Igraine's Own

[Igraine]

This will simply be a listing, as needed, of the characters I'll be using here, as they're needed. Honestly, I have so many, I could take a day or two just to list them all anyway.

[Igraine]

Sabine Murris
Age: 33
Race: Human
Home world: Coruscant
Profession: Former Imperial Commando, now bounty hunter/mercenary

Description: Sabine stands a solid 5'11" tall, with fair skin, black hair she wears tied and twisted always at the nape of her neck, and pale blue eyes. She wears Knee high, black leather boots, khaki pants tucked into them, and a black shirt covering light armor plating. All of this is covered over, by a long, khaki green coat that falls past her knees.

Weapons: Imperial rifle (modified for sniper work), twin Imperial blasters at her hip, (insignia and distinctive markings expertly removed long ago), and a bandolier of concussion grenades, beneath her coat.

Vehicle: An *ahem* appropriated and modified Alpha-class Xg-1 Star Wing

Personality: Sabine is highly-disciplined, exacting and demanding in most every way, she appreciates order, discipline and - even now - unswerving loyalty wherever it is found. At this time, she is alone, by choice, and is deeply distrusting and cynical of the motives of most everyone around her, preferring to remain utterly and completely alone, and rely on only herself, rather than face any other form of betrayal.

History: Sabine was born on Coruscant and, almost immediately, put into a state-run orphanage. She has never known why she was left there, nor who her parents may have been, but she did eventually find a family of sorts in the Imperial Army. A purpose to fight for, imposing order on the chaos she found all around her, finding a reason to live and a banner to hold high, Sabine attended the military Academy at Carida before it's destruction, and excelled.

(( I will be deliberately vague, because I am still working my way around the Star Wars universe... reserved to be filled in better at a later time. May it be sufficient to say, Sabine was the sole survivor when her squad of commandos was abandoned on a hostile planet, hunted to the last man until she was able to find, and smuggle herself away on, a trade frigate.

Sabine has lost all faith in the "family" she forged within the confines of the Imperial military, disgusted by the flagrant display of disloyalty and contemptuous of their motives from that moment on. She has managed to build a fledgeling business as a mercenary and bounty hunter, on the edges of society in a self-imposed exile of sorts, doing only what she does best. Killing people.

And the rest? Shall develop over time and play, I do believe... ))

[Igraine]

Aiden First

Human
32 years old
Birth type: Resuscitated

Matrix birth name: Michael Sinclair

Matrix appearance: Short, spiked blonde hair; pale blue eyes; approximately 6'2" tall with a powerful, athletic build. Inside the Matrix, his outer clothing consists almost entirely of pale grays, that include long pants, T-shirt and a mid-length leather coat. (I would prefer, if that's all right, to add a drawing later than put in a model photograph)

Personality: Aiden - though he might never admit it - is driven almost entirely by a sense of duty, an innate feel for the "right and wrong paths," and an unspoken devotion to honor. Within the Matrix, he was once a decorated military man and combat veteran, having served in the Marines for some years before being discharged. When he was finally out, he took up the mantle of first a patrol cop, and then eventually detective.

Though these professions are, for obvious reasons, not normally the realm in which one first finds a redpill candidate, much of the ground work for his eventual resuscitation was laid by years of spiritual and philosophical conversations with his partner, Eva (once Trisha Gaines), during some long stretches of surveillance and boring paperwork filing. He would be the first to credit her with being the inspiration, and the muse he needed, to open his eyes to other possibilities, other worlds – and then realize that not all in “this world” was, truly, as it seemed.

When he was saved, finally, he was more than prepared psychologically to accept the truth of the reality he was in - unappealing, horrifying and gritty as it might be – and insisted (in no uncertain or conditional terms) the same opportunity be offered for his old partner. After all, no man – no brother, no sister, no comrade-in-arms - gets left behind in Aiden’s world, regardless of which world that might be.

Profession: Bodyguard

Real World Skills:

Martial Arts
Firearms
Heavy Weapons
Swimming
Law
Survival
Tactics
Pilot tank or armored vehicle
Command
Profile

Matrix skills:

Alter residual image
Adhesion
Encryption (cloaking)
Mapping
Radial sense
Speed

Weapons:

Real world: Boot knife, M4 carbine, Beretta 9mm pistol
Matrix: Ka-bar in a hip holster, Beretta 9mm pistol on opposite hip, M4 carbine fitted with an M203 4mm grenade launcher, bandolier of 40mm grenades.

