechanics
Characteristics	as rolled
Background Skills	Streetwise, Deception, Stealth
Psi Training	Telepathy, Teleport, Cr100000
Psion Career	Telepathy, Teleport, Vacc Suit, Gun Combat, Recon, STR +1
Psion Career Survival Failure	Your gift causes a former friend to turn on you and betray you. One Ally or Contact becomes an Enemy.
Drifter Career	Profession (Belter), Pilot (Small Craft)
Drifter Survival Failure	You do not know what happened to you. There is a gap in your memory
Rogue Career (Pirate) Term 1	Deception, Gunner, Betrayal - You are betrayed in some fashion by a friend. If you have any Contacts or Allies, convert one into a Rival or Enemy. Otherwise, gain a Rival or an Enemy
Rogue Career (Pirate) Term 2	Gunner, Injured END -1, Ageing END -1
Bounty Hunter (Fixer) Term 1	Deception, Journeyman Mediator, Ageing END -3, Streetwise +1, Broker 1
Benefit Rolls x 2	Cr5000, Cr10000
Connection 1	Deception
Connection 2	Investigate
Heal +1 END	Cr5000

 

Up to 18
Kidnapped at an early age by a secretive corporate or military black ops program targeted at developing a psi capability for the Imperium to counter the Zhodani. Known only as Subject 9 - He was subjected to experiments designed to unlock and enhance psionic potential. Instead of creating a perfect infiltrator, the project ended in disaster. Whilst their techniques amplified the innate psionic capabilities the effects were often unpredictable and proved impossible to control. They tried drugs, psi-dampeners, even neural implants—but nothing worked. Eventually the program was deemed a failure and the facility was shutdown. He was dumped in some back water outpost and left for dead. Unable to integrate due to the unpredictable nature of his psionic abilities he lived on the streets. Life on the streets was tough, and if you didn't out-tough it you most probably wouldn't survive. Subject 9 could lie, and cheat with best of them, and if the lying caught up with him he knew how to disappear until things cooled down. Still, sometimes you got caught, and a beating here or there was par for the course. However, if you knew the right people to talk to the 'beaters' would soon become the 'beatees' - although there was always a price to pay. This is how he lived for several years, in the dark alleys and dim bars, until he was caught, stunned, hobbled, and taken by a Guild bounty hunter. The bounty hunter was tasked with finding and bringing him to the Guild. He does not know why. He arrives at the Guild chained and wearing a Psi suppressing helmet. The bounty hunter claimed his reward and Subject 9 began training in the guild. The aim of the training to give him control of his abilities. The early experiments altered him in unknown ways which mean he may still be prone to uncontrollable Psionic episodes.

18 - 18 + 4 Months
His Psi control was a mess. The Guild Psi trainers did their best with what the Black Ops experiments had left them. Over a period of several month they were able to hone his raw skills as he showed a talent for telepathy but more surprisingly the rare talent of teleportation.

18 + 4 Months - 22 (Term 1 - Psion)
Some people deserve to die...

Psi training complete, Ghost had been assigned as field support for the beautiful but deadly bounty hunter Kara Voss—Star Viper. She had no love for Psions but understood they made her job easier.

It was the usual pattern—he located the mark, she captured the mark, he interrogated the mark. Onward and upward—contract after contract, mark after mark. She seemed destined for greatness, riding on the back of his psionic power—until...

On a small, nowhere, nothing outworld colony—the same colony where Ghost had been abandoned by the psi experimentation program—they came upon one of his old acquaintances. A low-level crime lord known only as Vax. Ghost had seen what this man did to people. He’d seen him do it to people he knew, people he liked, people who had looked out for him in his early days on the streets.

And now he was here. Kneeling. Hands tied. Ghost inside his mind...

Kara’s mark was to bring Vax to the Guild. Ghost flitted through Vax’s mind, searching for information. It was like leafing through a graphic horror novel—but he was used to it. But then, in one dark corner, he found first one of his friends, then another, and another...

The anger built inside him. The amplified psi powers overwhelmed him. His self-control snapped. He squeezed. Fractured. Boiled. Shattered.

Finally, he shut off. Vax slumped—dead.

Kara was not pleased. In fact, she was incensed. The failure to return the mark alive would cast a shadow over her career. Her only avenue of escape was to blame the Psion. And that’s exactly what she did.

The report showed he had acted alone, violating the code. He had read her mind to get the location of the mark, then taken it upon himself to terminate the target for personal reasons. He was disgraced. His transgression was one the Psion Order would not abide, and so, he was cast out.

As he was marched from the facility, Kara was waiting for him. As the doors closed, she stepped up.

“You know how it is, kid. Dog eat dog.” She sighed. “If it’s any consolation, I’m truly sorry. You were good, but what you’ve got up here”—she tapped his temple—“is unsafe, uncontrolled, and unnatural. And I just can’t let that drag me down.”

She saw the venom in his eyes, felt his pulse quicken at her words.

Her final act was to take a Guild token from her pocket, spinning it between her fingers.

“If you ever want to talk about it—you know where I am "

She slipped the coin into his breast pocket

" In the mean time if I ever see you out on the streets... You're dead!”

She walked away.

He made a mental note.

One day, he would set the record straight.

Some people deserve to die...

22 - 26 Drifter (Scavenger)

The following years Ghost drifted - falling from one lousy flop to another - his travels eventually took him to the frontier sector Bularia (2514, B-756656-B) – An industrial world with a history of piracy and ship-breaking operations in orbit. He signed on for a four year stint with a salvage crew recovering anything and everything from the myriad abandoned ships. Then one day he woke up in a med center a parsec away on Tioram (Reft 2222, D-400668-7) the only card on his locker the infamous black NRB (Not Required Back) issued by the unions blackballing him from working on worlds they operated on. He was beyond caring.

26-30 Rogue (Pirate) Term 1 With two unsuccessful careers behind him he found himself gravitating to circles he knew before the guild. It wasn't long before he found himself working as a gunner on a pirate crew. Finally he thought he'd found something he was good at. Hoping to progress in the corsair ranks he heard about a position on another crew as head gunner. In conversation he told a fellow crew member that he was going to apply but later found the vacancy had been filled be the self same crew member he had confided in.

30-34 Rogue (Pirate) After that things did not go well for him. Age was quickly catching up with him and after narrowly escaping a fatal injury which endangered the whole crew he was presented with the black spot. It was leave or die.

34-38 Bounty Hunter - Lying, cheating, persuasion, coercion, twisting peoples thoughts, knowing their secrets ahead of time - years of living with, dealing with, betraying, and being betrayed by the scum of the earth left Ghost with the perfect resume for a Guild fixer. Finally he found his place or more probably the place found him. Good at his job - not one to be trusted.

Bjorn and Coda Connections

Ghost lay on his bunk in silence, but the silence in the room was not in his head.

“Seven, eight, nine… tomorrow never… she wants the job… and Baran… twelve, thirteen… get the f**k out of here, you scav… take these twice a day… and welcome, come in, sit down…”

The thoughts of a hundred people rattled about his brain as if they owned the place.

“…nineteen, twenty! Coming, ready or not…”

Tonight was a particularly noisy night. Sure, he could control it—all Psions could. That’s what the training was for after all: Filter, Enhance, Block… But control took concentration. Concentration took effort. And he was tired… dog-tired…

He held up the small ampule of Psi-Dull, its amber contents unseen in the gloom. He shook it, popped the lid, and squeezed. A drop of the synaptic inhibitor beaded on the needle tip—seven hours of quiet, of peace…

The terminal by the bunk chimed on, limning the room in its sterile glow. Characters danced across the screen—a message.

He closed the ampule, placed it on the table by the bed, swung his legs to the floor, and grabbed the handheld terminal.

He flicked up, swiped left, and punched the icon for Live Stream. The lock icon transitioned from red to amber to green as layer upon layer of encryption secured the channel.

The sigil was Coda.

“Ghost?” The dulcet tones of the fixer filled the small space.

“Yeah.” He tapped the volume lower.

“I have a proposition for you…”

He knew of Coda—the woman, the noble, the dilettante turned hunter. He knew she was making a name for herself as a formidable information broker. Her ability to find things that didn’t want to be found set her apart from the rest. But while he knew of her, he had never met her. Others had, but not him.

He suspected she was keeping her distance. A head full of knowledge she’d worked hard to accrue could be his in an instant. What she probably didn’t know was that he could find her right now—out there, amongst the noise. Distance didn’t matter. There were drugs for that. He could reach out across the city, slip into her prefrontal cortex, across the emotional bridge of her limbic system, slide by the gatekeeping thalamus, and into the unconscious coordinator of the cerebellum.

There, he would find all her secrets—laid bare.

But he was tired. And disinterested.

Time ticked by…

When he didn’t reply, she continued.

“Thunder Bear requires a little… help, shall we say? A little help with a somewhat… sensitive matter. A little specialist help. He came to me. I thought of you…”

He considered.

“Dangerous?”

“On a scale of one to ten…” She didn’t skip a beat. “Career-ending.”

“What’s in it for me?”

All fixers knew help came with a price. Thunar would pay her price, and she would pay his.

“Thought you might like to see this…”

A new file icon appeared on the left side of his terminal. He sat forward on his bunk, his body tensing. The cover on the file bore the symbol of The Lodge. Below it, a case file number. And below that, an individual’s ID—UPP 557587-B.

His ID.

The questions of his past had long plagued him. Most people in the universe had a history they could look back on, whether with fondness, indifference, or loathing. A family. A home. A childhood. A life.

He wasn’t most people.

He had no past other than the one he’d built for himself. Someone, at the very start of his time, had stolen his past. He’d lived with that fact his whole broken, miserable, failure of a life. The answers to the questions he’d learned not to ask himself could be here.

His thumb hovered over the icon. It had been so long… Did he want to know—now?

He pressed the icon.

With a negative beep, a password prompt appeared. His lips tightened.

Coda knew if he looked in the file and found nothing of interest, the file as leverage became useless. Equally, though, she would know a price unpaid would be bad for her reputation.

“Where is he?” he asked, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice.

“Training Level 3. Room 19-B.” The honeyed words failed to soothe. “I take it you accept…”

He killed the connection without answering, stood, and grabbed his jacket. The ampule of Psi-Dull lay on the table by the bed.

Rest would have to wait…

---

Thunar paced in the classroom, his thoughts on the “mysterious aid” the Duchess had promised. If she came through, and he finally got those who had crossed the honor line when they betrayed his unit and his friends…

His fists tightened into hammers, the veins pulsed in his heavily muscled neck.

A com signal pinged in his ear. Incoming message. Secure channel.

Coda?

