Post by Woran on Apr 13, 2019 16:26:33 GMT
Character Name:
Woran
Gender:
Male
Starting Planet:
Earth
Race:
Tuffle
Racial Traits:
Tuffle Intuition
Mechanical Augmentation
The Bigger They Are...
Mechanical Augmentation
The Bigger They Are...
Transformation Path:
Tech Line
Age:
24
Fighting Style:
Balanced
Appearance:
5'8, 150 lbs
History:
Unlike many of the more powerful and reputable figures in galactic history, Waron’s birth was not heralded by mass genocide, the slaughter of his parents, or really, anything remarkable at all.
The Tuffle was born into a rather normal family, with his parents participating in Planet Plant’s defense forces as co-captains of a small squadron, and his many brothers and sisters following in their collective wake. Waron’s earliest memories were watching his siblings clash and duel, fighting their hardest to overcome their limits and ascend, all things that the young Waron never really understood. This was not to say he was weak or completely unathletic, the Tuffle could quite easily defend himself, but Waron just never seemed to gain the lust for battle that characterized all true fighters.
Instead, the Tuffle spent most of his time engrossed in the learning of the various sciences and disciplines that underpinned Tuffle technology, voraciously devouring even the most complicated theorems and mathematics with a ravenous hunger. By the time Woran had reached 10 years of age, he was already far beyond his peers in terms of knowledge and ability, having been accelerated to higher and higher levels of education until the education system decided to just let him learn at his own pace.
And so, the Tuffle continued to stride forward on his own in computer-guided studies, continuing to train his mind while his siblings trained their bodies. Life at the top was a far lonelier existence then he had anticipated, having nobody but the automated teaching program to share his learning with. The Tuffle grew reclusive, hesitant and shy as the years rolled by, the crucial social skills he had developed slowly rusting away under the disuse. Then again, if that was all the sacrifice that was required to have this knowledge, to have this drive to improve things, perhaps it was worth it in the end.
Sometimes the greatest changes in one’s life are signified by the smallest of markers. For the seventeen-year-old Tuffle student, it was when the deep space transmission he was currently playing around with grew into a harsh whine, growing harsher and harsher until Woran was forced to shut off the speakers for fear of damaging the audio system.
Soon after, a massive unmarked cruiser emerged from the deep darkness of space, immediately opening fire upon the small Tuffle craft, easily disabling the engines and piddling weapon systems before Woran even had the time to blink! The young Tuffle sprinted to the bridge to try and engage the emergency alarm, only to be slammed against the wall and knocked unconscious as the first of the boarding pods rocked the ship.
When he finally awoke several hours later, in a damp cell on the strange cruiser, the Tuffle was cold, hungry and terrified for the first time in his short life. For what seemed like days, he huddled against the wall of his cell, too terrified to even think about escape or any sort of resistance. His only sentient interactions was when a tray of slop was pushed through his door, or when a guard occasionally came by with a strange device that he scanned the Tuffle with, muttering to himself in a strange language. Woran would come to learn later that that device was some sort of advanced scouter, giving his captors all the information,they could ever want on every aspect of his existence.
A week or so later, Woran was escorted into the “throne room” of the cruiser in chains, and was informed by the rather pompous Frost Demon commander that he now owed his life to the PTO for “saving” him, and would promptly be reassigned to the PTO’s tech division. The Tuffle tried to protest through the facemask, but he could only muster a feeble grunt before he was spirited away. Even if he could have acted out in that moment, he had no idea what it would mean for his family’s situation.
For several years Woran worked out his frustration on his inventions, melding the advanced Frost Demon technology with Tuffle technology in a bid to try and get enough influence to escape his virtual slavery. However, no matter how much he did for the PTO, they never let him go, never let him rest.
Out of despair, Woran signed on to a scouting mission for a change of scenery, all too aware that the ki bomb implanted in him could destroy him if he acted out.
It is here that our story begins.
The Tuffle was born into a rather normal family, with his parents participating in Planet Plant’s defense forces as co-captains of a small squadron, and his many brothers and sisters following in their collective wake. Waron’s earliest memories were watching his siblings clash and duel, fighting their hardest to overcome their limits and ascend, all things that the young Waron never really understood. This was not to say he was weak or completely unathletic, the Tuffle could quite easily defend himself, but Waron just never seemed to gain the lust for battle that characterized all true fighters.
