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Vasiliy Hyrum Dragunov | |||||||||||||||||||
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0YxeTjFn70 Hyrum's Journal, 3/2/991, Centaxday I am in deep gratitude to the Faith that aspiring priests are allowed a private journal, elsewise it is quite likely I would have been thrown out of the order's juvenile ranks a long time ago. Though I have been raised in the ways of the vho'suud, or the Great Game, this language of war that encompasses every element of human communication, it is to me a great farce. We speak in the many-tongued ways of the Council, every gesture and slight shift of tone capable of conveying an entirely different message, and yet this language of war never gives rise to actual combat. The rush of adrenaline one feels when climbing a high tower, or making love, is nearly the same as that which is felt during violence. When equal is pitted against equal, with strength and cunning beyond those of words being the deciding factor. Those trite games we played as children were dismissed when we grew out of them, yet I still play with the younglings. Though I am much stronger than them, when they face me as a group, I feel as though I am one of the Varansari themselves, faced with a great horde of smaller creatures that desire my downfall. It is during these intense moments of heated competition that I feel my strongest. I only wish that I did not have to travel so far down to the lower echelons of the Pillar Cities to find the true joys of life. Hyrum's Journal, 7/2/991 ABY, Taungsday I have finished my trials, and been deemed fit to become a Father of the Faith. The tests were easy enough, as the vho'suud has never posed any real difficulty to me. I hide a massive tapestry of argumentation and knowledge behind a statement as simple as any pauper's, and none but the masters, those of the Stone Council, understand me. The other students struggle, as they have been raised by peasants and farmers, and wish to see the great heights of the Cities. I have, rather oppositely, been raised among the clouds, and yet wish to see that which lies below, the pure intensity of sport, the passionate truth of love. These things and more are forbidden in the Faith, and though I have always wanted to spread the Faith among the unenlightened, I dread being unable to ever again find another's warmth to pass the night, or the trial by combat that brightens the day. Hyrum's Journal, 7/3/991, Zhellday Today is the day I and my brothers choose the color of our Faithful's Shawls, that band of near-everlasting Tomuon cloth that ties us to the Faith and identifies us as priests, as Fathers. Many choose Gray, the color of stone, to please the Council. They are dull, and lifeless, as uninteresting as the stone beneath our feet. Forgive me for my words of anger, but their complacency and sheeplike nature will not bring the Faith back, will not restore us to our former glory. Other choose gold, that color favored by the more politically enterprising elder Fathers. These initiates are slightly more interesting than the grey-clad, but only slightly, and are often taken as apprentices to be taught how to weasel their way into the upper reaches of the Cities. Some choose green, to demonstrate a devotion to life, others blue, a declaration of their loyalty to pacifism and to decry violence. A select few chose orange, the color of flame, the color of the Cataclysm, the great firestorm that ravaged Avelon in eras past. Orange is nonetheless a sign of rebirth, a display of the natural process of life arising from death and destruction, and an indication of the new Fathers' devotion to spreading the Faith to those now lost and blind. I chose red. Hyrum's Journal, 7/4/991, Benduday I have been barred from the celebrations that normally mark an initiate's last days in sinful revel, an act that reveals the hypocrisy of the elders. The elders are upset. Greatly. No Father has chosen red for their Shawl in more than a century. No Father has followed in the footsteps of the only man of the Faith to wear a red Faithful's Shawl. This man, known as the Red Father, was made infamous when he led crusades against the barbaric nomadic tribes of the western Witchlands, leading other members of the Faith in bloody conquest. His actions were publicly denounced when he returned from his self-imposed exile. He was turned away at the doors to the Cities, and was never heard from again. His name was struck from the archives, his story almost following