Priestess of Nethys

Anya "Wraith" Whiteangel's page

312 posts. Alias of Atlas2112.


|B3nn1es: 1/3 | W0undz: 0 |P4rry 5/D0dge: TN 5 |T0ughne$$: 12(4) | P4ce: 6 |Cha:+2| N0t1ce: d4+2


Pr3tTy G1rl |PA: TOU: 25(12)

About Anya "Wraith" Whiteangel

Age: 22 years
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 130
Eyes: Your favorite color.
Hair: Half Black. Half White.

Quote: "Teehee. No, I'm not a cyborg."
*eyes glint with artificial light*



Race: HuMAn
Rank: Seasoned
XP: 25
- - - - -

T0ughness: [base:7](naked:10)(pers armor: 17(5) PA: 25(12)
Current Status:
P4Rry: 6
Pac3: 6
CHAr1sma: +2

Stra1n: 10/16

Languages English,
- - - - -
ATTRIBUTES 5 to spend
Agility: d12 (2) (1 strain cyber)
Smarts: d4
Spirit: d10 (2)
Strength: d8 (1 strain cyber)
Vigor: d10 (1) (1 strain cyber)
- - - - -
SKILLS 20 to spend (Specs cost 1)
- - - - -
Fight d6
Stealth d8

Shoot d12
Pilot d6

Notice d4


Persuasion d10
Intimidation d6

- - - - -
- - - - -

Dirty, stinky, filthy rich. (2 Advances)

Brawny (MARS) +1 TOU, carry more
Nerves of STEEL (MARS) [ignore 1 pt of wound penalties]

Ambidextrous (MARS)

Charismatic +2 ChA


- - - - -
- - - - -
Habit, severe: The drink. A wee bit o' th' creature. Hooch. Firewater. Grog. The Irish handcuffs (I'm half Irish so I can say that. =) Juice. Moonshine. The Sauce. A wee tipple. Sweet, nourishing booze.

Phobia, minor: Orc Mages

Quirk, minor: Calls everyone "chummer" and lots of other made-up words that don't make any sense and no one's ever heard of.

- - - - -

- - - - -
Cybergear: (10)/16 strain.

Reinforced Frame (FG) (1) +2 TOU
Range Data Systems[lvl 2] (FG) (2) -4 Range shooting penalties total
Bio Strength (1) (+1 STR)
Nano Repair Systems (2) [heal one wound per day and +4 resist Bleeding Out. 50% to reject any poison or disease]

Expanded Detection and Security (2) [+2 Notice and Danger Sense edge.]

Core Electronics Package (1) [+4 Repair and Common Knowledge]

Cyber Wired System lvl 1 (1) (+1 AGL)($12K)


hip flask full of bourbon
canteen full of bourbon
another canteen full of bourbon


GRENADES:::(pg 69)




POWER armor:

Size: 3
+12 MDC Armour, +3 Toughness
Strength d12+5
Flight System (Pace 24, Climb 2)
Stealth field: Free action to activate. -4 to detect. Ends if user attacks or does something really un-steathfully.
PAce: 8/ d10

Hand held: 2 x Wilks 227. 18/36/72 2d6+1 ROF 2 2AP 24
Notes: Semi-Auto, 3RB

2 x mini missile launchers (Forearm Mounted) (anti-V) 4d6 AP 11 12
2 X Medium Laser 3d10 AP10
2 X dual linked Light Laser Systems +1 to hit 2d10+2 AP 5
2x arm Vibro Blades Str+d10, AP 4

SFD Huntsman Lightweight Personal Armor +5 armor, +1 Toughness(+2 Toughness w/ shawl),

Wilk’s 237 Laser Pistol, 15/30/60 2d6+1 1 4 16 3 24,000
Notes: Semi-Auto
Wilk’s 447 Laser Rifle, 40/80/160 3d6 1 2 20 5 18,000
Notes: Semi-Auto

NG-S2 Survival Pack,
2d6 × 100 credits.

Silver cross (d4 + STR)
tar paper
Eat or Die subscription
One canteen.
Two weeks worth of sustenance survival rations.

Current money: 7800


Human: Rich,
(2A)Filthy Rich
(2A) + Vigor

5XP: Charismatic +2 ChA
10XP: + Spirit
15XP: Upgradeable
20XP: +Shooting & Persuasion

25XP: Dodge, -1 to hit with ranged weapons


Age 13:
Running from the house, the blood from her freshly broken nose flowing freely, it dawn on Anya 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, " 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."

Anya 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, Anya, you can't come," Derrick said, -again-. "You're'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 Anya 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!"


"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 bull-hybrid 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 Ireland getting fed grapes by naked princesses. I'm here to re-lay a collapsing psionic 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, Anya. 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 bull-hybrid 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 hybrid.


Everyone died.

Except her.

No bullet could touch him. No weapon could harm him. He killed them all.
She just...ran. Ran past him. Through the fire and the flames and the pain and the horrible blue light she ran.

And where did she run?:

Anya sprinted away, at a dead run took a left and a right and then another lef, picking directions at random, anything to get away from...what was going on behind her, get away he screaming. True to his word, Vanilla IC had shut down all the security, just in case, so the doors opened like fragging Xmas at MallMart. She passed under a sign that said "Authorized Personnel Only." Guess she was authorized now.

The room looked real wiz, real smart-boy stuff. Lotsa wiz tech, but she didn't notice it, only had eyes for the the stuff all the scitech was centered around. Looked like a cross between a robot and a panzer, but shiny. The whole thing was one solid mirror, with a couple tubes that looked like drek-hot weapons. The room had no exits.

"Where are you hiding, little one? All your thieves are dead. You have something that belongs to me." came the voice from the outside hall. Her time was short.

'Maybe I can hide in here,' she thought, approaching the mirror-bot.

'Multiphase container detected,' said a disembodied female voice. 'Please place in transmogrification container.' An opening next to her dilated wide. It was the -exact- shape to The Bottle.

"Tell ya what. You don't know what you have, but just give me everything, let me pound on you for a couple hours, and then I'll kill ya quick."

No longer in a position to barter, or even think, she put the bottle in the opening.
Instantly the mirror-bot opened up, showing a cockpit both hard and cozy, with a frag ton of controls in it. 'Test pilot may now enter,' came the voice.

Anya entered the armor. "Now how do I cl--." the armor closed and sealed up.

'Multidimensional test number 1 starting in 10, 9, 8--"

"WHAT? No! NO!" Lord Borak shouted, sprinting, breathing hard, skidding to a halt just as the phaseshift formed a blue sheath around the power armor.

"YOU FRAGGING SLOT! have no idea what you've done....."

When Anya woke up, she was somewhere else.

'Greetings pilot. I am Victoria, the AI of Power Armor Mk Twenty One Dot Twelve. What is your callsign?'

Anya finally figured out that the voice wasn't being spoken, but coming to her directly from her personal chrome. That was at least better than bad.

Anya looked at the HUD. The exterior was strange. The land the GPS showed her was strange. The data coming up on the rolling feed was strange. She didn't belong here. It was like she had become a disembodied spirit. Or a ghost.

"I'm um...I'm Wraith."