Cordon Sanitaire: Play-by-Post RP Characters

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Master Knight
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Jhessail -  Cassandra Gava

Name: Cassandra Gava

Gender: Female

Age: 32

Nationality: Swedish passport

Experience: Veteran

Appearance: 3rd generation daughter of Mongolian immigrants in Sweden, Cassandra still maintains an exotic appearance. Standing at exactly 170 cm tall, she appears to be of a typical Mesomorph build - fit, somewhat slim, with extremely long dark brown hair, usually kept in an elaborate braid. Her eyes are brown and her complexion pale.

Personality: Cassandra comes across as sombre and quiet, even cold.

Talents: Cassandra has a good knowledge of various plants and herbs, alongside with rudimentary first-aid and healing skills. Over the years, she has had to defend herself on occasion, so she can operate a rifle and how to swing a knife.

Biography: Cassandra was born in 2036, which spared her from the first MORS outbreak but ensured that her childhood, even in prosperous Sweden, was marked by poverty, austerity and frugality. As a little girl, she was taught how to make small traps to catch rabbits and squirrels that were prolific in the forests of northern Sweden. As the general situation in Europe and Sweden became worse and worse, she experienced the growing racism first hand, which led her embrace alternative sub-cultures instead of the mainstream. This was how she found out the neo-pagan Wiccans, with whom she could escape from the daily toil required for survival and from the increasingly rigid gender roles.

While she occasionally entertained thoughts of marrying and settling down, the bitter jealousy of the local blonds and the mundane racism she encountered on a daily basis made her forget that and to embrace fully the emerging role of a village soothsayer and lay healer, taking a larger role in her Wiccan coven as well. After years of often uneasy cohabitation, she was eventually accused of withcraft. Barely escaping the zealous fanatics, she made her way south, hoping that things would be better in more civilized parts of Europe. So far, she has been disillusioned, repeatedly, and the villages of Couilly-Pont-aux-Dames are just the latest stop on her aimless wandering. She has picked up bits of German, Dutch and French as she travels, earning her living through soothsaying, healing the minor ailments of the locals, and utilizing her hunting and trapping skills when no settlements were near.

Equipment: A rabbit skin satchel containing her medical equipment - gauze and other bandages, natural remedies like specific bark and berries, a surgery-level scalpel, scissors, number of actual drugs like antibiotics. A dark-green Fjällräven backpack containing two spare sets of clothes, a Trangia set for cooking, a sleeping bag, a crank flashlight, and ammunition for her .22LR Sako rifle plus a cleaning kit. A hunting/working knife "puukko" and a Leatherman multitool carried on her belt.

Worn: Brown hiking boots, forest camo trousers with side pockets, a brown leather belt, dark green hiking jacket with multiple pockets and grey fur lining covering the neck and wrists, black leather gloves, a wolf fur hat.

Weapons: Sako Finnfire .22LR hunting rifle with a rugged x2 optical scope. Basic knife.

Miscellaneous: Filling this in later if/when necessary.


Master Knight
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Teofish - Eirik Thorstensen

Name: Eirik Vatna Thorstensen

Gender: Male

Age: 36

Nationality: Northern Norwegian/part Sami.

Experience: Veteran

Appearance: Tall and broad, standing at 1.92m with thick shoulders, toned arms and weathered skin pocked with scars, especially a long one running down his jawline from his ear to his chin. Dark blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail and a thick handlebar mustache. Both with premature streaks of grey. His arms and torso are covered in tattoos. Many obviously home-made, depicting anything from classic burning skull motives and anchors to norse runes, snippets of verses, chains, a swirling ivy down his left arm, and inbetween the leaves, the name Aishah in small, barely noticeable letters. Has a slight limp, but doesn't seem hindered by it to any significant degree.

