Remnants of the Earth

Name:
Kelly Paule

Age:
He's kinda lost count, but his best guess is 34.

Gender:
Male

Species:
Human

Ethnicity:
Edani

Height:
5’5"

Occupation:

Residence:
The frontier of Edanith


Physical Description:
Kelly's pretty short for an Edani dude, something that he doesn't like to be brought up in conversation. He keeps his hair long, and it still contains remnants of where he used to dye it on the regular. His natural hair has since come in, and for whatever reason he's done nothing to cut or otherwise negate the spice-brown roots. He sports green eyes that are fairly lined for one of his guesstimated age, and it looks like at one point he did a lot of smiling. He has a smattering of freckles, primarily on his face but also over his arms, which are fairly well-built from a life of hard time and hard work.

Personality:
Kelly is fairly easy-going. It's actually a little hard to see just how he landed himself on the frontier, given his amicable personality. He's more polite than a convict should be, and rather likes to keep hostilities to a minimum if possible. He's pretty generous, and that's probably why he was allowed to keep his little shack on the verge of a growing settlement instead of having to pack up and move further outward. Still, he doesn't bother the settlers much, since he's still branded as a criminal, harmless though he seems to be, and only goes into town for the absolute necessities. He never stays long.

Magic/Abilities:
None.

Relationships:
Many, though from the looks of things, they are all past relationships. He keeps photos around, mostly of a young woman, and one other photo kept on his person at all times, of a man. All of these are worn with age, and seem to be from a long while ago.

History:
Kelly, as stated, is a convict. He was at one point a jovial kid, and it's likely that carefree attitude that got him in trouble with the law in the first place. For reasons he doesn't get into, however, he landed himself in prison, and then after some time, got himself thrown out onto the frontier, where he lives to this day tending a very small patch of farmland he brought out of the desolate red earth.

The name of the game is exactly as this sounds. This is an unofficial fight club, set in Haviah. This is where anyone is welcome to come in, take their shoes off, and kick someone's face in. Or, in certain cases, go out and raise a little hell in the city.


The creator of Warehouse Nine is a man named Aart who found himself more than a little disenchanted with how complacent everyone in Aedolis had become. Here they were, living in a military totalitarian regime, and all anyone could seem to talk about was the latest celebrity gossip. Frustrated that people didn't seem to care beyond keeping content, he started picking fights and vandalizing public property (while miraculously avoiding being caught).

When more and more people wanted rematches, they moved from alleys and empty lots to a set of warehouses by the docks, where they can beat the tar out of each other in relative peace, without necessarily the issue of caste-restricted access.

There are no ranks. Castes do not exist in Warehouse Nine. There is only the group and the two in the ring. The closest thing to a leader they have is Aart, who lays down the rules and occasionally directs the members to cause some destruction of public property when they're able.


The first rule of Fight Club Warehouse Nine is YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT. There's no discussing of it with non-members.

The second rule of Warehouse Nine is NO COPS. No military, no police force, nothing but regular citizens.

The third rule of Warehouse Nine is STOP MEANS STOP. If someone taps out, or otherwise signals to stop, you stop. This isn't about killing someone, it's about fighting. Once the fight is over, the fight is over, and there's no score-keeping.

No shoes, no shirt, no jewelry, no belts, no weapons. Pants and bare fists only.

Still looking a little green, Zaro followed the Wolfen back up to the cockpit. He was only slightly surprised to see Kin already there, though that surprise didn't last too long when the doors slid open again to admit the captain herself.

"Well, boys, we're shoving off. Mr. Stormclaw, if you would be so kind as to get us the hell into open space, heading 3100." Captain Mean looked at her sons, then, and seemed to be battling a decision. "Zaro, you'll be below. Kin, you stay here, see to it that our new pilot has everything he needs."

"Yes, ma'am." came the immediate reply, and Kin shifted his seat to be just a little closer to the main panel, without getting in the Wolfen's way.

Well, this one just didn't know when to give up, did he?

