Character Biography:
Faolan, or "Mac" among friends, is not your run-of-the-mill Half-Moon. Faolan constantly obsesses over lore which he argues lends credence and support to the laws of our people. And to learn, he translates everything into music and sings to memorise what he needs to know by heart. An old Galliard of the sept was overheard remarking "that it was such a waste that he wasn't born a Galliard".
It must be said that music runs in his veins, if not his whole family. The older brother of Siobahn O'Gallagher, born of expatriate common law parents, Faolan has always been immersed in music. Encouraged by his parents, he learnt as much as he could about music.
In fact, even his First Change at the age of 18 involved music, in a way.
It happened at a heavy metal concert, when a mosh-pit had transformed itself into an ugly riot. When his sister was in danger of being trampled to death, he felt his skin crawl, stretch and twist, unleashing the heart of Rage that he carried within. The period of his First Change is hidden behind a black-out; all he knows is that he woke up, semi-naked and covered in gore, several miles away in a deserted park with his sleeping sister cradled in his arms.
A few days later, while he was contemplating what had become of him, he was set upon by a trio of lean, sickly-looking black dogs. Standing in the surf, under the light of the Half-Moon, he Changed and held his ground, following the rhythm of the waters in his defence. He was rescued by a pack of Garou which had been tracking the trio of filth. Taken to the Sept and educated by his elders, he learned quickly of what he was and what he had to do.
He also learnt that his parents were truly kin in more ways than one.
Too bad that they're presently divorced and spilt between Dublin, Ireland and Austin, Texas. His younger sister Siobahn stayed with his mother in Austin while he moved to Ireland with his father. His parents are still on relatively good terms with each other, and still visit every once in a while.
He has spent the majority of teens and young adult years travelling between both Dublin and Austin, trying to keep the family together in some form. However, most of his time is spent in Ireland, due in part to the Troubles. He speaks fluent Irish Gaellic and Mandarin.
He makes his money through his talent and passions by writing songs and lyrics for various recording studios and labels as well as by being a recording sessionist as he's able to play most musical instruments. In addition, he loves cars, with muscle cars a strange smog-filled corner of his heart. There are some rumours of him driving known IRA members around Ireland, though are enough stories of him hanging about the Black-and-Tans, as well.
He has returned to Austin due to suspicions of his sister being in some sort of trouble and the Wyrm beginning to rear its ugly head in and around Austin.
But, remember, Kin first, laddie.
... for a new chronicle.
Showing posts with label Character. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Character. Show all posts
Friday, April 18, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
>>> Find a ship...
Korree "Kore" Glavian
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
Gearhead Racing Pilot
Corellian Human
Smuggler
Pilot/Mechanic
... find a pilot, keep flying.
>>> Brothers in battle...
Battle-Brother Caendirn
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
Geiarsson Krakenspear
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Deathwatch Devastator Marine
--
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... clad in black and smeared with blood.
Space Wolf Iron Priest
Deathwatch Techmarine
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they were set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
Saturday, March 22, 2014
>>> When you're in a jam...
Black Ops Campaign
Character Idea
United Nations Special Operations Command - Omega Special Service
UNSOC-OSS
Personnel Dossier
PDF-S-FR-082D-31-8084055W
Classified: Top Secret
Djamel "Jammer" Charron
Sergent Chef
Recce Specialist
Parachutist/Armoured Cavalry
French Foreign Legion
Born in December 1982 of mixed heritage, the war orphan Djamel - or Jam to his friends - grew up mostly in Nice, France with Franco-American parents & siblings, though his adoptive family travelled substantially. Due to studying in an International School, he was influenced at an early age by American hip-hop and the British alternative scene. He also picked up a smattering of languages due to his circle of friends. He has a fondness for extreme sports, basketball, breakdancing, tattoos (he sports many on his body, including two full arm sleeves and Legion emblems along the right side of his neck) and very loud music. He possesses above-average creative talent and good physical co-ordination.
Djamel is an ever cheerful and encouraging individual, prone to behaving like a big brother to many. On duty, he is serious and cautious but is said to enjoy his assignment. At the age of 19, following the tragic deaths of his adoptive parents, Djamel dropped out of university and enlisted with the French Foreign Legion to, I quote, "to escape the Dark".
However, after his first tour, he applied for and gained admission to a correspondence degree program with a speciality in military history.
The Legion became a surrogate family, although he has kept in contact with his adoptive siblings, especially his younger sister Jean-Marie.