Gear:

Real world: military style shock-proof watch, cellular phone, a ready supply of “ranger candy” (ie. ibuprofen-style pain killers to combat the constant, punishing routines he forces his real body through, now that it has been “awakened”)
Matrix: MTM Black Hawk watch (matte black), cellular phone

Objectives:

- To protect the men and women who go back into the Matrix proper, and serve the remnants of free humanity as a whole, to his dying breath.

- To stand and stay with his partner Eva, who has become his muse, battle buddy, other half, and the symbol of the reason that humanity is, actually, worth living, fighting and dying for.

Biography:

Aiden’s upbringing would be considered “typical” inside the Matrix for a young man born in the American Midwest – Mom, apple pie and love of country. He became a Marine straight out of high school, and served honorably in combat during one of the many Middle East conflicts. Upon his discharge, he walked naturally into a law enforcement career, his quick mind and physical prowess helping him earn the rank of detective very quickly, where he finally met his partner, Eva (Trisha).

Meeting her marked the turning point in his life, when his naturally close relationship with his partner began to provoke questions and considerations that, at no point in his life, had he ever considered about the world around him. To his everlasting amazement - to this very day – for some reason he was the first to be approached with the choice of red pill, or blue. And only with thanks to his long association with Eva, was he able to summon the audacity to take the red.

Finding Eva and getting her out, though, proved far more problematic than he would have imagined – though the success of the operation would eventually provide the fodder for a lot of inside jokes, even their new names. “Aiden First” and “Eva Two,” a wordplay on their interminable religious and philosophical late-night discussions, both inseparable bodyguards now for the Resistance.

[Igraine]

Eva Two

Human
29 years old
Birth type: Resuscitated

Matrix birth name: Trisha Gaines

Matrix appearance: Long black hair, straightened and pulled back into a pony tail; hazel eyes and light brown skin. She’s about 5’9” tall, with a very athletic, muscular build. Eva’s clothing is mostly a dark, navy blue color that includes pocket-style BDU pants tucked into black Goretex style tactical boots, T-shirt and a mid-length cloth navy jacket. She also wears a pair of yellow lens, wrap around black framed shooting glasses with neck strap – resting on her head if not actually “in use” (like Aiden, I’d prefer to draw these, and then add in for a visual reference)

Personality: Eva is the walking, talking soul of the partnership between herself and Aiden First. Extremely intelligent and driven, she is the always inquisitive, ever-seeking one – whether that be the deeper things of the mind, or in the former Matrix world of investigations and crime scene analysis. Always Eva looked for, and longed for order and precision and understanding. But without fail she always found that, just like the criminals she would eventually help put away, there was always something, somewhere, that did not quite “fit.”

Never once, though, did Eva ever thinking of rationalizing away or hiding these anomalies, as so many others might have done. Just as she did with her investigations, she continuously sought the source and reason for those things that did not seem to fit in the fabric of the reality that “should be.” This led her down many esoteric paths – what she did not learn of in college from philosophy, theology and psychology classes, she would later be self-taught.

When she was finally paired up with Aiden (then Michael Sinclair) as her detective partner, she found a willing, genuinely curious ear to pour out her musings. His intelligence every bit the match of her own, he would listen, and then question, and sometimes even challenge. There was nothing about their exchanges or their partnership was ever conventional in the least, beyond the deep, unshakeable bond the two continued to share, even across the worlds.

Profession: Bodyguard

Real World Skills:

Brawling
Education and Language (College degree (BS), fluent Spanish)
Firearms
Law
Investigations
Craftsmanship (an accomplished painter, and visual artist)
Persuasion
Search
Security
Streetwise
First Aid (the basics, CPR, tourniquets, bandaging, etc.)

Matrix skills:

Alter residual image
Adhesion
Encryption (cloaking)
Magnify Senses
Telekinesis
Speed

Weapons:

Real world: Sig Sauer P228 9mm pistol (two, one on hip holster, the other back holstered), and a Spyderco police model (stainless steel) knife tucked into a boot.
Matrix: The same above listed pistols, and a Remington 700 sniper rifle slung across her back.

Gear:

Real world: Swiss Army shock-proof watch (silver), cellular phone
Matrix: same Swiss Army watch, cellular phone

Objectives:
- To protect the men and women who go back into the Matrix proper, and serve the remnants of free humanity as a whole, the same as her partner, Aiden.

- To fight by and stay with Aiden, to whom she feels both indebted for her true freedom, and fiercely loyal.