No Son was torn between being impressed and pretty damn annoyed, and kept swinging back and forth from one to the other until he was fairly sure he suffered from emotional whiplash. His spines were firmly pressing against the padded fabric of his shirt and vest, and with each slow movement he could feel them being pulled, so caught up in the woven threads as they were, and getting worse the more aggravated he became.

Okay, now he was torn between impressed, annoyed, and just plain hot an' bothered. He gnashed his teeth a bit, just enough to prick at his own gums and get his head back in the game. And what a game, if it took only this long for one of these precious delicate things to actually catch up to him. Catch up, and very nearly catch him.

Oh, yes, No Son was getting good and pissed off. But as much as he would have liked to maybe see just where that amount of agitation might have gotten him, all he really wanted was the paycheck at the end of the road. Plus, in that brief instant before he through the flashbang, it didn't seem like his pursuer really had that much to them in the meat department.

It was like someone trying to pass him a fishbone when all he wanted was a steak. Sure, it might do in a pinch if he was starving, but when beggars COULD be choosers, he definitely had his preference. But hell, he'd been surprised before.

Okay, seriously, he needed to get his head outta his pants and back to the situation at hand. This was getting stupid. No Son squeezed his way into a smaller tunnel, set more towards the ceiling of the sewer a good ways up. His helmet flashed on the sides of his vision, picking up the not-so-subtle pattern of footsteps on murky ground.

With every tap-tap-tap, No Son's spines pressed harder against his shirt. He was sure the entire back padding had to be full of holes, and not even in the fun way now. No, he was firmly angry at this point, and as he shimmied his way across the tunnel and into the adjacent reservoir, he pretty much decided that in lieu of collecting payment, he was just going to collect his "employer"s heads.

This was getting freaking ridiculous, and he stifled a hiss as he jumped from the walkway and down into the filthy water that ran beneath it.

Sarah's eyebrows nearly shot straight into her hairline, and she made a very solid point of looking at the storm clouds before looking back at the man approaching her. She kept a tight grip on her machete, just in case, but every line of her relaxed when she spotted him carting a sled.

"Have you even seen the sky? I'd be shitting you if it don't last a few days,"

She rolled her eyes a bit at the usual list of assurances of not being a threat, which she was pretty sure was a line she had used herself on some poor folk before gutting them.

Okay, so she had used it a lot.

Still, this one looked harmless enough-- if he was a killer, he hid it well. She craned her neck to look over at the sled, and even went so far as to sheath her machete back at her hip.

"You can stick around, I guess. Maybe. Got any supplies? Or a name, Not-Sick-Crazy-or-Mutated?"

Really, the picture was... spot on. It was a perfect likeness, even if it were just lines and not a photograph (he was pretty sure there were no photos of him, so, you know, fair). His scrawled self stared up at him with open mockery, right up to the hand gestures his little paper self attempted to give everyone who saw the poster.

Stars and suns, it was perfect. He just might hang it in his ship, complete with some manner of ornate and gaudy frame to house it. A better display of the craft of portraiture there never was. All with the lovely tagline of WANTED. DEAD. 2.1 M CREDITS.

The bitch.

Semessa was getting desperate. She'd been out of their home system about as long as he had, and he was pretty sure she hadn't been working the whole time. Did she even have the money to put up for a reward like this? Or was she getting some thrice-damned sponsor?

No Son ran through a mental checklist of past... endeavors. There were at least a dozen present that might warrant being avenged. But seriously, two million? Two freakin' million? All for him dead? Color him flattered.

He rummaged around a drawer, and found a roll of tape. Biting through a few pieces, he used those to slap his wanted poster up onto a cabinet door. In a fit of childish rage, he scrawled out his poster's eyes, and in an even more childish display, wrote above it

Bluh Bluh huge BITCH

It didn't even register with him that an onlooker might assume he was calling himself a bitch, too far gone in his agitation. He could feel his spines pressing against the thicker padding of his shirt, and that bit of discomfort just made him angrier. He lashed out at an errant ammo box, kicking it straight into the opposite wall of the supply room. It bounced off, hit his cot, and scattered to the floor, spilling countless single bullets everywhere.

