»Just The Basics________.::
◘ Username: Be Nicer to Yourself
◘ Name: Jemini Ouroz
◘ Known names: People are fond of calling me Jem, especially humans. Most of the time they spell it wrong (Jim), but it doesn’t bother me.
◘ Age: I’m 38, which in Gaian years is not even close to middle age. Our lifespan is a little over double to normal humans. You couldn’t guess my age by my youthful looks.
◘ Gender: Male
◘ Race: Born human, made Gaian, just like the rest of my people.
◘ Date of Birth: June 8th, 2430, city of Targum.
◘ Sexuality: Hetero
◘ Alignment: I serve justice, and if justice be good, then I am good.
◘ Home Planet Falcrum
»Outside In________.::
◘ Hair Colour: My hair is generally blonde, but it turns black near the roots.
◘ Eye Colour: My eyes are brown.
◘ Picture This:
-----I’ve been told I’m handsome but I’m nothing to look twice at, I’d say. My days of soldiering gave me bulk, the smuggling, with all of its fast moving and evasion, afforded me lean muscle. No piercings to speak of, but I have phosphorescent tattoos of my wife and children’s names. Whenever I activate them by theta waves, they light up with an aqua glow. I have scar from my right sideburn to the side of my neck, a grim reminder of where a laser nearly took my head in the war. My side, just under the left rib, bears a testament to the halberd that pierced me there. Yes, that, too, was a near death experience. I had a bad habit of getting too close to my enemies. Rage and hatred will do that to you; makes you move first and think later, while you suffer long and hard until the fighting’s done. Most Gaians repair their scars, since that kind of surgery is kept affordable. Me? I prefer to keep mine. I prefer to remember everything, even the things that hurt. A scar brings back memories as well as any photograph.
◘ Clothing: As a smuggler, I generally keep clothes that have several pockets, allow freedom of movement, and are lightweight. Thermals are a favorite, since they’re thin and lightweight but can keep me comfortable in any environment. My jacket makes most bladed attacks rather harmless. Heavy boots for my feet, but they’re shaped to give me speed and deft moves. Cargo pants or jeans are my usual bottoms (shorts, rarely)..
»Spoils of War________.::
◘ Danger Level I’m deadly with my hands and doubly so with a knife or a sword. I’m an average shot with a pistol, and pretty good with a rifle. Add to that the tech boost, physical power, and mental enhancements of Deus ex Machina, I’m a IV.
◘ For the Side: Justice is a cold goddess, but she is not blind. She looks me in the eyes, for she has made me one of her closest friends.
◘ Weapons
-----[VCW] – In case you’re unfamiliar with them, Variant Charge Weapons are any weapons that hold various ‘charges’ – mostly elements. My VCW is a broadsword. Once sheathed, its scabbard, which connects to the base of my neck, charges it with my Aenima (humans call it Vasa). This makes my blade cut through nearly anything, and block nearly anything. When fully charged, it can unleash a ripple effect through matter, so that one good slice or pierce could turn a target to ribbons. The Aenima explodes into highly concentrated waves which act as blades. In other words, it’s like several blades cutting through something at once…from the inside.
-----[On The Side] – Two daggers, with beautifully crafted ivory and wooden handles.
-----[Sidearm] – A heavy pistol with twelve rounds.
-----[MACCER (may-sur)] – Matter ACcelERator rifle. A medium to long range multi-purpose, single-fire, long charge rifle. For all of its deadly power, its individual parts can fit in a small bag. I usually carry it this way, actually, in a bag strapped to my VCW scabbard. The MACCER is a military grade weapon, but as a smuggler, I’ve had ways to get one. It’s a long-charge rifle because it takes time for the gun to push aside gaseous matter (air, most of the time) in its line of fire, and create a vacuum for its beam. Once the vacuum is created, the gun concentrates extremely powerful microwaves into a beam, unseen obviously on the visible color scale. The vacuum is necessary because, if air molecules are in the way, the air itself will be cooked, including the air near the user of the weapon. The last step of the MACCER discharge is the actual charging of the target’s matter by microwaves. The waves literally cook the target in a matter of seconds, resulting in an explosion. It’s a complicated sounding process, and a good charge can take up to sixty seconds, but with a good firer, it’s an extremely dangerous weapon. Thirty seconds is good enough for a human-sized target or vehicles. Two minutes for lightly armored vehicles. Heavy vehicles take five or six minutes.
