Post by Bixir on Feb 17, 2023 6:35:10 GMT
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night
General Information
Full Name:
Ræmen Corth
Codename or Alias:
Corth
The Broken Blade
Blade Omikron 7
Anonymity
Ræmen Corth is a prominent entity in some ways, and a complete anomaly in others. He is a known (former) Blade of the Collective, designation Omikron. As such, he is a classified saboteur, one who has accumulated a sour reputation with the Ravagers and other fringe groups, as well as many of the major empires across the stars.
Gender:
Male
Race:
Praxii
Age:
Thirty years by Earth standards
Place Of Birth:
Prax Centauri VIII, Praxis
Occupation/Status:
Insurgent
Enforcer
Mercenary
Alignment:
Hero
Factions:
The Collective (Formerly)
The Cosm (Formerly)
Starjammers
Canon Or Original?:
Original
Powers/Abilities:
Praxii Characteristics
Blade of the Collective
Blades of the Collective are efficient, ruthless agents, chosen for their mastery of an explicit skill or skills. They receive little to no training once they are initiated into the unit; all of its members are naturally skilled prior to joining their ranks. Ræmen’s skills as a Blade are as follows:
Cosmic Vagabond
In addition to traveling the universe as a Blade of the Collective, Ræmen has been forced to strike out on his own, with no one to rely on for support. Years of experience in similar situations have taught him how to survive in the worst parts of the universe, doing anything and everything in order to make it by like any other galactic transient. He makes the most of his resources, and knows the tricks of the trade that every space pirate worth his salt knows to keep others from pulling the rug out from under him. If anything, Ræmen is one of the best at doing that to others in order to stay ahead of the curve.
”The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Weapons/Items:
Blade of the Collective
Each Blade is granted an eponymous weapon, specifically tailored to their specializations. The Blade is the only piece of equipment that is issued to them; everything else is on the onus of the agent. The basic design of each Blade is the same: a sleek, pristine short sword, made of rare Azzon metal, and the insignia of the Collective emblazoned on the jewel-encrusted hilt. Azzon is a strange substance, able to alter its physical properties upon mental commands, such as extending its length or bending itself into different shapes for a variety of situations, lending itself to Praxii psi-operatives. Ræmen’s Blade is mostly standard, secured to his back by a magnetic seal. The one difference is that it is often tipped with toxins suited for the various races that he may be going up against on a given mission.
Praxii Capture Cable
A compact Praxii device that at a glance appears to be a dead man’s switch. Holding the button down primes the device, and releasing it triggers the Azzon within to shoot out as a collective tendril, ensnaring the intended target in a nigh inescapable bond. Azzon is more durable than titanium with a fraction of the weight, and has historically been used to contain Green Lanterns.
Collective Ur-Dex
The Collective uses a communications apparatus exclusive to their organization. The Ur-Dex is a portable communication and information module that operates on a circuit independent of standard frequencies, while remaining capable of interfacing with the latter. The Ur-Dex also houses all data that filters through the Collective servers, allowing an authorized user to access any information within or below their access tier.
Appearance
Image:
Physical Appearance:
Ræmen is a tall, limber figure, striking a looming impression for most who happen to cross his path. He is approximately six feet and five inches tall, rippling with a lean physique that is evident even from a glance. As a Praxii, his skin is purple, a distinct light lavender in hue. Much of his face is painted white, setting him apart from the rest of his people. He has trimmed his white hair in a short, roguish mohawk, further different from the military cuts all Cosm agents are required to maintain. Like the rest of his people, Ræmen’s eyes are yellow, narrow and nearly like that of a cat in appearance.
Clothing and Armor:
Ræmen dresses in the clandestine armor bestowed to all Cosm agents. It is a dark, sleek outfit, primarily consisting of light and medium plating occasionally segmented with armored padding to provide considerable protection while maximizing maneuverability. Dampeners in the metal and leather quiet even the most blatant movements, and can activate optic camouflage for a time, powered by the user’s body heat; if used for a prolonged period of time, the user can suffer significant fatigue and become nauseous. The mask and chestplate emanate a dull purple glow, reminiscent of the Cosm’s colors. Finally, the armor is pressurized, allowing the user to survive in a vacuum for as long as their oxygen reserves last.
Personality
“I have never seen a greater monster or miracle than myself.”
Michel de Montaigne
Sexual Orientation:
Tired Omnisexual
General Personality:
Ræmen’s persona is similar to most of his species: abrasive, dry-witted, and singularly focused. He is a blunt person, not caring much for courtesy or politeness. He gets straight to the point, physically and verbally cutting through anything that tries to get in the way. His background has taught him strong patience and perceptiveness, though this typically manifests as a distance from others that makes him difficult to approach. The mission is typically the only thing that catches his attention, everything else either slipping through the cracks or a fervent annoyance whenever they present themselves.
