Azravaren Lodrailea:
_Description_
6'4, 250 pound elf. Looks lean and dense, carries a sheathed very sharp-looking katana,
and an even more sharp-looking black outfit. Looks to be in his late teens or early
twenties.
_Background/History_
Azravaren Lodrailea
I was born in Tir Tangire in the captial city to a wealthy elven politician/ businessman. From the beginning he was too busy to spend time and thus spent too much money on me. At first, just a monthly allowance, but when I reached my 20th year, he unfolded a rather lucrative trust account, hoping to buy my affection. It never really worked. From lessons to schooling to equipment, he was never there to lend a hand, but always willing to lend a buck. Uninspired from the beginning, I made a rather poor student. On the athletic field, however, my desire for instant gratification found an easy outlet. First, in a desire to win his affection, and then, with a desire to show him up, I became obsessed. Running, climbing, swimming, organized sports, it was never friendly with me. I had to win. My father always displayed appropriate concern, but never seemed to care too much when I added a piece of cyber here or biotech there. In the end, however, it appeased neither my self-esteem nor my desire to be noticed by my father; however, I did catch some other attention. At the age of 22 I was given the oportunity to finally take a bold step toward my own destiny. From a seemingly chance encounter with a stranger, after one sporting event, I was offered an avenue toward the adventure and parental agitation I had always been looking for. I became the youngest recruit in the history of the Tir Tangire Special Forces.
Each day began as before, woken up and fed by the housekeeping staff (dad having been at work hours earlier), then shipped off to school. At this point, however, my daily routine changed drastically. Each day I was met by a representative of the Special Forces, and spirited away to a training facility. Days consisted of virtual reality training, occasional target practice, intense conditioning, dummy round scrimaging, and the occasional physical and martial arts training. In a disturbingly short time, the excitement and adventure faded yet again into dull routine. I did what I was asked, followed orders as they were given, but ingeneral my attention wandered. Only the martial arts instructor captured my full attention. Of all of the drills, this was the only one which could potentially result in injury. Sparring with sharpened with blades always captured my full attention. Usually fighting against stronger and much older men, I quickly learned to hold my own and eventually became a dreaded opponent. After 36 months of training, I made the A team. Again, very young, I was transferred to an active squad. Over the next year and a half, I began to take an increasing number of "field trips" at school to assist in actual missions. Life had been a game, but here the game was played by rules I didn't like. Goals, points, score, and occasionally even sides were difficult or impossible to determine. I gradually disengaged; thing which would have disturbed or horrified me no longer seemed real and gradually became unremarkable. My skills and abilities now rote, and automatic, I was like a disembodied machine. And underneath it all, was the attention-starved child of innocence wondering where he took a wrong turn. Finally, the uh, excrement hit the fan. A commander somewhere made the "wrong move" deploying what was in essence a support troop alone in enemy territory (somewhere in Ireland, I believe). Moments after our landing the "mistake" became apparent; nearly instantly we became engaged on three sides. After no more than sixty seconds of fighting our numbers had been cut in half, and despite inflicting heavy losses on the enemy the odds have become even worse. Something in the back of my mind cried out. I ran. I felt as though a switch had been turned on somewhere deep within my mind. The world appeared slower, each step seemed to take me farther, and thoughts and actions came to me with perfect clarity. Adrenaline pumping, breath ragged, I burst through a sparse forest and sprinted into a clearing. I pressed my panic button and continued running, my legs suddenly feeling heavier and heavier. Receiving no response from tactical headquarters, I quickly searched for cover. I dove head first into a small clump of bushes as the first of the scouting drones came by. The adventure and excitement I had been searching for had overtaken me in the end. With no other perceived alternatives and nothing better to do, I played my final card. I called daddy. I have no idea what went through his mind as he heard the whispered line, "Dad, I'm stuck in Iraq with the Heavenherds! Get me out.", but he seemed to have moved fast. I don't know what strings he pulled, or how he found everything out, but after thirty minutes of hell an armoured transport came to a hovering stop over me. In seconds a ladder was thrown and I dashed out of hiding to grab it. As I camboured up, I distinctly recall a wooshing-fizz sound, as of perhaps a geyser. As the last of my stamina faded and consciousness departed I fell into troubled sleep plagued by a recurring nightmare of being trapped in a furnace...
I awoke to an angel, or so I first thought. Pristine and beautiful, she comforted me until the panic died. My nurse, she offered little news, but soothed the pain and reminded me of the parts of life I had never experienced. Within 24 hours, which is pretty prompt for him, my father came to visit me. The raging battle pitting rage, fear, sympathy, guilt, and countless things I can't imagine shown overtly on his face. After greetings and awkward attempts at small talk I broke down, crying for the first time I can remember. Also for the first time I realized my father was there when I needed him. With one hand in mine, and one on the back of my head, he held me through racking hoarse sobs. Through the next couple hours, and I can't imagine what he canceled to create this time, he filled me in. The "mistake" was actually a politically motivated operation, to discredit the department leading the Special Forces. My involvement but was misfortune. Of the entire unit, I was the only survivor, and barely at that. The wooshing I had heard, before I faded out, was actually that of a flame-thrower. Despite prior assurances of protection, my armor went up in smoke instantly, probably due to residue from the sap in the bushes i had been lying in. The nightmares of a furnace were not far off; it had taken them nearly a minute and a half to remove the flaming armour from me and put out the fire which threatened to consume me. I had already undergone hours of reconstructive surgery and been given "gifts" from my father's guilt-ridden side. On another note, he relayed the news that I had "awakened" as a physical adept. He had arranged for tutoring on this subject at home after my release. In an ironic way, things were looking up. Daily discussions with my nurse became less professional and more personal. As the days and weeks of my recovery progressed, romance blossomed. In addition, my father was able to clear time, at least three or four times a week, to be at my side.
