Group RP The Crew of the Spectral Hyacinth

[Penfighter]

Captain Corran Philip Atrios


CEO of Atrios Corporation (Retired, So He Says)
Captain of the Spectral Hyacinth


Appearance


​

Corran is the average height for a spacer, which would be considered tall for surface dwelling humans. Always, he wears the old-world style compression suits that he believes never should have gone out of style for their practical functionality. He wears a long, stained, and classic duster jacket that once belonged to a Starpriest named Stellon. He's modified with some modern technology but the style, and imperfections, remain. His face and body are scarred from tussles with pirates and rival scrappers and carries himself like a man who won't back down in a fight. He keeps his brown locks high and tight for more comfort in spacesuit helmets and has sported a full beard for over a decade now.

Personality

​

Softspoken and a man of few words, Corran is sometimes misjudged as being slow or dimwitted. However, once one gets to know him, they will find that he is just pensive and calculating. Many are surprised to learn that he has a sense of humor and that he can be quite loving when he thinks of it, but others have also known him to be distant and private. He is a proud man and considers it his duty to protect others at all costs. Those that have spent long hauls with him or known him a while have seen him open up and become more outspoken and willing to let his guard down.

Historical Background

​

Corran Philip Atrios was born on Vorpan, a city-moon in orbit around the gas giant Penelope in the Heriatas System. As was true of most kids born there, his parents worked for Heriatas Unlimited, a hydrogen-gas mining corporation so large it had purchased rights to rename the entire system after itself. His mother and father worked vastly different jobs but both left the moon every day to shuttle down to one of the massive platforms in orbit of Penelope. His father was a security technician in charge of the platform's automated defenses and his mother operated one of many thousands of drillscoops that collected gases from the upper atmosphere of the planet.

Not that Corran could tell you much else about his parents if asked today. He rarely saw them in those early years as they always returned home only be too exhausted to spend time with their only child. Sometimes they would take day trips to another moon which had calm, sandy, and crowded beaches you could visit. Other times they might peruse the Festival District with its many oddities, shops, and playgrounds. But generally, the young boy occupied his time with his education and trying to annoy the babysitters assigned to him by Vorpan Home Services while his parents were at work. That was, until the Vorpan Crisis.

To this day, scientists and investigators alike cannot agree on what took place. Whether by intricate and massive scale sabotage, some divine hand's involvement, or the simple facts of orbital mechanics, Vorpan's orbit around Penelope changed. From the time it was discovered, the millions of citizens occupying the city-moon were told there was three months to evacuate before Vorpan collided with another, much larger moon. Heriatas Unlimited has shoulderd the greatest burden of blame for the ensuing chaos, but logistical failures, opportunistic pirates, and other factors led to only half of Vorpan's citizens being evacuated in time before the entire satellite was obliterated.

The only reason Corran escaped was because of the efforts of a Starpriest of the Valan Order. He and some of his companions, using the registry of the Vorpan Home Services system, spent days gathering as many children as they could fit on their cruiser and took them to safety. Thus, Corran Atrios became an orphan and a Squire of the Order in the same day. At the Order's massive space station in the neighboring Llaoris System, Corran was taught the many trades and skills of the Starpriests. Their ancient religion traced its routes, allegedly, to the first humans to colonize the stars. They forwent new technology like holographic displays and automated flight systems for more "trustworthy" analog and mechanical systems. Starpriests were expected to be well rounded spacers with knowledge of fabrication, piloting, space walking, medicine, physics, and many other skilled fields. While they valued this lifestyle, many thought them as only being a "Jack of All Trades, but Master of None", as the saying went. All of that aside, the principle code of the Valan Order was to protect life at any cost.

Corran, a young man now, found life in The Order to be stuffy and rigid. He yearned for the bright lights of modern technology. He desired to leave the Starpriests' home but had no means of his own. Then, fate struck as the United Systems of Man came looking for him and his fellow survivors. Ten years after the Vorpan Crisis, the new Interstellar Parliament was looking for some positive public relations stories to make up for some disaster in another system somewhere far away. Providing restitution to a handful of survivors of an old catastrophe was the feel good tale they wanted the press to focus on while they fixed whatever it was that might get some of them beaten at the next primary. Corran and all the other "Children of The Crisis" were given handsome piles of credits and told to pay it forward to a grieving galaxy.

Whatever political designs were at work, Corran Atrios recognized an opportunity when he saw one. He purchased a small two seater salvage vessel and started his own company. He wisely only invested a small amount of his new small fortune and put the rest in other ventures. Soon, he was able to purchase a better, more effective ship and paid others to operate his previous vessel. As time went on, his company began operating on its own, salvaging ships and gaining contracts from the Llaoris government to clean up space wrecks and collect debris after accidents around stations and ports.

With Atrios Corporation firmly secure in the hands of his most trusted people, Corran began exploring for bigger and better opportunities. He eventually heard, through a Starpriest contact, tales of a forgotten battle from many centuries ago. A few jumps away, in a system far from the center of the USM, existed a star that had once harbored billions of humans. Now its planets were devoid of all life. Stories told of a massive conflict for the last remaining resources in a time when jumping between systems was much more expensive and difficult. After a long expedition and exploratory effort, he found what he was looking for. Between the orbits of two tidally locked ice worlds co-orbiting ice worlds was the wreckage of a thousand ships.

Atrios Corporation immediately claimed the site, though dozens of other companies contracted in to help explore and salvage the debris. However, just as the first waves of scavengers were returning with strange and ancient technology, the United Systems of Man declared the star, Ymir, and everything in its orbit an Historical Site of Record and forced all civilian salvage operations to cease immediately. Robbed of his find and frustrated, the government appeased Corran by naming him a Hero of the Galaxy for rediscovering one of humanity's former homes. It was small compensation for a find that would have made him and all other hard working spacers in the entire region wealthy and prosperous.

Several years later, Captain Corran Philip Atrios plays things much closer to the proverbial vest. His Starpriest contacts continue to feed him information as the good Captain searches the stars for the next forgotten derelict. He yearns to learn more of the past he caught glimpses of while a Squire of the Order and to make his fortune reclaiming humanity's past. Word among some scrapper and scientific circles is that Atrios has done it again, he's found something. Quietly, he hopes to gather a small crew and investigate for himself. This time the find won't be taken from him. This time he will get his answers.