“He’s on his way,” was all she said. The line went dead.

The classroom was at the end of the hallway. The only way to approach was from the elevators at the other end. He went to the door, opened it a crack, and positioned himself so that, without being seen, he could observe the man as he approached—get the measure of him before he knew Thunder Bear was there.

A breeze kissed the back of his neck, a shadow shifted in the reflection from the door glass.

“Thunder Bear, isn’t it?” came a voice from the behind him.

Thunar span around, his hackles jumping to attention.

In the center of the room stood a man dressed in black. The man watched him from a face that gave nothing away and the way he regarded him—looked into him, looked through him—with those faintly glowing eyes was more than a little disturbing.

Thunar was just wondering how the man had gotten by him without being seen when the answer came.

“Don’t worry about that, friend” the dark stranger spoke, answering his thought as if he’d asked the question aloud. “It’s nothing more than a parlor trick.”

The dark man moved to a table, pulled out a chair, and sat.

“A mutual acquaintance sent me.”

He pointed to the opposite chair, suggesting Thunar sit.

“Shall we get started?”

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 5/5 Dex 5/5 End 7/7 Int 5/5 Edu 8/8 Soc 7/7 Psi 11/11
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: normal
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

Initiative Result :
Current Armor:
Combat:
Free Actions:
Minor Actions:
Significant Actions:
Reactions:

[Hopsnbaer]

-Tevanis Larian Corvus (White Rook)-	UPP AC8CC9-3
Base of Operations	- Cruciatus (Montreal Class Ship)
Species	- Darrian
Description	- Slightly pointed ears, and White hair falling loosely around a face marked by a wine stain birthmark that curves along one side, gives him a distinctive and unforgettable look. His violet eyes, sharp and observant, seem to assess every situation with calm precision. Strong and wiry, his lean frame is a testament to years of hard living and disciplined training, blending the grace of noble birth with the raw edge of a seasoned bounty
Age	38
Rad. Dose	-

Physical Characteristics
STRength	10
DEXterity	12
ENDurance	8
INTellect	12
EDUcation	12
SOCial	9
PSI	8
REP	3

Dice Modifier Table
Ability	0	1-2	3-5	6-8	9-11	12-14
DM	-3	-2	-1	0	+1	+2

SKILLS AND TALENTS
(EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE]

Skill (specialty)	Rank
Admin
Athletics	0
Athletics (DEX)	1
Clairvoyance	0
Carouse	0
Deception	0
Drive
Electronics	0
Flyer	0
Gun Combat	0
Gun Combat (Slug)	3
Investigate	2
Leadership	1
Mechanic	0
Melee	0
Pilot
Recon	2 +1 (Heightened Senses)
Science	0
Stealth	0
Streetwise	0
Survival	-3 +1 (Heightened Senses)
Tactics	0
Tactics (Naval )	1
Telepathy	0
Vacc Suit	0
Untrained	-3

Study Period

Training In Skill	Pilot
Week of 24	0
Study Periods Complete	0
Note

TALENTS

Name	Description
The Guild Member	Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code
Heightened Senses	better hearing and vision than humans, granting DM+1 to any Recon or Survival check
Ozone Immunity	Darrians take no damage from ozone poisoning
Temperature Resistance	somewhat resistant to heat and cold damage due to their variable metabolism. Suffer -1 less damage from extremes of temperature in their environment.

Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival

Fidelity	Goat Lord
Allies	Lords of Water
Allies	Myrlock – Accomplished Bounty Hunter
Contact	Liora Tane– TBD
Enemy	Dark Ledger – Guild Fixer
Enemy	Salden Krex – Powerful Enemy 1
Enemy	TBD – Enemy 2
Enemy	TBD – Enemy 3
Enemy	TBD – Enemy 4

Finances

Pension	0
Debt	Cr105,000
Cash on Hand	2520
Banked (Imperial)	400
Monthly Ship Payments	0
Living Costs	Cr2500
-	-

ATTACK ACTIONS

HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	LL
Unarmed Strike	—	—	—	melee (close quarters)	1D6	—
Stealth Knife	12	175	0.5	melee (Close quarters)	1d6+2	-B-	1

RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	Traits
Single Shot Pistol	10	500	0.3	2m	ranged (pistol)	2D	P
Gaus Sub Machine Gun, Smart Comp/1, Smart Tracker, Secure, P-HUD Key	12	3000	3.0	50m	Ranged (Sub Gun)	3d6+2	AP3, Auto 4
Stunner, P-Hud Key	12	1200	-	10m	Ranged (Stunner)	3D	Stun, Zero-G

GEAR

Name	-TL-	Cost	Weight
Improved First Aid Kit	TL5	Cr125	-
Improved Light Intensifier Glasses, Infrared. Thermal	TL12	Cr 1250	-
Wrist Watch	TL12	Cr200	-
Flashlight	TL8	Cr10	0.5
P-HUD	TL11	Cr2500	-
Link Sized Portable Computer /2, Camera, Comms, Flashlight, Intelligent Interface\Agent 0 - Answers to Crow	TL12	- 1000	0.25
Comm Dot	TL12	10	-
Armor Cloth Protection 8 -	TL 8	-	7
Armor Cloth Protection 8 CHAMELEON, FULL MOTION +3 Stealth 20m+	TL 12	Cr10,500 (10K Benefit)	3
Armor Cloth Trench Coat, Prot 6	TL12	Cr500	4
Expandable Shield	TL12	Cr2500	1
Stunner, P-HUD Key	TL10	Cr1200	-
Stun grenades X 3	TL8	Cr90	1.5
Brass Knuckles	TL1	Cr10	-
Stealth Knife	TL12	175	0.5
Gaus Sub Machine Gun, Smart Comp/1, Smart Tracker, Secure, P-HUD Key	TL 12	(Cr3000 Benefit)	3
Gaus Magazines X 5	TL12	Cr540	5
Custom Face Mask	TL8	Cr20	-
Expensive Bourbon X4, Brandy X1, Bloodwine X1	TL1	1400
Freeze Dried Meat Rations	TL6	300
Crystal Whiskey Tumbler X 5	TL3	50

 

Event	Mechanics
Characteristics	as rolled
--Age--	--18
--Background Skills--	--Science 0, Electronics 0, Mechanic 0, Streetwise 0, Flyer 0, Vacc Suit 0 --
---	---
--Term 1	Military Academy (Special) - Accepted
--Career Service Skills--	-Deception 0, Gun Combat 0, Melee 0, Recon 0, Stealth 0, Investigate 0
--Graduate--	-- GRADUATED! +1 EDU, Investigate 1, Gun CMB 1, Recon 1, +2 Commission, Rank 1
--Commission--	-- Commission Successful Start at Rank 1 and officer
--Event (2)--	-- You are approached by an underground (and highly illegal) psionic group who sense potential in you. You may test your PSI and attempt to enter the Psion career in any subsequent term, (see page 236)
--Psi Testing--	--Psi Strength 8, Clairvoyance 0, Telepathy 0
--Age--	--22--
---	---
--Term 2--	Use my Coin and join, Bounty Hunter (Hunter)
--Service Skill--	--Carouse 0
--Survival	SURVIVED!
--Life Event--	--You pull out all the stops to bring in a mark. Gain REP +2--
--Advancement--	--Advance to Rank 1
--Adv Skill Personal Developement--	--Strength +1
--Age--	--26--
---	---
--Term 3--	--Bounty Hunter (Hunter)
--Skill--	--Gun Combat +1
--Survival--	--MISHAP
--Mishap--	--A criminal you have successfully tracked down offers you a deal to allow them to go. If you accept, you cannot claim the bounty and lose REP -1 but gain Cr50000. If you refuse, you make an Enemy of your mark as well as D3 of their friends and allies.
--Enemies--	--Gain 4 Enemies
--Advancement--	-- NO Advancement for YOU
--Age--	--30—
---	---
--Term 4--	--Bounty Hunter (Hunter)
--Skill Per Dvp--	--Athletics +1
--Survival--	--Survived
--Event--	--You work with a more accomplished bounty hunter. Gain REP +1 and count them as an Ally.
--Advancement--	-- NO Advancement for YOU
--Age--	--34—
--	--
--Age Crisis--	--NO Crisis—
--	--
--Term 5--	--Bounty Hunter (Hunter)
--Service Skill--	--Gun Combat +1
--Survival--	--Survived
--Life Event--	--Travel: You move to another world. You gain DM+2 to your next qualification roll
--Advancement---NO ADVANCEMENT FOR YOU
Age 38
--	--
--Age Crisis--	--NO Crisis—
--	--
--Muster Out--	--5 Rolls, 2 Cash, and 3 benefits
--Cash--	--10,000
--Cash--	--5,000
--Benefit--	-- Contact
--Benefit--	--Gun
--benefit--	--Armor
--	--
Ship Skills - Leadership 1, and tactics (Naval) 1
Connection Skills - Recon 1 and Investigation 1
Begin Play

 

• Family Name (zem te-mizbek): Tevanis
• Birth Name (zem te-natel): Larian
• Taken Name (zem te-rutin): Corvus

Birth and Kidnapping

Born into the prestigious Tevanis family on Darrian, Larian was the product of parents renowned for their genetic research, a fact that fueled rumors of possible genetic tampering. His exceptional intelligence and physical aptitude only added to the speculation, though his parents denied any involvement in such experimentation. Genetic manipulation and augmentations are a sensitive subject, as Darrians feel they are for the weak.

At age 10, Larian’s life was upended when mercenaries abducted him during a family trip. He was taken to a lawless black-market moon, a hub for smuggling and stolen goods. His captors, hoping for an easy ransom, underestimated how quickly the boy could adapt. But Darrian nobility didn’t negotiate, and when the ransom failed, Larian was left to escape and survive on the streets of the moon’s underground city.

Life in the Underground
For five years, Larian survived in the chaotic underbelly of the black-market moon, relying on his quick wits, charm, and resourcefulness. He bartered for food, worked odd jobs fixing machinery, and earned trust among smugglers and gang leaders.
Navigating the ever-shifting alliances of the moon’s criminal underworld, Larian learned to spot opportunities, avoid danger, and negotiate deals. His noble upbringing gave him a polished demeanor that he used to gain favors and access, while his time in the streets sharpened his instincts for survival.
Meeting Raina "Shadow" Corvus

At 15, Larian saved Raina "Eidolon" Corvus, a renowned bounty hunter, from a gang ambush on the black-market moon. Grateful for his help, she brought him aboard her ship. Curious about the resourceful street kid, Raina scanned archived bounty records and discovered an old listing for Larian, the missing Darrian heir identified by a distinct port-wine birthmark.
When she confronted him, Larian confessed the truth but convinced her to take a detour to hunt bounties along the way home. Together, they plotted a route through key systems, capturing three fugitives. Along the journey, Larian learned bounty-hunting strategy from Raina, while she relied on his black-market knowledge.
Upon reaching Darrian, Raina handed him an iron coin marked with the guild’s symbol.
Raina: “Show this to a guild officer when you’re ready to leave all this behind.”
With the coin in his pocket, Larian knew Raina had given him more than a way out—she’d shown him a new future.