-----[Pacer] - This is a glove that draws AEnima from my body and concentrates it around its surface. It works defensively, allowing me to block attacks I might miss with my sword. I can also use it offensively, by shooting it out long range or locally (for instance, crushing brick or bone). Of course, the more I use it, the more it drains me.
◘ Skills:
[Gunfighter] – Not bad with a gun.
[Brawler] – As I’ve said, I’m deadly with my hands.
[Swordsman] – I know how to use a blade to its full potential. I can maim, disable, and kill.
[Medic] – Any soldier of the Gaian Collective Armed Forces is trained in basic medical care. I’m decent with fixing people.
[Mechanic] – I ‘get’ machines. I’m partly one myself.
[Technomage] – I’m an average hacker by Gaian standards. By anyone else’s standards, I’m a cyberterrorist waiting to happen. I can hack into nearly any system or database and make it bend to my will. I’m also very good with electronics in general.
» Inside Out________.::
◘ Personality: I am by no means shy or mousy, but I’m fairly quiet and introverted. This does not mean I don’t share my opinions when I feel the need to give them, but I tend to keep my deeper thoughts to myself. I’ve become more solitary through the years, but I don’t shy away from crowds and big events, either. I do laugh pretty often, but that’s only because I prefer to laugh rather than cry or complain; it does the body good, too. I try my best to be a decent person, but my moral code is kind of self-written. Doesn’t mean I go around decking people, just that…well, I’ll tell you one thing. I consider myself an anarchist. I don’t support systems, religious or political. However, I do hold love, justice, and honor to the highest degree. I don’t hurt innocent people, but I’m not afraid to snap the neck of a man who does hurt the innocent; and I’ll walk away without a drop of remorse. I am cold-hearted and dangerous, but I’ve been both father and husband and to be honest, I prefer to see people happy. My past has, admittedly, affected me so much that sympathy comes hard for me, but don’t worry, I’m not an a*****e. I do warn you, though, I’ve a history of violent anger issues
◘ Likes: Swimming X Cars X Movies X Cooking X the mountains X Children
◘ Dislikes; The Ketzu Kren X Governments X Organized religions X Seafood X Unfairness X policemen
◘ History: Growing up, I was a naïve pacifist. Now, don’t misjudge that statement, not all pacifists are naïve. Naïve pacifists, like I was, think peace is the ONLY answer. A wise pacifist prefers peace, but knows that conflict and peace are inevitable tides that only fate can change – and she ain’t changing anytime soon.
My father was my hero. I mean, sure, every boy thinks that to some degree, but he honestly was. My father taught me how to be a real man at a young age. He told me to always treat women with decency and respect, that people with no dignity are not worth my time, that honor and fairness should be behind a man’s every action. And, most importantly, a real man is not afraid to show love, even to shed a tear. These principles have stayed with me even until now, but I must admit, it gets hard to cry even when I try to.
I had a pretty average childhood. I liked sports, got into girls, joined my high school’s athletic team…blah blah blah. After graduating college at 23, the Behavioral Analysis Matching (the very aromantic Gaian answer to ‘falling in love’) actually matched me with the love of my life, Emorie. We got married that year, since we’d both had stable jobs with good pay. We had our first child, Caenae (‘see-nee’) the next year, a beautiful green-eyed daughter. We had our son, Thios, three years after Caena, when I saw 27. Even when he was born, Thios had eyes that could pierce right through you, daring grey eyes.