Past Romantic Relationships

​

Living as a young man on a Starpriest station meant one thing. You lived with a lot of other men. Corran did not fancy them, though it was not for lack of trying. Those experiments failed and Corran turned to his research and apprenticeships as distraction all the way up until the he and the other so-called "Children of The Crisis" were made famous and given far too many credits for their age. Suddenly, there were many women seeking his attention. At 21 and 22, Corran was not disappointed by this.

Ultimately, these connections proved meaningless and only fun for a time. He refocused on his work and founded his company. It was only after he purchased his second ship, what he affectionately and officially named Scrap Pile II in honor of the hunk of junk he started his operations out in, that he found something with meaning. The Scrap Pile II had a crew of 5 including him and they all became close as they journeyed the deep space of the system, hunting for salvage and exploring. He first began a relationship with Mila, a beautiful young woman from a different moon around Penelope. She was an odd reminder of his past from one system over, but she was also not someone he could refuse.

He discovered quickly that she was also in a relationship with two of the other crewmembers. In turn, those two were romantic with the remaining two in ways Corran had never considered. Suddenly, he understood why this group was willing to take less pay to remain together. The realities of space travel meant that this was a far more common occurrence than his prudish Starpriest mentors would have him believe. He was hurt and angry at first, but the others gave him time. They were all crammed together into a small, janky spacecraft and he could not escape. This ultimately worked to his benefit as he did the only thing he could do, which was to start asking questions. He learned how they all made polyamory work and what compersion was supposed to be. His romance resumed with Mila and soon, he was with her girlfriend Alani as well. Jace and Taylor became his closest friends in any system and the group became an amazing team.

By the end of the trip, he made them all official partners in his corporation and bid farewell for a time as he resumed building his Corporation. Still, when the time came to find the Ymir wreckage with thousands of ships, they were on his exploratory crew and they spent several years together during that time. They shared the elation of the discovery with him and the frustration at having it all taken away. He remained with them in Llaoris for a time, but ultimately the call of the stars proved too much. He had so many questions about Ymir and he could not sit idle and run the Atrios Corporation from a desk in a high rise on the surface of a planet. Thus, he kept his title of CEO but relinquished operational control to the four people he trusted most. He calls himself retured but that is not technically true in any way.

Corran left them all behind and took off in his favorite ship, the Spectral Hyacinth to continue hunting for answers and to do more for those like him who had not been so lucky as to receive help from outside. His friends and loves understood and continue running his company for him even while guessing at where he might be.

 

[Irakma]

So I added some more. Makes me feel better.


Name: Benjamin "Benny" Simpson, Fabricator & Assistant Technician

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age: 29

Physical Description: Benny is tall, even for a spacer, and quite gangly, standing much taller than the majority of people around him. On world, he is easily visible through a crowd, being almost head and shoulders taller than everyone else. Luckily, he is only slightly taller than most other spacers around, by about four or five cm. He has a light gaze that seems to calm most people who talk to him, making most people trust him quickly. His hair is usually disheveled or wavy, and he rarely cares for it. He usually wears skintight clothes meant for a space suit, ready to get in at a moments notice. On top of it he wears a belt with a strap going over his shoulder that hold several items, including a pocket plasma welder, a mini fabricator, chunks of different metals for use with the welder or fabricator, and a box of his favorite candies, Mouth attacks. Mouth Attacks are the future's equivalent of Lemon Heads.

Personality: Benny is perpetually tired, only sleeping about an hour a day, due to his severe insomnia. Thankfully, his tiredness usually makes him less irritable, rather than more like most people. He does like conversations, but less of him talking, and more of him listening and doing something with his hands. He is quick to fall in love with someone, but keeps it pushed down so far that the only way you would know is if you bluntly asked him. He is incredibly loyal to whoever is in charge, even more so if he has feelings for them.

Backstory: Benny was born on the planet of the Sagerian system. He was raised in an mostly ordinary life, and though he was always behind in his classes, he would stay up late into the night tinkering with his father who was a Fabricator by trade. After graduating high school with a C average, Benny decided to take the galactic Fabricator test at just 17, and passed it with the highest score seen on the test, becoming the third youngest person to pass the test. He then quickly went on ships and became a well known crewman, learning quickly how to be a Technician as well. At one point, he worked under Captain Atrios for one voyage, and has a mild crush on him, though he says the reason he's going on this trip is because of the adventure and money.

 

[Peachy00Keen]

​

---

Historical Background
​

"Gratitude. That's what you ought to have. If you've never known life in the Rubble, thank the stars for the hand you were dealt and rest easy knowing you're one of the lucky ones."​

***​

Maps that still bother to mark the derelict hunk of rock orbiting in the narrow habitable zone around the red giant, Meranos, call it Hephasia, but planets like Hephasia rarely warrant a proper name. Most just call them what they are: Rubble. Abandoned, near-lifeless planets covered by collapsed, once-great cities that, in ages past, reached for the stars. Some of their former inhabitants found new homes among them. Others crumbled in their hastened scramble to escape terra firma. In either case, someone always got left behind. The unwanted, the underprivileged, the unfortunately fortunate. Those who remained and their progeny carved out new lives on those decaying planets. Their once-flourishing societies devolved into barbaric factions, loosely-organized criminal protectorates, and roving bands of scavengers trying to carve out something new and selfish as the bones of civilization collapsed around them. As generations passed, the dust settled and the seeds of community began to grow again, rising, tattered and worn, from the wreckage of an abundant past.

Oases sprung up, scattered across the scarred landscape as bastions of security. The land between them remained dangerous, to be crossed at the risk of those who dared with no hope of rescue from raiders, the elements, or the hardened fauna that had adapted to live in the unforgiving environment. These settlements were small, by necessity. Too many inhabitants and the populace grew unruly as resources stretched to meet everyone's needs. Too few, and the town was overrun by outside forces. Most sanctuaries rose and fell in a matter of years, keeping even the most fortunate of the unfortunate constantly on the move.

