Shadow Captain Kayvaan Shrike

[Shadow Captain Kayvaan Shrike]

- Behind the Mask -

Name: Hero
Age: 18
RP Experience: yes
Activity Level: Every day
Cbox Name: Commander Kudos

- The Character -

Name: Shadow Captain, Kayvaan Shrike
Species: Human
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Homeworld: Chimera
Class: Soldier

Affiliations: Blue Suns Leader of the Chimera Mercenaries

Alignment:Renegade

Weapon of Choice: Shotgun

Combat Expertise: For his entire life Shrike has had to make do with what he had, fill in his own gaps. Shrike is a brilliant inventor and good at improvising during combat. Funded by the billions he has stolen, Shrike has personally crafted most of his own equipment or at least designed it. To Shrike, his crowning achievement is the servo-enhanced, mechanically supported, nano-bladed, powered "glove". Pssh, if thats a glove, I'm a horse . . . don't answer that.
Psssh I'm a pony

Making a mockery of most armor, and going too slow for all but the most sensitive kinetic barriers to stop, Shrikes talons turn close quarters fights into a one-sided game of cat-and-mouse.
Other than a sort of precognitive genius to make a Salarian green with envy, Shrike and his mercenaries rely heavily on stealthy terror tactics, waiting almost for the enemy to get with in punching distance to strike out lethally with shotguns.

Appearance: Shrike has spent his entire life honing his body. Sharpening the weapon that is his body. Shrike very rarely removes helmet, but for those lucky few who have seen shrike's face, Shrike wears a constant smirk, despite his less-than happy past. He has suave, angular features, sporting a natural tan despite frequent helmet use.
To an experienced eye, Shrike's near tangible air of confidence can seem fake, hiding a shattered soul like it does.

Much of Shrikes anatomy has been changed over the years, by experiments he has performed on him self, resulting in denser bones and a wicked fast healing rate for a human. But the one thing he has kept unaltered, un-enhanced, are his deep emerald green eyes. They were his mothers eyes.

Shrike can always be found in his personally designed K-88 "Nemesis" heavy armored suit. With his mercenaries' emblem, a gaudy blood red dragon splashed over the left side of his chest and shoulder, the "Nemesis" suit stands leagues apart from every other armor set in the galaxy. Albative covered plates guard Shrike's arms, followed by similar material in the rest of the armor.

Personality: Shrike has grown bitter with the loss of every one he has ever cared about. Replacing his soul with a spiky, callous version of its former self. A cruel opportunist, Shrike is only looking out for himself now. His resolve and tenacity only thickened by his brief Spectre training. Shrike is a egotistical megalomanic that takes everything personally. The kind of guy who goes out looking for a fight.


Likes or Dislikes:
Likes
-Winning (at anything)
-Money
-Power over others or status over others
-More money
-Fighting
-Did I say money already?
-A good challenge (competition)

Dislikes
-losing
-goody two-shoes
-being out shown
-being told what to do
-Aria T’Loak

Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
-A super human initiative in combat (reaction, intuitiveness)
-Shrikes Talons
-Significantly better equipment
-Spectre training
-Artificially enhanced constitution

Weaknesses
-Quite sloppy at long range
-Paranoid enough to kill his own men
-Over confident
-Selfish loner

History: Shrike grew up on Chimera, in the Hydra system, in the Argos Rho cluster.
His family was killed on route to the Hades Gamma cluster, by who, he eventually finds out to have been hired by Aria T’Loak, pirate queen of omega.

Shrike was only five when this happened, and when he was left to rot on the dead husk that was his parents cruiser, he was quickly picked up by slave traders and spent the next ten years of his life traveling the galaxy going from master to maser, all of whom died of natural causes. His assassination attempt on his newest master was narrowly interrupted by the intervention of a drug-busting alliance combat squad, lead by the late Spectre, Nihlus Kryik. A rebel till the day he died, Nihlus Krylik sort of adopted Shrike, keeping him hidden from his superiors and secretly training him to join the alliance and maybe even the spectres. But as we know Nihlus was betrayed by his fellow spectre, Seran Arterius, cutting Shrike’s training short.

Still technically outside the law and with no where to go, 22 year old Shrike joined the Blue Suns mercenary group. Soaring through the standings, Shrike ambitiously tries to usurp Vido Santiago, but arrives on Zorya after the party had already started, finding the base deserted and in flames. Cutting around to the back, Shrike wasn't surprised to run into Vito escaping the collapsing base. He was however surprised by Vito describing the appearance of Commander Shepard and her team. Feigning concern, Shrike waited until Vito showed his back to him, to finish what Shepard apparently didn't have the guts to do, disappointing.