Personality: Can seem callous and blustering at first glance. But shows deep personal warmth and a caring nature once someone's "in the pack". Fiercely tribalistic in nature, loud, bordering on raucous, uncouth and irreverent. He often puts people who don't know him off with his brash nature. In spite of this he is slow to anger, and trying to argue with him can be like "shouting at a rock" as his mother once said. But once his fury is unleashed it's a terrifying spectacle. Chain-smokes his roll-up cigarettes from he wakes up til he goes to sleep.

Talents: Good driver, decent mechanic, superb boatsman, and a disastrously terrible cook. Knows well how to fish, and to a lesser extent hunt. Capable marksman, though not outstanding. His intuitive mechanical understanding also makes his a decent gunsmith. Nearly unbeatable in a direct physical confrontation both due to size, strength and experience.

Biography: Born on Herøy in the Northern Norwegian coastal region known as Helgeland to a fisherman. It wasd remote enough for them not to be affected much by the troubles during his early childhood. And he had an unusually "normal" upbringing. But when he was thirteen his father was lost during a fearsome storm in the north sea. At the same time the growing influx of refugees, and the government trying to alleviate pressure on the urban centres by spreading them out across the country, brought the first cases of the various pandemics to his home town. His mother succumbed to a suspected case of Cincinnati flu the following winter, and he was sent off to an institution in Bodø. He spent the next three years being shuffled between different orphanages and other institutions, including several stints of juvenile detention, due to increasingly difficult and often violent bahaviour. Until he finally escaped and began living on the, by then, rather dangerous streets of Oslo.

He first made his living pickpocketing on the Metro, breaking into cars, mugging fellow teenagers and other petty crime. He also came into contact with heavy drugs. His surprising rescue from a presumable fate of OD'ing in a backalley at seventeen came through one of the Neo-nazi groups that had become gradually more prevalent and numerous during the last years. He was already a prime candidate for recruitment into such extremist environments both due to lack of a social network, and the fact that in his adolescent mind the immigrants were directly responsible for his mother's death and all his ensuing misery. The group who picked him up were an offshoot of the Vigrid organisation. A group identifying heavily with old norse mythology and symbology, coupled with barely veiled neo-nazi doctrines. He got clean of drugs, moved into a collective with several other members, and was put to work in a garage owned by one of the senior members. He was also active in the unofficial vigilante activities such groups had begun performing. When the second great Mors epidemic hit four years later he had risen to become one of the main liutenants in the group that now largely controlled most of central and eastern Oslo, as well as a prominent member of a local biker gang affiliated with the organisation and functioning as its strong-arm. They worked actively to keep foreigners contained in almost ghetto-like sectors, all the time fighting downright street-wars with the Albanian, Vietnamese and Pakistani gang elements in the areas. Policing the areas they controlled themselves in what was pretty much death-squads in all but name. That was when he met Aishah. A girl of fourth generation Pakistani descent, she was educated as an intensive-care nurse and had worked at the national university hospital until the area got red-flagged by the government and was cordoned off. She was living with her parents in one of the ghettos at the time. Through some quirk of fate they fell deeply in love, though they both had to hide it from their respective circles. She forced him to reevaluate all his core beliefs and the entire way he lived his life. They lived together secretly for almost two years, while Erik began to try his best to instead work within his own group for the betterment of the non-ethnic and immigrant population in his sectors, earning their respect and gratitude. Eventually he decided it was time to try to leave the organisation alltogether. But this was not exactly well received. One night his flat was broken into and he was beat mercilessly to the brink of death and dumped in a public square as a warning with the words "blood traitor" carved into his arm. He awoke several weeks later in an ICU. He quickly found his flat had been all but stripped, all his friends were now enemies, and Aishah was gone. After arduous searching he learned from a friend of her brothers that her parents had panicked when he turned up almost dead and decided Oslo was no longer safe for them. They'd cleared out all their accounts and fled southwards to the continent. Likely hoping to escape direct reprisals from Vigrid.