He has served four 3-year tours with the French Foreign Legion. He is a trained parachute trooper, but his talents were discovered to lie behind the [driving] wheel. After six years (two tours) with the 2e REP, he was transferred to the 1e REC to utilise his newly discovered talent. The rest of his subsequent service was then consequently spent in the recce company of the Legion's armoured battalion. Considered a veteran and a "lifer" (pegged for lifelong service), he has served well in many theaters, including Afghanistan as part of the Coalition's Peacekeeper Corps.
Djamel comes highly recommended to the OSS by several of our "talent agents". It is advised that Djamel be recruited to serve dual duties as both a scout (infiltrator) and skilled driver (wheelman) with his unique skill set and experience.
-
Theodore McHallens
Captain
Recruitment Officer
... and need to get out quick.
Character Idea
United Nations Special Operations Command - Omega Special Service
UNSOC-OSS
Personnel Dossier
PDF-S-FR-082D-31-8084055W
Classified: Top Secret
Djamel "Jammer" Charron
Sergent Chef
Recce Specialist
Parachutist/Armoured Cavalry
French Foreign Legion
Born in December 1982 of mixed heritage, the war orphan Djamel - or Jam to his friends - grew up mostly in Nice, France with Franco-American parents & siblings, though his adoptive family travelled substantially. Due to studying in an International School, he was influenced at an early age by American hip-hop and the British alternative scene. He also picked up a smattering of languages due to his circle of friends. He has a fondness for extreme sports, basketball, breakdancing, tattoos (he sports many on his body, including two full arm sleeves and Legion emblems along the right side of his neck) and very loud music. He possesses above-average creative talent and good physical co-ordination.
Djamel is an ever cheerful and encouraging individual, prone to behaving like a big brother to many. On duty, he is serious and cautious but is said to enjoy his assignment. At the age of 19, following the tragic deaths of his adoptive parents, Djamel dropped out of university and enlisted with the French Foreign Legion to, I quote, "to escape the Dark".
However, after his first tour, he applied for and gained admission to a correspondence degree program with a speciality in military history.
The Legion became a surrogate family, although he has kept in contact with his adoptive siblings, especially his younger sister Jean-Marie.
He has served four 3-year tours with the French Foreign Legion. He is a trained parachute trooper, but his talents were discovered to lie behind the [driving] wheel. After six years (two tours) with the 2e REP, he was transferred to the 1e REC to utilise his newly discovered talent. The rest of his subsequent service was then consequently spent in the recce company of the Legion's armoured battalion. Considered a veteran and a "lifer" (pegged for lifelong service), he has served well in many theaters, including Afghanistan as part of the Coalition's Peacekeeper Corps.
Djamel comes highly recommended to the OSS by several of our "talent agents". It is advised that Djamel be recruited to serve dual duties as both a scout (infiltrator) and skilled driver (wheelman) with his unique skill set and experience.
-
Theodore McHallens
Captain
Recruitment Officer
... and need to get out quick.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
>> A skilled sniper...
The target was standing at the edge of the crowd around the makeshift stage, bopping her head to the heavy beat of the growling band. In her small hands, she held a massive but aged SLR camera. The kids in the crowd had parted for her earlier like she was some sort of royalty or rock star.
Either that or perhaps the people were just instinctively afraid of her true nature. Intel said differently, though, having read out that she was positioned highly "in the scene".
Smiling unnaturally wide, he vocalised into the mic as he casually touched his ear. "Target spotted."
A hiss of static followed by a sibilant whisper, "Stay on target."
Nodding, he slipped further into the shadows, hands sinking deep into his pockets. His smile stretched ear to ear, flesh splitting bloodlessly and yellowed serrated teeth showing through.
---
She felt tired.
So tired that her camera felt it was going to pull her to the ground and keep her there. She yawned and blinked. Her clothes were sticking to her body and she felt perspiration trickling down her back and face.
Slinging her camera around her shoulder, she walked leisurely out of the small bar which was holding the gig. Yet again, the crowd parted for her. Once upon a time, that would have made her feel really smug, but not now, not tonight.
Not for a while, in fact.
Once outside, she fished out a battered pack of cigs from her jacket pocket. Sighing, she pulled a stick out and placed it in the corner of her mouth. She sighed again, deeply. Am I getting too old for this or what?, she wondered as she looked up into the sky while leaning against a wall. She stayed like that for a while, her cig getting soggy as it hung from her lips. A couple of kids came out for the air, giving her a wide berth and space. She ignored them, finally lighting up.
Blowing out a stream of smoke, she felt a chill travel down her spine. She rotated her neck, hearing a satisfying creak, while her eyes slowly looked around. She felt someone watching her, like there was a target board hanging around her neck.
