Wow. This is amazing from the start.
Erm, sorry if I messed up the Backstory by adding some other details and elongated it, hope it won't hurt.
Name: Tyrin Hale Norlen
Species: Human
Class: Soldier
Special Role: Is Blank.
Backstory
It is the year 2268. This year, on some unremarkable planet in a remote spaceport, there lived a young man named Tyrin.
He was a man of average height and body build, slim yet rippling with growing muscles. That year, he graduated from the local military academy to serve straight in the nation's Militia Police, a low position from his standards, but it was better than nothing. He knew that the crime rate was high in his locality, being a spaceport and all that, but he was confident in his training and his discipline. He also had the reputation of being a pacifist (other than his pretentious wordplay and his quiet, somber demeanor), leading to much underestimation from most who knew him. Nothing could go wrong.
And nothing did. Just the common raids, retaliation against syndicates, repressing rebels, the usual. He gained many enemies while doing his best in his work, but also a few allies. It was a steady, normal life. Until his last mission.
A newly discovered drug cartel, run by a mysterious lord was raided by he and his comrades. It was different from the rest, filled with higher technology - some even of alien origin- and this kept them on the alert; he felt they were being watched. When the meet occured, though, they were all caught unawares of the syndicate leader, a real alien, a Praelian even! The battle was fierce, even with the advantage of numbers, but the Militia won in the end, after concerted efforts to finish it off, with Tyrin doing most of the work after being incapacitated in the left arm. Victory gave them all no joy, for in it's dying breath, all it did was laugh.
It had a detonator in it's hands- or what seemed to be it's hands.
Then they realized; what they saw was not just drugs and illegal substances, but bombs. As if in answer, the whole place filled with ticking and beeping. They had no chance.
Nearly a quarter of the spaceport was blown into bits and pieces in the following blast, the only image spectators saw was a rising mushroom cloud; nothing was left but a crater.
For the life of Tyrin, he thought it the end when everything turned to vivid white. Then the pain returned, followed by the natural reflex of opening the eyes. He wiggled his toes to check if he was dead, which he sadly wasn't.
Until he examined his surroundings, some sort of holding chamber by the looks of it, a medical hangar perhaps? There was a note on his right, written in the scrawl of a being named Armand.
'You are dead. Welcome to the Xeroth.'
Author
Topic: At the Edge of Space - II turn (Read 4657 times)