Returning to a Changed Home

Back on Darrian, Larian discovered that his parents had moved on, mourning him for years before having another child, a daughter named Seren. Though his family welcomed him, he felt out of place in a life that no longer fit him. His questions about the kidnapping were met with vague answers, further alienating him.

The Taken Name: Corvus

When Larian reached adulthood, he chose Corvus as his taken name, honoring Raina and rejecting the family’s expectations. To his parents, it was a betrayal.

Father: “You chose her name over ours?”
Larian: “You replaced me. Now I’m replacing the life you planned for me.”

Military Academy and Future Paths
Seeking structure, Larian joined the Darrian Military Academy, starting his mandatory service. Though he embraced discipline, his streetwise instincts often clashed with authority. Meanwhile, the iron coin remained with him, a reminder of the freedom and adventure he could still claim.

Age 18-22: Military Academy (Term 1)
Larian joined the Darrian Military Academy to find structure and purpose after his troubled youth. His intelligence and resourcefulness earned him a commission, but his independent and street-smart nature often clashed with authority. Despite this, his performance during missions set him apart, making him a skilled and capable leader.

Age 22-26: Bounty Hunter (Term 2)
After leaving the military, Larian joined the Bounty Hunter Guild, using the iron coin given to him by "Shadow”. He excelled during his early hunts, earning a solid reputation. However, his refusal to engage in the guild’s political system and preference for low-profile operations put him at odds with Ceylan “Ledger” Dorne, the guild Comptroller, who controlled access to lucrative assignments.

Age 26-30: Bounty Hunter (Term 3)
Larian successfully tracked a high-profile criminal who offered him a bribe to let them go. He refused, earning the bounty but creating dangerous enemies. The criminal and associates involved vowed revenge, and Dorne used the incident as an excuse to block Larian from prime assignments. This term marked the beginning of Larian’s career stagnation as he struggled to outmaneuver his enemies within the guild and criminal circles.

Age 30-34: Bounty Hunter (Term 4)
Despite political setbacks, Larian worked alongside Kellen “ Myrlock” Myrik, a seasoned bounty hunter. They completed several successful contracts, and Larian rebuilt some of his reputation. During this time, he began hearing troubling news about “Shadow”, now nearly 50 and slowing down after nearly three decades of bounty hunting.

Age 34-38: Bounty Hunter (Term 5)
Larian continued to take on assignments while secretly tracking Raina’s last known movements. Toward the end of this term, his fears were realized—Raina Corvus disappeared while on a dangerous mission. With little support from the guild and Dorne still impeding his progress, Larian relocated to another world to search for his mentor and uncover the truth about her fate.

CONNECTIONS   Investigate +1 Connection Skill Four years ago, on Mack’s first contract as a bounty hunter, the Guild paired him with Rook on a mission to extract a target—an ex-Sternmetal executive—from a hostile system. The job should have been routine, but by the time they bagged the mark, the planet had erupted into chaos. Rook crouched behind a crumbling wall, the unconscious mark slumped against him. Insurrectionists were setting up makeshift barricades on one end of the street, while corporate soldiers gathered on the other. The tension crackled like a fuse ready to blow. “Mack, if you’ve left me here, I swear—” Rook muttered under his breath. The guy had run off to get transport, but it had been twenty minutes. Long enough for Rook to start thinking the former marine had abandoned him. He wasn’t supposed to expect that from someone with Mack’s background, but in this line of work, anything was possible. “Looks like it’s just me and you,” Rook said to the unconscious man. “And you’re not much for conversation.” Then he heard it—the low rumble of an engine tearing through the streets. He peeked around the corner just as an armored troop transport came barreling into view, smashing straight through the insurrectionists’ barricade and sending bodies flying. The corporate soldiers cheered—until the transport skidded to a stop and spun sideways. Rook’s jaw dropped as Mack jumped out of the driver’s seat and climbed into the turret. Grenades exploded down both sides of the street, scattering insurrectionists and soldiers alike. Smoke filled the air as debris rained down around them. “You coming or what?” Mack called down from the turret. “I can’t shoot and drive!” Rook exhaled sharply and shook his head. “I thought you ditched me!” “I was getting the ride,” Mack shouted back. “Now move it.” Rook hauled the mark to his feet and dragged him into the back of the transport. “I was thinking more of a ground car,” he said, slamming the door behind him, “but sure, this works.” Rook slid into the driver’s seat and floored the accelerator. The transport roared down the street, spewing grenades and leaving the chaos behind them. Rook leaned back, catching his breath. “Not bad for a rookie.” Mack smirked. “I’m only a rookie to you, buddy.” Rook chuckled. “Fair point. But next time, a little warning would be nice.” “Where’s the fun in that?” Rook shook his head, still smiling. Maybe the new guy wasn’t so bad after all. Maxim 37 - There is no "Overkill" There is only "Open fire" and "Reload"   Connection Skill Recon +1 The cage in the veterinarian office was cramped, the smell of antiseptic mixing with dust and stale air. Varon Kell sat hunched inside a large kennel, glaring through the metal bars. “Hey! Hey, you! My back’s killing me. Can I get out and stretch?” he whined, shifting uncomfortably. Rook didn’t look away from the window. “Be quiet, or I’ll stun you. It’ll make hauling you harder, but I’ll enjoy it more.” Kell grumbled and slumped back into the cramped cage. Rook turned his attention back to the street. The Mark had been better connected than expected—better connected and a hell of a lot more trouble. Local law enforcement and syndicate enforcers were now actively hunting them. The team needed to cross the city and make it to the port before their ride left. The ship wasn’t waiting. He tapped his comm. “Coda, how’s it going? Our window’s closing.” “I’ll be done when I’m done,” Coda muttered, She wiped sweat from her brow, flipping through the medpad on the table beside her while trying to work with shaking hands. The hardened bounty hunter gritted his teeth. “Are you using a pair of pliers back there?” he rasped. “I am using pliers, and you’re lucky I am,” Coda shot back. It was the first time she’d put her Medic training into live practice, and there was no anesthesia to dull the pain. Myrlock, a hardened bounty hunter with a reputation, was finding out the hard way that even veterans weren’t immune to bad luck—or embarrassment. He’d made one rookie mistake: never turn your back on a Mark. Myrlock had tasked Coda and Rook with securing Kell while he checked the door. Kell had fumbled for a hidden gun, dropped it, and the misfire had planted a bullet right in Myrlock’s backside. If word got out, it would haunt him for years. “You’ll survive,” Coda muttered, carefully extracting the bullet. “We’re not saying a thing,” Coda assured him, bandaging the wound. “But you’re getting this looked at properly when we’re back at the Hall.” Myrlock groaned and didn’t argue. Rook’s voice came through her comm again, sharp and urgent. “Targets inbound. We need to move. Now.” Coda exhaled, double-checking the bandages before packing up her gear. “On my way.” Rook glanced one last time at the street. “Hope you’re ready,” he muttered, pulling Kell out of the cage and moving toward the back room. “This is gonna be a sprint.” Maxim 9 - Never turn your back on the Enemy.   The below happened towards the end of White Rooks first term and Catspaw's second. The room shuddered violently, throwing Rook against the wall. The glow from the alien console pulsed faster and faster, casting eerie shadows across the crystalline walls. Overhead, Catspaw’s drone buzzed, scanning for an escape route. "I knew this was a mistake," Rook muttered, steadying himself. The deception had been all Catspaw’s doing—forged credentials, suppressed background checks, and a carefully crafted cover story. They had posed as scientific advisors hired by Vars’ subordinates, seamlessly embedding themselves into the mission. Rook had played his part, acting the smooth-talking specialist, while Catspaw did what Hivers did best—stay ten steps ahead. "You got any ideas, genius?" Rook called as another tremor nearly knocked him off balance. Catspaw’s limbs moved rapidly over the alien glyphs. "This ship’s navigation locks are tied to its jump sequence. Disable them, and we can escape." "And if you can’t?" "Then we will jump with it." Rook groaned and adjusted the unconscious Dr. Linton Vars. The scientist had triggered the lockdown while trying to seize control of the ship. Now they were trapped. "Maintenance shaft, four meters left," Catspaw said, his drone chirping. "It will bypass the main corridors." Rook hoisted Vars and pried open the panel, revealing a dim passage. They crawled through the narrow shaft, heat and vibrations intensifying around them. At the exit, Rook kicked open the panel and stumbled into the airlock chamber. The Wanderlight’s lights flickered beyond. But the airlock door was sealed. "Too much encryption," Catspaw said. "I can not hack it in time." "Then we improvise." Rook fired at the control panel, sparks flying as the mechanism groaned and slid halfway open. "Move!" Catspaw slipped through with fluid grace. Rook shoved Vars through and squeezed out as the door shut behind them. "Disengage! Now!" Rook shouted. The Wanderlight’s engines roared to life, pulling away just as the Anna Novic shimmered and vanished into the void. Rook collapsed against the bulkhead. "Never again." "Until the next time," Catspaw replied. Rook chuckled weakly. "Let’s make sure there isn’t one." Catspaw’s drone hovered nearby, chirping as if it had something to say. After a moment, Rook exhaled and glanced at the sealed airlock behind them. "Maxim 34: If you’re leaving scorch marks, you probably went in the right direction." Catspaw’s drone chirped in agreement. "Feels about right."   Wraith's fingers flew across the sticky, outdated keyboard. Someone had spilled a drink on it, and she was struggling to type without the Z key. She cursed under her breath but kept working. By the exit, Rook stood with the door cracked, casually cradling his subgun as he watched the hallway. "The smoother this goes, the more likely it’s gonna blow up in our faces," he said nonchalantly, as if it were a universal law. "Stop expecting it, you’ll jinx me," she hissed, not looking up. Her fingers hesitated briefly as she considered explaining the layered security system and how triggering an alarm here would turn this place into a warzone. But explaining it would just mean admitting Rook had a point. She bit her tongue and focused. A few tense seconds passed. Then—click. She cracked the system. The mark had left the compound and boarded a tramp freighter. She chuckled when the ship’s name popped up: Charmed Escape. "Not this time, my friend," she muttered. Shoving the keyboard aside, she stood. "I’ve got it," she said confidently. As she gathered her gear, her eyes fell on an old-fashioned sticky note stuck to the monitor—someone had left the password written right there. She let out a frustrated laugh. Before she could say anything, alarms blared throughout the compound. "It wasn’t me," Wraith started to protest. Rook didn’t miss a beat. "I think they found our sleepy guards. Let’s go!" he barked, already moving toward the exit. Wraith grabbed her pack and followed, knowing that their so-called smooth operation had just hit its inevitable snag. -Maxim 17: “The longer everything goes according to plan, the bigger the impending disaster.”   White Rook Continued. "Justice?" Rook chuckled softly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. The dim lights of the Ledger Hall flickered over the worn tabletops and the glowing sigils suspended in the air. It was late, and they were almost the only ones left. The hall never truly closed, but it slowed down at times, and this was one of those rare, quiet moments. Angel sat across from him, her first mission behind her—a mission that had been meant to ease her into the life. But instead, she’d proven she didn’t need much easing. Capable, fierce, and maybe a little too eager to draw blood. "Justice," Rook repeated, leaning back in his chair. "You don’t always get to pick that, Angel. Sometimes, the contract doesn’t care what’s right or wrong. Sometimes, it just comes down to Maxim 13: Do unto others." He downed half his drink. "And sometimes? The contract demands you leave justice at the door." Angel finished her glass and tapped it for a refill. "But you still have a say, right?" she asked, pushing a data pad across the table. She tapped the screen, highlighting a name. "What about this guy?" Rook’s vision blurred just enough to make the details hard to read. He blinked, refocusing, and after a few moments, gave a lazy grin. "looks like a right Bastard. Let’s go get him." Angel smirked, hit Accept, and pressed her thumb to the screen. Rook followed, his own thumb locking them in. They stood, swaying slightly as they stumbled toward the docks. "A CONTRACT ACCEPTED IS A CONTRACT COMPLETED!" they called out in unison, laughter echoing as they disappeared into the night. Morning came with a headache—and a problem. As Rook scrolled through the full contract details, dread crept in. If he’d read a bit further, he’d have seen the mark was no ordinary bounty. Their target was a Baron in exile, complete with armed retainers and enough political baggage to make things messy. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "This isn’t going to be easy." Angel, leaning against the doorway with a cup of steaming coffee, smirked. "Did you really expect it to be?" You show up on the list, chances are you did something to put yourself there. Justice takes on all kinda forms, you know."[/b] Angel took a flask out and added a dash of amber liquor to her cup. And then thought about it a little and added a couple more before stowing the flask. "Hair of the dog, as they say," she commented. "Look, help me out on this one, okay? You get a chance to dig through this jackal's files, I'm looking for any dirt you can pull on KitoraCorp. I've got a score to settle with some middle management there and he's done a lot of business with them." "And that's justice?" asked Rook. "It's my justice. I'm flexible on definitions, okay? Do it because you like me," said Ania with a dry smirk. Rook gave Angel a look. "What? Okay, fine. Do it because Maxim whatever-it-is. You know the one. Be Good To Your Fixer." Rook gave Angel another look. Okay, it was the same look, but he repeated it. "That's not a maxim." "Just... go do your job, okay?" Despite herself, Jana had to smile. Aaaaand sometimes that was all it took to get people to agree. Mission -- well, sub-mission -- accomplished.   The hum of Rook’s stunner was barely audible over the gunfire pinning him behind the dumpster. The Mark must have gotten word they were coming. Rook and Steelclaw had been ambushed—seven thugs, all armed and waiting. They had barely stepped out of the bar into the dimly lit alley when the shooting started. Rook dove for cover behind a rusted dumpster, while Steelclaw fell back into the building. “Go around front and get that Aslan!” a man in a cheap plastic suit bellowed. He jabbed a finger toward his crew. “Yes, you! This guy ain’t going nowhere, there’s four of ya, go kill that Aslan.” The gunfire on Rook’s position intensified. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, checking his stunner. “I need to wrap this up.” Even with a stunner, an experienced shooter like Rook could make short work of amateurs. Two of the thugs fell before they realized their mistake, but speed was critical. From inside the bar, shouts and screams had rang out—some distinctly not human. Steelclaw was unlike any Aslan Rook had ever met. Raised in the Imperium, he was more Vilani than warrior, far more cerebral than instinct-driven. But Rook also knew one important fact: Steelclaw had left his firearm on the ship. Four against one. Even for an Aslan, those were bad odds. Then—silence. Rook dispatched his last attacker and moved swiftly, weapon ready, as he stepped inside the bar. What he found was carnage. Steelclaw stood at the bar, calmly pouring himself a glass of bourbon. Of the attackers, there was little left. Limbs, shredded torsos, and splattered remains were scattered across the floor. As Rook took in the scene, something wet plopped from the ceiling fan and landed near his boot. A piece of intestine. Steelclaw took a slow sip of his drink and glanced at Rook. “They were uncivilized.” Rook exhaled, shaking his head. “Remind me not to play cards with you.” Maxim 6: If violence wasn’t your last resort, you failed to resort to enough of it.

