Name / Surname: Aria Ironheart
Appearance: Dark haired, well built, a strong and charming smile that fails completely to hide the unnerving sense of wrongness about them. Psychically she’s on the edge of past their prime, hale and hearty, but their aura manifests as the feeling that they're almost elderly, and sickly so.
Allegiance: Unaffiliated
Location: Procyon II, a plague ridden dilapidated Hive world within Obscuris. Somewhat zombie infested.
Special Ability: Blank
Attributes: Strength:7+1 Hability:9 Intelligence:5 Willpower:5 Charisma:5
Relations:
Groups:
Procyon Survivor Camp, Medium Organisation, No Industrial Base, 50+50 Influence (Military role)
Individuals: None yet.
Family: None yet.
Skills:
Axemanship 5 +3
Tactician 10
Tracking 5
Evasion 5
Factory Creation 10
+ Midtech Construction 7
Psychic Powers: Blank Aura (5m)
Equipment: None yet.
She wiped the gore off her visor as the last zombie collapsed to the ground, a thick line from shoulder to heart gouged out by her whirring chainsword. Looking around, the rest of her squad were busy wiping the blood off their own weapons, some pausing to crush a still quivering carcass's skull, and she absently gunned her axe to scatter what had stuck to it while she walked up to an old, disused assembly line. Any exposed metal had long degraded from exposure to the toxins in the air, and the mechanical arms and machining tools looked more like rusted sculptures of themselves than the efficient machines they once were. Luckily, as she broke off an errant manipulator's finger with a bit of effort, she saw the electronics were salvagable, protected to a degree by the now crumbling polymer seals and thick plasteel.
"Looks like you were right," Davian muttered, walking up to her as the rest of her squad cautiously took watch at every opening they could find. "A whole damn autofactorum, right under our noses. Couldn't be more than a klick up. Less, if we can get that elevator working."
Of course she was right, this was the place she'd first died. Torn to pieces by maddened infected, not quite necrotizing, and all the deadlier for it. She'd been shocked when she brought up the manufactorum and nobody had a clue what she was talking about, but she'd realized later on that the factory had been a prime target for the initial spread, swiftly filled with the undead, and nobody who knew about it had made it down to Airtight. "That's a big 'if' there, Davian. The elevator's a crumpled can halfway down the hive."
"The wire's still mostly in place. Just have to make a new frame, link it up, then fix whatever engine's up further." He peered at the insides of the digit Aria was idly spinning in her fingers. "Might even be easier than this. This is pretty damn bad, Aria. You sure Airtight's even got the materials to get all this working again?"
"Despancho's signed off on it, and we don't need all of it for now. One line, at most. And I know a few other places that might have the parts to scavenge. Most of the district from here up is industrial."
"It is, is it?" He looked at her oddly. Aria didn't take offence. Davian hid it best of the group, but he wasn't immune to her unnerving mien, and she supposed it was rather suspicious that she knew so much about territory that hadn't gotten any survivors.
"Mm." She stood up, revving her axe to get the squad's attention. "Troops! Gather the scouts and start reinforcing this place! Handle the bodies, and barricade the most treacherous entrances! Clear the open holes first, then the doors!" She pointed at one of the men, "Admit, I know you keep dodging corpse disposal, so that's your job!" She ignored his muffled curses, and threw a data slate to another soldier. "Get that taken back to Airtight, call up as many willing militia as you can, make sure our route's cleared and cleaned! Airtight's taking this factory for good!"
Train/Sway 3 Years, +3 Axemanship, (10 Tactician+5 Charisma over three years=100 Influence, coleader of Medium survivor colony with Despancho)
7 Years repairing and salvaging to bring a hive factory back into working order, as Crafting a Medium Structure and Average rarity building in order to grant my organization a Small Factory production bonus (10 years of Factory Creation 10 (Specialist skill, so 20 points per) being applied creates 140 points, not yet finished. Trains Structure Construction from 0 to 7 as the training bonus.
+1 Strength
Name / Surname: Aria Ironheart
Appearance: Dark haired, well built, a strong and charming smile that fails completely to hide the unnerving sense of wrongness about them. Psychically she’s on the edge of past their prime, hale and hearty, but their aura manifests as the feeling that they're almost elderly, and sickly so.
Allegiance: Unaffiliated
Location: Procyon II, a plague ridden dilapidated Hive world within Obscuris. Somewhat zombie infested.
Special Ability: Blank
Attributes: Strength:8 Ability:9+1 Intelligence:5 Willpower:5 Charisma:5
Relations:
Groups:
Procyon Survivor Camp (Airtight), Medium Organisation, No industrial base, 100 Influence (Military role)
Individuals: None yet.
Family: None yet.
Skills:
Axemanship 8+2
Tactician 10
Tracking 5+5
Evasion 5+5
Factory Creation 10
Structure Construction 7+3
Psychic Powers: Blank Aura (5m)
Equipment: None yet.
"Nothing?" Crackled the radio.
"No." Despancho said, not unkindly. "This is no outside disease, of the Plague-Master or otherwise. It is his own body. Simple age."
"...fuck." Said Aria, through the crackly voice of the speaker. As much as Despancho owed her, they'd long learned that being close to one another was quickly dangerous to him. He was the only one watching over Girrer, the elderly man wheezing in his sleep on as comfortable and clean a bed as they could manage, a medical monitor reading out his heartbeat and countless other details.
"It's the way of things." Despancho held a hand over the man's chest, flickering warplight sparking from his palm as he investigated the man's soul with a gentle touch. "We two cannot die, but the one called 'Immortal'... well, I suppose he has lived a fuller life than we had in the same time."
"You're damn right," muttered a weak voice. Despancho glanced over to see Girrer meet his eyes, focus unshaken despite his failing health. "I kept a colony of eight hundred alive ever since the plague started, and it was worth every sleepless night, every mistake I made, every damn grey hair." A hand just as withered as Despancho's own gripped his arm with shocking strength. "I knew I'd die before I saw kids be safe enough to leave these walls without a god damn gas mask. But I kept a spark going, just like the other colonies. You two took this job, you got it?! That's the important part." He cut himself off with a hacking cough, nearly curling up as the monitor started beeping in alarm. Reluctantly, he allowed Despancho to guide him back into his pillow, but didn't loosen his grip for a moment. "You put your all into this, or you give up now." He rose his voice, almost shouting if not for the wheeze in his voice. "You hearin' me, Aria?!"
"...Yeah."
"Come on, that's not what I wanna hear!"
The radio was silent for a moment. "Asshole," it finally crackled, "I'm taking this planet back if it's the last thing I do."
"There we go." The radio shut off with a squeal of static as Girrer quietly laughed. "Ahh, I knew I liked her." He looked back at Despancho, who stared back at him silently. "That was meant for you too, you know."
"Of course."
"Good." He sniffed. "Now get the fuck out. You've got work to do."
Organisation Subaction: Recruitment, connect with as many survivor groups as possible.
3 Years finishing construction of factory, 81 points, finishes factory with 21 points overkill, +3 to Structure Construction
Doubletrain 5 Years, +5 Evasion, +5 Tracking
2 Years Fighting alongside troops to aid in connecting the colonies of the hive together. +2 Axemanship
+1 Ability