The Praxii seldom opens up to anyone, thinking that social interactions take away from the mission at hand or those yet to come. Much like his upbringing, Ræmen only seens to respect strength, spurning sensitivity and mocking sincerity whenever he comes up against it. He has a cruel sense of humor, often failing to realise the hurt of his barbs until the damage has already been done. Ræmen will more oft than not bite at the hand of casual friendship; such a man has no interest in pursuing that again.
Anything Else
Ræmen is voiced by Adam Driver.
Character's History
Siblings:
Vassa, Eldest Sister - Blade of the Cosm, Delta Class (Open)
Fracia, Younger Sister - Blade of the Cosm, Theta Class (Open)
Yari, Baby Brother - Cryptician (Open)
Mother:
Xevra, Blade of the Cosm, Theta Class (Open)
Father:
Relden Corth, Cosm Logistician (Open)
Other Family:
Zage (He’d rather not talk about it)
Juno (A professionalmiscourtesy)
Pox (It's complicated)
History:
“Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.”
Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game
The Blades of the Collective
The Praxii government, referred to solely as the Cosm, was an estranged hierarchy, rife with intersectional squabbling that threatened to rip the Praxii apart into crude factions every several years. In all the years of its civilization, there has seldom been a unifying figure, those that did not lasting nearly as long as they needed to in order to ensure a cohesive nation among themselves. The Praxii way was instability, even to the extent of the Cosm’s borders. It was in many ways not a cohesive nation, fluctuating with the territories of its greatest warlords, seldom giving way to any politician, no matter their foresight.
It was for this reason, among many others, that the Cosm was chief among the parties involved in the formation of the Collective. This treatise took place millennia if not tens of millennia ago, long before any of Ræmen’s family, or many generations before them, would ever see the stars. The Praxii, stubborn and belligerent people that they were, had no intention of playing second fiddle to anyone, least of all the likes of Knowhere, the Skrull or even the Corulex, let alone the Dreck. It was Praxii privateers that first happened upon Minerva, who were then forced to hold parley with many other third parties of the universe with greater powers looming over their ambitions. In the eras that followed, the Collective became the breeding grounds for the Cosm’s designs for the galaxies at large. And the beginnings of something darker, even by Praxii standards.
At first, it was all the enigmatic Minerva could do to keep the assorted representatives of the Collective in line. One of the first decrees to remedy this was a mutual agreement to form an independent order of operatives that answered directly to Minerva, so as to avoid further dissent among the ranks of the Collective. These agents - Blades, as they came to be called - served the Collective as a whole, pledging to forsake their original allegiances for the interest of what their nations (claimed to) represent. These were the best of the best of what the member nations of the Collective had to offer, their skill and effectiveness short of the Green Lantern Corps itself only in the lacking of power rings. For the past several centuries, the Blades carried out the will of the Collective to startling effectiveness, bringing a former band of would-be crime lords and warriors into a formidable arm of the cosmic underbelly.
I, Corth
The legacy of the Corths became that of the Blades, like countless other houses throughout the Cosm. Ræmen had no designs for greatness as many Praxii were wont to do, content in leading a life of service rather than the pursuit of power. Nor did his mother attempt to impress the latter upon him, as his mother’s mother had not, nor his mother's mother’s mother, and so on. Each of them were Blades of the Collective, serving the Cosm and the interests of its conglomerate in their own ways. For the Cosm, acting as a Blade of the Collective was just as much a service to the Praxii, in spite of the seeming conflict of interests. The Collective and its ways were rooted in the Cosm itself, the Praxii seeing their fates as intertwined with the network that they had (helped) found all those years ago. This sentiment was especially so in the house of Corth. Of all the lessons Ræmen remembered, this was above all others. There were few other things for the young Praxii to cling to, having only his predetermined path as a guide. A proper Praxii household.
”Happiness is only real when it is shared.”
Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild
Ræmen’s life was fraught with competition. Living as the second oldest of four was difficult, between performing behind the eldest while needing to lead those behind him. In a conventional society, this would have been more than enough for Ræmen to concern himself with. Praxii culture is not nearly as forgiving. Though bound by blood, Ræmen and his siblings may as well have been desperate soldiers tearing each other down to make sure that they weren’t the weak link, jash, to be severed from the unit. To succeed was to surpass your fellow blood, proof that you were the ideal candidate for legacy; for the older youth who failed to meet their parents’ expectations, the damage was especially lasting. Ræmen was not the unfortunate black sheep of House Corth… not yet. At this point, that title belonged to Fracia, the second-youngest. Vassa, Ræmen’s older sister, was the best of them then, if only just, given how she and Ræmen warred for mother and father’s attention. And Yari, for all his misgivings as the runt of the litter, proved himself exceptionally graceful, even more than his older brother. By the nature of the matriarchy of the particular slice of the Cosm that the Corths were a part of, the cards were stacked against Ræmen and his brother from the start. Furthermore, whatever say that father Relden may have had in these matters was moot, in favor of mother Xevra. As far as Ræmen can even remember, father Relden was wholly absent from his life, and those of his siblings as well. In spite of this, and everything else working against them, the four Corth siblings emerged from these trials changed Praxii, though ultimately better for it. They would be made, or broken, upon these new bonds. The Praxii way.