 

As far as Corvus knows, this is a Dark Secret shared with no one.

During his time at the Darrian Military Academy, Larian was approached by an underground psionic group that recognized his latent abilities. He tested with moderate psi strength and demonstrated potential in clairvoyance and telepathy. Initially intrigued, Larian quickly grew wary due to the psionic noise—a mental hum of unfiltered thoughts and emotions that overwhelmed him in large crowds.
Throughout his early bounty hunting career, the noise continued to hinder his ability to focus, particularly in cities and crowded areas, leading him to seek isolation and smaller-scale operations. By his mid-30s, through meditation and mental discipline, Larian achieved full control over the noise, allowing him to use his psionic talents more effectively. However, he has never revealed his abilities due to the stigma and potential dangers of psionic involvement in certain regions of the galaxy.

 

Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries 301st Anniversary Edition, compiled by the Celeschul Instutute of Cultural Sapience
(OOC: A book written by Howard Taylor https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Howard_Tayler )

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 10/10 Dex 12/12 End 8/8 Int 12/12 Edu 12/12 Soc 9/9 Psi 8/8
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: Heightened Senses +1 Recon, Survival Sight, Sound
Rad. Dose: - 0

Non-Combat:

Initiative Result :
Current Armor: Armor Cloth Jacket, Prot 5 TL12
Combat:
Free Actions:
Minor Actions:
Significant Actions:
Reactions: Dodge

[epelj1]

NAME	Jonus "Mack" Anival (869448-0)
Base of Operations	-
Species	Human
Description	Jonus was a beast of a man. A lot of people hear that and expect a 6'-5" tall guy with muscles on muscles. Take that image, and squish it down to 5'-9", and you'd get Jonus. His foster dad had called him Mack - based on a truck of all things. Jonus didn’t understand it as a kid, but having grown, he looked it back up on a datapad. Mack was a company, and their logo was a squat dog called a bulldog. He’d nodded in agreement then, his dad wasn’t wrong.
Age	36
Rad. Dose	-

Physical Characteristics
STRength	8
DEXterity	7
ENDurance	9
INTellect	4
EDUcation	4
SOCial	8
PSI	0
REP	0

Dice Modifier Table
Ability	0	1-2	3-5	6-8	9-11	12-14
DM	-3	-2	-1	0	+1	+2

SKILLS AND TALENTS
(EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE]

Skill (specialty)	Rank
Admin
Advocate
Animals
Athletics	0
Athletics (STR)
Athletics (DEX)	1
Athletics (END)
Art
Art ( )
Art ( )
Broker
Carouse	0
Deception
Diplomat
Drive	0
Drive(wheeled)	1
Electronics
Electronics (Comms)
Electronics (Computers)
Electronics (Remote Ops)
Electronics (sensors)
Engineer
Engineer ( )
Explosives
Flyer
Flyer(Winged)
Flyer(Rotor)
Gambler
Gunner	0
Gunner(Turret)	1
Gun Combat	0
Gun Combat (Slug)	2
Heavy Weapons	0
Heavy Weapons (portable)	2
Investigate
Jack of all Trades
Language
Language ( )
Leadership	1
Mechanic
Medic	0
Melee	0
Melee (Blade)	1
Melee (Unarmed)	0
Navigation
Persuade
Pilot
Pilot(Small Craft)
Profession
Profession ()
Recon	2
Science
Science ( )
Seafarer
Stealth	0
Steward
Streetwise	0
Survival
Tactics	0
Tactics (Military)	1
Vacc Suit	0
Untrained	-3

Study Period

Training In Skill
Week of 24
Study Periods Complete
Note

TALENTS

Name	Description
The Guild Member	Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code
- I -
-	-

Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival

Fidelity	Tiger Lord
Allies	Lords of Wood
-	-

Finances

Pension
Debt	5,000Cr
Cash on Hand	10,000Cr
Banked (Imperial)
Monthly Ship Payments
Living Costs
-	-

ATTACK ACTIONS

HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	LL
Unarmed Strike	—	—	—	melee (close quarters)	1D6	—
Stun Stick	8	Cr300	0.5	melee	2D6	Stun

RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	Traits
Single Shot Pistol	10	Cr500	0.3	2m	ranged (pistol)	2D	P, Zero-G, Silent
*Suppressor	8	Cr250	—	—	—	—	—
Assault Rifle	7	Cr500	4	200m	ranged	3D	Auto 2, MagCap20, Cr15
Machine Gun	6	Cr1500	10	500m	ranged	3D	Auto 4, MagCap60, Cr100
—	—	—	—	—	—	—	—
Grenade (frag) (5qty)	6	Cr150	0.5	20m	ranged	5D	Blast 9
Grenade (stun) (5qty)	7	Cr150	0.5	20m	ranged	3D	Blast 9(stun)
Explosives(Plastic) (1qty)	6	Cr200	—	—	ranged	3D	Blast 9

GEAR

Item	TL	Cost	Wgt	Notes
Cloth	8	—	3	Protection 8
Breather Mask	8	Cr150	—	—
Commdot (10qtw)	10	Cr100	—	—
Motorcycle	5	Cr1000	450

 

Event	Mechanics
Characteristics	as rolled
Pre-Career Skills	Carouse and Streetwise
Career Term 1	Failed entry into Marines,
CT1 Draft	Marines - Ground Assault Team: Gained. Melee (Blade) 1, Enlisted Rank 0
CT1 Basic Training	Athletics, Vacc, Tactics, Heavy Weapons, Gun Combat, Stealth
CT1	Commission: Failed, Survived
CT1 Life Event	Gained: Tactics(Military)
CT1 Advancement	Failed.
Career Term 2	Gained: Recon 1, Failed: Life Event DEX-1, Gained Advancement: Lance Corporal, Gun Combat (any) 1, Advancement Skill: Athletics
Career Term 3	Gained: END+1, Succeeded at Life Event - Gained: Leadership 0, Gained Advancement: Corporal, Advancement Skill: Heavy Weapons
Career Term 4	Gained: Recon 1, Failed Survival, Gained: Rival (Force Commander Rossen)
Connection (Bjorn)	Heavy Weapons
Aging	STR-1, DEX-1, END-1
Career Term 5	Bounty Hunter: Hunter, Gained: Gun Combat, Survived, No Life Event Perk, Advancement: Failed
Connection (Rook)	Drive (wheeled)
Muster Out	TWS Membership, Four Ship Shares, +1 END
Abilities	Repair 1Dex -5kCr
BH Muster	10kCr
Ship Skills	Gunner (turret)1, Medic1

 

 

Jonus is a product of the system. In foster care as an infant, he bounced back and forth from his foster family to his bio mom. It was rough, different parenting styles, different ways of life altogether. Both lives were 'not bad', but in the end, these two particular halves don't make a whole. He never felt like a true member of either family. He'd see large families out and about on holidays and wonder what it'd be like. It was just a snapshot of happiness for the families he'd watch, but in his mind, that's how they always were. He wanted that. The family he got was split, half spent with white collar parents, and the other half on the streets. He wanted a family of his own.