Callum Price was born in the heat of summer to a woman whose face had seen more dust storms than rain and whose body had endured the hardships of several lifetimes by the time she died at age forty-one. Whoever had been her sire was destined to remain a mystery, but by the way her mother had absently touched the scar on her lip every time she'd been asked, Callum decided he likely wasn't a man she'd wanted to meet. The early years of her life were spent tethered to her mother, roaming the scorched barrens outside Hell's Gate — a mangled skeleton of collapsed skyscrapers, overrun by gangs of scrappers and raiders tied up in a generations-old turf war. The barrens, her mother had said, once were farmland. It seemed an ideal enough tale. Worn-out caves bored into the sandstone cliffs that stretched above a parched riverbed were connected by narrow, sloping trails. Somehow, the people who used to live there before had used them for growing food, but Callum had never figured out how.

The settlement of New Peat had built itself into a similar, though much larger hole in that canyon wall. Far downriver from Hell's Gate and well-defended from those who might seek to cause unrest, Callum and her mother lived several comfortable years in relative safety and luxury. They had food, water, monthly baths, and a community that taught Callum how to hold her own. She picked up a knack for tinkering from the local engineers, who had devised a way to bring water up from the ground and to defend the settlement from raiding bands with hidden traps and armaments. No amount of their clever engineering was enough to save the little town when raiders wielding explosives decided to make a move on the settlement for its abundant water supply. Anyone who got in the way was killed, and anyone of value was taken prisoner.

Over a decade of her life was spent shackled to a cavern wall at night and working at gunpoint during the day. "Jailbrains" the brutes called them. They thought it was a clever moniker.

Years of forcing brilliant minds to work under constant surveillance with a strict no-talking order inevitably led to creative solutions. The lot of them developed a means of communication through covert taps and subtle hand motions. Without a word, they planned their escape. Several years of stowing springs, gears, and other small pieces in their clothes when pretending to scratch an itch or dropping bits of material onto the floor by their feet and tucking them into their pant legs eventually gave them enough spare parts to build what they needed to make their escape. Three of them died in their attempted break, and Callum was left badly scarred by a premature detonation.

The jailbreak collapsed the cavern and was loud enough to be heard up and down the canyon. The two remaining survivors fled on foot, blinded by the light they hadn't seen in years and on aching legs, unaccustomed to more than shuffling about in their cramped workspaces. Nearly a week of running at night and hiding during the day brought them to the fringes of Angel's Landing, another tangle of bridges and buildings, this time at the edge of a hot sea whose water stretched out to the far horizon and beyond. It was the only spaceport remaining on the whole planet, or so the stories had said. Callum and Titus, the only other survivor from the prison, staggered into the city on aching feet and swore they were hallucinating. Buildings had walls with doors. Roofs had no holes. The streets were littered with debris and detritus, still, but surely, this place was some kind of paradise.

They found someone capable of tending Callum's wounds, and they worked off their dues over the next several months. Titus found permanent work with the doctor who'd helped them, and Callum found trade in the salvage yards, picking things apart and putting them back together again. Her unique approach to repairs, eye for odd details, and predilection for giving orders rather than taking them earned her a sub-director position after a few short years. When someone finally offered her a chance to leave the Rubble behind, she accepted the offer with gusto, said goodbye to Titus and his new wife and child with a tear in her eye, and never looked back.

---

Personality
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"If you don't put a little heart into whatever you do, why do it in the first place? A life without passion is as good as no life at all."​

***​

Her deadpan might be frigid enough to cool a raging sun, but the love in her heart could melt a comet. Callum held onto her mother's nickname for her, "Gidget," and she slowly let other people she trusted to bring the name back into the light. People skills are her strong suit as long as those skills involve telling others what to do or interacting outside of the sphere of responsibility. She's accustomed to being alone with her thoughts and often spends time silently tinkering with pieces she's collected and decided to fit together, sometimes without even realizing there are other people present in the room with her.

Years of hardship and constant travel have hampered numerous domestic skills, most notably cooking. Callum's favorite food is jerky, and the tougher, the better. She's a menace in the kitchen, and never once in her life has she produced anything even remotely edible. Her migrant lifestyle did, however, introduce her to myriad languages, dialects, and (most importantly) interjections. She has a diverse vocabulary for swearing, and she's not afraid to use it.

Compared to other spacers, Callum is... small. As some might put it, impressively so. She never let her height limit her abilities. She can easily best most people in an arm-wrestling match and prides herself as much in her tough exterior as she does in having retained her humanity through the storms she's had to weather. She's shrewdly practical when it comes to tasks, but her frugality falls away rapidly when it comes to making sure others have what they need. It is a deeply-held personal belief of hers that there's enough suffering in the universe without little things piling up on top of it all. Her voice may be harsh when work is on the line, but outside of the line of duty, the stony exterior rapidly falls away.

Callum is quick to care and slow to open up. She'll share what she has to help another, but it takes a fair amount of trust and time spent getting to know her before she'll open up about where she's been and what she needs. Despite her willingness to make friends, venturing beyond acquaintances takes work, and while she'll adamantly defend the "close familiarity of silence," she'll never admit the depth of the loneliness that comes with it.

---

|| Vocab Unique To Callum || || Tech ||

• Pronunciation is pseudo-Slavic with rolled r's, accent in basic is similar
  
  • khota cera paher nakami juntha bola — Rambling oath of frustration with someone(s); "useless two-faced liars"
  • rakayd(a) — Bastard(s)
• • Holopad — A data-storage device

 

[Mikaela Corvid]

Dr. Hana Orelco

Doctor to some, Hana to crew mates. She's a little spitfire with an addiction to coffee, as all medical personnel are nowadays. She stands at 5'7", and 136lbs. She's rather effeminate when she wants to be, it depends on her mood. Is a closet gun nerd. Also has a collection of off-world mugs.



History

Hana grew up like most kids do on a colony vessel, running along the air filtered hallways, ditching her tutors, and committing general shenanigans on station members of all species. She did have high grades, and graduated Suda Cum Laude in her class. Which was a total of 15 kids around her age.