No Son growled, and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Fine.

FINE.

He could lay low, hunker down in the boonies somewhere, and just keep out of sight. No jobs, but hell, he had enough to live by on that. So long as he didn't somehow, like, bunk on a planet populated only by plantlife.

That had been the hungriest fuckin' week of his life. What the hell kind of cruel god made an entire world without meat? Not even bugs! Seriously?

He stepped over the mess he had made, and dropped into the cockpit of his ship. It was time to get the hell out of dodge, and do it now. A few flicks of switches, and the engines thrummed to life, pushing him out of the lazy orbit he had been coasting in since he'd found the poster plastered to an info board on-planet.

Well, now, they just pulled out all the stops for this little venture. No Son's jaw tensed in agitation beneath his helmet, already warring with ever-present paranoia. Had it been a set-up? What the hell was even this kid coming at him? There was no possible way a human being was capable of catching up so quickly.

Or at least, from his understanding of humans, there was no possible way. Maybe it wasn't human, he thought idly, even as he ducked and rolled to the side to avoid another hail of bullets. He pulled his pistols back out from their holsters, and returned fire, more to get the other to flinch than any real attempt to hit.

Either way, No wasn't doing another damn thing until he got some solid answers, or a very large paycheck. Still, the more this one continued to harass him, the more he considered a temporary redaction on that particular policy. It was all No could do to keep moving, darting this way and that to keep the guard's aim off anything vital.

He found quick cover behind a nearby dumpster, enough to yank a cylinder off of his belt. He pressed a button at the top before tossing it towards his attacker, the device giving a quick series of beeps before exploding into a supernova of dazzling light and dancing colors. The flashbang one hell of a distraction, he took the opportunity to book it, keeping low to the ground as he dropped down the sewer grate.

Almost immediately, his vision adjusted to the dim lighting, and he leapt across the river of muck to the other side, and down one of the many branching pipes that lined the main waterway.

So, they had a good shot in the apartment, too. No Son watched the spray of bullets from his position on the smaller building's roof with a little sigh. He really did need to have a word with his client about all this. But hell, sometimes a little chase was fun, and he didn't mind it much.

A device on his hip buzzed, and he looked down at the timer present there. It wouldn't be long until the hologram decoy gave out. He didn't have much time left, not if someone was already on his tail. Which, by the sounds of it, they were.

He bolted across the rooftop, even as bullets continued to smash across five stories overhead. His decoy generator gave one final buzz, and then went silent. The hologram was gone, and he only had himself. No Son picked up the pace, leapt across to another adjacent rooftop, and made for the fire escape attached to that building.

He didn't have time to be quiet about it, either. He gripped onto the sides of the ladder and slid down, hopping from one platform to the other with loud thuds of boots on metal. When he hit the ground, he looked skywards, and sure enough, some poor sod didn't know when to mind their own business. His helmet shifted the light spectrum, highlighted the curious old woman's head, and he barely had to aim his pistol to assure she'd be put down as well.

There were no other onlookers after that, and he bolted down the alley, taking the winding back roads towards the sewer grate that was his exit.

Name:
Semessa Lilote, "Lilo" by her late wife


Age:
Four and a half cycles, about 45 to us.

Gender:
Female*

Sexuality
Leans more towards the ladies, according to her species.*

Species:
Alien species: Hunter/Glowstick though if you call her the latter she will PUNCH you.

Height:
7'11"

Occupation:
Former soldier, former bodyguard, now wandering bounty hunter of sorts.

Residence:
Her ship.

*See "about them aliems" section for details


Physical description:
Lilote is intimidating to shit and back. Standing nearly eight feet tall and weighing roughly 275 pounds of pure muscle, she looks like someone who could crush you without breaking a sweat. Unlike the males of her species, she doesn't possess any bioluminescence, and her hair is a coal-grey.