And that's what the recruiter had promised him. A family of like minded individuals, coming together for the greater good. He'd make a difference, he'd be an integral part of a huge family.

He couldn't sleep last night in anticipation of hearing the results of his application and physical, and here he is now, his first brother, Paul.

 

After being turned away from the Marines, Jonus continued on with his life. Two months later, he was staying with his foster family and received mail that he was being drafted by none other than the MARINES! Two months ago, he would have been elated to join their ranks, however after being deemed unworthy, only to now be 'needed', he was unsure of how he felt.

Basic training was a breeze for Jonus, and he progressed with honors and had applied for an officer position, but was turned away without even an interview.

He was assigned to Ground Assault Team 47, and almost immediately sent out to capture an enemy base. They said he’d essentially be tossed from orbit, and damned if they weren’t right. It was a surreal feeling, and when the mission was all said and done, he felt like he was shaking from adrenaline for days.

Having been integral in the assault, Jonus was pushed by his team to ask for a promotion, but again was turned away with no further communication.

 

Jonus' second term in the Marines was much like the first. His team had proven themselves an effective strike force, and was once again sent to assault an enemy base. This time around Jonus strained his MCL. Not a 'real' injury, said the docs, but he can't shift to the right nearly as well as he could prior to the 'non-injury'. This time around, his superiors promoted him to Lance Corporal, due to his 'commitment to the service'. He took it as just another carrot to keep him going.

 

His next enlistment term went much like the previous two. With his unit establishing themselves as a force to be reckoned with, they were utilized once again for enemy strikes. This time was Jonus' time to shine, as he stepped up and led his unit to another successful raid.

Having previously been highly trained in blade weapons, this term in the Marines he had switched to primarily using Heavy Weapons, due to his role in the unit changing. To say he excelled was an understatement. ‘Low’ and ‘Bulky’ were adequate descriptors of him and his weapon of choice. He was promoted once again, as they were unable to continue downplaying his importance to the unit.

 

Jonus continued training with his unit well into his early 30s. The term started much like the previous, having been assigned to yet another enemy attack. In the planning stages, a Bounty Hunter team was assigned in which Jonus briefly met Bjorn Ullers. It was the first time he'd had them included, and had high hopes for the Op.

It was a disaster. Midway through, and the mission was FUBAR. Bounty Hunters were missing, and Jonus' crew were driven back.

A few days after, he was walking by the officers' lounge and heard his 'friend', Force Commander Rossen, mention his name. He stopped, listened by the door, and heard Rossen bragging about having blocked Jonus' career. Jonus listened as Rossen talked. Apparently, this went back as far as Jonus' recruitment application. The recruiter had known Jonus' bio mom and held a grudge against her. Rossen had lost a bet with him on a G/racer race. But according to Rossen, it was a lose/win, as he got to f*ck with this loser recruit - Jonus. He went on to explain that Jonus was a good recruit, too good, and he'd struggled to find new ways to keep him in his place. He kept throwing him into enemy bases, thinking the bastard wouldn't come back, but damned if the kid did. Rossen kept going, laughing, "all because of some trash on Terra." That was the last straw. Jonus burst into the officers' lounge, grabbing a chair as he strode across the room. With an upward swing of the chair, Jonus caught Rossen in the cheek, crushing the man's sinus cavity. Rossen flipped over the table behind him and slide across the room. He was slow to stand up, but was laughing through the blood in his mouth. "You finally f*cking did it, grunt. Get the f*ck out of here before I have your *ss court martialed, you piece of trash."

Jonus spent the next several months drifting from planet to planet, either hitching a ride on cargo ships legitimately, or otherwise. He spent the majority of those months in the bottom of whatever bottle he could find. The last one was Kepler-62e. He was working his way through the Kepler belt, and had just about worn out his welcome on 62e. If he hadn't been looking through a particularly thick pair of beer goggles, he may have noticed the Bounty Hunter watching him in the cantina he'd propped himself up in, but alas, he had not. Jonus through his last bit of cash on the bar, and went to get a taxi to the port.

The Hunter watched him stagger by. Jonus still had his military uniform on, though it had months of dirt and grim encrusted on it. His patches had been ripped off has he left his base, but the Hunter could still make out the outline of Ground Assault Team 47, responsible for liberating Centauri b. Team 47 was well known in the circles of people who knew of such things.

Jonus fell, more than climbed, into to the taxi, which waited outside of the cantina with Jonus half in and half out of it. Eventually, the driver got out, and with significant effort pulled Jonus out of his car, got back in and left in a hurry. The Hunter watched as Jonus laid there for awhile before climbing back up, and into the cantina. After a few tries, Jonus perched himself on a barstool and passed out. When he awoke, a single, strange coin was in his hand, his tab was paid, and the bartender had strict orders to refuse further service.

 

It all came back to family. Split since birth, and unable to find a suitable family in the Marines, Jonus was lost. All he'd ever wanted was a family - a place to belong. He flipped the token over in his hand. He'd had it for a few weeks, not sure of what his next step would be, but he'd also slowly making his way across the system to their headquarters. He had no other options, and certainly none better.

A week later, and he was sitting at a school desk again. A mix of entrants, from wide eyed kids, to men that shells of their older selves. Ok, that was just Jonus, most everyone else looked to be at the top of their game. He followed the directions of the Hunter speaking to the group, and his stomach turned when he made mention of the Sponsors coming out. Jonus had never met his sponsor, just knew the sigil. He watched eagerly as the sponsors walked into the room, looking for someone he knew, remotely or intimately, he had no idea.

An older, gray haired man stopped in front of him. He looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him. He was medium height, Jonus' height, thin, almost 'wispy'. He had to be a tech guy, had to be. The sponsor nodded, "Mack." He hadn't been called Mack in years, not since he'd left his foster parents' house as a young kid. This guy knew them, had to have.

Jonus, Mack, tentatively nodded back, and they continued their training.

Utilizing his Marines training, Mack was tasked with a hostage rescue as his first contract. He was paired with a more established Hunter, named Rook, though about the same age. The job should have been routine, but by the time they bagged the mark, the planet had erupted into chaos. With all his training in tactics, controlled chaos was still Mack's jam.

They were pinned down, though with some cover fire from Rook, Mack was able to fall back deeper into the city. This was not his forte, this is why units exist, right? But here he was, trying to find a getaway. He hadn't had experience with this part, so he was checking cars for keys. It was stupid, but for some reason he couldn't get the idea out of his head that this was the way. He hadn't learned how to jump a car, no stable dad on either side of the fence to teach him how.

Around the corner, he heard the rumble of a troop transport. He ducked down beside a burnt out car and waited until the time was right then lit them up. They never saw it coming! Moving quick he hauled the lifeless driver out and dumped him on the ground.

He'd driven in the past, of course, but never a transport. He started flipping switches, causing the vehicle to rumble to life. Clipping the hoods of a few cars, he was able to maneuver the transport down the street. He hauled *ss back to Rook's location, only to see the amount of troops firing upon Rook had increased dramatically. Busting through the barricades, he laughed as he saw the corporate soldiers cheering for him. Guns started to raise as the transport slide to a stop sideways. Mack jumped out of the driver’s seat and climbed into the turret. Grenades exploded down both sides of the street, scattering insurrectionists and soldiers alike. Smoke filled the air as debris rained down around them.

“You coming or what?” Mack called down from the turret. “I can’t shoot and drive!” Rook exhaled sharply and shook his head. “I thought you ditched me!” “I was getting the ride,” Mack shouted back. “Now move it.”
Rook hauled the mark to his feet and dragged him into the back of the transport. “I was thinking more of a ground car,” he said, slamming the door behind him, “but sure, this works.” "Couldn't find any keys!" Mack yelled back.
Rook slid into the driver’s seat and floored the accelerator. The transport roared down the street, spewing grenades and leaving the chaos behind them.
Rook leaned back, catching his breath. “Not bad for a rookie.”
Mack smirked. “I’m only a rookie to you, buddy.”
Rook chuckled. “Fair point. But next time, a little warning would be nice.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 8/8 Dex 7/7 End 9/9 Int 4/4 Edu 4/4 Soc 8/8 Psi 0/0
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: normal
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

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[Sir Swindle]