All that aside, she shipped off to the medical quadrant in another sector and away from her Mother ship. She didn't have much adversity there either, she tended to be well liked and socially popular but not overly so.

It was difficult, but she did graduate with her doctorate in Medicine with a Masters in Alien and Species Physiology and Anatomy, and a minor in Psychology.



Due to her exceptional grades she could have gone anywhere, could have picked any place to work and she would have been set for life, but she chose the battlefields of Korne'ala where she practiced combat medicine and moonlighted as a gunner on the scout ships. Under the tutelage of Colonel McTaggart, she learned how to be part of the unit and was quickly assimilated into the group, having earned their respect and companionship. She spent several tours in Korne'ala, and grew to become a native when the final battle commenced. While helping to extract several wounded men, she became injured herself, but continued the mission with a mangled left arm. Not her dominant hand, thank the star gods, but it still required surgery. Surgery that replaced the arm with state of the art technology. Cybernetics weren't exactly new, but it was a still growing field. She does rely on the engineer for general maintenance and upkeep of the arm, but that was part of her contract for coming aboard the Spectral Hyacinth.

Now she maintains a steady medical supply and manages a healthy diet for the crew. She has a pet that she keeps in a terrarium. Well. Not exactly a pet. More of a self replicating algae that had been farmed on larger scales for nutritional value on Korne'ala. Hana feeds the algae a steady diet, and it replicates, allowing Hana to trim enough to keep it a manageable size and still offer a nutritional supplement to her shipmates. She tries her best to hide the algae in the food to mask the flavor, but it has a distinct taste, not far off from seaweed, and it can be difficult to get down. Hana manages it though, using techniques from the old world.



Personality

Hana can be a bit of a joker and flirt. She tries to stay professional but every now and then a quip or innuendo makes it in. She means no harm by it, and has never really explained her personal preferences to romance and sex to any of her shipmates. She tries to keep the atmosphere jovial if she can. She's a strong gal, with a mean left hook, and strong morals to go with it all.

Spoiler: cybernetic arm concept

 

[Ertas]

Roxana Sauber


Chief Physicist and Pilot of the Spectral Hyacinth


Appearance




​

Roxana stands tall for a surface dweller but a little short for a spacer, a height many consider 'ideal' because the proportions are correct - or so says the billions that live on her homeworld. She has relatively long platinum blond hair she tends to keep in a ponytail or otherwise high up so as to keep it out of the way. She has brilliantly light blue eyes that seem to almost sparkle in the right light. She has a strong, athletic frame built through conditioning and training rather than naturally from hard work. She has a prosthetic right leg though she does her best to make it look natural. For this reason, she tends to wear long pants that are tucked into her boots, so that her legs are completely covered. Beyond that, she tends to dress in fashionable but functional clothing and eschews tech-infused clothing which she views as gaudy and panache.

Personality

​

Roxana has an opinion on most things, and isn't afraid to share it. Outspoken, opinionated and brash, Roxana is a woman not afraid to know what she wants and aggressively go for it. Those used to games or manipulation will find her honesty refreshing - you always know where you stand with Roxana. She has high, exacting standards for everyone and everything, but holds herself to impossibly high standards; she's never capable, skilled, smart or knowledgeable enough and thus constantly strives for self-improvement. Roxana is also the consummate professional and knows when to hold her tongue and do what is asked and expected of her; even if she disagrees with the plan, she will execute her role in it diligently, expertly and without question. She has a profound sense of duty and is fiercely loyal to anyone she considers part of her "crew" - which includes friends and shipmates. Former crewmates would tell you that there was no one better to watch your back than Roxana, even if she'd tell you what was wrong with your back and what you should be doing to improve it.

Historical Background

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Raharom has one of the greatest concentrations of humans in the galaxy as the huge planet is abundant in resources and has perfect conditions for life. The Raharomi people are organic purists and consider organic superior to artificial. In other systems and planets, humans have created cybernetic implants and enhancements - such things are profane to the Raharomi people, who instead would prefer genetic treatments for improvement. This focus on the organic, in addition to the blessed conditions of their planet, has meant that Raharom is the greatest source of complex organics, medicine and biotechnology in the galaxy. Rahatomi has invested this wealth back into their people, creating improvements in genetics that has pushed humanity there to its organic limits. The planet's bounty is shared by the all of the billions of citizens and administered by a democratic planetary-spanning government. Naturally, such wealth and bounty is attractive to those who might want to take it by force, and so Raharom maintains a powerful armada of both ships and diplomats to protect itself. Its population, wealth and biotechnology has made Raharom one of the superpowers of the galaxy, with a powerful presence in the Interstellar Parliament of the United Systems of Man.

Born to a well-to-do family in Raharom, Roxana was free to pursue any life she wanted and could have chosen a life of comfort and luxury. From an early age she showed an incredible curiosity, pestering elders with questions and taking apart every machine she could get her hands on to understand how it worked. Her innate curiosity and diligent work ethic ensured she received top grades, and with her family's wealth and connections, she had her pick of scientific fellowships. Instead, she chose a military career and became a stellar pilot and scientist. She earned a reputation as an excellent pilot by besting others in simulators and training exercises. In particular, she did best in chaotic combat situations - her encyclopedic knowledge and lightning reflexes and reaction times allowed her to maneuver when others could not, and to find out-of-the-box solutions, especially in situations of technological failure. She earned a medal of distinction for the Raharom interstellar navy by expertly navigating her ship through a very narrow passage in pursuit of pirates, managing to subdue the pirates in the subsequent firefight with no casualties.

It was this event and a spotless record of integrity while in the navy that caught the attention of the diplomatic services, and she thus earned a position as a pilot and military attaché on a Raharomi diplomatic cruiser to the Interstellar Parliament of the United Systems of Man. She learned quite a bit about interstellar politics and issues by simply being in the room because she they needed a pilot (many deals were made when politicians and diplomats went off on pleasure rides). She became friends with one of Raharom's senior diplomats, a man named Damir, who took a liking to her brash and outspoken voice (in private of course) and served as something of a mentor for her. He was an expert of history, believing one could glean insight into the current political situation by understanding what had come before and so she picked up quite a bit about the history of mankind from him. During a routine mission, her ship was sabotaged, presumably by agents of Verda - another galactic superpower and rival of Raharom. The blast blew off her right leg and killed Damir outright, but Roxana managed to safely land the extremely damaged ship and prevent other casualties, a feat that gave her hero status and earned her Raharom's highest honors. Raharom demanded satisfaction form Verda for the incident, which they claimed was an assassination of one of their foremost diplomats. This 'Diplomatic Incident' between the two powers brought about the closest thing the galaxy had seen to interstellar war but was resolved by USM operatives and diplomacy and things mostly returned back to normal.