The test to become a Blade, for House Corth, was the final proof of family service as well as proof of service to the Cosm at large. Joining the order brought a Corth that much closer to continuing their tradition of hosting at least one Blade (if not more) each generation. Their mother served on the Proving Council, as the chair no less. The pressure could not have been more evident. It was far more grueling than anything that Ræmen and his siblings had faced before, fairly and unfairly. It was clear enough why he almost didn’t make the cut in the eyes of mother dearest, and why little Yari, didn’t. But Ræmen and his sisters triumphed, and were soon on their way into the next step of the rest of their lives. He would not see his brother again for a very long time.
Pride and Prejudice
The Corth second did not know what to make of the Blades as he prepared for their training proper. As prolific and revered as they were, the Blades were equally enigmatic, a sharp veil against the enemies of the Praxii. What kind of life would he be leading? Was there any option for him, considering the circumstances? The Praxii way was exactly that. Chosen… though not by him. This pointless curiosity burned Ræmen at both ends, unable to resolve it, and certainly unable to share it with others, least of all Vassa or Fracia. As much as their company as fellow Blades-to-be gave Ræmen some comfort, he knew that they could not, and were not the kind to understand what he was going through. They knew exactly what they were going to be, free of the burdens that their brother had, physically, socially, mentally, and so on. It was unique loneliness that Ræmen felt as he began his training. He couldn’t be jash, least of all now. The best of his people, indeed.
“There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men.”
Robert A. Heinlein, Starship Troopers
The best of his people had nearly less patience than mother Xevra. Ræmen found himself at the behest of tirades more aimed at his birth than matters of skill, the latter of which he found to be the more underhanded techniques. It was almost cruel, how one of the rare males in the academy was all the more suited to going unnoticed. A future as an Omikron, if he ever made it that far. The barbs wrote themselves, Ræmen between numbing himself to them or lashing out in his own, cunning way. He had not expected to find others like him in the training proper, nor did he. The males that he did see kept to themselves, not willing to expose themselves to the same groups that merely waited for an opportunity to prey upon Ræmen. Although he had exhibited semblances of it in his “upbringing” in his house, Ræmen’s lone wolf persona began to explicitly develop during this time. He learned to become familiar with himself, confident in his abilities and his alone; for what it was worth, it worked wonders in insuring he made it through this process in one piece.
Ræmen had expected as much, and was not surprised when it turned out that he and his sisters were going to be in separate divisions, even as initiates. After their training was completed (assuming all of them survived), they would be assigned to their specialization, and the cycle would begin anew. Mother Xevra was especially earnest to discover which specializations her children would pursue; rather, which specializations would be chosen for them. Even in their service, it seemed that their expertise was out of their hands. Ræmen had become one to take stock of each infraction, each incongruency in this livelihood that he could not simply ignore, even if he could not openly comment on such. He did not know how mother Xevra spoke with his sisters on their developments, though he had his theories. It was certainly unlike how she regarded him, their exchanges seldom more than brief exchanges over the holo-monitor. If anything, she was impressed that “someone of his calibre” had made it this far. No, that wasn’t it… she was disgusted. Hearing it from her made it all the more vindicating.
The time finally came for Ræmen to leave the academy and all its hazards behind him, and his career as a rarely christened Blade of the Collective, designation Omikron 7, ahead of him. Male Blades were considerably rare, and to have another male Praxii among their ranks was not something that went unnoticed. As before, Ræmen found himself being dispatched on missions considered beneath the qualifications of most Blades. His thoughts on the Cosm’s persistent influence in his life aside, these ventures gave the Praxii ample opportunity to see the universe at large, no longer under the loathsome shade of his “people”. The freedom his new position afforded him gave Ræmen new perspective; for himself, for the Collective, for the Cosm, and everything in between.
Performance Review
“Nothing happens until something moves.”
Albert Einstein
Ræmen’s life had always seemed a joke to everyone but himself, pushing the limits to which he would go to achieve a sense of success and self-worth in a universe that too thought of that as satire. Needless to say, Ræmen’s distance from the Cosm, and by extension, from House Corth and mother dearest, had a significant influence on how he conducted himself, personally and professionally, though not on his bitter ego. Ræmen was now as he would likely always be, a hardened agent of the Collective more defined by what he refused to be thrust upon him. He was particularly fascinated with how the other parties of the cosmos interacted with one another, limited as those experiences were within the scope of the Collective. One could only learn so far while serving an organization defined by criminal ventures and petty vendettas.