Instead, the Tuffle spent most of his time engrossed in the learning of the various sciences and disciplines that underpinned Tuffle technology, voraciously devouring even the most complicated theorems and mathematics with a ravenous hunger. By the time Woran had reached 10 years of age, he was already far beyond his peers in terms of knowledge and ability, having been accelerated to higher and higher levels of education until the education system decided to just let him learn at his own pace.
And so, the Tuffle continued to stride forward on his own in computer-guided studies, continuing to train his mind while his siblings trained their bodies. Life at the top was a far lonelier existence then he had anticipated, having nobody but the automated teaching program to share his learning with. The Tuffle grew reclusive, hesitant and shy as the years rolled by, the crucial social skills he had developed slowly rusting away under the disuse. Then again, if that was all the sacrifice that was required to have this knowledge, to have this drive to improve things, perhaps it was worth it in the end.
Sometimes the greatest changes in one’s life are signified by the smallest of markers. For the seventeen-year-old Tuffle student, it was when the deep space transmission he was currently playing around with grew into a harsh whine, growing harsher and harsher until Woran was forced to shut off the speakers for fear of damaging the audio system.
Soon after, a massive unmarked cruiser emerged from the deep darkness of space, immediately opening fire upon the small Tuffle craft, easily disabling the engines and piddling weapon systems before Woran even had the time to blink! The young Tuffle sprinted to the bridge to try and engage the emergency alarm, only to be slammed against the wall and knocked unconscious as the first of the boarding pods rocked the ship.
When he finally awoke several hours later, in a damp cell on the strange cruiser, the Tuffle was cold, hungry and terrified for the first time in his short life. For what seemed like days, he huddled against the wall of his cell, too terrified to even think about escape or any sort of resistance. His only sentient interactions was when a tray of slop was pushed through his door, or when a guard occasionally came by with a strange device that he scanned the Tuffle with, muttering to himself in a strange language. Woran would come to learn later that that device was some sort of advanced scouter, giving his captors all the information,they could ever want on every aspect of his existence.
A week or so later, Woran was escorted into the “throne room” of the cruiser in chains, and was informed by the rather pompous Frost Demon commander that he now owed his life to the PTO for “saving” him, and would promptly be reassigned to the PTO’s tech division. The Tuffle tried to protest through the facemask, but he could only muster a feeble grunt before he was spirited away. Even if he could have acted out in that moment, he had no idea what it would mean for his family’s situation.
For several years Woran worked out his frustration on his inventions, melding the advanced Frost Demon technology with Tuffle technology in a bid to try and get enough influence to escape his virtual slavery. However, no matter how much he did for the PTO, they never let him go, never let him rest.
Out of despair, Woran signed on to a scouting mission for a change of scenery, all too aware that the ki bomb implanted in him could destroy him if he acted out.
It is here that our story begins.
Personality:
The Tuffle known as Woran is the purest example of a paradox, a being who wants nothing more to make the universe a better place, but, at the same time, forced to be a merciless planetary conqueror in order to preserve his own life.
To most he meets, Woran appears to be a heartless war machine, a cold calculating genius that propels forth the PTO in the conquest of new worlds. And indeed, this persona is a part of him, one that he will preserve in order to keep him own position within the PTO stable and keep his family and friends within it from becoming hostages against him.
However, this is, again, only a front. Underneath this veneer of calculating brutality is a much different person then many who have ended up on the wrong side of Woran would like to believe. The Tuffle, when stripped of his “conqueror” persona, is an extremely solitary and introverted person, far more comfortable in his own company rather then when surrounded by allies or even subordinates. Woran did, after all, spend most of his childhood isolated from others of his own age due to his intelligence, and had little opportunity to develop much social skills.
In addition, The Tuffle, due to his upbringing in a family of vigilant guardians of Planet Plant, is an extremely self-sacrificing and moral individual, willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve the greater good for those around him. This aspect of his personality is what truly makes his balancing act extremely difficult, as he is forced to watch as planets and civilizations burn under a barrage of ki attacks, but at the same time unable to move even a muscle. It is a contrast that haunts the Tuffle, and one that will likely do so for the rest of his life, even if he one day escapes the clutches of the PTO which bind him.
Starting Technique:
[ST-1] Flight
[ST-1] Regeneration - By drawing upon his own metabolism, combined with his advanced array of nanobots within his own bloodstream, Woran is able to rapidly heal from most normal injuries. Cannot replace limbs. He may only target himself. This heals for a 1:1 ratio of stamina to health points.
[ST-1] Plasma Shield - Woran generates a powerful blue force field from his armor, strong enough to defend him from most conventional attacks. The energy used to block attacks is 75% the strength of the attack, and disperses after one turn regardless of how much "health" it has remaining.