Roxana was not so lucky. The initial regeneration treatment for her leg failed and by the time she'd reach the advanced hospitals on Raharom, it was too late for more advanced regenerative techniques. This forced her to have to have a prosthetic leg. This effectively ended her career, as the organic purist Raharom was not going to have a visible member of their diplomatic service with a mechanical leg, even if she was a hero. The incident also shook her in so many ways. She lost her friend and mentor, then her career and some part of her confidence. Despite her best efforts, she could not just pick up the pieces and continue her life before the Incident, and eventually took an offer of an honorable discharge from the Raharom navy with a pension that would ensure she'd never worry about credits. To not be organically whole was anathema to most on Raharom but she was also a hero and thus became something of a celebrity. However, she didn't want to live an idle life, especially on Raharom, where she experienced ridicule, pity, and worse - the exotic interest - of her fellow citizens.

So she set out to find her way in the galaxy in a new and different way. She initially applied to join the USM navy, but they were unwilling to take her on because of her celebrity status on Raharom and because it might cause political issues with Verda. So, Roxana occasionally took on a job as a pilot, though usually only if she found the job (or the crew) particularly appealing while she tried to figure out her next career move. She also continued to explore her interest in the history of man and became something of a connoisseur of antiques, using her stately pension and the occasional job to fund her finds and interest. It was her reputation that drew Corran to asking her to pilot the Spectral Hyacinth on his latest adventure. Intrigued, she gladly accepted.

 

[PitViper]

Name: Jordan Morley
Age: 37
Build: 5'10", 160lbs, wirey, moderately muscular.
Primary Occupation: Ship's Engineer
Secondary skills: Pistol/Rifle, structural engineering and repair

History: After spending two years in the Terran Merchant Marine servicing the reactors of the massive freighters, Jordan decided that a change needed to be made, and signed on to the Atrios company, starting as an engineer's mate and quickly moving up the ranks. His work was always solid, and seemingly had an ability to sweet talk misbehaving reactors into better health.

During one rather horrific incident, Jordan had cleared the entire crew from his engine room during a runaway reaction, sealed the area, and managed to wrangle the reactor back to a stable state, albeit with the risk of intense radiation poisoning. After this, Jordan was forced to retire and seek intensive radiation therapy, which ultimately worked.

Retirement, however, was not for him. Sitting on his ass on Terra was rotting his mind, and he ached to get back into a ship's engine spaces. Thankfully, the call from his friend, Captain Atrios, was just what the doctor ordered.

Personality: Jordan comes off as grumpy and aloof, but this is a front. In truth, Jordan sports a cybernetic implant that feeds continuous data from the reactor and engine systems, which he tends to 'feel' most of the time. If there's a major incident with one of those systems, he'll be able to see the issue, but most of the time, during normal ooeration, he merely feels the data as background noise.

Even though Atrios is the captain, Jordan feels the reactors and engines are HIS, and doesn't tolerate fools in his engine room. He'll spare no words to that effect, either.

Quirks: Jordan had a mad love affair with coffee.

Jordan HATES people tinkering with his systems, and will say so.

Romance and sex are about the furthest thing from Jordan's mind, but if someone shows real intetest in him, he won't complain. He's just a man with different drives

Jordan loves classic boxing, and spends his time reading boxing magazines and watching fights.

 

[BonnieBee]

Face Claim

​

- - Fauna O'Hara the Third
- Senior Salvage Technician

- - Age: 29
- - Height: 5'8
- - Gender: Female
- - Sexuality: Bisexual

- - Personality: Fauna isn't exactly what you'd think of when you first imagine a senior salvage technician. Especially not one on a highly established ship. She's soft spoken most of the time and has a gentle personality to match, but it isn't shyness that guides her kind disposition, she's actually quite the extrovert when she is given the chance. Far from the seasoned leader with a hard outer shell, Faunas past in fact has made her more emotionally driven and understanding if not perhaps a little sensitive. Either way, she loves to do right by the people she works with, often seeking to make them proud of her abilities and teamwork.

Fieldset:

History:
Fauna wasn't always called Fauna.​

Once upon a time, she was called Scraps and Scraps lived on the stolen star voyager who's real name had been scratched out on its hull and replaced with "The O'Haven" title. The O'Haven was the scavenger ship of the O'Hara family. They were an odd breed of scavenger - in all honesty, most would and should call them pirates, but even with the time Fuana has had to heal she isn't ready to dub them such a title just yet - not ashamed of bringing their young along for the ride as they disbanded wreckage and accidents alike.

They kept the kids away from anything dangerous at all times, they were at least always good about that. The worst she saw when she was young was the inside of a safe room upon the large ship when disagreement to out of hand. So Scraps spent her young years running down space shuttle halls and playing catch the wrench. It physically toughened her up. She's always kept ahold of that agility. She always stood out among her peers however as the notorious cry baby of the O'Hara clan. It was an odd contrast, watching her able to take bruises without batting an eye but crumbling the moment someone raised their voices in her direction.
When she was old enough and began to get more useful, it was expected of her to adapt and help the family as much as possible on missions and restocks. Her teen years she was given chance to read and study different ships and what they were worth, little jobs like helping to carry supplies and check the suits for safety procedures and patch up what wasn't up to scratch on a very laid back crews cargo. The amount of times she would throw suits out of the airlock that weren't fit for a drone to wear was beyond count.