But Ræmen did learn, and at last made a realization from his current position. The universe was in no shortage of suffering, of those who sought to place themselves over others, for many reasons no less sickening than the oppression itself. And yet, there seemed to be a certain shortage of those in the opposite direction, those that would take a stand against such things. As it happened, he was not the only one who shared that belief; better yet, within the Cosm itself. The time had come, for once in the Praxii’s life, to consider an alternative identity to how he had been conducting himself this entire time.
Even for one whose entire social and professional identity had been determined by discretion and subtlety, Ræmen tread exceptionally carefully with his true intentions. He was no grand conspirator, believing himself capable of bringing the Cosm crashing down, let alone the Collective and everything that they were. Not yet, anyway. For the time, he was satisfied with undermining the greater system that he was a part of. Understanding the ants beneath the boot, or better yet, helping them in their situations, was something that Ræmen had come to excel in. The extent of his missions were beneath the notice of his superiors, content enough in sending Omikron 7 into the muck of the muck, cleaning up matters beneath the station of most of his peers. For a time, this worked particularly well for him, an ideal cover for familiarizing himself with these disparate groups as he cultivated his true identity as a friend of the people beneath, within the Cosm. The Cosm was hardly the only one Ræmen drew the ire of. The Ravagers, for one, a part of the Collective as they were, and many other powers not so different from them, in their interests or how they attempted to prove themselves dominant. It was all the same to the “Broken Blade”. While the Praxii’s reputation suffered - or worse, in the eyes of the Collective, stagnated - his notoriety among these groups blossomed, as someone who genuinely cared for the Cosm’s prey; even if his demeanor didn’t show it.
Ræmen’s adventures took a pointed toll on him, though not for the reasons that he might have thought. More than anything, he was a hardened renegade in this life that had been made for him, bitter and resentful, in mind and action. What he had not counted on was the softening that had come with this seeming edge. Being so far removed from what had made Ræmen as such had slowly, if surely, reminded him of the inherent goodness among these people, and the importance of protecting it against the former. It all felt so sentimental and naive, though it did not make the Praxii reel his head in disgust. Not really. Saying goodbye to his past self had been simple. Realizing that he may one day have to say goodbye to this… less so.
As all things do, the latest stretch of the Broken Blade came to a fatal head. Ræmen could no longer pretend to hide, nor did he want to. If he ever saw Praxis again, it would not be on welcome terms. Estranged from the sparse connections - and more memorably, disconnections - that he had made over the past several years, Ræmen struck out into the universe at large, at last, for the first time that he could remember since leaving his siblings, well and truly alone.
Once more, into the breach.
“...remember that what has once been done may be done again.”
Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Role Play Sample:
He peered out into the ocean, that cosmic wash of twinkling points of light and dust. Nearby, a green ball, at this distance no larger than the size of his fist, floated listlessly through the ether. He clutched that fist, his attention drawn to it as his thoughts raced, his other hand restlessly spread against the wall. Slowly, that green ball grew larger, the dark blue features bleeding across the sphere becoming more pronounced. Heavy breathing filled the spaces between the alarms, blaring with dull red flashes. The He moved his hand away from the wall, down to his side, and his breathing rose. It was still there.
The agent turned around, wincing in reminder of the scene. Boots splashed against blood and sparks, moving quickly towards the airlock at the end of the corridor. He stopped just short of it, noticing a familiar face lying beneath the panel for the first sequence. He knelt down, moving his hand along her cheekbone. Her eyes, barely open as they were, flickered. Her arm rose, weakly, and faltered back down, before it was grasped by him, raising it up, bringing him closer. The wince in his face became a wearied frown. She could only nod, as she peered at his mask.
”Tesh’la ran.”
With nothing more for it, he rose to feet, solemnly placing his hand on the panel to begin the airlock sequence. It had come to this. Who knew how long it would take to reach the planet… as the Praxii waited for the vacuum to suck him out towards his destination, he was reminded of what Zage had always told him:
“The best part of a plan is when it no longer applies.”
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night
General Information
Full Name:
Ræmen Corth
Codename or Alias:
Corth
The Broken Blade
Blade Omikron 7
Anonymity
Ræmen Corth is a prominent entity in some ways, and a complete anomaly in others. He is a known (former) Blade of the Collective, designation Omikron. As such, he is a classified saboteur, one who has accumulated a sour reputation with the Ravagers and other fringe groups, as well as many of the major empires across the stars.
Gender:
Male
Race:
Praxii
Age:
Thirty years by Earth standards
Place Of Birth:
Prax Centauri VIII, Praxis
Occupation/Status:
Insurgent
Enforcer
Mercenary
Alignment:
Hero
Factions:
The Collective (Formerly)
The Cosm (Formerly)
Starjammers
Canon Or Original?:
Original
Powers/Abilities:
Praxii Characteristics
- Enhanced Physical Traits - Praxii are significantly stronger than humans in peak physical condition. Their peak physical threshold is upwards of several hundred pounds of force, marginally greater than an Olympian athlete. They are a naturally hardened people, and can survive in mild to moderate hazardous environments throughout the universe.