At first he decided it was for the better. And that she was likely better off in any case. But as two more years passed and society and central authority gradually collapsed ever more, even in Norway, he decided there was no longer anything holding him there. The few friends he'd had outside the organisation had either died or left seeking better fortunes elsewhere. The winters were getting ever worse by the year, and his continued work against his old group was becoming ever more difficult. One crisp autumn morning he loaded what belongings he had onto his saddlebags and set off along the now largely dilapidated motorways for the continent to search for Aishah. There'd been years since any of the ferry lines were still operational, so he had to take the long route through Sweden, Finland Russia and the Baltics. On the way he supported himself by taking odd-jobs as a guard/bouncer for local establishments, protecting supply routes and various other "dirty" jobs. He was able to utilise some contacts he'd made in the biker community to get these. As well as one-off gigs as enforcer or the like. Due to the harsh winters and dangerous roads he ended up getting endlessly sidetracked and delayed. As well as with regular intervals losing hope in his mission and abandoning it for longer periods of time. He stayed for nearly three years in St. Petersburg working for an old associate, Dima Karazinsky who'd also turned his back on the neo-nazi community. There he got embroiled in what was only a marginally short of a small war, where paramilitary elements of Karazinsky's aid-organisation fought biterly to protect non-ethnics against an ultranationalist neo-fascist splinter faction of the Russian army who'd more-or-less taken over running the city under a brutally enforced "martial law". In the end he wound up having to flee the city after nearly all of his comrades were massacred. He started drifting from town to town, gradually gravitating towards the west. The next few years were largely uneventful. He drifted from town to town, city to city along the gradually crumbling highways. Some times searching for word of Aishah and her family, albeit with a little less hope each year. And some times simply trying to stay alive.

In his search for word of Aishah he gained a lot of experience getting in and out of red-zones. Since he knew she'd be trying to apply her medical knowledge for the betterment of the afflicted. And he eventually built something of a reputation for being able to smuggle uninfected people in and out of them. Which he began to see as a sort of calling, to repent for all the atrocities he helped commit in his youth. Then one day on one of these gigs helping a young couple with a child out of a red zone near Salzburg, they told him of a charming "Indian looking" woman who had saved the girl from bleeding out during childbirth. And her description was very much like how he remembered Aishah. They said she'd been forcibly evacuated with the rest of the medical staff once the zone went red. And that they'd heard from one of the doctors that they'd likely be relocated to France. Eirik wasted no time thundering off westwards. Eventually ending up in Couilly-Pont-aux-Dames, on the eastern outskirts of Paris.


- Steel toed biker boots.
- Patchwork motorcycle armour.
- Dark brown utility-cargo trousers with lots of extra pockets.
- Old Lynrd Skynrd t-shirt.
- Practical leather jacket with even more pockets.
- *Woolen insulating underwear.
- *Thick knitted wool sweater.
- *Old Russian "bear ****" hat.
- Bandana.
- Home-made studded boar-neck leather vambraces.
- Belt attached water canteen.
- Thigh-strap bag. (If anyone wonders what this is either google it or ask me to show you)
*(For winter. Kept in backpack at other times).

- Mauser K-98 with a rusted old spring bayonet.
- Sig P229 and a ****ty "soda can suppressor".
- Remington M870 sawn off and mounted to holster on motorcycle.
- SOG survival tomahawk.
- Buck knife.
- Smaller utility/survival knife.

- Vintage 2026 H-power Yamaha V-Max motorcycle.
- Small portable ammo-loading kit including various scavenged brass, powder, bullet molds etc.
- Various ammunition.
- Small toolkit for his bike.
- Military-grade gas/breathing mask with several disposable filters.
- Several extra canteens of water.
- Assortment of protein bars and other non-degradable food supplies.
- Bio-lite camp stove.
- Old mp3 player.
I'll ikely add more stuff as I think of it.


Master Knight
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Angelsachsen - Edward Bellamy

Name: Edward George Bellamy

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Nationality: English

Experience: An experienced fighter, former law enforcement and paramilitary member.

