About Allison "Wraith" WhiteAngelAllison "Wraith" WhiteAngel
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Melee {+1 Class, +0 STR}
Ranged {+1 Class, +4 Dex}
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Talents
Evasion{Fast 1}: Feats
Skills:
Name +total [ranks]{stat}{Class?} Acrobatics{Tumble+Jump} +9 [5]+{D4}F
Craft (mechanical) + []{I2}S4
Investigate +3 [1]{I2}S4
Perception +2 [2]+0 N
9+Int{2}{Smart1} x4 (44); 5+Int{Fast2 (2)} (7/level); 58 ranks total, ACP 0
Reputation +1 Wealth:
Wealth: 7{rolled}+2 {start at 3rd level}+1{occupation}+1{profession}+3+3{x2 windfall feats}+2{level up} = 19. Phase 1: Purchase All The Things under wealth DC 15. Phase 2: Where the fun begins Master work SITES M9. DC 18. -1 = 18.
[spoiler=Inventory, not carried]
gear, Carried:
To spot: take 10 slight of hand {16} +2 Jacket (loose or bulky) +2 Jacket (Specifically designed to conceal) = 20 base. Small = +0; Tiny = +4. Concealed Holster = +4. Almost everything is tiny, making DC 24. (The SITES is Tiny and Holstered, making a total DC 30.) Lightly Armored Photojournalist's Vest
concealed carry holster (SITES M9)
$50 2 earnings, 1 ring and 1 necklace are more valuable. They're worth $400 in total. Backstory! Age 23:
Allie woke up, and stared down the barrel of his predator. Age 13:
Running from the house, the blood from her freshly broken nose flowing freely, it dawn on Allie that her thirteenth birthday could've gone better. The plan, hatched with the genius of the teenaged, involved her working for Old Man Harper, getting enough Nuyen for her mom to take her dad out and get him good and pre-drunk enough for the party to go flawlessly.
Not enough. Not enough Nuyen. As soon as they got to the bar, he just ordered better stuff and burned through the cred, getting mad that he wasn't wasted yet. He returned home and got mad that people were in his house, having fun without him. Just started throwing punches. "Hey, kid, keep it down." "Whaaaha?" she stammered, her tears surrendering to her growing confusion. She'd walked many blocks, and saw she was near an alley she ought not be near. "Keep it down," he repeated, 'he' being a devastatingly handsome older boy of 15 years. He had sea-blue eyes and harvest-wheat hair. "You can cry up a storm later but right now--" his words were cut off as an angry man appeared out of nowhere. "HEY!" yelled the man. "There you are! Where is it? She got it? Your partner got it? Give it here!" he thundered, stalking toward her. Without thinking she brought up her taser ('no, srsly, don't leave home without it') and fired. At this range she couldn't miss. The man spasmed twice, wet his pants, and dropped. As if on cue a pretty asian girl ran up to them, stopped at the boy. "Oh, hey, I got the stuff! Ooooo, looks like you took care of him good already. Wizard!" "Actually, Spirit," said the beautiful boy, "our...new friend here did the honors. Good job, kid. I guess that means you get a share. We're gonna go fence it, if you wanna come along we can pay you now." Allie looked at them, eyes wide in pure, unadulterated wonder. She rubbed her eyes, smearing her running mascara even more, and, hypnotically, said an extremely witty, "Yeah." "Pleased to meet you. I'm Derrick." Age 17:
"No,Allie , you can't come," Derrick said, -again-. "You're just...you're slower than Spirit, you're not as accurate as RockOn, and you're noisier than Shadow. The run calls for 5, and unless you've been hiding a decade of Rigger talent under your skirt, you can't come."
She didn't have anything to say. She'd worked hard, gotten better, got some gear, ran with some third-tier gangs, but she wasn't good enough for his crew. After he left, she made a phone call. Next time she'll be better. Age 19:
Derrick gave a nice speech. Spirit deserved it. She was a nice person. The pretty asian girl had become a competent runner.
As he passed Allie all he said was, "You were too slow." The look in his eyes, the hurt...she couldn't bear it. Okay, he had loved Spirit. Okay, she hated her for that. But she didn't deserve to bite it. Especially not like that. Everyone else had got out. And the run had paid well. She made a call. She'd -be- better. Age 22:
"Alright team! This is the Big One" Derrick announced proudly to the crowded room. He took a breath and his eyes accidentally laid a heartbeat too long on her chrome. He still wasn't used to the augs. Not on the streets, not in bed.
"All the intel says the security is gonna be diverted, and all we have to do is break in, grab one thing, and get gone. Someone else is doing the heavy lifting, we just gotta be the net. I know all of you are thinking that I'm bringing on too many hands for so simple a grab, and are worried about the payday. But trust me on this one, it ain't gonna matter!" Frag he was happy. "Hey, Derrick," called RockOn, "What exactly are we 'just grabbing'? Is it heavy?" "Absolutely not," he answered. "By all accounts it's just some bottle. A very ,very valuable one, to be sure, but just a bottle. Let's roll!" ****elsewhere*** "Greetings, Lord Borak. I'm sure you'll find that--" "Shut up," he said, walking down the column-filled corridor, his pearl-inlaid boots making soft clacking sounds on the immaculate marble. While being an orc made people doubt his magical power, it made ordering lackeys much easier. "Every moment I'm here is one more moment I'm not in Erie getting fed grapes by naked elven princesses. I'm here to re-lay a collapsing magical barricade that thinks it's going to usher in the next EarthDawn. If everything is NOT according to my explicit instructions I'm going to start killing people until they are. Speak again and I'll set your vocal chords on fire." Lord Borak the Despoiler had a lot of work to do. He hated interruptions. ********************** "Okay, Allie. You grabbed it. Now hang on to it!" Derrick was beaming. They did it. They FRAGGING DID IT! The object of the run, the bottle, was in her pack. All they had to do was get out. "Oh. What. The. Frag?" came a booming voice from down the marble hall. The end of the hall where the exit was. Derrick looked at the focus-speckled orc that was confidently striding down the hall. "He...he isn't supposed to be here." Somebody opened fire. Then everybody did. "And here I thought this would be boring," said the orc. **************** Everyone died. Except her. No bullet could touch him. No weapon could harm him. He killed them all.
Derrick had been open about where the meet with Mr. Johnson was. She presented the bottle. Dispassionately he handed over the credstick. There were.... so. many. zeroes. "Our business is concluded," Mr. Johnson said. Of course it was. But she had lost him. Lost Derrick, lost everything. She made a call. She wouldn't just be better. She'd be...everything. Age 23:
Allie woke up, and stared down the barrel of his predator.
"Just go," whispered Derrick. He sheathed his pistol and walked away. She'd heard good things about New Orleans. She bought the first ticket that was going there. Of course she'd come back. She had to get Derrick back. She knew how. She owed him one million cred. There had to be a way. The jovial man in a nice suit sat down heavy next to her. He offered a hand and a smile in that way that corporate people do. "Hi there. My name's Propoket." She didn't want to make small talk, but she had to. She didn't want to offer her name, but she had to offer _a_ name. She wasn't Alanna. She was just...nobody. Like a ghost, or a specter, or a.... "Hi there yerself. I'm Wraith." |