She pushed away from the wall and stretched. Yawning, she strolled down a ways to the entrance of an alleyway. Casually looking to her left and then her right, she cocked her head to one side as she exhaled a thick puff of smoke. Sighing again, she walked into the darkness of the alleyway.
A dark figure followed shortly behind, slipping in and out of the shadows, followed by an unusual couple. The couple acted like they were in heat and virtually slithered into the alleyway.
Several pairs of glowing eyes looked on into the alleyway from the shadow cast by the roof of the bar.
This night was about to get bloody.
---
Even if being decked out in the unusual ensemble of silver necklaces, thigh-length cheongsam, fur-trimmed leather hooded jacket, brass knuckle rings, skin-tight dark Cheap Mondays and a pair of industrial Doc Marts wasn't a giveaway, her multi-colored streaked side-fringe, long jet black hair and petite size would be.
This scene queen is famous locally not only for her unique sense of style and presence at every music event & venue but her amazing photographic skills and her loud, outspoken support of the LGBT community & women's rights.
This pugnacious li'l firecracker doesn't talk about her past before her Rite of Passage much, if at all. She clams up if ever asked, some claiming she looks haunted when pressed for details about herself. Grapevine has it that she's an orphan or an abandoned teen who lived around and grew up in the local music scene. There are some other far-fetched stories circulating around the local septs, but it's been chalked up to too much imagination and free time among the younger crowd.
To her, it doesn't matter where she's been and who she was, only that she's here now.
And she ain't going anywhere till the Fat Wyrm sings its last.
[Tsoi] Mei Lien, Flash-at-Dawn
Scene Queen Photojournalist
Black Fury Galliard Homid
Visionary(N) / Rebel(D)
Cliath (1)
Willpower 3 | Rage 4 | Gnosis 2
Physical 5 | neg: lethargic
Social 5 | neg: awkward
Mental 7 | neg: impatient
Brawl, Craft (Camera: Analog), Dodge, Etiquette, Expression (Photography) x3, Language (Cantonese), Performance (Guitar: Acoustic), Performance (Singing) x2, Streetwise, Subterfuge
Contacts x2, Fame x1, Fetish x2 (Camera Obscura), Resources x2
Influence (Media) x2
Dark Secret (f1), Petite (f1), Short Fuse (f2)
(1) Persuasion, Mindspeak, Heightened Senses
Note:
* Negative trait awkward is a lesser version of the negative trait shy.
* Fetish - Camera Obscura: (Level 2, Gnosis 5) The Camera Obscura is a vintage analog camera that's used to detect spirits and other invisible creatures. These rare artifacts are inhabited, and powered, by either an owl-spirit, death-related spirit or, Gaia forbid, an actual wraith. Flash-at-Dawn lovingly crafted hers with a combination of a titanium frame, mahongany veneers carved with roses and ivory inlays as well as charming the owl-spirit into service. Once this fetish is activated, the user can use its viewfinder to see any spirits and other such normally invisible creatures in the area for the duration of the scene. It cannot see through walls and other forms of thick barriers. However, on a critical success, the user may be able to peer into the Umbra.
* Flaw - Petite : Short, Vampire: the Masquerade page 297.
... with a phos-bright camera-flash.
Either that or perhaps the people were just instinctively afraid of her true nature. Intel said differently, though, having read out that she was positioned highly "in the scene".
Smiling unnaturally wide, he vocalised into the mic as he casually touched his ear. "Target spotted."
A hiss of static followed by a sibilant whisper, "Stay on target."
Nodding, he slipped further into the shadows, hands sinking deep into his pockets. His smile stretched ear to ear, flesh splitting bloodlessly and yellowed serrated teeth showing through.
---
She felt tired.
So tired that her camera felt it was going to pull her to the ground and keep her there. She yawned and blinked. Her clothes were sticking to her body and she felt perspiration trickling down her back and face.
Slinging her camera around her shoulder, she walked leisurely out of the small bar which was holding the gig. Yet again, the crowd parted for her. Once upon a time, that would have made her feel really smug, but not now, not tonight.
Not for a while, in fact.
Once outside, she fished out a battered pack of cigs from her jacket pocket. Sighing, she pulled a stick out and placed it in the corner of her mouth. She sighed again, deeply. Am I getting too old for this or what?, she wondered as she looked up into the sky while leaning against a wall. She stayed like that for a while, her cig getting soggy as it hung from her lips. A couple of kids came out for the air, giving her a wide berth and space. She ignored them, finally lighting up.
Blowing out a stream of smoke, she felt a chill travel down her spine. She rotated her neck, hearing a satisfying creak, while her eyes slowly looked around. She felt someone watching her, like there was a target board hanging around her neck.