Biography:

Eva (then Trisha Gaines) grew up in the Matrix world sections of Atlanta, GA, in some of the worst crime-ridden, drug-infested, gang-ruled neighborhoods imaginable. She did not know either of her ostensible parents (both of whom had disappeared long before she was able to remember either of them), and was raised by her grandmother. “Nana” was a no-nonsense, faith-driven, hard-working woman who would brook no kind of stupidity from her granddaughter; but instead encouraged her in all ways to get an education, make something of herself, and get the hell out of the still-deteriorating neighborhoods.

Always her Nana encouraged her to seek knowledge, and understanding, and only much later, when she was free, would Eva wonder if her Nana may have been, well… something more than just another Coppertop.

Still, Eva did all that her Nana could have asked and then some, surviving the streets and still finding a way to fill her prodigious and inquisitive mind. After college – during which she worked 2, 3 and 4 jobs at a time, to afford – she would find a natural affinity with law enforcement and investigations, satisfying that desire to see order from chaos.

And then, she was partnered with Aiden. Nothing was ever quite the same, after that…

[Igraine]

Name: Irda Felador (Eer-day Fee-lay-dor) (aka “The Long Walker)

Gender: Female

Age: Irda appears to be either in her late twenties, or perhaps early into her third decade.

Race: Human

Appearance: (only describing the obvious and visible at the moment) Irda is tall for a woman, hovering around 6’1” tall, with a medium – though quite muscular - frame. She has long, straight dark brown hair she wears in multiple braids tied off in various colored beads and gems, the whole of which she usually has tied back and away from her high-cheek bonedface. Irda’s eyes are a dark brown that seem almost black, and her skin is a deep olive color. She is striking in her own, unique way - not a "classical beauty," but her self-assured presence alone would normally command a certain attention and notice.

Irda's clothing is simple enough: a white linen shirt with long sleeves to her wrists, and open only just a bit at the neck; light brown leather pants cinched at the waist by a sword belt, the legs of which are tucked into knee high, soft leather boots; and matching tan gloves that go to her elbow, beneath the sleeves of her shirt.

Personality: In most every circumstance, Irda will seem calm and collected. Nothing of any extreme emotion, whether it be celebratory jubilance, mad grief or intense fury, will she allow to mar her normally placid surface. She has spent many years of her life learning the secondary familial arts of negotiation, bargaining, haggling and deception, and those are simply not habits she finds easy to break. The only time Irda would show some flash of “fire,” is if there is a direct threat or attack to her large, extended family.

Abilities: Irda makes her living as an alchemist, and as a “finder of things lost.” She has a preternaturally quick mind, and is actually a magic “sensitive” or, as her Great Grandmere would say over and over as she grew up, “We Feladors have just that touch of the fey, and just enough of the fel in us, to be a danger to them all.” Irda can actually sense the presence of the magical, no matter the source (“dark” or “light”), and has hired out her services on several occasions to “recover” or “retrieve” lost magical items, artifacts, tokens and trinkets over her many years of travel. The art of alchemy she learned at the feet of her Uncle Urgor (Oor-gor)- she is able to take the many elements around her (magical and non-) and create potions, elixirs, compounds, powders and the like, with various fun (and occasionally unexpected) uses.

Irda is also a very capable swordswoman, who carries a beautifully crafted rapier on her sword belt. Tucked in the opposite boot from her sword hand is a long dagger she uses while dual-wielding when she must.

History: The Feladors are a nomadic family of merchants, bards, entertainers, craftsmen, smiths and, occasionally, ne’er-do-wells (but really, doesn’t every family have just a few of those tucked away somewhere?) All that the family is involved in though, one way or another, is meant to extend the fortunes of the Felador family as a whole. Currently headed by the family matriarch and “historian,” Great Grandmere Tesha (Tee-shay) Felador, the family travels from city-to-city, over the entirety of the known world (and some of the “unknown”) in heavily armed caravan wagons. Irda had seen far more than most would ever know in a lifetime, by the time she was actually old enough to be considered a “grown woman.”

Her brilliance assured her an apprenticeship with her dear, elderly uncle, his tutelage on the chemical and alchemical properties of the world’s known substances enhanced by her own ability to “see” the potential and possibilities in the magic-imbued objects of the world.

Currently, though, she is not traveling with her family, her business prospects having taken her – temporarily, at least – from the safety of the Felador fold elsewhere in this great wide world. There is the potential, it seems, for a small fortune to be made in the recovery of a certain few items of a magical nature.