Sone (Catspaw) Sone (Catspaw) 287CCF-0 Base of Operations - Species Hiver Description An aged and les than robust Hiver. His pink skin is mottled with very dark, almost charcoal grey patches, showing his age. His tentacles are thin from a life of console work but the musculature that is there is wiry and belies a quickness that he doesn't advertise. Five of his eyes are an attractive inky black that you could get lost in, but his dorsal most eye is milky white, damaged from a scar that runs along his sensory tentacle. In the field he can be seen in his black ballistic jacket, covering him head to toe, to toe, to toe, to toe. His Gauss personal defense weapon hangs easily against his dorsal hump, ready to be drawn and spit death at a moment's notice. Age 50 Rad. Dose - Physical Characteristics   STRength 2 DEXterity 8 ENDurance 7 INTellect 12 EDUcation 12 RESolve 15 PSI 0 REP 2 Dice Modifier Table Ability 0 1-2 3-5 6-8 9-11 12-14 DM -3 -2 -1 0 +1 +2 SKILLS AND TALENTS (EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE] Skill (specialty) Rank Admin 1 Advocate   Animals   Athletics (STR)   Athletics (DEX)   Athletics (END)   Art   Art ( )   Art ( )   Broker   Carouse   Deception 1 Diplomat 1 Drive   Drive(wheeled)   Electronics 0 Electronics (Comms)   Electronics (Computers) 1 Electronics (Remote Ops) 1 Electronics (Sensors)   Engineer   Engineer (Life Support) 1 Explosives   Flyer   Flyer(Winged)   Flyer(Rotor)   Gambler   Gunner   Gunner(Turret)   Gun Combat 0 Gun Combat (Slug) 1 Heavy Weapons   Heavy Weapons ( )   Investigate   Jack of all Trades   Language   Language ( )   Leadership   Mechanic 1 Medic   Melee   Melee (Blade)   Melee (Unarmed)   Navigation   Persuade 1 Pilot   Pilot(Small Craft)   Profession   Profession ()   Recon 2 Science   Science (Psychology) 4 Seafarer   Stealth   Steward   Streetwise   Survival 0 Tactics   Tactics ( )   Vacc Suit   Untrained -3 Study Period Training In Skill Week of 24 Study Periods Complete Note TALENTS Name Description The Guild Member Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code Hiver Physiology The Hiver can take additional damage up to its END before actually dying. Physical Coward If a Hiver is attacked at a range of 25m or less, or feels threatened by such an attack they must make an immediate Resolve (RES) check. This will usually be Average (8+) difficulty but may be modified by circumstances. No sense of Smell Most Hivers have no sense of smell Stability In any situation where immobility is important, or where a Hiver must move under difficult conditions, a +2DM applies. Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival Fidelity Serpent Lord Allies Lords of Air Enemy Senior Hiver Jicriaf Rival Tef (Hiver Administrator) Rival Vomok (Ithklur Ship Captain) Contacts Ril Meazoro (Belter Captain) Contacts Trevas (Aslan Ihatei) Contacts Ozera (Cyborg) Contacts Acetic (Mentor) Contacts - Contacts -   Finances Pension $10,000 Debt $0 Cash on Hand $78,775 Banked (Imperial) $200,000 Monthly Ship Payments $0 Living Costs $0 - - ATTACK ACTIONS HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type LL Unarmed Strike — — — melee (close quarters) 1D6 —   RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS Weapon TL Cost Wgt Range Damage Type Traits Hiver Gauss PDW 13 Cr1100 2 30m 3D+1 Slug AP3, Auto 4, Hiver Single Shot Pistol 10 Cr500 0.3 2m ranged (pistol) 2D P ARMOR Armor TL Cost Wgt Rad Prot Type Traits Hiver Ballistic Jacket 10 650 10 - +6 - psionic shield Hiver Ballistic Helmet 10 250 2 - +2 - - GEAR Cloth TL 8 Protection 8, - Tropical Club Membership: This equates to a High Passage ticket once a month and Cr1,000 for expenses. 279150Cr Drone Control Console (Advanced) Hiver Voder (w/ Electronics (Intrusion) Package) Wafer Jack Expert Electronics (Computers) Expert Electronics (Remote Ops) Expert Science (Psychology) Expert Engineering (J-Drive) Sky Spotter Drone 2 x Nano Hiver Microbot 2 x AV Bugs Neural Comm Breather Mask TL8 Laser Sight 10 Dose Chemical Poison 10 Dose Neurotoxin 10 Dose Tranqulizer   Robot Hits Locomotion Speed TL Cost Nano Hiver 1 Walker 6m 13 Cr4,200 Skills Stealth 4, Weapon 1 Attacks Injector Needles x4 (1, AP 4) Manipulators 4x (STR 0, DEX 8) Endurance 76 Hours Traits ATV, IR Vision, Small (-4) Programming Primitive (Homing), INT 1 Options Auditory Sensor, Camouflage: Visual (Superior), Drone Interface, Gecko Grippers, Injectors x4, Options Light Intensifier Sensor (Advanced), Transceiver, 5km (Improved), Vacuum Environment Protection, Voder Speaker, Wireless Data Link   Robot Size Hits Locomotion Speed TL Cost Nano Hive Drone 0 (Micro) 1 Walker 6m 10 Cr2,800 Skills Stealth 2, Weapon 1 Attacks Injector Needles x3 (1, AP 3) Manipulators 3x (STR 0, DEX 8) Endurance 50 Hours Traits ATV, IR Vision, Small (-4) Programming Primitive (Homing), INT 1 Options Auditory Sensor, Camouflage: Visual (Improved), Drone Interface, Gecko Grippers, Injectors x3, Options Light Intensifier Sensor (Advanced), Transceiver, 5km (Improved), Wireless Data Link   Event Mechanics Characteristics 11, 11, 10, 9, 5, RES 11 Default Hiver Persuade 0, Survival 0 Social Hive Res+1, Persuade (1) Background Electronics 0 Term 1 Hiver Generalist (Hiver Drifter) Skill Resolve +1 Advancement Failed, Rank Adult Change Nest Success (Industrial) Transfer Manipulation Failed -6 Event Worked in Nature (Recon) Term 2 Hiver Generalist (Hiver Drifter) Skill Resolve +1 Advancement Failed, Rank Adult Event Enemy (Senior Hiver Jicriaf) Term 3 Hiver Generalist (Hiver Drifter) Skill Diplomat Advancement Success, Rank Senior Event Worked in Nature (Recon) Muster 9 Hiver Benefits   Tropical Club Membership   99000Cr   85000Cr Debt Remove Debt 2 Rivals (Tef, Vomok)   +1 Int   +1 Edu   +2 Res (Wasted, already at 15) Term 4 Bounty Hunter (Tech Ops) Skill Electronics (Remote Ops) Survival Success Advancement Failed Event REP +2, Benefits +2 Term 5 Bounty Hunter (Tech Ops) Skill Science (Sociology) Survival Success Advancement Failed Event Training - Engineer (Life Support) Ageing No Effect Term 6 Bounty Hunter (Tech Ops) Skill Science (Sociology) Survival Success Advancement Success, Electronics (Computers) 1 Adv Skill Science (Sociology) Event Birth, My spawn survives Ageing No Effect Term 7 Bounty Hunter (Tech Ops) Skill Science (Sociology) Survival Success Advancement Failed Event Gain 3 Contacts Ageing Dex -1 Term 8 Bounty Hunter (Tech Ops) Skill Admin Survival Success Advancement Failed Event Change Worlds Ageing Dex -1, End -2, Str -1 Muster 3 Contacts Connection White Rook (Deception) Connection The Coda (Mechanics)   Early Life: Sone was always a little different, some would call his manipulations blunt or wasteful, most non-hivers would call them sociopathic. He began life in a social nest but after an unfortunate 'accident' caused the death of a rival his care takers maneuvered to have him sent to an industrial nest that operated in the planet's trailing Trojan cluster. He excelled at the use of remote mining drones on the nest's small star ships and after a few short years managed to take on the role of the Guaran captain's executive officer. The funeral of his predecessor was a beautiful and somber event and a tear jerking eulogy by the woman's mate was the final push the captain needed to take the mining ship out of federation territory in search of riches elsewhere. Years later, hundreds of parsecs from home, Catspaw was the only one left on his Practicality mining ship. A lone Bounty Hunter, codenamed Acetic, recruited him after Catspaw managed to talk his way onto a cargo ship he had been stowed away aboard to get to a job. Acetic practically had to recruit the young Hiver, since the rest of the crew had been unfortunately vented into the void, who else could pilot the ship? Background: Sone entered into a Social Nest on Gurvin after reaching maturity. He received the same basic education as all the other young members of the nest. However he also showed a special interest in Electronics, using information from cameras and blocked doors to execute his first manipulations. Term 1: Sone spent his first years biding his time and getting a feel for the world around him. He was interested in his people's ancient culture so volunteered at a Snohl conservancy, he worked along side the large beasts and several other Hivers. He was young so his manipulations were tentative and a bit clumsy. In the last year of his service at the conservancy he observed a pair of his nest mates discussing a plan to defraud the Nest while transferring their funds to a different planet. He thought this manipulation was very clever and attempted to do the same thing and hide his own transgression amongst theirs. He was met with mixed success, he was very persuasive and was welcomed happily to a Nest located on a high orbital station. However his Nest mates had meant for him to overhear them and pinned the entire conspiracy on him. So while he was allowed into the new Nest, he was the laughing stock and given little opportunity to prove himself further. T2: Life in his new nest revolved around the construction and usage of semi-autonomous mining ships Sone put himself forward and was assigned as the sole Hiver on a multi-species crew. He thought everything was going well. His manipulations were panning out and he foresaw a good path forward to being the captain in all but name. He felt like something was amiss when an approval for a costly piece of automation equipment that he had intended to be denied was approved by station management. He started combing through requests, spying on his crew, checking every message he could get his hands on. He uncovered plot by a senior hiver named Jicriaf, the eventual goal would have left Sone as the captain of his ship. However Sone's ship would be fully automated, all of the crew transferred to other areas, and him assigned to the furthest reaches of the belt. Sone managed to avoid that ill fate by working on fostering a close relationship amongst his crew, sharpening his skills for use in the future. T3: Things had not gone as planned with the mining crew, he managed to avoid being the sole sophont assigned to the ship by convincing an Ithklur named Vomok that they would both withdraw their transfer requests and man the vessel together. Needless to say Vomok was furious when the shuttle came to pick up Sone. Sone imagined his former partner was even more angry to find that the remainder of their upgrade and supply fund for the ship had been transferred to Sone's own accounts as a severance package. Sone returned to the Snohl conservancy to consolidate his position before he made his next move. He scrounged and manipulated to acquire funds and contacts so that he could leave the planet. Early in his time at the conservancy one most senior Hiver at the conservancy, Tef, hosted an event for one of the Tropical Clubs hoping to secure funding for his research. Sone saw this as a golden opportunity, he arranged for a number of deadlines to come due for his superior all at the same time to distract Tal from the preparations. He set himself up as the most logical choice to take over the preparations for the event. He used his new position to highlight his own achievements and gained access to the Tropical Club himself rather than Tef. With sponsorship from the Tropical Club to "scout new suitable Snohl habitats" Sone made his way out into the galaxy, putting as much distance between himself and his enemies and rivals as he could. To this day he still publishes reports to the Club showing one unsuitable planet after another. T4: Years later Sone had attempted a manipulation on a strange human, apparently a business man dressed all in black. He had altered one of the menus so that drinks were slightly more expensive and accessed ship security to access the man's accounts. He had done this a few times before making small scores as he brushed appendages with others that could afford High Passage. Sone wasn't able to get into the man's accounts but he did get into his safe. The only thing he found there was a single gold coin. Acetic had been ten steps ahead of Sone when they first met and his now-mentor had been ten steps ahead of this mark even when he gave Sone the mission. Sone needed to eliminate a Zhodani Nobleman who had apparently thumbed his nose at his family one too many times. A tricky target, one that could read minds and seemed to detect danger at every corner, tricky for most anyway. He managed to book passage on the same pleasure yacht as the nobleman. Once they were in deep space he managed to access the computer system. By the 6th time he had artificially set off the CO2 sensor on the life support the engineer on staff shut the alarm off to save time. The next time it needed to go off most everyone was asleep. He packed most of the slowly asphyxiating crew into rescue bubbles and cleared his digital tracks before hopping into a bubble himself to await 'rescue'. Mark eliminated, mission accomplished. T5: Acetic and Sone walked through the simulation of his first hunt. "This was very clever but you cannot always assume others will do as you expect." Acetic said quietly. "Come to the Federation and say that, no one will do anything but they will all have a big laugh in private." Sone gesticulated wildly in Hiver sign language. Acetic smiled and nodded not saying or directing Sone to do anything, yet Sone still found himself enrolling in a preliminary Engineering course. "That mission would have been a bit easier if I could have simply turned the Life Support off myself, he thought." T6: Tech Ops life with the guild had given him ample opportunity to study the interplay of people and continue his social experiments. Most of them had gone unnoticed, Panther still hadn't developed the Pavlovian response to Chaco-puffs Sone was trying to foster, for example. Others had come to fruition, the Fixer's common area was cleaner than it had ever been ever since they found that dead rat in the sink. But in a more practical sense his proposal to sort leadership reports chronologically had been accepted and he believed that the net effect of his reports always being on top was what earned him his promotion to Journeyman. When he was promoted Cipher Warden Cetacean had said "If only we had two of you" in passing. The line stuck with Sone and he opted to stop blending his larva into nutrient paste in hopes that one would survive. This past year he found that one had! His offspring came crawling from the wilderness around the remote monitoring station where Sone was assigned. As the only other Hiver around they formed a de facto Hive. Raising his offspring to be a hunter from birth was his next great social experiment. Time could only tell how being an active agent and a Nest leader would pan out. T7: Sone's next mission was to eliminate a warlord who had taken up residence in a mined out planetoid. Security was tight but having offspring proved useful. Sone managed to gain access to a mining vessel using a story that he and his child's ship had been attacked by the warlord. While his offspring, the other bounty hunters had started calling him "Junior", distracted the belters. He managed to use their deep penetrating scanners to survey the hollowed out planetoid. Unaware of Sone's manipulation the belter captain, Ril Meazoro, left him at the local star port with a smile and an offer of help if he ever needed it. To complete his mission Sone determined that he needed sub-contractors. He and Junior hung around the starport for weeks until he could nudge matters enough to get an Aslan Ihatei called Trevas interested in seeking glory by destroying the warlord and his planetoid. Sone gladly joined the would be hero's cause. The battle didn't work out exactly as Sone would have liked. Far to direct, he had miscalculated how zealous the outcaste Aslan could be. He had sent a call out for his kin to join him and the group of them had been... unpredictable. In the end the Aslan had done far more damage to the planetoid that Sone could have predicted, to the point that his mark had attempted to flee rather than stay and asphyxiate like Sone had planned. Fortunate for him the warlord had not treated his slaves well. A heavily augmented cyborg named Ozera assisted him in gaining access to the warlord's vessel and rigging the jump drive to explode as soo as they took off. Not a pretty mission but successful enough. T8: Sone could no longer deny it, he was getting old. He had never been particularly hale but he was quick and tough, was being the key word. He had been travelling, taking on contracts as the came for a few years as he made the long trek to a remote training facility the Guild used for young members. Junior was twelve now, in the Federation he would almost be considered an adult. But Sone wasn't the hunter to teach him anymore. The young Hiver wasn't as cerebral as his progenitor and Sone couldn't teach him all the things he wanted to know. So he left him at the Guild school, confident that his tutoring in the ways of Hiver manipulation would soon see his offspring rise to prominence in the Guild.