[ST-1] Ionic Formation - Woran channels a large amount of energy through specially designed apertures on his gauntlets [near his wrists], the Tuffle is able to create shape-able objects made of nothing but pure plasma energy. Woran most often uses this to form weapons of many different shapes and sizes. [Activates for 3 turns with a 2 turn cool down][Considered to be wielding a sharp weapon while in use]
[AT-1] God's Blade - This technique is very much the other side of the coin when compared to the Ionic Formation family of techniques. By concentrating the large amounts of energy normally used to form larger constructs into an extremely thin laser, Woran is able to slice through most materials, and beings quite easily. [1-25%, Ki]
[BT-1] Repulsor Blast - Woran generates a powerful plasma blast from the palms of his hands, firing it off in an intense blue-hued beam. [1-25%, Ki]
[RPT-1] Micro Missiles - Woran lets loose a swam of powerful miniaturized warheads, almost impossible to dodge for all but the most experienced of fighters. [1-25%, Ki]
[PT-1] Jet Fist - A considerably less advanced form of attack, Woran launches himself at his opponent, utilizing the thrusters located near his elbows to provide extra power to the strike. [1-25%, Stamina]
[ST-1] Regeneration - By drawing upon his own metabolism, combined with his advanced array of nanobots within his own bloodstream, Woran is able to rapidly heal from most normal injuries. Cannot replace limbs. He may only target himself. This heals for a 1:1 ratio of stamina to health points.
[ST-1] Plasma Shield - Woran generates a powerful blue force field from his armor, strong enough to defend him from most conventional attacks. The energy used to block attacks is 75% the strength of the attack, and disperses after one turn regardless of how much "health" it has remaining.
[ST-1] Ionic Formation - Woran channels a large amount of energy through specially designed apertures on his gauntlets [near his wrists], the Tuffle is able to create shape-able objects made of nothing but pure plasma energy. Woran most often uses this to form weapons of many different shapes and sizes. [Activates for 3 turns with a 2 turn cool down][Considered to be wielding a sharp weapon while in use]
[AT-1] God's Blade - This technique is very much the other side of the coin when compared to the Ionic Formation family of techniques. By concentrating the large amounts of energy normally used to form larger constructs into an extremely thin laser, Woran is able to slice through most materials, and beings quite easily. [1-25%, Ki]
[BT-1] Repulsor Blast - Woran generates a powerful plasma blast from the palms of his hands, firing it off in an intense blue-hued beam. [1-25%, Ki]
[RPT-1] Micro Missiles - Woran lets loose a swam of powerful miniaturized warheads, almost impossible to dodge for all but the most experienced of fighters. [1-25%, Ki]
[PT-1] Jet Fist - A considerably less advanced form of attack, Woran launches himself at his opponent, utilizing the thrusters located near his elbows to provide extra power to the strike. [1-25%, Stamina]
Example Roleplay:
"Good Morning Woran. Current Time: 4 am PTO standard time."
Woran’s eyes flickered open at at the sound of the female voice crooning information to him, letting loose a small groan as long-unused muscles creaked and stretched. The Tuffle swung his feet over the edge of the stasis capsule rubbing at his eyes and methodically stretching each group of muscles in turn. The Tuffle may posses nano-machines that drastically boosted every measurable physical parameter, but somehow aching muscles persisted through the advancement of technology.
“Lights please A.I.I.A, and update me on the mission status"
Woran crisply stated, cleaning and dressing himself in preparation for the ship’s imminent arrival. The A.I. emerged on top of a small pedestal in the middle of the Tuffle’s quarters, designed to resemble a female Tuffle, although blue in coloration. Woran had chosen to model the artificial intelligence after his eldest sister, a choice he sometimes praised himself for, and sometimes regretted.
“Planet Earth is a Gaia classification world, appears relatively temperate and relatively attractive according to the Galactic Standard Index as set out by the Market Bureau of the PTO. Atmosphere is beginning to atrophy due to intense amounts of excess gases and industrial byproduct, but nothing that cannot be reversed at minimal cost. Standard power level is around 20 units, however there are significant outliers.”
The A.I. stated emotionlessly, the words emanating from the speakers within the Tuffle’s quarters. Woran raised an eyebrow as he reached for the liquid dispenser, hungering for the taste of coffee, listening as the computer continued.