Equipment:

Rapier worn on her sword belt, at her waist

Boot dagger

A flute/recorder, that she plays with no small skill

A wagon, covered and very well constructed, and more than large enough to contain her various tools of the alchemical trade, her elements and collections, and to sleep in with her companion:

A very large, slavishly devoted gray wolf named Emre (Eem-ree). He’s a wolf, and just a wolf – though he does have a personality all his very own.

Two horses (both bay mares): one that is normally hitched to the front of the wagon (Belt, pronounced: Beelt), and another tied to the rear while they travel by wagon (Vesta, pronounced Vees-tay.) Vesta, though, she uses for riding when she does not or cannot use the wagon itself.

A dark gray, hooded cloak that falls to her feet, that she wears during inclement weather, or when a bit more anonymity is needed while she travels.

A leather vest she wears over her shirt, while she is “collecting.” It is lined with pockets and straps and snaps and ties, both inside and out, to hold samples of her various finds.

[Igraine]

Name: Rachel Evangeline Evans (“Ray Ray” by her family, because family can never humiliate you enough, and “Eva” by choice, B.I. (Before Incident))

Age: 35

Hometown: Seaside, CA

Appearance: Long blonde hair, normally pulled back in a business-like pony tail, blue eyes, approximately 5’6” tall and well-tanned, with a fit runner’s body.

“Current” location: Internment Camp, Solitary Confinement Unit, undisclosed location in Nevada

Normal human? Not anymore…

Bio: Rachel is a highly educated woman, having obtained her JD (Juris Doctorate) from the Stanford Law School, and set up a small – but still lucrative – divorce and family law office in the San Francisco Bay area. She grew up with a relatively “normal” family a couple hours south of where her practice was located, in Seaside, CA, with her mother and father, Sarah and Michael Evans, and one little brother, Jason Michael (age 31) – who has grown no less annoying with age.

Despite her parents’ wishes (even in the relatively “laissez-faire” social attitudes of California), Rachel chose not to marry, but rather lived with her boyfriend (Gregory “Greg” Stephen Lee, age 36) of some eight years, in a rather comfortable studio apartment with a great view of the Bay Bridge. Greg was an up-and-coming architect, looking at a potential partnership with the firm he worked with for his innovative designs, and unflagging work ethic.

Both Rachel and Greg believed there would be time “in the future” to get married… maybe after they had a child, perhaps… some time, well – sometime in the future. They were both young, heavily involved in their careers, and their lives as they were and really, who needed to worry about “all of that” right at this moment? Right up until June 2009.

It was a dark, moonless night when, completely panicked, Greg rushed Rachel to the hospital. She had collapsed in their apartment, writhing in pain so profound, that it seemed the convulsions themselves were snapping the very bones inside her body.

When X-rays, MRIs and CAT scans could be run, the physicians were horrified, and appalled. They had never seen the like – in a living body, at least. Truly, the bones throughout her body, from her skull to the very bones of her feet, had suddenly been broken in many places - mainly at the joints. Many of her internal organs had been similarly ruptured and almost “reshaped.” The closest one doctor said he could equate the damage, was to a body he had seen after a skydiving accident. The hemorrhaging was profound – though thankfully most of the largest vessels of Rachel’s vascular system remained untouched, and massive transfusions saved her life. There was, however, absolutely no explanation for what had happened to her.

And some two days later? A medical miracle. Rachel woke with every bone in her body, every bit of her flesh, each internal organ, completely and utterly healed as if not one single thing had happened to her. She could not remember a thing of the previous days, and physicians remained as baffled at her recovery, as they were at her injuries. She was scheduled for test after test the following weeks, but nothing could be found to explain what had happened.

As horrifying as this incident was for Rachel and Greg, and her whole family? Well, the human mind is quite capable of putting so much behind it and moving on, when the outcome is actually a “positive.” All seemed well, and the greatest change of all? Greg got down on one knee some three weeks later, diamond solitaire in hand, and asked his beloved Rachel to be his wife. And of course, she accepted.

Only one week later, in July 2009, all hell – quite literally, in some places – would break loose. Rachel would never remember what happened that moonless night, when the pain came back, more excruciating than before as she worked at her small desk, collapsing to the floor as she tried to call Greg’s name before the blackness overtook her. All she would ever remember, was that she woke some three days later to a pounding on the door. She was not in the hospital, but in her own bed, completely unclothed and covered with a sticky, dark, foul-smelling substance – blood, but not her own. Next to her, disemboweled and covered in horrible gashes, his dead sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling, was Greg. And by the stench beginning to rise from his body, he had been dead a couple days, at the very least.