Finally, about three months later, my release was authorized. This coincided precisely with the reassurtion of my father's darker side. Eager to keep me from causing anymore trouble, he confined me to his estate until further notice. All the ground I had considered gain seemed lost again. I snuck out most every night while he was still at work to see my former nurse, Alianna, for companionship and comfort. Not surprisingly, a physical reminder of our relationship was born months later. Unable to face the thought of asking my father for permission to marry someone of considerably lower status I arranged to support her and our son from a distance. Training my physical adept powers proved unlike anything I had learned before. As the months progressed, however, I learned how to control it and develop some new abilities. Eventually, the trapped feeling I had had in my youth began to resurface. Finally, I asked my father for the oportunity to seek my own destiny. Seeming confused, he agreed. I took him at his word. So here I am, awaiting the call of adventure, probably wiser and certainly older.
Stats
| ST 13 | DX 18 | HT 13 |
| IQ 9 | WP 13 | CH 12 |
Secondary Stats
| Base Speed 10.75 | Base Move 10 | Dodge 15 |
| Fatigue 15 | Initiative 11.75 |
SKILLS
Spells
| Great Haste(VH) | 8 | +1 |
| Haste | 6 | +1 |
| Iron Arm(B) | 4 | 0 |
| Dexterity | 6 | +1 |
| Might | 2 | -1 |
| Shield | 2 | -1 |
| Blur | 4 | 0 |
| Avoid | 1 | -2 |
| Peaceful Sleep | 1 | -2 |
| Lighten Burden | 1 | -2 |
| Drunkenness | 2 | -1 |
| Cure Disease | 2 | -1 |
| Spell Shield | 2 | -1 |
| Regeneration(VH) | 1 | -3 |
| Wall Walker | 1 | -2 |
| Flaming Weapon | 1 | -2 |
Combat Skills
| Guns: Rifle | 12 | +4 |
| 2HD Weapons (balanced) | 12 | +3 |
| 1HD Weapons (balanced) | 4 | +1 |
| Karate | 4 | 0 |
Social Skills
| Carousing | 2 | 0 |
| Dancing | 1 | -1 |
| Alcoholic Drinks | 4 | +1 |
| Video Games | 2 | 0 |
Athletic Skills
| Acrobatics | 8 | +1 |
| Running | 2 | -1 |
| Jumping | 1 | 0 |
| Swimming | 1 | 0 |
| Climbing | 1 | -1 |
| Throwing | 2 | -1 |
Knowledge Skills
| Administration | .5 | -2 |
| Tactics | 2 | -1 |
| Streetwise | .5 | -2 |
| Survival:Woodlands | 4 | +1 |
Other Skills
| Pickpocket | .5 | -3 |
| Stealth | 4 | +1 |
| Shadowing | 2 | 0 |
| Demolitions | .5 | -2 |
Languages Spoken:
* English
_Advantages_
* Low Light Vision (10)
* Long Life 3 (15)
* Linear Scale 1.1 (2)
* Handsome (10)
* Karma Wild 3 (20)
* WSR 14 (5)
* Patron: Father, individual of moderate power (10)
* Magery 6, with detect via touch (15, 10, 10, 15, 15, 20=85 * .6 = 51)
* Knack: Enhanced Speed 2, speed +1 (10+10= 20)
* Ambidexterity (10)
* Combat Reflexes (15)
* Status 1 (10)
* Wealth Millionaire 1 (50)
* Military Rank 1 (5)
* Wealth Access x5 (15)
* Bio: Extra Fatigue 2
* Bio: Breath Holding 1
* Cyber: Acute Hearing 5
* Cyber: Dampener
* Cyber: Parabolic Hearing
* Cyber: Flare Reduction
* Cyber: Acute Vision 3
* Cyber: Low-light Vision (duplicate)
* Cyber: Retinal Clock
* Cyber: Smartlink
_Disadvantages_
* Alcoholism (-15)
* Lecherousness (-15)
* Vow: No Armor (-10)
* Shyness: sober only (-5*.8 = -4)
* IQ -1: 1d6 minutes post combat only (-10*.75 = -7)
* Increased cost of living x3 (-20)
* Dependent: Girlfriend, competent, rare (-6)
* Dependent: Newborn Son, incompetent, rare (-16)
* Duty: Don't embarass father (-5)
* Code of Honor: Pirate-like (-5)
_Bioware: BC used: 2.8 Left: 3.2_
* Cultured: Neural Augmentation: Speed + 3 (.9 BC) (always) (+69)
* Cultured: MuscleAugmentation: ST +3, DX +3 (1.8 BC) (always) (+60)
* Normal: Hyper Lungs: Breath Holding I, Extra Fatigue +2 (.1 BC) (+8)
_Cyberware: Essence used: .7 Left: 5.3_
* Cybereye: Low-light vision, Flare Reduction, Retinal Clock,
Electronic Magnification 3 (+0, + A, +B, +6= +6+A+B)
* Cyberear: Hearing Amplification x10, Dampener, Select Sound Filter 5 (+15+B)
* Smartlink (+10)
Unspent Points
| LP | 0 |
| CP | 0 |