She was 20 when she took her first steps onto an abandoned ship that wasn't cleared for salvaging. They stole wires and valuables alike, loading their metaphorical pockets until the cargo hold couldn't take anymore before running to the markets and shelling every piece, Scraps expected to do much of the heavy lifting to christain her official first family job. They could have made a respectable business out of their skills but they made twice as much without the permits. It had always felt wrong to her. Weeks after every job she would be left feeling like a crook and it ate away at every fibre of her being. Especially on the jobs for accident sights. You never knew what you'd end up walking into.

By 24 she abandoned the family 'business' and tried to shake the life she'd grown up with, trading out her Scraps for something she could find herself in - Fauna. She tried an on-world shop-keep job, but missed the wide expanse of space too much. She tried waitressing a cruise liner for a few months but it didn't scratch the right spots. With an anxious heart, she tried a more official Salvaging job, one that was reliable and had a brilliant reputation. And wow did she perform. At a ripe age of 29, Fauna has had a plethora of successful salvage jobs under her belt. One day she'd have to change her second name, but for now she simply let the long list of happy captain's reports speak for her. SHe loved everything about the jobs she works. Getting close to the crew like the family she misses but can't go back to. The satisfaction of a job well done and it being all above board and in Faunas own words "- The safety! There's so many safety procedures we can follow and backup plans! They have manuals"

That leads her to her current position. After finishing up her last job, Fauna had to part ways with the group she'd been working with for almost two years by then. They had plans to venture deep into a satellite salvage job that was too close to the systems her old family would visit. She couldn't risk seeing them again. Luck and fate landed a whispered address in her ear about a potential job from Captain Corran Philip Atrios. Not able to think of even a day without the comfort of a ships purr she took the hint and got the old crew to drop her off at the meetup point.

 

[Mikaela Corvid]

Uh who's next? Cause I thought PV asked to go last?

 

[Torg_wildbreed]

NAME: ENGINEER BRALGUS JOURNEYMEN



AGE: 64

HEIGHT: 195cm/6ft 5in

APPEARANCE:

Bralgus is an old salt kind of man, years of working on ships has given him a body built for purpose not aesthetic. He has a broad frame, with wide shoulders and chest, his arms are thick and hairy, scars and burns earned from years in his trade learning from mistakes adorn his tanned skin. His hands are wide, strong and calloused, making them rough and powerful, perfect for working on ships.

His body is well muscled and filled with tattoos ranging from old woad style Nordic spirals on his bald head to the names of his deceased wife and child over his heart all hold their own stories.

His face is lined with years, a long grey beard is braided down to his chest, but his piercing blue grey eyes are bright and alert. His nose is slightly off joint from being broken and not set properly, a mark of his boisterous days in his youth.

He wears a white, thick shirt, the sleeves torn off to allow his large arms to move without restriction, on his lower half he wears tough well worn dark jeans, with heavy boots on his feet. Over this he has his leather utility apron, the material worn smooth from decades of use and the pockets holding a range of equipment he's collected and tinkered to perfection over his long career. Encasing his jeans and up his spine is a half exo-skeleton, not generally seen outside of old school USM home fleet crews on the older ships, they connected to small grav-plates on the soles of his boots and when activated would hold him in place when the ship made emergency manoeuvres and there was no seat and harness in reach. He also had loops of carbon re-enforced leather cord hanging either side of his hips, attracted to metal rings on a harness about his waist, the ends holding powerful magnetic hooks, used to secure himself when grav systems failed.

PERSONALITY:

Bralgus has an almost abrasive personality upon first meeting, a real "seen it all and got the scars to prove it" attitude, but also has a very lewd and dark sense of humour. Very loud and proud he is not afraid to call a spade a spade or an idiot an idiot. However after getting to know someone his humour and kinder side shows more, always ready to lend a hand. He is fiercely loyal to a crew once they've earned his trust, but his true passion comes out when it comes to ships. He treats every ship like it's a fine lover, full of passion! Be that kind gentle touch or raging about their little foibles!

HISTORY:

Bralgus was born on a back water ship breaking planet, a place where old or derelict vessels went to be torn down for parts. From the time he could walk he had been around the guts of every kind of ship in service and those long forgotten by most. His parents were humble "wreckies" as they called them, workin on the ships as they came in, cutting them up and repurposing the parts inside. They were proud people, always telling him that their family had worked on ships all the way back to ancient times, that they came from Nordic stock and it was in their blood. They worked hard to make sure Bralgus did better than them however, making sure he knew more about how engines and the ships themselves worked than anyone else, always pushing.

Eventually in his 18th year, he signed on with the local USM defence fleet, and from there he was set to explore the stars... Until the incident.

Seven years into his service he had quickly climbed the ranks to be chief engineer of a heavy cruiser, the quiet wrath.

The ship was a lone patrol vessel, set to guard the outer trade routes, heavily armed and able to deter most smaller pirate vessels from its presence in system alone. Until one day they received a distress call from a tiny merchant flotilla, only a handful of lightly armed ships, under attack by a dozen pirate frigates.

The captain at the time was a young, untested Welp of a man who had gotten his position more by political pressure than any form of skill. He was set that they shouldn't respond, that they should intact retreat and call for re-enforcements! The second in command called the man out on his cowardice, arguing it was their duty to rescue those in danger. That was when the captain pulled his side arm, screaming that this was his ship and that they must obey his command. Bralgus had decked him and had the bridge guard drag him to the brig and the second in command take charge. To his credit he didn't even hesitate, and soon they had jumped in system right on the unprepared pirates flank. There weapons cleaved a path through the pirates, rallying the merchant vessels and destroying the pirates, leaving none in any state to even limp away let alone fight a retreat.

The USM hailed the crew as hero's, but the captain was well connected. In the end, to protect the rest of the command crew, bralgus was dishonourably discharged from the fleet.

His career in ruins he set out to work on various scavenger crews, and that's how he met his wife. Eight years of joy they had when fate seemed to smile upon them, they were to have a baby! A daughter! Bralgus was a happy man in those days, but it wasn't to last. Due to a rare complication his wife died in child birth... To his still born daughter. In one moment all the happiness in his life was ripped from him.

He spent nearly a decade wandering after that, drinking and getting into fights where ever he landed. But the entire time his passion for ships kept him alive, and learning. Eventually he landed a contract with a small outfit, the steel valkyries, and that became his crew for nearly a decade, they pulled him from his self destructive ways, helping him learn to live again.