The men at the door gave her no time for explanation, no time for understanding or reasoning in the least. It seemed that the tragedy in this apartment was only one of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands or more, of strange and fantastical, horrible and inexplicable incidents that had plunged the world into panic, paranoia and chaos. Martial law was declared in some locations in even formerly free territories, and all the “most dangerous” – whatever arbitrary indicator that might entail - of those deemed mad, possessed or simply “changed,” were interred without trial or reason.

And because of the nature of what had happened in the apartment, Rachel’s case was deemed worthy of incarceration in the solitary confinement unit. The nature of Greg’s death indicated she was a danger to herself and all those around her – though no one knew quite when, where or how that danger might actually manifest.

Rachel has begun now, to sort things out concerning what happened to her, given nothing but time on her hands to think, to ponder, to try to sift through the tiny bits of news and information she picked up on the way to this place. The only thing that Rachel knows for sure though, at this very moment, is that someone, somewhere, somehow knows of her plight, and that she is not utterly forgotten nor forsaken. One small piece of paper with a hastily scrawled message, slipped inside a hard roll on the tin tray slid into her lonely cell, told her so:

”You are not alone.”

[Igraine]

NAME: Emi Riverson
RACE: Human

PERSONALITY: Raised entirely by her father Alden, a blacksmith, after her mother’s death in child birth, Emi might lack many of what most consider the “feminine graces,” inherent in the fairer sex. Emi will never be found in a dress, and moves very much as a man does, with no small amount of confidence in long, powerful strides. In her traveling clothing and from a distance, she can easily be mistaken for a human male. She is, however, fun-loving and lively in person, quick to laugh, sure to listen, and – her profession notwithstanding – slow to speak where it is not prudent to do so. She has a brilliant mind and a most amazing memory – quite helpful, of course, when it comes to the learning and retention of the music, cadence and lyrics of the ballads and lays that are the mainstay of her profession: a troubadour.

HISTORY/FAMILY HISTORY: Emi was born some years into, and lived most of her life under, the rule of Bain, King of Dale (though in AT3008, his son Brand assumed his father’s place). An only child to Alden Riverson, it became apparent rather quickly that his free-spirited daughter was not likely to follow in his footsteps as a blacksmith. Though tall and powerfully built like her father, Emi’s mind was – as he was quite fond of saying – every bit her mother’s.

Living in Dale, with the almost continuous commerce and/or travel from Erebor, the Running, Long Lake and even, on occasion, Mirkwood to the east, Emi has both sought and been exposed to a wide variety of stories, tales, yarns and music all her life. Musically, she is a prodigy – Emi is a self-taught player of both the lyre and the recorder, and possesses a preternaturally beautiful contralto singing voice. She can reproduce most any music, after having heard it even once. And her father, ever-indulgent of his only child, allowed her all the time she required to nurse her talents as she learned to both read and write, spending every last cent for sheet music, tutors and instruments whenever possible.

When she was of an appropriate age, Emi began to sing and perform in the local taverns and shows in Dale, and in the human lands just beyond the city, singing ballads both ancient and not-so-ancient (‘The Lay of Bard the Bowman’ being a rather obvious local favorite). Her reputation in that area, at least, spread quickly, her skills bringing her before Bain, the Lord of Dale, himself on several occasions. Finding in Emi a worldly, educated young woman of matchless wit and intelligence, she enjoyed both his favor and indulgence, regardless of her humble birth.

Though she could have remained in that area and made both a life and a living quite easily, the open road and the great wide world always called to her. For from the time she was a small child, Emi had listened for the music of this world, enchanted by the ancient tales she could piece together, intuitively understanding that all around her had been sung into being. And so when she first heard the discord of the gathering shadows, confirmed in the news and rumors of men and monstrosities wherever she traveled, she first felt compelled to return to Dale – to a most warm welcome at her home, and in the court of the newly crowned Brand. And hearing the rumors of dark tidings himself, King Brand sent Emi to Rivendell, to offer her services in any way possible to Lord Elrond.

APPEARANCE: (Hair, Eyes, Build etc.) Emi is 25 years old and, despite her mannerisms, she is actually quite fair of face, with laughing green eyes and the typical black hair of the people of Dale. For the sake of convenience, she wears her hair braided and knotted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She is tall for a woman as well, standing about 5’11” tall with a lithe, muscular build. She has long, shapely hands –though callused from years of playing her instrument, and ink-stained on her right hand quite often, from her constant writings.