- Enhanced Reflexes - Praxii have cat-like agility, and are naturally nimble with their movements. It is difficult to knock them off balance without completely winding them.
- Stinted Vision - Praxii have yellow, slanted eyes, affecting their vision in a number of ways. Their vision is similar to cats, granting them considerable night vision through most darkness, as well as a wider field of view. Similarly, their visible spectrum is lower than the human range, though their vision is that much more focused for the limited spectrum.
- Empath - All Praxii have an intrinsic connection to a primal force understood only by the esteemed sorcerers of the Cosm. The more willful members of their race can, with proper training, tap into this force. These abilities, should they manifest, primarily involve empathy, the extent of which can become as developed as the Asari or the Brood. In Ræmen’s case, he is capable of picking up on subtle emotive nuances and can, at times, nudge a conversation in the right direction.
Blade of the Collective
Blades of the Collective are efficient, ruthless agents, chosen for their mastery of an explicit skill or skills. They receive little to no training once they are initiated into the unit; all of its members are naturally skilled prior to joining their ranks. Ræmen’s skills as a Blade are as follows:
- Assassination - Ræmen’s specialties lie in assassination and subterfuge, seldom being seen by the enemy at all until it is far too late to stop him. He is trained to subdue many different types of species nonlethally or lethally, often with little more than the very Blade that he is known for. Though Ræmen is by no means legendary in his field the likes of Gamora, the efficiency in which he eliminates his targets is to the point that many do not believe that he had even eliminated his targets in the first place.
- Spymaster - In addition to being an efficient killer, Ræmen is a self-accomplished spy. He has learned how to make himself scarce, and how to redirect attention to assist with the former. Gathering intelligence is a key asset for Blades, something that Ræmen has taken to heart. He is a harsh interrogator, often resorting to blunt means to get what he wants than to attempt softer methods like diplomacy or bargaining. Even more than his affinity for killing, Ræmen is a master of intelligence and counter-intelligence. You will not find him; he will find you.
- Military Training - Ræmen is a veteran of the Cosm, and is familiar with their operating protocol and standard procedure. While he was trained in Praxii weaponry and tactics, his experience as a Blade has afforded him knowledge in similar fields for many of the groups within the Collective and abroad. He has experience commanding on frigate-class ships, and has a basic understanding of starship and vehicle repair and emergency first aid. He is by no means an expert in any of these areas, though he can competently perform those tasks as a former officer.
Cosmic Vagabond
In addition to traveling the universe as a Blade of the Collective, Ræmen has been forced to strike out on his own, with no one to rely on for support. Years of experience in similar situations have taught him how to survive in the worst parts of the universe, doing anything and everything in order to make it by like any other galactic transient. He makes the most of his resources, and knows the tricks of the trade that every space pirate worth his salt knows to keep others from pulling the rug out from under him. If anything, Ræmen is one of the best at doing that to others in order to stay ahead of the curve.
”The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Weapons/Items:
Blade of the Collective
Each Blade is granted an eponymous weapon, specifically tailored to their specializations. The Blade is the only piece of equipment that is issued to them; everything else is on the onus of the agent. The basic design of each Blade is the same: a sleek, pristine short sword, made of rare Azzon metal, and the insignia of the Collective emblazoned on the jewel-encrusted hilt. Azzon is a strange substance, able to alter its physical properties upon mental commands, such as extending its length or bending itself into different shapes for a variety of situations, lending itself to Praxii psi-operatives. Ræmen’s Blade is mostly standard, secured to his back by a magnetic seal. The one difference is that it is often tipped with toxins suited for the various races that he may be going up against on a given mission.
Praxii Capture Cable
A compact Praxii device that at a glance appears to be a dead man’s switch. Holding the button down primes the device, and releasing it triggers the Azzon within to shoot out as a collective tendril, ensnaring the intended target in a nigh inescapable bond. Azzon is more durable than titanium with a fraction of the weight, and has historically been used to contain Green Lanterns.
Collective Ur-Dex
The Collective uses a communications apparatus exclusive to their organization. The Ur-Dex is a portable communication and information module that operates on a circuit independent of standard frequencies, while remaining capable of interfacing with the latter. The Ur-Dex also houses all data that filters through the Collective servers, allowing an authorized user to access any information within or below their access tier.
Appearance
Image:
Physical Appearance:
Ræmen is a tall, limber figure, striking a looming impression for most who happen to cross his path. He is approximately six feet and five inches tall, rippling with a lean physique that is evident even from a glance. As a Praxii, his skin is purple, a distinct light lavender in hue. Much of his face is painted white, setting him apart from the rest of his people. He has trimmed his white hair in a short, roguish mohawk, further different from the military cuts all Cosm agents are required to maintain. Like the rest of his people, Ræmen’s eyes are yellow, narrow and nearly like that of a cat in appearance.