Despite his age, and thanks to a very physically active lifestyle, he became a part of the in house fight club, rising to be it's reigning champion for nearly two years running.

Eventually they signed on with the Atrios Corporation to help with their big score, only to be pushed out by the USM, the tiny company couldn't handle the debt the situation had placed them in and eventually broke apart, leaving Bralgus to find his way alone again, making a living repairing old tugs and dock ships on some backwater station. But he dreamed of being part of a crew once more, and one day sticking it to the USM for all the hell they had caused him.

 

[WishBone]

"Even the darkest night will end"

Name: Jerry Gazrell

Age: 38 - however he looks younger than he usually is, early thirties.

Callsign: Practical

Appearance:
It takes a careful eye to notice, or someone very perceptive - that while he is doing his best to appear as normal as any - its a mask that sometimes its flaws reveal themselves - this can be from avoding eye contact - focusing on the job than the conversation - that or periodic fidgiting and the more subtle - pushing a non functional button that he has on a metal die.
Standing at 6.2ft, well toned, caucasian skin with mixed though varied tattoos along his neck, hidden on his chest and back are more personal tattoos.

Originally not from Earth and born in the known Dymascus shipyards of space, life, death, irradiation, incineration was often common place as well as industrial accidents due to corporate oversight. For someone like him, each breath was measured in cost, each action deemed its worth or requiring you to be thinking ahead at least five or more moves. Its clear, from how relaxed he appears to be in almost all situations - under it all he's measured the steps the doors and even this mental load takes its toll as a counting mechanism to help him cope. Dressed usually in a jumpsuit, mag shoes and a pair of industrial protective gloves, small wire bands run up and along the suit, insultated along the inner parts of his arms and wrists, to the back of his belt along with the lines from his ankles up along the inner parts of his legs.

From the knees and elbows down - parts of him were removed and replaced with move by wire augmetics, this allowed him to handle his job for fabrication and repair - mostly because of reduced risk of injury.
What he wants now, that he's older is a way to afford medically to have these limbs reverted back to that of his own skin. His eyes are mismatched, one blue the other an azure green, a small number of inline scars under his cheek trailing back through his hairline - reveal further cranial augmentation. Parts of his brain have been cybernetically added to for his job in early years, allowing for skillsoft data nodes - that coupled with his experience across various ships, from industrial, luxury, spacehopper to patrol craft.

You'd never expect him to openly reveal these things - mostly these were done when he worked in the shipyards - both fixing and tearing down existing ships and when you were under the corpo clock, breath, actions, efficiency were key targets. What parts that arent augmented - are adorned with tattoos linking to some or what heritage and culture for someone like him in space. Remnants of a past while he is open to talk about, finds that sometimes the complexity of it is lost on those who are not like him. Born in the black of space. This also brings to the other issue, planets with higher gravity - cause horrific pain to his joints without an suit to assist in movement and reduce pressure for breathing. However - with certain medications, muscle fatigue inhibitors, bone density amplifier and a few daily doses prior and on - he would be as fine as any to work in those environments.

His hair is short, dark black shaved at the sides of his head. Small dots of radiation burn long since healed around his neck and cheek.
The occasional - when in port, a love bite or two on his neck. Though he's never the one to openly tell or brag - sometimes you need to unwind.
Now, however he now wishes to one day be able to afford the procedures to undo what he did to his body - mostly because he feels that there are parts of him that give off phantom pain.


Augmentation:
- Cranial : CERBUS-FEXLI - An optical augmentation - able to allow short infrared, bluetooth bands to access part ID print and provide instructions on repair, refabrication and troubleshooting.
This includes two port data capture for diagnostic with a DX-FEXLI approved tool. Left part of brain, left optical - HUD overlay, equipped to use blood glucose, thermal and chemical draw to power. Operators may require powifi module within ships to have power provided for long term use. This also coupled with experienced techs allows for jerryrigging, component improvisation FIXIT approved methos and non official KANdo methods. This is under the skin, though noticed by the typical scar caused by staples going through his hairline.

Right optic is able be paired with the dxdiagnostic suite, eva suits and generates a hud. This can also be paired with fabrication times, automation notifications and more. Though it is, augmented reality where the environment for someone non augmented is empty, to him is filled with various lit up displays set to ensure nothing in the production path is idle.

Left Optic: Tech-qusoft- short visual broadcast, visual aid in diagnostic, part ID and overview of layout. Able to reveal via a HUD and the DX-FEXLI tool signals, packet capture, data and information from sensors - fault codes and logs. In most cases, this is a visual to see if the part does what it needs to or in general the layout, basic part ID and manufacture code - IF they have one. Most have fabrication codes that - when accessed reqire a ship ID and charge the parent ship for the Print. Rumour is - these can be bypassed depending on age or if deemed superseeded by newer models or worse. Overpriced for being outdated.

MFLEK-K4 Mag Lower Limb replacement Suite mk2 : Hands, lower arm, lower leg and foot replacement. Increased mag limit, ankle support. Hands contain - interface for DX-FEXLI tool, mag hold, inner wrist biometric, haptic feedback sensors and a POR-Suite for software diagnosis, malware removal, chip and component diagnostic as well as solder - desolder. Feet are more for mobility, ensuring magboot efficiency and able to maintain connection during Hi G forces. Hands also allow for external scan of parts to be created for three dimensional modelling of parts down to 2nm fault parameters.

Role Application: Chief Fabricator and Repair Technician.

Personality:
For many he's approachable, sassy, genuinely good natured and happy to go out of his way to ensure stuff gets done correctly.
Again, this usually is his mask to ensure others really just allow him to get on with his own work.
Under it all, he does care for those around him but prefers the professional relationship than anything physical - sure long flights and all that gets one hot under the collar.

During stressful situations despite being calm, collected where he has had to make hard calls during repairs there is still where he is his own worst critic.
Trying to do better to ensure what happens next time, never does again. Growing up in an environment where that was a constant has been engrained heavily into his work ethos.
Even if he isnt in the wrong.