EQUIPMENT/GEAR: Along with a fine wooden lyre and a recorder, Emi carries an exquisitely-crafted short sword and dagger set, sheathed on her belt. (Both items were, of course, made by her father) She wears brown leather pants and boots; a loose, long-sleeved linen shirt over a fine chain mail chest piece (another gift from Alden to his daughter); and a long, forest brown cloak that she usually wears with the hood up, covering the lyre strapped to her back. She rides a dapple gray mare called Lili, a hardy, thick-legged horse that is both sturdy and quite used to the rigors of hard travel. In her packs will be any number of scrolls, books, parchment, inks, quills – she is an avid reader of any history and literature she can lay her hands on, as well as a writer herself.

OTHER SKILLS/ABILITIES: Thankfully, Alden Riverson sported a rather practical side as well. He was well aware it was unlikely his beloved daughter would be constrained by the widening boundaries of even the Kingdom of Dale. Alden ensured she could wield both sword and dagger proficiently, and traded his own services for the tutelage of Emi under various woodsmen, that she could survive the rigors of the road. Her own experiences during her travels have only honed those skills – Emi is a highly skilled swordswoman, able to dual-wield both dagger and sword; and though not a Ranger, she is an accomplished outdoorsman.

[Igraine]

Name: Nadie Sirend

Species: Human

Species Description: Seriously? heh

Age: 28

Gender: female

Height: 5'7"

Weight: a muscular 135 pounds

Hair Colour: Dark chestnut brown, normally pulled back behind her head and braided into a knot at the nape of her neck

Eye Colour: Pale blue

Skin Colour: sun-tanned and weathered

Words to Live By (brief personality description): Passionate, though much in her life has made her seem grim or humorless in the last few years; intelligent; faithful and trustworthy, though very untrusting of others.

Memorable Times

Best Time: Her enlistment in the King’s service, finding a purpose and a place to excel she had not expected.

Worst Time: The violent death of her father, which she was helpless to prevent. Many things unraveled for her after this, and she finds herself a far more cynical person than she ever had been before. Nadie works now as a traveling mercenary – body guard, soldier-for-hire, or caravan guard.

Equipment: Two long swords are sheathed at her waist. (Let’s just assume the metal is such that even a monomolecular edge will not slice through them like a white hot knife through butter, hmm? ) Nadie wears various pieces of dark brown leather armor, over which some plate armor has been affixed here and there. She also has a long dagger tucked into her right boot – perfect for throwing or, in a pinch, dual-wielding with.

[Igraine]

Name: Jahravvuk (“Jarrie” to those closest to her among Basic speaking non-Wookiees, not advised otherwise)

Species: Wookiee

Appearance: Jarrie stands around seven feet (about two meters) tall, and is covered from head to foot with a long, thick layer of hair: pale blonde hair about her face, becoming golden-brown over her body and eventually darkening to a deep brown toward her extremities. She has blue eyes, and pulls the hair at her face behind her head into braided ties, to keep it from falling into her work.

Profession: Mechanic, Engineer and general fix-it-all

Skills: Jarrie is a mechanical engineer extraordinaire. She is can see the intricate workings, pathways and systems of any piece of machinery, from a hyperdrive generator to an astromech droid to a toaster, and is capable of “making it right,” if it’s broke. Despite her size, the artistry she displays in manipulating and working with even the smallest, most fragile and delicate of components would make a diamond cutter weep with envy. Then again, the fact that she can beat the hell out of a stubborn piece of machinery and bring it into submission probably doesn’t hurt, either.

That, and she is a terrible cook. Sorry, folks.

Equipment: Jarrie carries a bowcaster in a sling across her back (traditional green bolts), and a rather wicked looking ryyk blade on her left hip (both weapons, of course, she has made herself). She also carries her kit o’ mechanical genius strapped around her neck and over her left shoulder, in a canvas-type bag that rests on her right hip.

Yes. She’s a Wookiee. That’s all she’s wearing.

Biography: This part here, I’d rather keep open at this point. No, I don’t need any pointlessly tragic tales of orphaning or widowing, but if there is a chance to find someone who would be interested in playing with the idea of a “life debt,” I’d like the option to be available. Her past would, I'd imagine, involve enslavement, but it's negotiable for me as well.

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