Clothing and Armor:
Ræmen dresses in the clandestine armor bestowed to all Cosm agents. It is a dark, sleek outfit, primarily consisting of light and medium plating occasionally segmented with armored padding to provide considerable protection while maximizing maneuverability. Dampeners in the metal and leather quiet even the most blatant movements, and can activate optic camouflage for a time, powered by the user’s body heat; if used for a prolonged period of time, the user can suffer significant fatigue and become nauseous. The mask and chestplate emanate a dull purple glow, reminiscent of the Cosm’s colors. Finally, the armor is pressurized, allowing the user to survive in a vacuum for as long as their oxygen reserves last.
Personality
“I have never seen a greater monster or miracle than myself.”
Michel de Montaigne
Sexual Orientation:
General Personality:
Ræmen’s persona is similar to most of his species: abrasive, dry-witted, and singularly focused. He is a blunt person, not caring much for courtesy or politeness. He gets straight to the point, physically and verbally cutting through anything that tries to get in the way. His background has taught him strong patience and perceptiveness, though this typically manifests as a distance from others that makes him difficult to approach. The mission is typically the only thing that catches his attention, everything else either slipping through the cracks or a fervent annoyance whenever they present themselves.
The Praxii seldom opens up to anyone, thinking that social interactions take away from the mission at hand or those yet to come. Much like his upbringing, Ræmen only seens to respect strength, spurning sensitivity and mocking sincerity whenever he comes up against it. He has a cruel sense of humor, often failing to realise the hurt of his barbs until the damage has already been done. Ræmen will more oft than not bite at the hand of casual friendship; such a man has no interest in pursuing that again.
Anything Else
Ræmen is voiced by Adam Driver.
Character's History
Siblings:
Vassa, Eldest Sister - Blade of the Cosm, Delta Class (Open)
Fracia, Younger Sister - Blade of the Cosm, Theta Class (Open)
Yari, Baby Brother - Cryptician (Open)
Mother:
Xevra, Blade of the Cosm, Theta Class (Open)
Father:
Relden Corth, Cosm Logistician (Open)
Other Family:
Zage (He’d rather not talk about it)
Juno (A professional
Pox (It's complicated)
History:
“Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.”
Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game
The Blades of the Collective
The Praxii government, referred to solely as the Cosm, was an estranged hierarchy, rife with intersectional squabbling that threatened to rip the Praxii apart into crude factions every several years. In all the years of its civilization, there has seldom been a unifying figure, those that did not lasting nearly as long as they needed to in order to ensure a cohesive nation among themselves. The Praxii way was instability, even to the extent of the Cosm’s borders. It was in many ways not a cohesive nation, fluctuating with the territories of its greatest warlords, seldom giving way to any politician, no matter their foresight.
It was for this reason, among many others, that the Cosm was chief among the parties involved in the formation of the Collective. This treatise took place millennia if not tens of millennia ago, long before any of Ræmen’s family, or many generations before them, would ever see the stars. The Praxii, stubborn and belligerent people that they were, had no intention of playing second fiddle to anyone, least of all the likes of Knowhere, the Skrull or even the Corulex, let alone the Dreck. It was Praxii privateers that first happened upon Minerva, who were then forced to hold parley with many other third parties of the universe with greater powers looming over their ambitions. In the eras that followed, the Collective became the breeding grounds for the Cosm’s designs for the galaxies at large. And the beginnings of something darker, even by Praxii standards.
At first, it was all the enigmatic Minerva could do to keep the assorted representatives of the Collective in line. One of the first decrees to remedy this was a mutual agreement to form an independent order of operatives that answered directly to Minerva, so as to avoid further dissent among the ranks of the Collective. These agents - Blades, as they came to be called - served the Collective as a whole, pledging to forsake their original allegiances for the interest of what their nations (claimed to) represent. These were the best of the best of what the member nations of the Collective had to offer, their skill and effectiveness short of the Green Lantern Corps itself only in the lacking of power rings. For the past several centuries, the Blades carried out the will of the Collective to startling effectiveness, bringing a former band of would-be crime lords and warriors into a formidable arm of the cosmic underbelly.
I, Corth
The legacy of the Corths became that of the Blades, like countless other houses throughout the Cosm. Ræmen had no designs for greatness as many Praxii were wont to do, content in leading a life of service rather than the pursuit of power. Nor did his mother attempt to impress the latter upon him, as his mother’s mother had not, nor his mother's mother’s mother, and so on. Each of them were Blades of the Collective, serving the Cosm and the interests of its conglomerate in their own ways. For the Cosm, acting as a Blade of the Collective was just as much a service to the Praxii, in spite of the seeming conflict of interests. The Collective and its ways were rooted in the Cosm itself, the Praxii seeing their fates as intertwined with the network that they had (helped) found all those years ago. This sentiment was especially so in the house of Corth. Of all the lessons Ræmen remembered, this was above all others. There were few other things for the young Praxii to cling to, having only his predetermined path as a guide. A proper Praxii household.
”Happiness is only real when it is shared.”
Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild
Ræmen’s life was fraught with competition. Living as the second oldest of four was difficult, between performing behind the eldest while needing to lead those behind him. In a conventional society, this would have been more than enough for Ræmen to concern himself with. Praxii culture is not nearly as forgiving. Though bound by blood, Ræmen and his siblings may as well have been desperate soldiers tearing each other down to make sure that they weren’t the weak link, jash, to be severed from the unit. To succeed was to surpass your fellow blood, proof that you were the ideal candidate for legacy; for the older youth who failed to meet their parents’ expectations, the damage was especially lasting. Ræmen was not the unfortunate black sheep of House Corth… not yet. At this point, that title belonged to Fracia, the second-youngest. Vassa, Ræmen’s older sister, was the best of them then, if only just, given how she and Ræmen warred for mother and father’s attention. And Yari, for all his misgivings as the runt of the litter, proved himself exceptionally graceful, even more than his older brother. By the nature of the matriarchy of the particular slice of the Cosm that the Corths were a part of, the cards were stacked against Ræmen and his brother from the start. Furthermore, whatever say that father Relden may have had in these matters was moot, in favor of mother Xevra. As far as Ræmen can even remember, father Relden was wholly absent from his life, and those of his siblings as well. In spite of this, and everything else working against them, the four Corth siblings emerged from these trials changed Praxii, though ultimately better for it. They would be made, or broken, upon these new bonds. The Praxii way.
The test to become a Blade, for House Corth, was the final proof of family service as well as proof of service to the Cosm at large. Joining the order brought a Corth that much closer to continuing their tradition of hosting at least one Blade (if not more) each generation. Their mother served on the Proving Council, as the chair no less. The pressure could not have been more evident. It was far more grueling than anything that Ræmen and his siblings had faced before, fairly and unfairly. It was clear enough why he almost didn’t make the cut in the eyes of mother dearest, and why little Yari, didn’t. But Ræmen and his sisters triumphed, and were soon on their way into the next step of the rest of their lives. He would not see his brother again for a very long time.
Pride and Prejudice
The Corth second did not know what to make of the Blades as he prepared for their training proper. As prolific and revered as they were, the Blades were equally enigmatic, a sharp veil against the enemies of the Praxii. What kind of life would he be leading? Was there any option for him, considering the circumstances? The Praxii way was exactly that. Chosen… though not by him. This pointless curiosity burned Ræmen at both ends, unable to resolve it, and certainly unable to share it with others, least of all Vassa or Fracia. As much as their company as fellow Blades-to-be gave Ræmen some comfort, he knew that they could not, and were not the kind to understand what he was going through. They knew exactly what they were going to be, free of the burdens that their brother had, physically, socially, mentally, and so on. It was unique loneliness that Ræmen felt as he began his training. He couldn’t be jash, least of all now. The best of his people, indeed.
“There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men.”
Robert A. Heinlein, Starship Troopers
The best of his people had nearly less patience than mother Xevra. Ræmen found himself at the behest of tirades more aimed at his birth than matters of skill, the latter of which he found to be the more underhanded techniques. It was almost cruel, how one of the rare males in the academy was all the more suited to going unnoticed. A future as an Omikron, if he ever made it that far. The barbs wrote themselves, Ræmen between numbing himself to them or lashing out in his own, cunning way. He had not expected to find others like him in the training proper, nor did he. The males that he did see kept to themselves, not willing to expose themselves to the same groups that merely waited for an opportunity to prey upon Ræmen. Although he had exhibited semblances of it in his “upbringing” in his house, Ræmen’s lone wolf persona began to explicitly develop during this time. He learned to become familiar with himself, confident in his abilities and his alone; for what it was worth, it worked wonders in insuring he made it through this process in one piece.
Ræmen had expected as much, and was not surprised when it turned out that he and his sisters were going to be in separate divisions, even as initiates. After their training was completed (assuming all of them survived), they would be assigned to their specialization, and the cycle would begin anew. Mother Xevra was especially earnest to discover which specializations her children would pursue; rather, which specializations would be chosen for them. Even in their service, it seemed that their expertise was out of their hands. Ræmen had become one to take stock of each infraction, each incongruency in this livelihood that he could not simply ignore, even if he could not openly comment on such. He did not know how mother Xevra spoke with his sisters on their developments, though he had his theories. It was certainly unlike how she regarded him, their exchanges seldom more than brief exchanges over the holo-monitor. If anything, she was impressed that “someone of his calibre” had made it this far. No, that wasn’t it… she was disgusted. Hearing it from her made it all the more vindicating.
The time finally came for Ræmen to leave the academy and all its hazards behind him, and his career as a rarely christened Blade of the Collective, designation Omikron 7, ahead of him. Male Blades were considerably rare, and to have another male Praxii among their ranks was not something that went unnoticed. As before, Ræmen found himself being dispatched on missions considered beneath the qualifications of most Blades. His thoughts on the Cosm’s persistent influence in his life aside, these ventures gave the Praxii ample opportunity to see the universe at large, no longer under the loathsome shade of his “people”. The freedom his new position afforded him gave Ræmen new perspective; for himself, for the Collective, for the Cosm, and everything in between.