Appearance: Of middling height (5'8”), suntanned beneath fair hair, marked by scars, and an unshaven and prematurely lined face.

Personality: He has been described as charismatic, introspective and attentive, he is friendly, warm and a pleasure to drink with. He is motivated by comradeship, and an adherence to the Anglican church. A nationalist but able to hold his tongue.

Talents: Native speaker of English, fluent in French, and conversational in German. Had taken a course in evasive and specialist driving. Trained along military and law enforcement lines.

Biography: Edward was born and raised in 2042 in the East Anglian countryside. His father was an Anglican priest, and his mother a nurse. He was an only child until the birth of his younger sister when he was three. The parish, serving one of the new manorial land holdings, was in isolation and, along with its small size, meant that it was free from the troubles experienced elsewhere.

When the Second Great Mors Pandemic finally reached Britain in 2055, the government responded by cracking down and interning refugees and immigrants. To hold the new influx of detainees a number of internment camps were built, one of these being located nearby. All was well until there was an outbreak of Mors within the camp, and the immigrants revolted against the quarantine leading to a mass breakout. Edward's father, even a peaceful and devout man, was killed when the marauding escapees reached the parish.
Although the Army, Immigration Enforcement and Police caught the escapees and then liquidated the camp, the breakout resulted in the Mors Plague spreading into the local population. Whilst caring for those infected, Edward's mother was one of those that caught the virus and she died two months later.

Now orphaned, both Edward and his sister came under the care of their aunty who lived in a rougher part of the county. During this time, Edward came under the influence of a nationalist (but not so much racialist) paramilitary group who aimed to guarantee the preservation of English society and the integrity of the law, land and the faith. When he joined Immigration Enforcement at sixteen despite vetting processes, he was able to act as conduit in collusion between the two; providing intelligence to the paramilitary group, and manoeuvring the group into being proxies by performing operations that IE would rather not have been linked to.

IE, as a division of the Home Office, is responsible for enforcing immigration law and the processing of refugees within England. The paramilitary group was made up of many former and serving soldiers and so had a predominating military form in its selection, training and organisation.

But in 2063, after his sister found out and had disapproved, he left both organisations. There were little troubles with leaving them but it left Edward with a wanderlust. After hearing of possible well-paid employment through friends, he left for the continent and joined a group of English private military contractors, spending the past five years doing the odd contract across France and Germany. These contracts would include simple close protection and couriering, to performing small raids and patrols.

Worn: As above. Wears normal thermals or shirts with a fatigue trousers, wool Army pullover, woolly hat, gloves, scarf, surplus Army combat vest, and drawstring duffel bag. Also has a large green hikers rucksack and a windproof smock.

Weapons: M4 w/ 150 rounds, Glock 17 (car pistol) w/102 rounds, a bayonet and a collapsible baton

Miscellaneous (anything else worthy of note): Windup torch and radio, water canteen and bottles, hip flask, vacuum flask, fire striker, journal and Bible, multi-tool, gun cleaning kit, cutlery, bowl and cup, Anglican rosary, compass and travel map, spare clothing, sleeping bag, binoculars, a karabiner, and blankets. A camping stove, camping gas, tent, toolkit, lengths of rope, two Jerry cans, water bottles, any tinned and dried food, and further bedding are kept in the car.

His personal car is a dark blue Ford Focus Saloon. Caked in dirt and mud, some of the body panels are salvaged and thus of different colours, and most of the interior trim is missing. Has slotted covers on the headlights and a bull bar.



Master Knight
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Rallix - Walter Junger

Name: Walter Holden Junger

Gender: Male

Age: Born 2017

Nationality: American

Experience: Elite

Appearance: Large, leathered hands. 6'3"/190cm tall. Sunken, pale blue eyes. Sunbeaten skin. Tight cropped graying brown-blonde hair, trimmed beard extending across jawline and covering mouth on all sides. Prominent extended brow, just behind his chin, then his tall nose.