suit, though the Council decided that his story was to remain. He was made an example of war's purely negative results. I pray that this is not a foreshadowing of my own future. Hyrum's Journal, 7/5/991, Primeday None of the others will speak to me. My fellow Fathers, even the former priests-in-training whom I shared barracks with, some even childhood friends, refuse to be near me. I sit alone at supper, and though my studies continue, my red Shawl is a brand, its color almost a ward against friendship, against even common courtesy. I am always served food last, no matter when I arrive. Those who liked me most, who admired my inner fire, might have remained by my side, had I not abandoned my given name. Vasiliy, the name of an ancient adherent of the Faith. Boring, and the name of three others in my group of initiates. I chose Hyrum, and this is to be the name I am remembered by, known by, and recorded as in the archives. It is my own name, as my future shall be my own. Hyrum's Journal, 7/7/991, Taungsday They were not surprised when I announced my desire to leave the Faith. My journal is to be taken, and subseqently burned. Perhaps before it is, they might learn some inkling of why I left their hypocrisy-ridden, corrupted cesspool of dogmatic ignorance. As I write this, I feel the calluses begin to form on my soul. |
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1QUZzeZoPQ Hyrum's Journal, 2/16/999, Centaxday Just bought a new journal from a creepy man who wanted far too much for it. Sure, it's paper, and not a datapad, but still. Perhaps he thought he could prey on my sentimentality, or thought I was an idiot because of my garb. The shawl, sure, but the tools at my hips would alert any sane person as to my real vocation. Extermination is not what I expected. Eight years in, and I still haven't felt any sort of thrill in it. It's all thumpers and scrap mice, feeding on wires and datapads in this technology-driven city. They gnaw at Badweather's veins, and I'm the man they call in when the cancerous little creatures need treatment. Hyrum's Journal, 4/31/999, Taungsday Got my first real job today. Cthon infestation in the lower levels. Disgusting things, apparently, gauging by their pictures on the HoloNet. The "troglodytes" are apparently a major issue on Coruscant, and their appearance here has sent execs and drug addicts alike into a panic. Verdantis Dynamics had to hire someone dependable, they said, someone they could trust, and it seems mine was the first name they found in the holobooks. Going to need a better weapon than what I have now. Shock whips're good for catching critters, monofilament wire is even better for slicing them to ribbons, but I need something that'll afford me some more punch, and can light my way in the dark recesses. I'll have to work on that. I usually have to procure my own weapons anyway, what with most of Badweather's tech either being too expensive or overkill in the extreme. Shouldn't be too hard to think of something. Hyrum's Journal, 5/3/999, Primeday Verdantis is getting impatient. Still haven't finished work on my new toy, and I sure as hell do not want to go down there without it. I've got the punch part figured out, and the light (a subtle blue glow that shouldn't draw too much attention in the lower levels), but it needs more reach. I wonder sometimes who I'm writing to. Who's going to read this near-creditless exterminator's stupid little diary. Kids, maybe? Hah. More likely, the Faith'll pick it up just so they can burn it, too. Hyrum's Journal, 5/13/999, Primeday Tool's done. Added a chain between the grip and head, spun-plast. Cheap, but should be effective. Chain's to catch the Cthon's claws should they try them against me. Verdantis Dynamics is really anxious to get me down there. Funny, they won't even send more than two of their own men. Idiots, I'm sure, paid the legal minimum and given glorified flashlights that Dynamics calls blasters. Can't decide whether to bring shock whip or wire... both. Both is good. Maybe a blaster, too. Verdantis just got in a new shipment of L2040 MAPLEWEST blaster rifles, and want to test them out. They keep insisting to me it's not a blaster, but as soon as they come up with a better title than "Modular Pulse Weapon System," it'll be a blaster rifle in my books. Might be able to squeeze one out of them. The gods know it's for damn sure better than whatever their security force is hauling. Verdantis' philosophy is a lot like other companies': if one beam of near-ineffectual plasma doesn't cut it, the cost-effective strategy is to throw in more beams until it works. At least, for their drones that's what they seem to like. Hyrum's Journal, 5/28/999, Zhellday Transport'll be here any minute to take me down there. Threw on some finishing touches for my new toy. Can't decide what to name it, though. Hmm. Maybe... Raijin. my jurnal 5/29/99 somthng The pages have multiple splotches of blood dried on them, covering some words. damn things tor out my [...]