Performance Review
“Nothing happens until something moves.”
Albert Einstein
Ræmen’s life had always seemed a joke to everyone but himself, pushing the limits to which he would go to achieve a sense of success and self-worth in a universe that too thought of that as satire. Needless to say, Ræmen’s distance from the Cosm, and by extension, from House Corth and mother dearest, had a significant influence on how he conducted himself, personally and professionally, though not on his bitter ego. Ræmen was now as he would likely always be, a hardened agent of the Collective more defined by what he refused to be thrust upon him. He was particularly fascinated with how the other parties of the cosmos interacted with one another, limited as those experiences were within the scope of the Collective. One could only learn so far while serving an organization defined by criminal ventures and petty vendettas.
But Ræmen did learn, and at last made a realization from his current position. The universe was in no shortage of suffering, of those who sought to place themselves over others, for many reasons no less sickening than the oppression itself. And yet, there seemed to be a certain shortage of those in the opposite direction, those that would take a stand against such things. As it happened, he was not the only one who shared that belief; better yet, within the Cosm itself. The time had come, for once in the Praxii’s life, to consider an alternative identity to how he had been conducting himself this entire time.
Even for one whose entire social and professional identity had been determined by discretion and subtlety, Ræmen tread exceptionally carefully with his true intentions. He was no grand conspirator, believing himself capable of bringing the Cosm crashing down, let alone the Collective and everything that they were. Not yet, anyway. For the time, he was satisfied with undermining the greater system that he was a part of. Understanding the ants beneath the boot, or better yet, helping them in their situations, was something that Ræmen had come to excel in. The extent of his missions were beneath the notice of his superiors, content enough in sending Omikron 7 into the muck of the muck, cleaning up matters beneath the station of most of his peers. For a time, this worked particularly well for him, an ideal cover for familiarizing himself with these disparate groups as he cultivated his true identity as a friend of the people beneath, within the Cosm. The Cosm was hardly the only one Ræmen drew the ire of. The Ravagers, for one, a part of the Collective as they were, and many other powers not so different from them, in their interests or how they attempted to prove themselves dominant. It was all the same to the “Broken Blade”. While the Praxii’s reputation suffered - or worse, in the eyes of the Collective, stagnated - his notoriety among these groups blossomed, as someone who genuinely cared for the Cosm’s prey; even if his demeanor didn’t show it.
Ræmen’s adventures took a pointed toll on him, though not for the reasons that he might have thought. More than anything, he was a hardened renegade in this life that had been made for him, bitter and resentful, in mind and action. What he had not counted on was the softening that had come with this seeming edge. Being so far removed from what had made Ræmen as such had slowly, if surely, reminded him of the inherent goodness among these people, and the importance of protecting it against the former. It all felt so sentimental and naive, though it did not make the Praxii reel his head in disgust. Not really. Saying goodbye to his past self had been simple. Realizing that he may one day have to say goodbye to this… less so.
As all things do, the latest stretch of the Broken Blade came to a fatal head. Ræmen could no longer pretend to hide, nor did he want to. If he ever saw Praxis again, it would not be on welcome terms. Estranged from the sparse connections - and more memorably, disconnections - that he had made over the past several years, Ræmen struck out into the universe at large, at last, for the first time that he could remember since leaving his siblings, well and truly alone.
Once more, into the breach.
“...remember that what has once been done may be done again.”
Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Role Play Sample:
He peered out into the ocean, that cosmic wash of twinkling points of light and dust. Nearby, a green ball, at this distance no larger than the size of his fist, floated listlessly through the ether. He clutched that fist, his attention drawn to it as his thoughts raced, his other hand restlessly spread against the wall. Slowly, that green ball grew larger, the dark blue features bleeding across the sphere becoming more pronounced. Heavy breathing filled the spaces between the alarms, blaring with dull red flashes. The He moved his hand away from the wall, down to his side, and his breathing rose. It was still there.
The agent turned around, wincing in reminder of the scene. Boots splashed against blood and sparks, moving quickly towards the airlock at the end of the corridor. He stopped just short of it, noticing a familiar face lying beneath the panel for the first sequence. He knelt down, moving his hand along her cheekbone. Her eyes, barely open as they were, flickered. Her arm rose, weakly, and faltered back down, before it was grasped by him, raising it up, bringing him closer. The wince in his face became a wearied frown. She could only nod, as she peered at his mask.
”Tesh’la ran.”
With nothing more for it, he rose to feet, solemnly placing his hand on the panel to begin the airlock sequence. It had come to this. Who knew how long it would take to reach the planet… as the Praxii waited for the vacuum to suck him out towards his destination, he was reminded of what Zage had always told him:
“The best part of a plan is when it no longer applies.”