She pushed away from the wall and stretched. Yawning, she strolled down a ways to the entrance of an alleyway. Casually looking to her left and then her right, she cocked her head to one side as she exhaled a thick puff of smoke. Sighing again, she walked into the darkness of the alleyway.
A dark figure followed shortly behind, slipping in and out of the shadows, followed by an unusual couple. The couple acted like they were in heat and virtually slithered into the alleyway.
Several pairs of glowing eyes looked on into the alleyway from the shadow cast by the roof of the bar.
This night was about to get bloody.
---
Even if being decked out in the unusual ensemble of silver necklaces, thigh-length cheongsam, fur-trimmed leather hooded jacket, brass knuckle rings, skin-tight dark Cheap Mondays and a pair of industrial Doc Marts wasn't a giveaway, her multi-colored streaked side-fringe, long jet black hair and petite size would be.
This scene queen is famous locally not only for her unique sense of style and presence at every music event & venue but her amazing photographic skills and her loud, outspoken support of the LGBT community & women's rights.
This pugnacious li'l firecracker doesn't talk about her past before her Rite of Passage much, if at all. She clams up if ever asked, some claiming she looks haunted when pressed for details about herself. Grapevine has it that she's an orphan or an abandoned teen who lived around and grew up in the local music scene. There are some other far-fetched stories circulating around the local septs, but it's been chalked up to too much imagination and free time among the younger crowd.
To her, it doesn't matter where she's been and who she was, only that she's here now.
And she ain't going anywhere till the Fat Wyrm sings its last.
[Tsoi] Mei Lien, Flash-at-Dawn
Scene Queen Photojournalist
Black Fury Galliard Homid
Visionary(N) / Rebel(D)
Cliath (1)
Willpower 3 | Rage 4 | Gnosis 2
Physical 5 | neg: lethargic
Social 5 | neg: awkward
Mental 7 | neg: impatient
Brawl, Craft (Camera: Analog), Dodge, Etiquette, Expression (Photography) x3, Language (Cantonese), Performance (Guitar: Acoustic), Performance (Singing) x2, Streetwise, Subterfuge
Contacts x2, Fame x1, Fetish x2 (Camera Obscura), Resources x2
Influence (Media) x2
Dark Secret (f1), Petite (f1), Short Fuse (f2)
(1) Persuasion, Mindspeak, Heightened Senses
Note:
* Negative trait awkward is a lesser version of the negative trait shy.
* Fetish - Camera Obscura: (Level 2, Gnosis 5) The Camera Obscura is a vintage analog camera that's used to detect spirits and other invisible creatures. These rare artifacts are inhabited, and powered, by either an owl-spirit, death-related spirit or, Gaia forbid, an actual wraith. Flash-at-Dawn lovingly crafted hers with a combination of a titanium frame, mahongany veneers carved with roses and ivory inlays as well as charming the owl-spirit into service. Once this fetish is activated, the user can use its viewfinder to see any spirits and other such normally invisible creatures in the area for the duration of the scene. It cannot see through walls and other forms of thick barriers. However, on a critical success, the user may be able to peer into the Umbra.
* Flaw - Petite : Short, Vampire: the Masquerade page 297.
... with a phos-bright camera-flash.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
>>> More geekness...
Battle-Brother Caendirn
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Storm Warden Devastator (Deathwatch Devastator Marine)
DW Caendirn
... pervades my vicinity.
Roaring Iron, Thunder's Vengeance
Storm Warden Devastator (Deathwatch Devastator Marine)
DW Caendirn
... pervades my vicinity.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
>>> Such a geek am I...
Geiarsson Krakenspear
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge, Blood Trail of Stars
Space Wolf Iron Priest (Deathwatch Techmarine)
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they wer set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... that I created a Deathwatch character for fun!
Lightning Across The Ice, Young Wolf of the Forge, Blood Trail of Stars
Space Wolf Iron Priest (Deathwatch Techmarine)
Geiarsson, before his elevation to the ranks of the Sky Warriors, was a young, tribeless hunter who wandered the seas of Fenris with his surviving kin, trading half or more of their hunts for shelter and protection of other sympathetic tribes.
While resting under the protection of another tribe, they wer set upon by unknown foes while most of its warriors were away. With first bow and arrow, then blade and spear, the young hunter danced along the walls and grounds of the village, carving a bloody furrow through the numerically superior foe. Darting here and there like greased lightning, sweat and blood steaming off his body, protecting kin and ally alike with a song of the hunt and a ghostly grin upon his lips.