. faster than expected. [...], can't writt straigt. drugs, maybe? [...] companies and their kriffing medcl [...]. might be geting old. wait. how olld am i? The ink on the page shows one final, indecipherable symbol, perhaps a number, and then trails off into a long, misshapen spiral that terminates in a drop of blood. Hyrum's Journal, 6/5/999, Centaxday Just woke up. Funny entry earlier, eh? At least the treatment was free. Hyrum's Journal, 8/17/999, Benduday First entry since... well, you probably know better than anyone else. Since the accident. That's what kids say, right? Idiots. My kriffing leg won't even move without a complaint. Verdantis Dynamics gave me a hefty paid leave, though. Funny. I'm self-employed. Guess it's time to work in the 'shop more. Maybe whip up something useful. Wasn't Raijin's fault, though. Those damn guards started shooting first time they saw something move. Wasn't even a troglodyte. It was a kriffing rat, for gods' sakes. 'Course, that doesn't mean it didn't attract the whole hive of Cthons from right around the corner. Made for some easy shooting, till the guards ran out of ammo. They looked like frightened chickens, and ran away, right into a Cthon ambush. Thought I'd save them some pain, despite their stupidity, so I offed 'em. Never did learn their names. Hyrum's Journal, 9/16/999, Primeday Whipped up something new. Should help with big groups of Cthons, and tough wrapping paper. Hah. Looks sorta stupid. Pair of scissors bound to one handle, but damn me to all hells if it doesn't cut like a dream. Great for offing stubborn Cthons, too. Just lock 'em in between the scissorblades, push the button, and a ludicrously overpowered piston just makes their heads go flying. It even changes shape; couple of twists and turns, and it turns into a scythe-blade-staff-thing. Still not sure what the kriff to call it. Gonna need to take some lessons for it, too. Don't wanna take out more of my leg than I already have. Hah. Hyrum's Journal, 10/2/999, Zhellday Managed to persuade Verdantis Dynamics to change my scheduled physical therapy to a training regimen. Got me hooked up with some old man who claims that I have a "gift." Sure, whatever gets me out of bed. Says he likes my scissor-sword-blade-scythe-whatever. Told him I named her Fujin. He gave me a weird look after that. Still, he seems like he knows his stuff. Handled Fujin like Bob-ulon Ross-alak with a holobrush. Says it lacks formality, though. Called in "inelegant." Wrinkly bastard didn't have to make it in what's basically a cave with a box of scraps though, did he? Hyrum's Journal, 1/20/1000, Primeday I love the training. Gods, it feels like I'm back in the Cities, sparring with the kids again. The kids never gave me bruises this bad, though. Though I do love the training, this old guy never wastes a breath with anything other than talking about some girl named Vashti. Ex-wife, maybe? Or maybe just some broad he wished he was young enough to court. Talks pretty damn highly about her, though. Not like I pay any attention. I'm here for the therapy and the bouts, not for a history lesson. Hyrum's Journal, 1/29/1000, Benduday Training's going well. For once, the old man goes to sleep with just as many bruises as me. Leg doesn't complain when I walk, thank the gods, but it sure does scream when the old man and I spar. Can't let him know that, but... something tells me he knows anyway. Paid leave's starting to run out from Verdantis, even though I found the cheapest apartment I could. Money doesn't seem to bother the old man, though. Never asks for my ID, so I'm sure he gets paid directly by Verdantis Dynamics. It's odd, though... Dynamics keeps sending me absent notices over the HoloNet that I keep missing my physical therapy appointments. Must be a bug in their system. Hyrum's Journal, 2/20/1000, Zhellday This page is also spotted with blood, and a small piece of cotton is stuck irretrievably to the paper, something dry and crackly sealing it to the journal. I got so close to beating that old sack of [...] today. He had me on the ground, staff at my neck, but a sharp knife hand and [...] sweep to his legs later, he was flat on his wrinkly [...], cracked stick [...] each hand. He looked [...] surprised [...] I was, and I let [...] stand, staff at [...] throat. I [...] big, stupid grin on my face. Bad [...]