Personality:
Stone-cold and aloof, she seems constantly preoccupied with something else. In fact, she is so preoccupied with her mission that often she has no patience for anything else. Which kind of renders her into a humorless dick.

Magic/abilities:
 She will punch you. Hard.

Relationships:
Semessa Hyro, late wife

History:
Lilote was a decorated career soldier, right up until an injury left her with a very pronounced limp. Forced into retirement, she became incredibly depressed, and would have continued to spiral into darkness were it not for a completely by chance encounter with Hyro, a high ranking city official. Hyro appointed Lilote her bodyguard, which pulled her out of her feelings of uselessness, and soon after the two became close friends. And then lovers.

Not too long after they were married, however, tragedy struck. Hyro was shot and killed during an assembly, to everyone's shock and horror. Even more so when it was found to be a rogue male. He escaped, and since then Lilote has been hunting him across galaxies, determined to see him beg for the mercy he didn't show Hyro.



About them aliems:

Hailing from a binary star system outside of ROTE's galaxy, encountering one of No Son's kind is extremely rare. They as a people have achieved interstellar travel, but have such loose systems of governance that expansion has not been a thorough topic of discussion. Primarily, their interest in extensive space travel is largely to do with potential colonization ventures, as their planet is not a resource-rich one. Typically, however, if you encounter one outside of their star system, you will likely be encountering a male.

In their native tongue, their word for themselves roughly translates to "hunter", as they are the apex predator of their planet, though they are more commonly (and somewhat derogatorily) referred to as Glowsticks. This is earned from the bioluminescence present on the males of their species.

They have a heavy kind of sexual dimorphism, where the males and females look vastly different from one another, though both sets of genitalia are present regardless of sex assignment. Assigned males tend to be smaller (averaging at 5'6"), more wiry, and possess the bioluminescence their kind is famous for. These colors tend to range from poisonous looking yellows to neon blues. Assigned females, however, don't have this bioluminescence, and are much, much bigger than their male counterparts (their average height is between 7 and 8 feet, and they pack on far more muscle). Regardless of gender, all of the Hunters possess a series of poisonous barbs along their spines, which normally lay flat unless otherwise provoked.

The social dynamics are also different in how males and females are treated. Males live in isolation, possess a flexible "territory" and defend it aggressively from other males, usually to the death. Females live in groups, and have formed their own governance, cities and all around infrastructure. As the males are kicked out of cities after they reach a certain age, and often die soon after, they are not named in the same way that female children are. They take their mother's name as a surname like their sisters, but instead of a proper given name, they are referred to by numbers (First, Second, etc.).

This kind of attitude also leads to their social conditioning-- the males are forbidden from certain things, so they either have to have a female acquire forbidden objects for them, or they have to learn to sneak them. This ends up being good training for when they're out in the wilderness and have no one but themselves to rely on. Because of this isolation, the males tend to rely on stealth and ambushing in their combat, whereas females have the bulk and the numbers for more open combat should they need to defend themselves.

Because of the high precentage of violence between males, and with higher and higher populations of them, many have taken to the stars to establish territories outside of their own planet. These are usually the outcasts, either because they couldn't hold a territory on their home world out of weakness, or they committed a heinous crime of some sort.

Both Theo and Zaro made faces, though for entirely different reasons. Zaro looked as if he were going to be mildly ill at the thought of eating anything tentacle-y raw, even after Mason demonstrated that it could, in fact, be done.

That didn't make him any keener to try it himself, however.

Theo just seemed completely horrified at the idea of being man-handled by the beast any longer than he had to, and instead of taking his ire out on the (very very large) Wolfen, he leveled an angry stare at Zaro.

"You ever do that, and I'm letting you bleed the next time you're stupid enough to stand in a grenade blast. You get me?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't get your briefs in a knot, man." Zaro waved him off, and moved towards the felled beast and Mason. "What can I say? I got a weakness for the sound of the old stuff."