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Cyric Looked at the guard, sizing him up: Tree trunk legs, barrel chest, a face that must have been absolutely thrashed by the ugly stick, and one of the dumbest hairstyles he had ever seen. From the way the pirate carried himself, he was at least a little gifted in hand to hand combat. His...

Cyric mentally sighed, as he said aloud, "We're at the spaceport. Get ready, 'cause I think that there is a welcome wagon waiting for us." With that, he opened the access ramp and strode confidently down it, not checking to see if Zatch was behind him.

Cyric cocked a silvery eyebrow at Zatch. "Go right ahead. I'll just finish the mission myself after you get shot by every guard on the premises"

Cyric absorbed the information like a sponge, looking for weaknesses in Vector Strikes. He found none, at least not on the surface. This one was going to be a challenge. "Good," Thought Cyric to himself, "I like an impossible target." He was yanked from his delusions of violence back to reality...

Cyric Stared blankly at Zatch, and then sighed deeply. There were times when he wondered how he had grown to call him friend. "Whatever. Anyway Zatch, You were the one who got the mission specs: What's the assignment?"

Cyric looked over the helm of "The Raven," into the vast sea of bright lights of the stars as he and Zatch raced towards the hell that is Seoul V. He looked down and took note of his clothes: He found himself clad in a black leather vest and black pants. His had on his favorite pair of boots...

Cyric was in bad shape. He stared down at the two holes in his shoulder and cursed silently to himself. There had been 4 different waves of guards, all dispatched non lethally. But, the price for his sharp shooting was taking several rounds himself. Even now, as he stood quickly wrapping his...

Cyric awoke to shaking. It was Zatch, who helped him to his feet. Cyric mentally took stock of his equipment: The only thing they had left him was his boots. It took Cyric waited patiently for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and when they did, he silently motioned towards the door. As soon as...

Cyric saw Zatch take down 1 of the four bounty hunters before he was knocked unconscious. Cyric Let loose with his blasters, shooting the arms and legs of two of the remaining three, disarming them and disabling them. The fourth swung a large Vibor-sword at him, at he had no time to think; only...

Cyric moved forward, taking exaggerated care to not step on the men writhing in agony on the floor. "I'm Cyric, and My friend here is Zatch. We've come to make you an offer." "Not one of violence, I hope?" Cyric smiled again, but this time it was almost comforting. "No, no violence. You work to...

Cyric Let the wide grin of a madman bloom over his face, and the five guards were visibly shaken by it. He then continued the intimidation by yelling out, "Alright boys! You've got three seconds to drop your guns before I make you!" "Oh yea?" One of them said, trying to conceal the fear in...

Cyric took notice, as any good warrior would, the ease with which Zatch wielded the Electro-Staff. "Note to self," He thought, "Don't piss off the Nautolan". Out loud, he said, "Saddle up, 'cause we just entered the atmosphere. Cyric landed the ship and the unlikely pair swaggered down the ramp...

Cyric thought back to the Intel folder he was given. "The world's only spaceport is in it's main city. She was last seen in a busted up church there, if I remember correctly." The Nautolan nodded again, and Cyric continued: Normally, I wouldn't take my armor off for the world. But, I'd rather...

Cyric eyed Zatch warily. He didn't trust the Nautolan. Then again, Cyric rarely trusted anyone. Still, it was a Ranger mission that brought the two together, and Cyric would be damned before he let his feelings get in the way of a job. Besides, if he tried anything funny, the Nautolan would find...

Cyric sat in the captain's chair of "The Raven", staring blankly down at the piece of paper he had been given. It read as such: "Welcome to the Waste Rangers! Please, as a commemoration of your acceptance, join us at the Dance Of Tears!" He had been invited to a party. A traditional party...

Cyric calmly put on his face mask, an intimidating black skull, and in an almost charismatic voice said, "Shall we go?"

As Cormick entered the cantina, he sent out a silent prayer to the force that there would be someone willing to play Saabac. To his both surprise and pleasure, he recognized a new recruit to the Underground. Rouge, he recalled. He walked over and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

He looked at her, not an ounce of embarrassment showing. "I was thinking something more along the lines of 'Credits'." He responded coldly.

At this Cyric let his hand drift back down to the side. "You need me for a job? All you have to do is say the magic word, sweatheart."

"Oh?" Cyric was totally in control as he casually moved his left arm to the Vibro-Blade hidden in the back of his suit, "Well, you said you wanted to talk, so...talk."