. I [...] you not, he literally flipped over me, landed behind me, and [...] me in my [...]. I, expectedly, was on [...] floor myself. He [...] started chuckling, told [...] "Well done," and left. [...] bastard. Hyrum's Journal, 2/34/1000, Centaxday Money's run out. I win more than I lose with the old man now. Leg barely squeaks any more. As I feared, Verdantis Dynamics doesn't exist any more. Companies in Badweather have this nasty habit of just going "poof" when the police starts poking around. Good thing there aren't any records of my employment there, though. Hah. Old man doesn't stop training me. It's weird. Does he still get paid? He just waves off any questions I ask. Still talks about Vashti. Now he seems sad. Never says any specifics, though. I think he might be dying. Hyrum's Journal, 3/4/1000, Primeday Old man's rooms were empty today. There was an aging janitor in there, sweeping the non-existent dust from the unoccupied floors. For a few seconds I hoped it might've been him when I opened the door. Looked almost like him. Mimed like he didn't understand me when I asked what happened to the old man. Decided I got too attached. Left, checked the HoloNet for new jobs. Hyrum's Journal, 3/12/1000, Zhellday New company's hiring. Calls itself "Veridian Industries." Sound familiar? I thought so, too. Decided I might try for it. Interview liked my scarf. Said he thought he knew me from somewhere. I laughed it off. Turned on the charm, as it were. Hah. It was the same man who hired me before for the Verdantis job. Told you they were idiots. |
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXpnI52cLEc Hyrum's Journal, 4/2/1000, Benduday Signed on for good this time with Veridian Industries. They've got a damn good retirement plan, and even better health care, so I thought why the hells not? They've got me cleaning up troglodyte infestations in the lower levels, again, but this time I convinced them to let me work alone. Always did prefer it. Others just muck up the works. Seems like Pyollian cake compared to last time. Then again, this time I didn't go into a coma, or lose 38% of the flesh in my leg. Damn thing still itches sometimes. Raijin and Fujin cleave through the troglodyte masses like a lightsaber through plasteel. Glad I got lessons from that old man. A single clear, circular stain ends the entry. Hyrum's Journal, 2/36/1020, Centaxday It seems it's been a long time since I've written in this old thing. Work had picked up those... what, twenty years ago? It seems like it's been a few minutes, at most. I suppose that when your days are spent sleeping, and your nights hunting, time loses a bit of meaning. It turned out that Veridian Industries was looking to expand beyond Badweather, and needed some extra, more experienced security. This was... fifteen years ago, I think. So, I of course signed on, seeking to escape those cloistering, disgusting streets and crowded skies. There were a great many more problems when we arrived at their forward base than I thought. They were planning on expanding into the Witchlands, for some idiotic reason, and I thought all I'd have to do was shoo off the odd barbarian raider or two. I was wrong. The Witchlands holds, beyond the Varansari (which are themselves an issue I'd rather not write about) and the nomads, creatures beyond description. Monstrosities and beauties alike, it seems that within the Witchlands the gods put everything their sick, twisted minds could imagine. There is one particular predator that has given me more trouble and fame than I ever wanted. The maalraas, an animal we had all thought was relegated to Dxun, that infamous moon, were discovered stalking the mushrooms and forests of the Witchlands. For some reason I could find them easier than the others, men who had become as hardened as I as we defended Veiridians' greedy frontier. I'd racked up more "nighthunter" kills by a landslide than any of my fellows, and so they'd started calling me their own resident "nighthunter." Though I hated the nickname, it stuck. Hyrum's Journal, 3/35/1020, Centaxday I'm still working on the Witchlands frontier, if you were wondering. I'm just getting on a bit in years, so they've sat me down in a nice, comfy armchair, and now have me commanding