But in the year I turned 31, the all consuming war between my people and the Ketzu-Kren, devoured my life like fire, and burned all I knew into ashes. The Krenese offensive was pushing harder, and managed to pierce the farthest reaches of original Gaian space, Lemuria. My planet, Falcrum, happened to be one of the first victims of the Krensym descent operations. The Kren’s witch, Huosing, led the offensive, with her Children of Prodigy special forces at her back and sides. I saw the sky catch fire that day: flaming ships falling from orbit and crashing into the surface, lasers streaking across the sky, explosions ripping clouds asunder and cooking the air. Targum fell under assault; its skyline looked like a crumbling collection of lit candlesticks.
Huosing, being the ruthless b***h she was, spared no one. Her Children came across our military-backed evacuation and quickly slaughtered the planetary guard. We were nowhere near the evacuation ships, which we later discovered were blown to bits. We feared the Children would murder us civilians, too, since it was Gaian and Krenese tradition to kill civilians of the opposing species during invasion.
Yet this did not happen. We were rounded up, humiliated, then separated into two groups: men and boys at least age 12 (battle age), and everyone else. All the while, the cold Krenese Warmaiden barked out commands and looked at us like we were s**t under her boots. Those damn vamps had to pry me away from my family, because I damn sure wasn’t going peacefully. I fought them back, even bit off one of their ugly little ears. They stomped me near to a pulp for this offense, but I didn’t give a s**t…I made one of them bleed and that was good enough for me, considering how helpless I was. Tears stung my eyes as those bastards dragged me away from my family. I’ll never forget the looks on their faces: Caenae, outraged and redfaced and sobbing, Thios, angry with rage bubbling in his tears too stubborn to fall, and Emorie’s look of utter defeat and hopelessness.
I passed Huosing on my way to the men’s group, locked eyes with her, and felt my mind corrode under those amber discs. She destroyed all I was in one look, and a fear like no other hushed my anger like a weak candle flame. I hated myself at that instant, for being so powerless.
Then, angered beyond all reason, my precious little Caenae charged for the Warmaiden, yelling every curse word she’d learnt in her short life. Huosing calmly lifted her foot and slammed her boot into my daughter’s chest. Beaten, bruised, and destroyed inwardly, I couldn’t even yell, couldn’t cry anymore. Somewhat detached, I saw Caenae’s face explode with pain and shock, saw her body flail and fall. The laughs of Krense soldiers sent daggers through my heart. But that pale-skinned b***h wasn’t even done. She bent forward, snapped out an arm, and took hold of Caenae’s hair. Huosing snapped my six year old daughter’s neck like a reed, then tossed her lifeless body into the mud. Emorie’s screams shattered the air. And, poor Thios, raging but helpless, repeated Caenae’s same foolish mistake. He broke into a mad dash for the woman who killed his sister, and though Emorie ran after him, one of the Children kicked her in the leg before she could catch up to him. Those ******** wanted Thios to charge to his own death. It was their sick entertainment.
Bearing nothing in terms of emotion, Huosing waited for him to close in. She sidestepped before his little fist could do their harmless hitting, spun around, then grabbed the back of his skull. A blade, pulled from it sheath on her hip, glinted in the sunset and tore through his throat. Huosing looked right at me as she killed him, broke her gaze, then kicked his body to the side. Dry heaves and empty sobs, dry of all tears, were all I could muster. The pain burned so bad that I couldn’t feel a damn thing.
I will never forget her words: “Let this be a lesson to every man, woman, and child who thinks they can die a valorous death here. The chance for heroes is gone. Only my mercy can save you, and mercy I have not.”
The men were loaded into vehicles to be shipped to, what I’m sure, was our death. We weren’t fooled by the Krensym banter, promising we’d be conscripted into their military or placed in concentration camps. The Kren spared no Gaian soul, and vice versa. I knew I’d never see my wife again, for sometime before tomorrow, she’d be killed. She never even waved me a final goodbye, never blew a final kiss. Emorie simply fell to her knees, stared at the still bodies of our children, sobbed, and tore out strands of her hair, bleeding at the roots.