Until he was finally surrounded, spent of energy, covered in the bloody gore of the foe and his lifeblood trickling slowly out of over two dozen wounds. Panting heavily, he stood erect with a lopsided grin as a giant in dark crimson stalked across the blood-soaked ground. With a rumbling growl, the giant picked up Geiarsson and corralled his surviving kin, and disappeared into the wintry wastes of Fenris.
That was over two centuries ago. Since then, Geiarsson has been one of the youngest Wolves to be inducted and initiated into the Iron Priesthood, his knack for craft- and forge-work standing him in good stead. He has proven to be a hunter of prodigious skill and fortune, having hunted almost all manner of Fenrisian creatures, from the fabled Wolves of Asaheim to the almost mythic Kraken of the Fenrisian Depths.
He has sailed the Ocean of Stars amongst the retinues Great Companies, setting his own saga in iron and stone amongst the epics of another Great Hunt which set him against many foes of the Imperium, amongst them the Traitor Legions. Now, his saga has brought him to the Watch Fortress of Erioch, to lend his skills and experience to the Deathwatch of the Ordo Xenos.
Description: A giant of a man, wrapped in a leather bodysuit, stands proudly in the middle of his meditation chamber, eyes the colour of a winter storm ringed in gold looking out from a weather-beaten, darkly-tanned face criss-crossed with pale blade scars, his gigantic arms crossed across his immense chest. His scalp half shorn for the trio of electro-grafts implanted behind his ear at the base of his skull, his red mane worn long to fall over the right of his head. He is clean-shaven except for a clean, plaited goatee of red on his chin.
His left eye dons a facial tattoo, a variation of the Iron Wolf totem, its jaws wrapping around his eye socket.
Inscribed around his thick, bullish neck are Fenrisian runes that read, to those who know how, Iron Within, Iron Without, Indomitable Redoubt.
His left arm is a a utilitarian yet artistically wrought work of bionics; the colour of gunmetal, a matte sheen like oil slicked across water. The faint traceries of engravings of the lightning streaked skies, stormy oceans and ice floes of Fenris worked across its surface, the foamy waves worked into the silently howling heads of wolves, can be barely seen under the chamber's luminescent glow-orbs.
A fist-sized pendant of bone lies hung by an adamantine chain fashioned in the shape of prayer beads. Carved exactingly from the tooth of a Fenrisian Kraken into the Cog of the Mechanicus with an Iron Wolf skull at its heart and engraved with minute skulls in sectioned inlays, it glows with a faint bluish cast, projecting a chilly yet calming aura.
A wolf pelt the colour of freshly fallen snow, dusted with granite-like grey, and of unimaginable size girds his waist like large kilt, its legs dangling down and covering his thighs, claws curved downwards across his knees. Its noble head, its eyes still seemingly agleam with life, rests between the legs, teeth bared in a deadly rictus grin.
A ghost of a grin plays across his face, somewhat at odds with his martial bearing, showing off a legacy of his forbears, the elongated canines of the Space Wolf.
A true warrior, an accomplished hunter and a forge-master of Fenris. And, now, a member of the Deathwatch, waiting patiently to prove his mettle and deadly worth yet again.
Demeanor: A man proud of his skills and abilities, undaunted by the universe at large, Geiarsson possesses a calculative, highly analytical mind. Constantly assessing nearly everything around him, his creative mind shuffles and files away details for another time and possible use. Some joke that he is infected by a form of memno-virus, but it is mind that not only helps him hunt but to craft and forge, sorting through all the sensory and mental input plus stimuli to achieve his goals.
Like most Wolves, he is honest to a fault, but is tempered by a sense of tact that usually prevents others from being offended. He also does not possess the typical animosity towards Astartes of the Dark Angels and their ilk. Friendly, talkative and a good listening ear, especially over the odd tankard of Fenrisian ale, Geiarsson is a likable and respectable warrior-priest of the Adeptus Astartes and an unusual representative of the Space Wolves.
Optional: Geiarsson possesses a Data-Slate whose body was carved from the bones of a Kraken and Fenrisian Wolf into the cunning design of a puzzlebox which must be unlocked to view the screen. It's inner workings are interlocked, sophisticated systems of recording, relaying, transmitting and receiving all forms of data, with massive storage banks done in nano-detail, with a large touch-screen that can project flat, 2-D images to full holographic videos. It also posseses a port for electro-graft connections. This Data-Slate, for now known affectionately as the Bonebox, may sometimes be carried into battle under his wolf pelt, chained and maglocked to his armoured belt.
DW Geiarsson (Edit)
... that I created a Deathwatch character for fun!
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