my hunters from a cozy office with a great view. I hate it. My men hate it, too. They know I'm getting slower, but giving orders from a cushioned seat makes my leg itch like crazy and it rubs both my men and I the wrong way. They are out there, in the field, while I sit here, sipping caf and relegating resources. Got a gift from Verdantis Dynamics for my outstanding (and seemingly unending) service. Set of russet-and-maroon GW-16 Rivet-class armour. Damn nice piece of kit for a desk jockey, but I guess it's only the best for the best. They thought it was clever too. My nickname being Nighthunter, the armour using di-chrome plating for 80% effective camo, and the maalraas "nighthunters" using some sort of camouflage that I have better luck against than most. Hyrum's Journal, 4/23/1020, Taungsday They're finally letting me go back into the field. I'll let you know how it turns out. Hah. Hyrum's Journal, 4/28/1020, Centaxday This entry's page is almost completely covered in crusted blood. Only two words remain legible. deja vu [st] Hyrum's Journal, 4/32/1020, Primeday Damn. It seems I'm not as lucky as I thought I was. Desk work's made me soft. Went on a routine patrol with my men, you know, simple stuff[st]ffz[/st]. Kriff, sorry. New muscles spaz out all the time. Anyway. Met a greater [st]kkkk[/st] sorry, greater krayt dragon. A hungry [st]OOnOoon[/st] one. Not the kind [st]oof[/st] of [st]modododo[/st] mood you'd want [st]tttt[/st] to [st]fiiiin[/st] find one in, at any [st]ro[/st] [st]RAY[/st] rate. Put up a hell of a fight, too. Took out [st]FLOOR[/st] four of my men before we got it on the defensive. Then... [st]waelL[/st] well, your guess is as good as mine. Woke up in this dingy little hospital room, with "Jax Pavan" on [st]meep[/st] my record. Seems [st]Verrzz[/st] [st]Veridiee[/st] Veridian Industries had disappeared just as easily as its last iteration. They left me with a [st]heItTl[/st] hell of a [st]giiififi[/st] gift, though. Seeing as how the [st]monica[/st] moniker "K-Labs" is all over my [st]merdik[/st] release forms, I have them [st]ehhh[/st] and whatever idiot that probably isn't even technically a [st]di[/st] [st]dor[/st] doctor they hired to [st]thi[/st] thank. Seems I received [st]e[/st] a procedure that isn't even [st]lusted[/st] listed anywhere [st]ALDERAAN[/st] on the HoloNet. Something [st]hooo[/st] [st]ttt[/st] the nurse called an "EAIP." Of course, when I asked what the [st]HEHT[/st] hell that meant, she blushed profusely, pointed at my [st]remarkable[/st] remarkably nude body, and asked me to kindly replace my bedsheets. Told you these muscles are panicky as hell. [st]enywhoozle[/st] Anyway, it's apparently an [st]"Endometr[/st] "Endoskeletal Augmentation and [st]im a plant[/st] Implant Package." Also, I apparently [st]dead[/st] died. [st]Regards[/st] Regardless, I'm now [st]moore[/st] "more than fit to be released," the nurse kindly informed [st]MEEP[/st] me with what I am almost certain was a [st]win-win[/st] wink. She's probably just glad that I survived the procedure, whose survival [st]rock[/st] rate is apparently... "slim." Like, no-one of my "advanced age" (verbatim, by the way) should have even lived to see another dawn "slim." Huuh, weerd. I'm tir- The entry ends with a noticeable crinkle in the paper and a large, unidentifiable stain. Hyrum's Journal, 5/1/1020, Benduday Slept for three days. Nurse said I'm fine. Almost sure I heard a "damn" thrown in there somewhere. Still tired. Hyrum's Journal, 5/8/1020, Taungsday Hospital's gone. Cot's still here. Not wearing anything. Nurse'd like that. Hah. Hyrum's Journal, 5/12/1020, Centaxday Kriffing hell. Everything hurts like a krayt dragon stomped on me. Wait, that actually happened. Hah. Anyway. Muscles seem to be working fine, now. Too fine. Hit my head on the ceiling when I tried to get out of bed. Room's ten feet tall, by the way. Still getting used to it. Must be what babies feel like. Ugh. All of my things're in a big crate in this empty stresscrete building next to the cot. Nearly broke my MAPLEWEST when I picked it up to check the energy cell and ammo count. Both were full. Weird. Clothing feels... weightless. And I've got a hell of a headache. Kriff. There was a ship waiting in the hospital's otherwise empty ship bay when I left. Already tuned to my biometrics and equipped with a week's worth of supplies. ID read it was an SXS-33 "Second Stage Turbine Blade" Courier. Found a note on the controls. Really high-quality notecard paper, too; had a sort of tasteful thickness to it. Beautiful calligraphy on the front read "Seek the Light." Sounds familiar. I'm sure it means something. I'll put it in the ship's cargo bay with the rest of my stuff. Might need it later. What the hell do I do now?[/st] |