Personality: Extremely calm and collected. Studious and technical. Positive, approachable, eloquent, and charismatic. Horrifically brutal, aggressive, and merciless towards his enemies.

Talents: Former army officer, expertly trained with small arms, and heavily studied in weapons technology. Functional but non-fluent French language skills. Fluent German.

Biography: Disordered Scribbles in an old Journal. Quotations from various authors.
"Alik, maybe while it's not too late, tell your guys to retreat. Don't do this, don't do this. In any case, Alik, you and I will die. What's the point of all this? Who will win this? You and I will not win this, understand? If we or I see you in the action, I won't show you mercy, just like you won't, understand? It's better if you come to me as a guest. Retreat your guys. Have pity for their mothers, have pity for your guys, retreat them. Give the order."
"I'm not that big of a boss to give such an order."
"Alik, from my heart, I wish that you survive this, but you better leave."
"I don't have this choice. I have orders and I will obey them in any case."
"This great evil; Where's it come from? How'd it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who's doing this? Who's killing us? Robbing us of life and light? Mocking us with the sight of what we might have known. Does our ruin benefit the Earth? Does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you too? Have you passed through this night?
We were a family. How'd it break up and come apart, so that now we're turned against each other? Each standing in the other's light. How'd we lose that good that was given us? Let it slip away. Scattered it, careless. What's keepin' us from reaching out, touching the glory?"
"You're dying. See them birds up there? They gonna eat you raw. Where you're going, you're not coming back from."
"You will die someday too."
"Mankind is not realizing their gasping ignorance. They are drugged into a stupor by propaganda from infancy. No state, no religion, no ideology can justify murder in its name. Mankind must lose the tentacles of propaganda for all time, or it shall begin sleep eternal. We must become civilized."

"To put it metaphorically, in political philosophy war is compared to a game of strategy (like chess); in eschatological philosophy, to a mission or the dénouement of a drama; in cataclysmic philosophy, to a fire or an epidemic.

These do not, of course, exhaust the views of war prevailing at different times and at different places. For example, war has at times been viewed as a pastime or an adventure, as the only proper occupation for a nobleman, as an affair of honor (for example, the days of chivalry), as a ceremony (e.g. among the Aztecs), as an outlet of aggressive instincts or a manifestation of a "death wish", as nature's way of ensuring the survival of the fittest, as an absurdity (e.g. among Eskimos), as a tenacious custom, destined to die out like slavery, and as a crime. (On War, Rapoport's introduction, 17)"
"None of the above do I espouse. War is violence and counter-violence. Aggression and defense. Its reasoning and justification are found in the specifics of the conflict. There is no single nature of War except its removal of peace, the removal of men. Peace is man's great food. What do we fast for? What are we fighting for? The only thing certain in fighting a war is not that you will die, but that some of your friends definitely will."

I will take their heroes and soldiers, judges and prophets, fortunetellers and statesmen, army officers and high officials, advisers, skilled craftsmen, and astrologers. I will make boys their leaders. Children will govern them.
You will be pierced with sharp arrows and burned with glowing coals.
We are given no signs from God; no prophets are left, and none of us knows how long this will be.
"The good book says that he that lives by the sword shall perish by the sword, said the black.

The judge smiled. What right man would have it any other way? he said.

The good book does indeed count war an evil, said Irving. Yet there's many a bloody tale of war inside it.

It makes no difference what men think of war, said the judge. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way.
Men are born for games. Nothing else. Every child knows that play is nobler than work. He knows too that the worth or merit of a game is not inherent in the game itself but rather in the value of that which is put at hazard. Games of chance require a wager to have meaning at all. Games of sport involve the skill and strength of the opponents and the humiliation of defeat and the pride of victory are in themselves sufficient stake because they inhere in the worth of the principals and define them. But trial of chance or trial of worth, all games aspire to the condition of war, for here that which is wagered swallows up game, player, all.