 

Echo Catspaw

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 2/2 Dex 8/8 End 7/7 Int 12/12 Edu 12/12 Res 15/15 Psi 0/0
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3


Senses: No sense of smell
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

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[Europa]

Jana Lyedeni (Angel)	899845-0
Base of Operations	-
Species	Humani
Description	Solid. This is not a woman who's going to get knocked around in a stiff wind. If anything, she looks like she could glare a stiff wind into turning around and going the other way. Tired. She's seen some things, let me tell you, and she's not about to put up with your nonsense without a damn good reason. She's got a scar from right ear to the corner of her mouth, and the lower half of her left leg is definitely not the original material. Get on her bad side, she will happily mess you up, but get on her good side and she will tear heaven and planet apart for you. And she might even smile.
Age	42
Rad. Dose	-

Eclipse Angel

Physical Characteristics
STRength	8
DEXterity	9
ENDurance	9
INTellect	8
EDUcation	4
SOCial	5
PSI	0
REP	2

Dice Modifier Table
Ability	0	1-2	3-5	6-8	9-11	12-14
DM	-3	-2	-1	0	+1	+2

SKILLS AND TALENTS
(EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: 6/36

Skill (specialty)	Rank
Admin
Advocate	0
Animals
Athletics (STR)
Athletics (DEX)
Athletics (END)
Art
Art ( )
Art ( )
Astrogation	0
Broker
Carouse	0
Deception
Diplomat
Drive
Drive(wheeled)
Electronics	0
Electronics (Comms)
Electronics (Computers)
Electronics (Remote Ops)
Electronics (sensors)
Engineer	0
Engineer (Power)	1
Explosives
Flyer
Flyer(Winged)
Flyer(Rotor)
Gambler
Gunner
Gunner(Turret)
Gun Combat	0
Gun Combat (Energy )	1
Heavy Weapons
Heavy Weapons ( )
Investigate	1
Jack of all Trades
Language
Language ( )
Leadership
Mechanic	0
Medic	1
Melee
Melee (Blade)
Melee (Unarmed)
Navigation
Persuade	2
Pilot	0
Pilot (Starship)	1
Profession
Profession ()
Recon
Science
Science ( )
Seafarer
Stealth
Steward
Streetwise
Survival	0
Tactics
Tactics ( )
Vacc Suit	0
Untrained	-3

Study Period

Training In Skill
Week of 24
Study Periods Complete
Note

TALENTS

Name	Description
The Guild Member	Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code
- I -
-	-

Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival

Fidelity	Horse Lord
Allies	Lords of Fire
-	-

Finances

Pension
Debt
Cash on Hand	100,700
Banked (Imperial)
Monthly Ship Payments
Living Costs
-	-

ATTACK ACTIONS

HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	LL
Unarmed Strike	—	—	—	melee (close quarters)	1D6	—
Stunstick	8	Cr300	0.5	melee	2D	Stun

RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	Traits
Single Shot Pistol	10	Cr500	0.3	2m	ranged (pistol)	2D	P
Laser Pistol	9	Cr2000	2	20m	ranged	3D

GEAR
Cloth TL 8 Protection 8, -
Electronics toolkit TL7 (Cr2000)
Neural comm (audio/visual) TL 12 (Cr5000)

 

Event	Mechanics
Characteristics	as rolled
Background Skills	0 rank in Mechanics, Survival
University	Attended, did not graduate. 0 rank in Electronics, 1 rank in Engineering (Power)
Term 1
Scout Career (term 1) (Surveyor)	Service Skills: Pilot (small craft), Survival, Mechanic, Astrogation, Vacc Suit, Gun Combat (all a 0), Lost the lower half of her left leg, reduce DEX by 2.
Term 2
Scholar Career (term 2) (Field Res)	Successful career term
Basic Training	Investigate 0
Life Event	I am entangled in a bureaucratic or legal morass that distracts me from my work. I will gain Persuade 1.
Advance	Advanced to Rank 1, increase DEX by 1
Term 3
Bounty Hunter Career (term 3) (Fixer)	Successful, did not advance
Basic Training	Carouse 0
Life Event	You chase a high profile bounty but another bounty hunter is already on the trail. Injured in an ambush, reduce STR by 2.
Advance	Did not advance.
Term 4
Bounty Hunter Career (term 4) (Fixer)	Successful, did not advance
Basic Training	Advocate 0
Life Event	My network of contacts grows. Gain 2 Contacts.
Aging	No effect
Term 5
Bounty Hunter Career (Hunter)	Successful, did not advance
Basic Training	Gun Combat 1 (Energy)
Life Event	You pull out all the stops to bring in a mark. REP +2
Aging	Reduce DEX by 1.
Total Benefits	CR 130000, 2 additional Contacts.
Paid CR20000 to regain lost physical characteristics.
Group Package	Pilot (Starship) 1

 

You want me to talk about my life? What if I don't want to talk about it? You think it's going to teach you anything about who I am? You think it's going to get you inside my head? Lady, I don't even get inside my own head. I learned long ago and far away that some things are better left unexamined.

Oh yeah? You think that's why I don't sleep too well at night? Well gosh, ain't that a shocker.

Fine. Fine fine fine. If it's going to get me outta here and back on the job, I'll tell you about my life.

Would you believe I actually had a pretty good childhood? Yeah, it's hard to believe, innit? We were all part of the same family, everyone in the colony. All the other kids were my brothers and sisters. All the adults my mothers and fathers. Not biologically, of course, that'd be too weird for words, don't you think? But it's what they taught us, from the moment we could start learning. Community is everything. What's mine is yours. We share everything and want for nothing. No one is weak when everyone supports each other. And I didn't want for anything. I always had food, I always had clothes, roof over my head when it rained. And let me tell you it rained all the damn time.

As we got older -- my generation of kids, I mean -- we did the usual stupid stuff kids did. We broke the rules from time to time. We fell in love. We... well, you know. We shared everything. We were closer than brothers and sisters. I've never loved anyone like I loved them.

Some of the kids, they got to go and help in the leader's camp. It was such a huge privilege, you know? When everyone's equal on the surface, any little thing that makes a person different or special, everyone wants it. Chaeno, she was -- I guess you could call her my best friend. I was probably in love with her. She was pretty and smart and tough. That girl could work all day long in the fields in the pouring rain and never complain a moment. She got called to the leader's camp and no one was surprised. But she never wanted to talk about it when she came back to the Children's Camp. She just said it really wasn't that special and changed the subject. We were, what... 16? I was never that pretty or smart, but I was tough from working in the fields and mucking around the machinery all day. I used to hear that all the time. 'Jana, you haven't the brains of a glowbug, but you're one of our best workers.' Guess it wasn't just toughness the leaders needed in their camp.