The Kren took us on a journey that cut through the ruins of Targum, through burning countryside, and to a military camp in the mountains. To our surprise, they did not slaughter us all in killing fields. They put us to work, forcing us to build a stronghold under the threat of their gun barrels and blades. Goddess, such awful things took place there. Though the Children went by some bullshit code of manufactured honor, the standard Krenese soldiers would often rape the POWs. Young boys had their genitals cut off. I don’t know the reasons behind this mutilation, but I suspect it was a way of humiliating them, and symbolized the eugenic erasure of the Gaian Collective. The boys’ shame would often drive them to kill themselves.
This went on for about a year, as far as I could tell; they disabled most of our Psychenet capabilities with jamming broadcasts. Never had 12 months felt so long. Years could have passed me by and I wouldn’t have noticed a difference. Thank the goddess, the Gaian armed forces finally took back the planet, and the Kren made a swift retreat. The Children had long left before our people reclaimed Falcrum. Had they not, I’m sure Huosing’s tactics would’ve foiled the Gaian take-back.
Slowly but surely, we made Falcrum our home again. But I was so shelled shocked, so honest-to-goddess [******** up that I could hardly operate in normal life for a while. But sunshine came into my life again when I, miraculously, got reunited with my wife through the local government’s help. I thought things might improve after that; I was terribly wrong. Emorie’s tongue had been cut out, her face mutilated, her womb savagely damaged, and her mind completely…gone. She probably wouldn’t have talked even if she could. My wife was dead, and this zombie had taken her place. It put me in a depression that got me drinking and addicted to drugs in a matter of months. One day, as we were eating downtown, Emorie got up, walked into a line of traffic, and let a car knock the life out of her.
And just like that, all I knew, even a shadow of my old life, vanished. It took an immense amount of will not to kill myself that day. Instead, I steeled myself, turned my grief to fury. I hated the Ketzu-Kren with all of my heart, and wanted nothing more than to take the head of Huosing Chosyn Laan. I joined the Collective army the same day, signed up for infantry. In the four years that followed, I learned as many ways to kill someone as I could – and put many of them to use. But no matter how many Kren I killed, no amount of blood could fill the urn of wrath I’d pour on the Warmaiden’s head. My anger and hatred only worsened, so intense at times that it kept me awake at night. During sleepless nights, my hands would clench, wanting to shoot, to stab, to choke. I needed to keep killing, or I’d kill myself
But also during my soldiering, I saw what war did to people, did to nations. I started to wonder why we even bothered fighting in the first place. Why did our people hate each other so much? Was it merely the greed to accumulate as much territory as they could, for one empire to swallow another? Oh, sure, I still hated the Kren, but my hate was personal; I had never understood (nor questioned) the reasons behind the war to begin with. After our national hero, Cassius Solicus, helped expose the true agenda of both our government and that of the Kren, I suffered the greatest disillusion of my life: trust in the powers that be. Our own Existenz Council was not only in bed with the Kren’s Queen Baomei, but was sending our people to the slaughter for some selfish galactic wargame, some ancient prize left from the hands of god-like beings that had long left this plane. All that war for power, for greed. My wife and children were dead because of some ******** game between rulers.
Governments and establishments left a bitter taste in my mouth. No longer a pacifist, I’d become a violent cynic and later a criminal. I chose smuggling not to rebel against the law, but simply because it paid well and I had a knack for it. But I admit, it did feel good to break rules out of blissful spite. I live a fast, hard life, but I live it honorably. I don’t do business with the Kren, but as much as I hate them, I’d never lay hands on one of their innocent. I’ve got a damn good crew of five, and my ship, the Silent Lucidity can outrun and outgun some of the best ships with hotshot pilots behind the cockpit. In the end, I’m just a man trying to make a living, but I can never reclaim the life I once had. It’s a shame I never got a chance to kill Huosing; the war did her in before I did. Such is the way of things.
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» Mark Me Well________.::
◘ In a few words:.
When a king tells his people to go against what’s just, the noble man takes up his sword. And when he unsheathes it, he is silently saying in his heart, “I refuse.” To rebel is to do the work of our creator.
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Jemini Ouros
My words are in sienna