Suppose two men at cards with nothing to wager save their lives. Who has not heard such a tale? A turn of the card. The whole universe for such a player has labored clanking to this moment, which will tell if he is to die at that man's hand or that man at his. What more certain validation of a man's worth could there be? This enhancement of the game to its ultimate state admits no argument concerning the notion of fate. The selection of one man over another is a preference absolute and irrevocable, and it is a dull man indeed who could reckon so profound a decision without agency or significance either one. In such games as have for their stake the annihilation of the defeated, the decisions are quite clear. This man, holding this particular arrangement of cards in his hand, is thereby removed from existence. This is the nature of war, whose stake is at once the game, the authority, and the justification. Seen so, war is the truest form of divination. It is the testing of one's will and the will of another within that larger will, which because it binds them is therefore forced to select. War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is god. "

Worn: Olive Green Chest Rig & Backpack, Watch, Radio Headset, French Maps, Compass. See spoilered image.
Weapons: BCM Jack Carbine AR-15 with 8 USGI Magazines, Red-Dot sight, rail mounted flashlight, Mid length suppressor. M9 Bayonet.


Master Knight
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Almalexia - Celeste Savona

Name: Celeste Adelina Savona

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Nationality: Serene Republic of Venice

Experience: Green

Appearance: Unusually fair skinned for an Italian, a trait inherited from her mother, as well as her soft, rounded jawline, nonetheless the bulk of her traits she inherited from her father. Her hair and brow are dark, oft hiding hazel eyes, her hair of manageable length and her brows thin and curved. Her smile is bright and disarming, though this a learned trait for the sake of manipulation more often than not. Her overall body is thin, and straying on the taller side, only barely avoiding a gangling appearance, with slim arms, legs, and waist, and wider hips than shoulders. Her face is usually obscured, in the practice of the Society of Painted Faces, painted in patterns of red and yellow, the colors of her Chapter.

Personality: Impetuous and decisive, born from a lifetime of thievery, street fights, and careful training, but at all times protected from real danger by her powerful patron. Can be difficult to read, as she tailors her expressions based on her desires and machinations, not her emotions, and reaching her genuine personality can take time. Regardless, she can come off as quite personable and attractive. To most, however, she is emotionally detached, having been robbed of companionship by plague or the intervention of higher ups for the sake of her carefully guided development, and thus friendship comes slowly, but once gained is unshakable. Long years spent in the confines of the looming tenements and cramped canals of the Venetian New City and her many misadventures through its winding passageways has given her a desire for adventure and to see the wider world, as her long lost parents once did.

Talents: Adept at stealth and concealment, nimble, and a fair shot with a crossbow. First language is Italian, functional in English.

Biography: Born to an Italian father and an Irish mother in 2049 in the verdant hills and highlands surrounding the Venetian mainland, her parents were part of a dying breed of traveling academics, the last vestiges of the old scholastic explorers who sought out knowledge in strange and obscure corners of the world for its own sake. Celeste's birth was not planned, knowledgeable of the state of the world and its decline as her parents were, but nonetheless they tried their best in the short four years she knew them. Work inevitably drew them away, on a new expedition to search for new and rare plants in the far island of New Guinea in the global struggle to find cures for the diseases that ravaged humanity. The Second Mors outbreak began not long after their departure, and though Oceania was largely spared, her parents would be quarantined, leaving young Celeste alone as the country rapidly descended into panic and chaos once more. Her caretakers, a family of Moroccan refugees whose visas her parents had helped secure, succumbed early on to the Mors, barricading themselves in their homes to die, and her parents would never return.

Alone, scared, and forgotten, she followed the stream of refugees shuffling towards the floating city of Venezia itself. Celeste was one of the lucky ones: born as a citizen of the Veneto Province, that had eventually broken away to form the independent Serene Republic, and having avoided contact with the plague due to her caretakers self-quarantine and sacrifice, she passed through the stringent quarantine and gained entrance to the city she would call home for the next 12 years. The historic floating city of 60,000 had grown enormously during the years of unrest and infection, and had ballooned to a population in excess of a quarter million, anchoring ramshackle quarters of the city to the old like so much flotsam. New societies and organizations flourished in the absence of the central government and in the social chaos wrought by the pandemics, especially in the lawless corners of the New City. Celeste would have inevitably starved, had she not been taken in by the core, founding members of the Society of Painted Faces.