ASSETS | |
DESCRIPTION A gift from Dragunov's previous employer, Veridian Industries, the Rivet-class armour's plates are coloured a russet brown. The underlay was, completely against all galactic federations, altered aftermarket to be a deep maroon. In addition, a small and simple temperature regulation unit was installed to compensate for the normally unbearable heat. Otherwise, the suit is completely identical to the commercial version, and is thankfully thin enough to fit under Dragunov's civilian wear. | |
DESCRIPTION This weapon of rather incredible construction and versatility was acquired in a similar pattern to Dragunov's Rivet-class armour. Afforded to him on a trial basis from Verdantis Dynamics, and after the company disappeared he decided to keep it. A variable weapons platform, the MAPLEWEST can be utilized in either a pistol or rifle form, and with a smart targeting system it is one of the most capable weapons in Dragunov's arsenal. | |
DESCRIPTION The second weapon designed and built by the Nighthunter, the Fujin was apparently made "in a cave with a box of scraps." Despite this rather understated description, the rather crass-looking weapon is actually quite ingenious and of high quality. The blades are durasteel, and extraordinarily sharp, while the handles and other metal components are synthleather-wrapped duraplast, and within the handle is the weapon's vibrogenerator and energy cell. The weapon is, in its "dormant" state, a simple pair of joined serrated blades which form a well-balanced and easily wielded vibrosword. When split, the two blades split and create a large pair of scissors. A hydraulic system present in the weapon can be activated via a button on the handle, and when pressed it snaps the blades together with an amount of force equivalent to the single action of a turbohammer. In addition, with a couple of twists and turns, the weapon can be transformed into a fully-functional double-ended vibroscythe. | DESCRIPTION The first truly unique weapon constructed by Dragunov, the Raijin was created to afford the Nighthunter both an ambient source of unobtrusive light, and a weapon that he could use to fend off marauding groups of Cthon. It is composed primarily of duraplast, with a synthleather-wrapped handle, connected by chain to a transparisteel case containing a blue glowrod. While by no means a complex weapon, Dragunov nonetheless takes pride in this simple expression of exceptional workmanship. |
DESCRIPTION [st]The K-Labs EAIP cybernetic augmentation process was something Dragunov most assuredly didn't ask for. He is still figuring out all the quirks of his new body, and nearly had a heart attack during a bathroom break wherein his wrist-mounted blades nearly... well, nearly made him less of a man. Regardless, these technological supplements to his original (and nearly destroyed) body are greatly beneficial, and his previous problems with maintaining concentration during flight and maneuvering are now non-existent. His combat abilities are additionally advanced, and his already-prodigious training is now directed through a body many times more powerful and fast than it was before. However, one downside is the loss of multiple major memories, some recorded in his journal, others not. Only time will tell if he realizes his true potential, something no amount of tech and D-Implants can.[/st] | DESCRIPTION Dragunov's recently-acquired SXS-33 Courier starship is something he takes great joy in flying. His previous attempts at obtaining a piloting license have met with immense failure, as his lack of concentration during tests and simulations have led to multiple near-death scenarios, something he is funnily enough not unaccustomed to. His K-Labs implants and cybernetics, however, have solved this problem and then some. Dragunov is continuously finding new smuggler's nooks and crannies installed by whatever previous owner it had, though its records stated "0 Light Years Traveled" when he acquired it.The Nighthunter has named his ship the Ryujin, and outfitted it with an aftermarket communications array, as detailed on the ship's product page. It is otherwise entirely identical to the base commercial model, and in Dragunov's opinion, an absolute pleasure to pilot. |
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