“According to the Changeling’s sensor readouts, a group of approximately forty signatures experience intermittent changes, ranging from an average of about fifty thousand units down to five. Anomaly could be down to sensor errors, though initial sweeps have not found any significant errors.”
Woran nodded once, his mind racing with possibilities. “Continue to monitor those anomaly’s until we come in for final approach, I would hate to be caught off guard by some uninvited observers to our little sightseeing tour.” He bit into a ration, grimacing at the taste.
A few minutes later, the Tuffle emerged from his quarters, his appearance and bearing immaculate as he confidently moved towards the ship’s briefing room. The Tuffle held the helmet of his exosuit at his side, while the rest of the armor covered his athletic, but short frame. Woran didn’t expect to be called upon as a warrior, there were far too many muscle-headed grunts on this scouting mission for that to ever be a need, but it never hurt to be extra careful. After all, he wasn’t exactly the most popular operative on the ship….
Woran glanced to the right as he passed a bank of monitors, viewing the “hot room” of the ship with mild interest as he slowly moved through the small, but extremely loud crowd of fighters. The “hot room” as it was commonly known, was a massive, sprawling affair taking up most of the center of the ship, primarily used as a training room for the more warrior-focused PTO members. Indeed, while beings like Woran went into stasis for the journey here, some grunts simply stayed awake, using the room’s intense gravity to bolster their fighting prowess.
The Tuffle shoved his way through the crowd currently watching the fight go down, earning several dark looks and unkind comments from the crowd. Once again, Woran wasn’t exactly the most popular person on the ship, as many resented him for his air of superiority and condescension. Nevertheless, they knew better then to interfere with his work, the Tuffle had made sure of that fact. However, if the Tuffle was being honest, he doubted the aura of superiority he created would last much longer before he had to bury a trooper in the deck once more. Woran shook his head, knocked on the commander’s door three times, then entered.
Commander Echard didn’t even bother to look up as the Tuffle entered, instead preferring to stare down at the view-screen built into his desk, laughing barbarically at the scenes of slaughter and mayhem playing out across the surface of the device, the light washing over the roof of the darkened room. Woran felt his lips slowly twisting into a sneer as he silently stared at the figure, Echard was so….crude, so unrefined, nothing but a jumped-up bully with an inborn power he didn’t deserve. And yet, somehow, the PTO had granted him his own ship, and a degree of freedom that the Tuffle hadn’t had the chance to experience since he was but a boy. It made him sick, and it was all the Tuffle could do to straighten his expression, returning his visage to a look of complete unconcern.
After what seemed like hours of struggling with his emotions, Echard finally deigned to look up, blinking owlishly at his visitor, “Why are ya here shorty? Got a fancy new can opener for us?” The alien snickered at his own joke, his hand pawing for a glass of alcohol. Woran swallowed his fury, then spoke, “Lieutenant Woran reporting as requested. You asked for me to review my role in the scouting miss-"
“Shut up boy” the alien wheezed, taking a deep drink of his beverage before slamming it down back on the wooden desk hard enough to break it, and the glass into splinters, “Youuuuu ain’t doing no scouting.” The commander slurred, stumbling to his feet, “You are gonna modify the readings, make this appear like a barren planet. That way me and the boys can have all the fun we want with these little Earthlings without anybody ever knowing. Ya hear me shorty?” Woran’s free fist clenched, as a fresh tide of anger swelled within him, one he could barely control. He fought to keep his expression steady, he needed to stay calm, no matter his personal feelings, as he always did.
The captain drunkenly pawed at his desk, retrieving a small metal box that Woran’s eyes immediately fixed upon with a feeling of deep dread, “Orrrrr do I need to use thi-"
The commander’s sentence was quickly cut short as something deep within Woran snapped. His left hand whipped up faster then the drunken alien could ever hope to perceive, firing a blast of energy that took the alien’s head clean off, splattering blood on the oh so expensive hides of some alien predator. Woran’s hand blurred forward, neatly plucking the remote detonator from mid air before the button could be depressed. Breathing heavily, the Tuffle stared down at the body of his former superior, shocked by the sheer audacity of the act he had just committed. A.I.I.A appeared on the view-screen, data flickering across her holographic form for a few moments before it froze.
“Vital signs flat. Commander Echard is dead and I now have full access to the Changeling’s systems.” The A.I. stated emotionlessly, as she always did.
Woran licked his lips, then sighed. He had no other choice.
“Vent all rooms expect this one. No one can know.”
Each syllable felt heavy in his mouth, and he stumbled to a chair and sat down, even as the screaming started across the ship….