They raised her, fed her, and gave her family, but in return her life was bound to the Society in service. It is easier to say what the Society is not, rather than what it is, but of what can be discerned of its activities beneath the oathbound secrecy of its members, is it is one of the main political parties in the electoral college of the Republic and a merchant house of some success, but under the table they operate smuggling operations, salvagers, thieves, assassins, and mercenaries. In this, they are opposed publicly and clandestinely by some two or three dozen other parties and organizations, including merchant houses and corporations, political parties, fraternities, mafias, and religious fanatic groups. Outside the city, they are one of the foremost “active-quarantine” operations, a hushed practice of forcibly removing infected or potentially infected populations from stategically important military or economic areas, often by massacre.

She is a favorite of her Initiate-Father, Giovanni LaCosta, and has until lately shielded her from the high risk or otherwise unsavory projects of the Society, relegating her to clean and relatively low risk jobs such as mansion-diving, but her growing frustrations with his coddling and her desire to prove herself in the Society have resulted in her finally joining a high profile mission to siphon a crashed oil-tanker off the Southern coast of France, beached upon a rock near Corsica. Her skills are indeed appreciable, and a valuable asset to the Society's objectives, as her light weight and dexterity contributing to stealth, her good eye a crackshot with her crossbow, and a good intuition, but her sometimes impetuous attitude and her lack of experience, especially in the world outside Venice, leaves her as somewhat of a liability in a team-based environment.

What follows is the mission log for Concerto Blackwater, 23/01/2062, by Rosso Chapter under command of His Honorable Capitani di Ventura Gregorio Abello:
0543: Feathers One through Five departed from the Anafesto towards the Hellespont for salvage and siphoning of the tanker. Total personnel is 36 condottieri, mostly green. Visibility is minimal. No other vessels detected on radar. All lights doused for secrecy.

Approximately 0600: First craft pulls up along the wreck of the Hellespont: signal received by flashlight to bring forward the container barges. The rest of the feathers board the vessel to begin security sweep.

0610: Alarm signal received. We're not the first ones here. May be too late.

0615: Contact met. Several shots heard from my viewing point aboard the Anafesto. Likely rifle rounds. A light aboard a small powerboat observed departing from the Hellespont at high speed.

0620: Two feathers retreat by boat from the Hellespont at speed. Signals from departing feathers and those on the tanker could not be made out due to poor signaling.

Approximately 0623: Hellespont detonates. All three feathers still aboard presumed lost with all hands, as well as a fourth that did not clear the blast radius. 1 Container Barge was lost due to oil fire.

0630: 2nd Feather arrives at the Anafesto. Sails raised to evade the spreading oil fire. Reports from the survivors indicate that another party was wrapping up rigging the vessel to explode when ours pulled aboard. No attempt to extract the oil was seen: therefore it must be assumed they had known of our coming well in advance, despite our attempts at secrecy, and had rigged the Hellespont for the exclusive purpose of eliminating our personnel. We can only speculate the identity of the other party, but it is more than likely the Russian mafia was responsible in light of our recent competition.

Final notes:
I regret to report that Initiate Celeste Savona was with the 3rd Feather aboard the Hellespont, and is presumed dead. I accept responsibility for her loss and the loss of four feathers, and will tender my resignation to Founder LaCosta.

Despite the failure of the mission, Celeste survived, and washed up on the shores of Southern France. She discovered the speedboat beached upon the shore further down the coast, and began the long trek North, tracking the group responsible for the death of thirty of her Chapter brothers and sisters. Barely surviving, she made her way through the wastes of France left behind by the Plague, bringing her to the empty outskirts of Paris.