In all things he is open as he is relaxed about his relationships outside of work, family and culture.
While he feels often the last person people would consider to take on spacewalks, or anything - his resume demonstrates his experience more than his papers could.
As per his other sayings, "I'm not here to fuck spiders, I'm here to fix problems before they happen."

Background:​

Dymascus shipyards is run by a large scale division of FABR CORP - industrial fabrication of ships with no real aliegence to either side, they provide the templates and designs - the meat, the ship builders, repairers and tear down bowsuns like an army of ants, tribes and families do all the labor. Held under the corporate thumb of a debt that no individual can ever hope to repay, the hours are long, gruelling, the work more physically demanding and the accidents as often and frequent due to corporate oversight. Sleep, food, air, water are all measured and with it - each born into the work is expected to complete their share. To come from nothing and eventually aspire to earn their mark, a place with credentials is a lofty aspiration. While many are often pressured early to remove the parts that make them human, augmentations to enhance their prowess at work, comes with it the debt ontop to repay for the medical bills, recovery and integration into the line of work.

Its rarer to see any outside of FABR CORP, rarer still to see a man like Jerry - out of a family of eleven siblings, six made it to their tenth birthday - four their eighteenth and three to their first mark in graduating cadethood that all many orphans have. Those with low scores, would have had to undertake more hazardous work - those with higher scores would have to handle harder responsibility and consequences. Lucky for Practical he was middle, not worse for removing unshielded reactors, but not deemed good enough to lead. So repair, refit and teardown was his line of work - frought with horrific accidents, radiation and death if there were mistakes.
To make matters worse, was the division, rivalry between families drummed by those above in the corporate areas, examples for slackers, sabotures was public venting into space and reassignment of work. While a large industrial shipyard spanning a large ring around a moon - designated IXL - a number in roman numerals not even a name.

The nickname Practical, was mostly because of how he set himself up for each job, never the one for the looks in space, but more of whatever makes the job and access to tools easier. A method that was tried true, tested and really was akin to sliced bread. Sure you had gear that was faster, made the air fresher or made a tool run a bit cooler <if at all in space> and what the corpos wanted was more for them to gain the debt. Everything they used wasn't designed to last and many who couldnt afford, either had to rig up - reuse, repair. What he wanted was more akin to that of simple, easy to use but functional toolkits, refabricated tools and a frankestein design setup of longer lasting parts that were more function over form. Growing up in the Dymascus shipyards was also rough due to the family feuds and frequent violence as long as it was directed in tit for tat, throughout various stages of his life - death was a constant. His father - due to a rogue towline was pulled into a scrapyards incinerator along with the towline machine he was working on to free the other repair crew.
His death saved eight others from ending up being sucked into it, incinerators had their gravmatic fields reduced and then increased momentarily afterwards.
The only thing that came from it was the respect of other families, the ones he saved but the ire of others due to their rivals.

His mother - sadly wasn't spared the same. A routine repair resulted in a software cascade failure of the life support systems - this had been when ships sometimes were modified by their owners - in this case - the life support fire alarm had been rerouted through the door controls. The owner hadnt mentioned this and resulted in the ship mistaking itself for being onfire to vent the atmosphere - ejecting crew, repair teams and staff into space. The resulting lawsuit from corp making changes to ship design - but not its crews. Orphaned and set into the cadet line of Refabrication, recondition and repair - as well as getting an Oprhan bonus from his parents insurance.

The shipyards are still a mixture of working families, each with their rivalries, language and culture - most opting to work collaborativly to ensure work is done but rooting out division.
It was later revealed by certain corporate law and lobbyists against unionising that the accidents were by unloyal customers - accidents would be no longer covered under the insurance and lastly - to top it off. If production, repair KPIs were no longer met - air and resources would be rationed to compensate for losses.

Practical once after getting his augmentations paid down, a feat done before a corprorate change occured - hopped a ship taking his credentials, papers and qualifications with him.
The contract jobs were simple, ensure nothing went wrong or could and he got paid. In turn he ensured he remained within the ship, a voice on comms but never present to the crew that may notice his differences.
Sure a few did and took issue, mostly wondering why a Clanger - yes the derrogatory term, was in their ship and simply not left on the outside.
The few good crews - also realised that there were more than just a handful of his kind that had left the Dymascus ship yards, many whom had been taken to stations to be used as a laborforce to repair, maintain and work the docks. All the while ensured to work their debts off, one way or die trying.

However, it never had the certainty of work. Now, well, what better than to end up on a ship destined for the arse end of space.
Only issue is, are there even space stations out there or - any answers for that matter.

Depending on where you are, some refer to what his people are as less than human, more akin to cyborgs than beings. The thing is, they had to take themselves apart to ensure they survived.
Yet the desperate, the broke, the hopeful all come here wishing to make seriously good money on the high risk ventures in the shipyards, only to realise when under the crushing debt that this honey pot would ensure they would never leave or live to see the debt ever repaid.

Spoiler: Images

Image list:
This is what most "Clangers" tend to look like, either when working in hazardous environments - most if not all tend to fall into the traps of augmentation leads to better paying jobs, however it also leads to higher risks and greater debt.

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Oct 7, 2018 - Hello everyone! This is a personal project that i have completed in my free time. I played Deus Ex, designs used in the game became a huge inspiration to me. I have used some helmets parts Vitaly Bulgarov`s Mech Kitbash. Hardsurface parts modeled in Maya, cloths Marvelous Designer...

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Others tend to go for partial and wishing to maintain some remnants of their identity, that or the human aspects and then there are those who sacrifice a great deal of themselves to the point that while they are no longer fully human, its their debt and the most dangerous of jobs that barely keep them above board. In most cases, these, indentured servants or workers find that they no longer or lack the ability to care about the debt and only the work. On a few occasions its rumoured that there are a few who are merely a digitised consciousness within a shell, an echo of their former selves.

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Feb 10, 2014 - This Pin was discovered by Michael Kotiss. Discover (and save!) your own Pins on Pinterest

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Ships and Clangers - those who end up out from debt are the rarest and sadly by the end are more machine than man.
Those few who do end up tasked to ships - find that wirelessly integration between the ship and them allows for a mixture of symbiosis of hardware - allowing the ship to communicate and them with the ship.

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