Chaeno and the other kids that would go to the leader's camp, after a while, they didn't talk much any more. There weren't that many of them, but we all knew who they were of course. I might have had the brains of a glowbug, but it don't take too many brains to figure out something was wrong. Really @#$*ing wrong. It was just before the 18th nameday celebrations -- we all had the same birthday, of course -- that I decided I was going to follow Chaeno to the leader's camp.

What? Sorry... I drifted off, didn't I?

No. No, I'm not going to talk about what I saw there. I'll tell you one thing that happened, though. That was the night of my first kill. See right here? This tattoo on my forearm? That's so I never forget it. That was the night they tied me up and left me in the wilds to die. For betraying the community.

Killing gets easy after a while, you know? Most of my contracts, I barely remember them any more. But every once in a while, you get somebody that really needs killing. And I think, I ain't ever gonna wipe out what I saw that night, but every little bit of justice I can bring might... might...

Forget it. Are we done? I'm done talking, so I guess we're done.

 

Chaeno was the one that found me in the wilds and set me free. It was her way of thanking me, I guess. She'd stolen some credits from the leaders' camp and she gave them to me. Wouldn't come with me though. I was able to get to the only spaceport on that miserable little rock and get signed on as a mechanic on a ship. Looking back on it, that hunk of metal and electronics should never have the ground, much less gone into space. It's a miracle any of us survived.

Once I had the freedom to read and learn whatever interested me, I realized that maybe I wasn't as stupid as everyone back in the cult -- and let's call it what it was, shall we? -- told me. I applied to go to university and somebody must have thought I had potential, because they let me in. But I wasn't ready. I didn't know how to learn, how to study, how to do much of anything. I did learn some things, but my grades were so bad that I got disqualified from my scholarships, which were the only thing making it possible to attend.

My experience on a barely settled planet, along with my electronics and engineering skills from Uni, got me a job on a scout ship, surveying remote planets. The expedition was miserably underfunded. Safety rules were more like vague suggestions. No one was supposed to go out alone, but there were so few of us and so much work to do that the only way it would get all done is if we took solo missions. Which would be how I ended up with the lower part of my left leg crushed underneath a fallen boulder. I'm damned lucky a coworker found me or my skeleton might still be there.

While I recovered from my injury, I got hooked up with the field research team in the same company. I liked it, honestly. We did good work, isolated some new ore deposits in unexpected parts of the planet, but when we filed for the mining rights we learned that another company had a claim on the planet already. It was decades old and the other company hadn't done a damn thing to explore, but we still ended up in a legal fight. I had to testify a few times and picked up a few tips on how to convince people of my side of things. I guess it's useful for when fists won't work?

The memories of what happened to Chaeno and the other kids back 'home' never left me though. Some nights I'd wake up screaming and sweating from the nightmares, and no amount of drinking, no amount of drugs dulled them. I needed to do something. Something that could lessen the guilt, the horror that I never did anything more. Never got the rest of my friends out. That's how I ended up in the Guild.

It was still hard for me to be out in the field, with my injury, but with what I'd learned about persuading people, I got into finding and negotiating contracts. I guess I was still paying for my life's mistakes, because once again I managed to get myself on a job that someone else already had claim to. This one was my mistake though: I just wasn't careful enough. Too confident. And Aughdra Turac did not mess around. I was visiting my favorite dive bar (I visited it a LOT) and she ambushed me outside. Didn't kill me, obviously, but I genuinely expected to die that night. Instead she left me with a scar from the left corner of my mouth to my left ear. She marked me with her sign. "Here is someone who ran afoul of Aughdra Turac" it says. I don't belong to anyone. I will pay her back someday, you can count on that.

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str -8/8 Dex 9/9 End 9/9 Int 8/8 Edu 4/4 Soc 5/5 Psi 0/0
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: normal
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

Initiative Result :
Current Armor:
Combat:
Free Actions:
Minor Actions:
Significant Actions:
Reactions:

[Electroniicore]

Brokstrom Fullmane (Razor Steelclaw)	C67AA7-0
Base of Operations	-
Species	Aslan
Description	-
Age	30
Rad. Dose	-

Physical Characteristics
STRength	12
DEXterity	6
ENDurance	7
INTellect	10
EDUcation	10
SOCial	7
PSI	0
REP	0

Dice Modifier Table
Ability	0	1-2	3-5	6-8	9-11	12-14
DM	-3	-2	-1	0	+1	+2

||

SKILLS AND TALENTS
(EDU + INT) * 3Skill Points MAX /Used: -/[MAX NUMBER HERE]

Skill (specialty)	Rank
Admin	1
Advocate
Animals
Athletics (STR)	0
Athletics (DEX)	1
Athletics (END)	0
Art
Art ( )
Art ( )
Broker
Carouse	0
Deception
Diplomat
Drive	0
Drive(wheeled)
Electronics
Electronics (Comms)
Electronics (Computers)
Electronics (Remote Ops)
Electronics (sensors)
Engineer	0
Engineer (M-Drive)	1
Explosives
Flyer
Flyer(Winged)
Flyer(Rotor)
Gambler
Gunner	0
Gunner(Turret)	1
Gun Combat	0
Gun Combat (Energy)	1
Heavy Weapons	0
Heavy Weapons ( )
Investigate	0
Jack of all Trades
Language
Language ( )
Leadership
Mechanic	1
Medic	0
Melee	0
Melee (Blade)	0
Melee (Unarmed)	0
Melee (Natural)	2
Navigation
Persuade	0
Pilot	0
Pilot(Small Craft)	1
Profession
Profession ()
Recon	2
Science
Science ( )
Seafarer
Stealth
Steward
Streetwise
Survival	0
Tactics
Tactics ( )
Vacc Suit	0
Untrained	-3

Study Period

Training In Skill
Week of 24
Study Periods Complete
Note

TALENTS

Name	Description
The Guild Member	Access to REP characteristic, Membership Benefits, The Code
-	-
-	-

Allies, Contacts, Enemies, Rival

Fidelity	Ox Lord
Allies	Lords of Water
-	-

Finances

Pension	0
Debt	0
Cash on Hand	0
Banked (Imperial)	0
Monthly Ship Payments	0
Living Costs
-	-

ATTACK ACTIONS

HAND TO HAND AND MELEE WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	LL
Dew Claw(Hardened)	—	—	—	Melee (Close Quarters)	2D6+4	—	--

RANGED AND HEAVY WEAPONS

Weapon	TL	Cost	Wgt	Range	Damage	Type	Traits
Single Shot Pistol	10	Cr500	0.3	2m	ranged (pistol)	2D	P

GEAR
Cloth TL 8 Protection 8, -
Poly-Carapace TL 10 Protection 10, DM-1 to all checks that involve physical activity(except CCQ)

 

Event	Mechanics
Characteristics	As rolled
Pre-Career
Background	Skills; Vacc Suit 0, Survival 0, Carouse 0, Medic 0
Event	Gain a Contact(TBD)
Term 1	Military Academy(Accepted)
Service Skills	Drive 0, Athletics 0, Gun Combat 0, Recon 0, Melee 0, Heavy Weapons 0
Army Academy (Graduated)	Athletics 1, Recon 1, Melee(Natural) 1, +1EDU, Admission into Army
Term 2	Age:22 Army(Infantry) Qualification(Automatic)
Rank	Private, Skill: Gun Combat(Energy) 1
Skill	Engineer(Life Support) 1
Survival	MISHAP(4): Keep Benefit from Term
Mustering Out	Benefit(5): Armour(TBD)
Term 3	Age 26 Draft: Merchant Marine
Rank	Crewman
Service Skill	Persuade 0
Survival	Success
Event	Legal Trouble(8) Admin 1
Advancement	Senior Crewman(+1 Rank), Mechanic 1
Personal Development	+1INT
Mustering Out	Benefit: Gun(TBD)
Term 4	Age 30 Bounty Hunter Qualification (Automatic)
Career Skill	Investigate 0
Survival	Success
Event	Advanced Training(Fail)
Advancement	Failure
Aging Crisis	Success
Mustering Out	Benefit: Contact(TBD)
Ship Skills	Pilot(Small Craft) 1, Gunner(Turret) 1
Connection Skill	+1 Melee(Natural Weapons) w/ White Rook, +1 Recon w/ Eclipse Angel

 

The hum of Rook’s stunner was barely audible over the gunfire pinning him behind the dumpster. The Mark must have gotten word they were coming. Rook and Steelclaw had been ambushed—seven thugs, all armed and waiting.
They had barely stepped out of the bar into the dimly lit alley when the shooting started. Rook dove for cover behind a rusted dumpster, while Steelclaw fell back into the building.
“Go around front and get that Aslan!” a man in a cheap plastic suit bellowed. He jabbed a finger toward his crew. “Yes, you! This guy ain’t going nowhere, there’s four of ya, go kill that Aslan.”
The gunfire on Rook’s position intensified. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, checking his stunner. “I need to wrap this up.”
Even with a stunner, an experienced shooter like Rook could make short work of amateurs. Two of the thugs fell before they realized their mistake, but speed was critical. From inside the bar, shouts and screams had rang out—some distinctly not human.
Steelclaw was unlike any Aslan Rook had ever met. Raised in the Imperium, he was more Vilani than warrior, far more cerebral than instinct-driven. But Rook also knew one important fact: Steelclaw had left his firearm on the ship.
Four against one. Even for an Aslan, those were bad odds.
Then—silence.
Rook dispatched his last attacker and moved swiftly, weapon ready, as he stepped inside the bar. What he found was carnage.
Steelclaw stood at the bar, calmly pouring himself a glass of bourbon. Of the attackers, there was little left. Limbs, shredded torsos, and splattered remains were scattered across the floor. As Rook took in the scene, something wet plopped from the ceiling fan and landed near his boot. A piece of intestine.
Steelclaw took a slow sip of his drink and glanced at Rook. “They were uncivilized.”
Rook exhaled, shaking his head. “Remind me not to play cards with you.”

Maxim 6: If violence wasn’t your last resort, you failed to resort to enough of it.

 

Background Story GOES HERE

 

PHYSICAL STATISTICS
Str 12/12 Dex 6/6 End 7/7 Int 10/10 Edu 10/10 Soc 7/7 Psi 0/0
DMs: 0: -3, 1-2: -2, 3-5: -1, 6-8: +0, 9-11: +1, 12-14: +2, 15+: +3

Senses: normal
Rad. Dose: -

Non-Combat:

Initiative Result :
Current Armor:
Combat:
Free Actions:
Minor Actions:
Significant Actions:
Reactions: