Bluefire31
Posts : 12
Join date : 2016-05-14
 | | Subject: Bluefire31 - Blooby app Sat May 14, 2016 3:43 am | |
| Steam Name: bluefire31 Steam ID: Steam ID: STEAM_0:1:42372377 Steam Profile Link: http://steamcommunity.com/profiles/76561198045010483/ Rp Experience: 6 years boy Tell me a cool Mass Effect Fact: Asari don't 'gain' traits from their parents, rather their DNA is randomized from their father's, isn't that neat? Character Name: 'Titanica' 'Jasper' 'Amazonian' Age: ? ? ? - Matriarchal figure What can your character do for our ship?: Extreme Biotic Prowess, Martial combat, Exotic weaponry, hundreds of years of training, a simplistic poet. Character Equipment: Custom armor of the justiciar make, biotic implants, one shotgun of krogan make. Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral S t r e n g t h s:Extremely powerful biotics; Years of honing them within the justiciar program, hunting high priority targets, and battle justiciars along with the natural power of a matriarch have provided this Asari with some of the most powerful biotic capabilities possible within the species, giving her a wide array of skills and abilities to choose from. Martial arts; Having spent most of her life practicing various martial arts, it would be difficult for anyone to beat her in hand to hand, something she uses to her advantage in battles. Intelligent; Both being and being hunted by justiciars have gifted the Asari with more awareness of an area, situation, or battlefield than many would expect. W e a k n e s s e s:Easily recognizable; A large, muscular woman with glowing tattoos is not one to be lost in a crowd, and even tougher to sneak past security measures in place. Difficult to command; While well aware of her own limits, years of wandering the galaxy alone as a justiciar has done it's number on her interaction as a team, making it so that any attempts to command her often come off as simple requests, given that she doesn't want to co-operate. Wanted; For one reason or another, this ex-justiciar is hunted and hunted hard. Having such a powerful ally comes with a powerful set of enemies. Lack of proper firearms use; While passing the justiciar's program for firearms, she has not used much more than her shotgun or an occasional assault rifle. Character Backstory: - The legends:
“They say she was a mercenary here five hundred years ago. . .”
“What?” The salarian growled slightly, glaring his good eye at the quarian. “Fuckin’ titanica is an asari?”
“‘S what I heard.” The quarian glared at the glaring salarian, giving his arm a good natured slap to quiet any further interruption. He grunted and continued to munch on his fish.
The quarian cleared his throat, turning to the other five, hands opening to show his palms in the garbage fire’s flickering light.
“They say she was a mercenary here five hundred years ago. . . Appearing from a kodiak one day and settling into an apartment. . .” His hand moved over a projection, deep purple, showing a woman, thin and curvy.
“Small, agile, not built for mercenary work. . . they say she fought tooth and nail to her place at the good side of omega, y’know, where the other ‘good’ mercs live?” A few nods affirmed the quarians words. “Well, she was good at hand to hand, but she didn’t know what to do with guns.”
“I heard she was built like a bull, worked for the justiciars! I heard she could crush your heart with just her biotics and fling you by *looking* at you.” The human, sitting with a leg against the garbage, threw her long locks back behind her head, grinning at the group.
“I heard she kills pure-bred Asari, chomps ‘em clean in half with her thighs.” The asari snickered, taking a swig of her soda.
“Nah, no fuckin’ person can do that.” The salarian took another swig of his booze, burping into the air, much to the whoops of the asari beside him.
“Nice one! I can top it tho, lemme get more soda in me first.”
The quarian kicked the garbage fire, sending embers onto the floor. “Focus! I’m telling you all a good story!”
“Killjoy,” Muttered by the asari, who sipped silently on her soda.
“Anyway, they say she has a lover in every world, a finger in every pot. They say the justicar order bends their knee to her. . . They say the matriarchs are too afraid of her to do anything. But from what I heard, from a very reliable source. . . She was a justicar.”
“Get the fuck out, no way a justicar would be on omega doin’ what she do.” The red haired human snickered, shaking her head at the wild tales.
“No-- really. From what I heard, she’s a justicar, apparently, that or she’s as strong as one. Another popular was that she was a commando, someone even murmured potential spectre, but I don’t think that one’s true, mainly because no one has ever been a spectre and been built like her.”
“Can asari have dicks?” Questioned the salarian, looking into the fire. “‘Cuz I’m pretty sure she fuckin’ has one.”
“No, but. . . well, maybe I’ll ask Hev’tan another time about her, he tends to know a lot about her.”
The Salarian looked around the group, reading their faces. “Ya’know . . some say she’s just plain crazy.” He grinned at their responses.
Continuing with the story he added more dramatics. “Just . . killed people whenever she felt like it - one moment you were sitting still and the next . .”
He lunged at the group and watched them jump, screaming or, in the case of the asari, laughing - la faux, overly comedic evil laugh left him as he grinned. “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you guys - truth be told she did kill a lot of people.”
“Perhaps you should all ask questions to the one you are speaking of.”
The group tensed, more akin children found with their hands in the cookie jar. The quarian was the first one to look up, finding the large, imposing figure, crouching above them atop a connecting arch above. Her helmet’s glowing eyepieces the only indication of where the amazonian was gazing.
“W-we didn’t. . . I- P-Please don’t--!” The quarian curled into a ball, thin fingers held above their mask. The salarian stood, raising a shotgun and pumping it once, threateningly. A glare was given through his swollen eye. The others each stood, readying omni-tools, biotics, or fists. Fear ever present in their eyes, not wanting a fight with the so called unkillable ghost.
One of the large womans hands raised, as if to quiet the children. Husky, filtered voice speaking over the crackles of the fire.
“This one is not one to gossip about. It has done nothing interesting other than survive tougher than average conditions.”
The quarian nodded quickly, afraid, scared, horrified of the creature poised above them.
“Quarian, this one has no intentions of harming you nor any of your friends.”
“Why?” The smaller, black-purple asari glared upwards, her omni-tool opened and pointed, small flames puffing from the wrist mounted shooter.
“Quite simply? It has no benefit from harming any of you, each of you are simply living in peace here. If anything, you each have the complete right to send this one away for interrupting your peaceful gossip.”
One huge hand placed itself against the woman’s chest, then pointed to an empty space against the wall beside the group.
“Would it be alright if this one sat with you all for a short while?”
The group looked at each other, silently exchanging gazes, nods, and glares, before the one-eyed salarian dipped his head.
“Go ahead, Titanica.”
“Titanica? That is a new one, sir.” The large woman stepped off the edge of the arch, falling to the ground surrounded in a small cloud of blue. Her boots hit the floor with a soft thunk, and, under the watchful eye of the terrified group, the amazonian sat down against the wall. Her elbows rested atop her knees, and even sitting, she was up to the shoulders of many in the group.
The quarian cleared his throat, looking to the armored behemoth warily. “W-what do you want?”
“You were theorizing about this one’s origins and past, it was merely curious to hear your tales.”
The quarian looked to the holograms, of a small woman hiding in a large, thick suit of armor. The woman sitting across from him now seemed too. . . comfortable to be such a thing.
“You believe this one to be that small, sir quarian?
“Erm. . . I just didn’t think. . . that any woman could, um, grow. . .” He swallowed, caught guilty of the assumption.
“. . . Could grow so big? Neither did this one when it was young.” Her hands moved upwards, clenching and unclenching. “It only understood it’s body grew so large out of chance, and now maintains such for obvious reasons.”
The group looked about uncomfortably, one part of the legends being confirmed without being addressed directly; this being was a killer.
“W-what do you want from us, only tales?”
“Truth be told, no. This one had a question for you all, and in return, you may each ask a question of this one and receive an answer.”
“A true one?” The turian grumbled quietly, the first set of words leaving her chest that night.
“The truest answer this one may offer.” Confirmed the filtered voice.
“Fine, you fuckin’ creeper.” The salarian took another swig of his drink, focusing his sole eye on the woman. “Whaddya wanna know.”
The armored being turned its head about the group, as if to confirm each of them were listening. “This one would greatly appreciate if you all could tell me a temporary way off of omega, but not as cargo.”
The group glanced over one another.
“Why do ya wanna know that shit? Legend holds yer just as powerful as fuckin’ justicars, why leave? No one will fuck with ya here.” The one finger moved itself from the bottle and pointed, narrowing its eye in suspicion.
“This one has grown rather tired of omega, for the moment. It shall return at a later date.”
Confusion swept through the group, though the turian answered finally. “A smuggler vessel is looking for crew members. I was going to apply, but you can take my application.”
Titencia looked to the small turian, silently tilting its head.
“I have watch these four.” She answered finally.
The armored woman’s head dipped. “You very noble, Miss Turian. This one will give you a large chunk of the pay then.” The turian hummed in agreement. “Now, in exchange, this one will answer several questions, one from each of you.
The quarian was the first to leap at the chance, apparently curious about the origins. “Where were you born, and who too?”
“Choose one.”
“Who were you born to.” Corrected the quarian, leaning back in his chair sheepishly.
“This one was born to a surrogate asari mother, as it’s own had a defect with her womb.”
“How?” The quarian tiled it’s head. The armored woman shook her head, holding up an index finger in reminder. “Oh-- Sorry, Miss, um, Buff. . . blue lady. . . “
The salarian was next, with a grumble, he watched the armored being. “Were ya a justicar?”
“Yes, for five hundred years.”
“Yer a matriarch?”
“One question.”
The salarian mumbled a slur as another mouth of fish was taken.
The asari was next, looking over the stained armor with analytical eyes. “Are you actually as powerful as a justicar then? Like-- have you killed other justicars?”
“Yes. Though that should not be taken as this one killed them easily or happily. More than once, this one barely crawled away from the clash, and more often it hurt deeply to kill old friends.”
The asari nodded, leaning back, still watching.
The turian was next, never bothering to raise her skull from the wall. “Why do you kill and protect people on omega.”
“This one prefers it over writing.”
The human was last, and she watched the asari with a cocky little grin, as if untouchable.
“Is it true you love to rip people’s arms from their bodies? That you don’t use a gun because you never let someone get away without seeing your face? That you savour the screams?”
A small pin could have dropped and sounded like a gunshot around the group, all eyes, or in the case of the salarian, eye, set on the armored being. Who simply. . . looked at the girl, silently.
“This one prefers exotic weaponry, biotics, and martial arts over firearms, but it does carry an older disciple shotgun with it. But never has it found the screams worth masturbating over, miss, as you clearly do.”
The girl blinked, glance down, and became a bright crimzon. “I-I’m going to, um. . . “
“Relieve yourself?” Supplied the armored being.
The girl only nodded and moved inside quickly.
The large woman looked over the group, the turian finally looking to her. Mandibles pulled close to her cheeks, eyes narrow slits behind deep purple carapace.
“One more question, She-hulk.”
“For you, yes.”
“Why aren’t you in the justicar order anymore?”
The large asari’s hands moved upwards, fingers parting slightly, shrugging in place of her shoulders.
“They claim this one broke the code, which it never did. That is the problem with the justicars, everything is too black and white, if any grey slips in, they default back to the root of the code.”
“Which is?”
“Kill.”
An uneasy little silence fell over the group, glancing between each other. The large woman stood up, causing several of the group to reach for their weapons, glare, or, in the case of the salarian, biotics to flare.
“This one does not wish to kill any of you, rather it simply wanted to stretch.”
The group untensed, watching silently.
“Now, what else did you suspect about this one?”
“. . . You have powerful biotics, you’re a matriarch. . . you were born to a krogan because of your body. . . You lost your name in a war, you have long scars around your face. . . You killed children, you pillaged whatever you wanted while you kill someone. . . Y-you destroyed an entire ship alone. . .” The quarian’s voice waivered, scared of continuing.
The asari picked up. “Yer a ghost in fights, bam, hit someone and vanish when someone else turns. You go from planet to planet, havin’ sex and gettin’ kids in every port you can, leavin’ a trail of broken hearts. Some say yer a spy, comin’ from the matriarchy to find out just what they gotta deal with in the comin’ days and ages. Heard ya survived a bombin’ with nothin’ but biotics and tootpaste. Others say yer nothin’ but a whore, wearin’ the armor for a uniform and all the killin’ that happens happens through a middleman fer publicity.”
The large figure merely looked at the small asari, gaze shifting to the turian, who watched the armored figure unmoving. The helmeted head tilted.
“You’re just a robot, piloted by a hanar proxy. Nothing but an advanced VI project that will be sold for millions come payday. Others say a bio weapon, created to be the ultimate killer with a chip in their heads. Some, yer just an iteration of the being two hundred years ago, that all the stuff leading up to your arrival is just that, coincidences. You’re nothing but a fraud, waiting for their ego to be stroked so that you can go on terrorising innocent people. A monster, a criminal. I hope the justicar order burns your corpse and dances on it’s ashes.”
Her head dipped once, looking to the drunken salarian. He burped, leaning his head towards her lazily.
“You got a nice set of tits and a big ass, also have heard tales...that you. ..can make one man...climax the power of the sun.. Yer damn hips, heard ya stripped infront C-Sec. and all of em passed out and died. they had gotten so erect from those hips. That they had died, from yer body, that’s all I give a fuck about.”
“Strange words for one without a penis, Sir Salarian.”
“Just ‘cuz I can’t fuck ya, can’t mean I don’t know what ta appreciate.”
The being sighed, shaking it’s head and looking to the group once last time.
“This one shall leave you all be, thank you greatly for your time.”
The large woman brought a palm to her chest, bowing deeply to the group then, as if about to leap. . . vanished, a small cloud of blue floating peacefully to the ground just below her.
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