Worn: Generally dressed for a night operation, combat boots, loose cargo pants, tank top, shell jacket (elaborated with cord and shoulder boards), beret cap (with two feathers, one red, one yellow, affixed by a brass pin), and a bandana.

Weapons: Modern carbon-fiber crossbow (black), scope, three bolts, beautifully worked stiletto knife.

Miscellaneous: Face paint (red/yellow), two days rations MREs, water canteen, 8 Venetian ducats, broken mp3 player, gas mask, first aid kit


Master Knight
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A_Mustang - Gabirel Reznik

Name: Gabirel Reznik

Gender: Male

Age: 24, born May 2042

Nationality: Northeastern US

Experience: Vet

Appearance: Caucasian, 5''8', brown hair, bearded, grey-eyed. Scruffy and ill groomed. Occasional twitch.

Personality: Paranoid as all hell. Distrustful of outsiders. Extremely confident with explosives, and can be rather clever and/or disturbing with his applications of them. Know for occasional overindulgence in alcohol.

Talents: Explosives. Shoot em, throw em, plant em, make em, defuse em. Does combat demo well under pressure. Knows how to hunt, basic survival, first aid, all the skills you would expect of a typical veteran grunt. Despite his paranoia, tends to be relatively calm in a gunfight, since his enemies are now openly fighting him.

Biography: Not that much to say, honestly. He was brought up in the county of Iron, in the NE US, to a farmer's family. One of many children, he eventually got involved in some of the smaller interstate conflicts, first planting IEDs for a local militia, then making them. Eventually he was picked up by the federal military and given formal training, becoming a dedicated demoman. He spent a year or two in the southern US, fighting against Mexican militants and cartels, eventually transferring to naval arm and leading a marine combat engineer team.

After several years serving faithfully, he was discharged and began to work as a private civilian security contractor on one of the few merchant vessels that still plied the Atlantic. Eventually the captain of the vessel became aware of the opportunities afforded on the open seas with few skilled armsmen, and the occasional piracy became a viable source of supplemental income. When the arm of the law finally caught up with the captain while Gabirel was on shore leave in France, the merc had no reason to return to his employer and ducked out, leaving him stranded and looking for meaningful employment.

Languages: English and Violence. Picked up some broken french along the way.

Worn (includes civilian clothing and any personal armour): multi cam tops, bottoms. Plate carrier and mag pouchs, 4 IV Class steel plates, (front, back sides), pouches for stuff, pack, 7.62mm class III rated kevlar helmet or OD green boonie hat.

Weapons: Zastava PAP M90NP - 5.56x45 AK, takes 5.56 STANG mags. Has full auto capable trigger group.  9 30-rnd mags, only ~150 rnds. M79 Thumper. 4 HEDP, 1 white smoke, 1 white star cluster. 8 1/2 lb TNT SND US MIL BLOCKS. About 20 blasting caps of various types. Three Pull style miltary detonators. 2 'Clackers' M57 detonators. 250ft' Det cord. 1 Claymore. 2 improvised directional AP mines (e.g. homemade claymores). 3 pipe-bombs (aka frags). Long knife, M1943 bayonet.

Miscellaneous (anything else worthy of note): 1 set multicam, 1 set alpine multicam, 4 season sleeping bag, tarp, woodland poncho liner, warming layers of various types, 1 camelbak, 2 canteens, 6 qts water, qt vodka in flask and bottle, 4 US MRES, 2 woodland set camo paints, 1 haphazard medkit, M50A1 Gas Mask, 2 total canisters.

Demo Equipment (sans explosives): Assorted batteries (1 cyclon 12v car, 24 pack AA, 5 '123', 9 9-volts). 500m 7mm insulated copper wire (black). Plug-in portable solder kit, with necessary solder, flux, and wire (no internal battery). E-tape, brown, black, green, red. Duck tape, military green, 100ft. Pliers, wrench, wire cutters assorted small tools.

Money: about 120 euros total sum.
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