Breaking back into the crumbling base, Shrike recovered nearly all of Vito’s bank accounts and Shrike escaped the ruin with a fortune and any blue suns loyal to him. Human Blue Suns anyway.

During the events that took place towards the end of mass effect 2, Shrike built himself an empire in the farthest reaches of known space, starting his own semi-private mercenary service, Chimera. Chimera’s primary purpose besides protecting the Shadow Captain includes pillaging the stars and genocide. All of this stolen wealth is then used by Shrike and his private scientists to fund Shrike’s secret ”projects”.

Shepard and her team have returned heroes yet again, but Shepard's time for glory has passed. Soon the Shadow Captain's reign will have smouthered out all resistance in the terminus systems, only leaving the soft and squishy "Citadel controlled space" to be ground under Shrikes heel.


Roleplay Example: Sergeant Faruthriel, leader of an Eldar Jet-Bike Attack Squadron, careened along side the fractured glass domes with her squad, the smooth lines of the jet-bikes cutting through the spore-choked air. The blood-splattered designs on the walls of the domes blurred into one, still the loathsome, winged Tyranids, kept pace in hot pursuit. Faruthriel banked sharply, as the telltale sound of buzzing indicated another volley of flesh-eating, black-shelled beetles spewed from the vile Tyranids�s weapons. The beetles, each as big as a baseball, are the living ammunition, feared by all. The beetles use their pincers to grab hold of the body and slowly eat their way to the brain of their unfortunate victims.
Was it lack of skill or bad luck? It was hard to say. It was not an unnamed soldier who was hit. It was Faruthriel�s childhood friend, Lherian, second in command of the Eldar squadron. He convulsed as a pair of black-shelled beetles tore into his back. The squad watched in horror as his jet-bike flew into a ditch and then was gone from their view as a living tide of Tyranids clawed their way over Lherian�s dying body.

As her friend lay dying on the ground below, Faruthriel shouted sharp commands to her squad, racing through the soaring arches of the city. �Bank and open fire,
cousins! On my mark!� she ordered. Fear was etched in her voice. The squad banked sharply, pinwheeling around and stopping dead, to face a cloud of fanged maws and leathery wings.
�Now!� shouted Faruthriel. The air filled with minuscule blades, shot from the jet-bikes� cannons. A split second later another sound filled the air, the shrieks and cries of dying Tyranids, as the Eldar�s shuriken-rounds sliced into the juicy bodies of their pursuers. Black blood spurted from the Brood of Tyranids, as their tattered bodies plummeted from the sky.
For a moment, hope flickered in Faruthriel�s chest, only to be snuffed out by the loud clap of wings, as a Tyranid the size of a tank dropped in their midst. The monstrous creature lashed out with its bladed limbs, cutting through bone and metal alike. Before you could say �Oh, crud,� three of Faruthriel�s squad members were savagely butchered by this enormous, big mama of a Tyranid. Faruthriel panicked, slamming her jet-bike into reverse. The beast whipped its bulbous head around, still gnawing on the rest of Faruthriel�s squad. With a scream, the beast projected a bolt of incandescent light from its jaws. Had the destructive bolt hit its target, Faruthriel would have been vaporized, but it missed. The resulting explosion�s shock wave almost knocked her off the jet-bike. Without looking back, she leveled out and sped over the doomed landscape.

Below Faruthriel, pockets of Eldar resistance buckled and gave way to the sheer weight of screeching, stabbing, alien Tyranids. Tears of anger ran down her face. Blinking them away she thought, how could this be happening? She hunkered over the dashboard and drove faster still, turning the Tyranids below into a blurred mass of claw and carapace. Suddenly, three scythed-armed beasts leapt into the air before her. With a spray of gore, the Tyranids smashed against her bike. She corkscrewed downward, plowing into the ranks of Tyranids. Before she had time to crawl clear, Faruthriel was grabbed by a Tyranid twenty times her size. She flailed in desperation. Forget the training. Forget noble heroism. With one sickening crunch, her part of this story was over.

[Garrus Vakarian]

Accepted! Technically, we have yet to actually start the rp, but rest assured, as soon as we do, you will be good to go.

Of course, you already knew that, Hero. xD