Inventory: Shepard's pistol is common. Nondescript make and model, various overheating problems, and a handful of clips, it's an item that quite literally must be pried from her cold, dead fingers. Appearance: Commander Jane Shepard is approximately 5'8", with the general physique of a marine and the scarring to match. She has chin length reddish brown hair, lightish eyes, and is always clad in the highest quality armor she can salvage/strip off her enemies in pieces. It always bares her favorite logo, however, the N7 rating on the chest-plate. Age: 30, give or take a few years added while she was dead or subtracted when she was regrown.
OC/AU Justification ; If AU, How is Your Version Different From Canon, and How Will That Come Across? (For you Mass Effect Nerds: Earthborn, Ruthless, Vanguard.) (For everyone else: She's kind of a jerk, but a jerk with noble-minded goals about hauling ass and saving the universe, goddamnit.)
If OC, Did You Run Your Character Through a Mary-Sue Litmus Test? And What Did You Score?
Samples ; Log Sample: Whatever asshole said 'Mornings were Hell,' was clearly thinking of Omega at the time.
Strangely enough, so was the guy who coined that 'Case of the Mondays,' piece of trash everyone spewed out at her once a week.
Suffice to say, Monday mornings on Omega were a fucking awful time to be alive, a problem three large, annoyed, and well armed Krogan were trying to solve for her. She'd been bum rushed out of the suite--something she'd have a chat with the owner about later--and landed outside with her pistol and half a dozen hung-over, anti-earthers.
She may have made one loud, and more than slightly racist, threat involving the Batarian doorman and things got out of hand. It was a good thing she'd had a pistol in the other, but fuck, you nick one Blood Pack's armor and they get goddamned uppity about it.
Shepard dove behind the water duct. They were reinforced titanium with a tungsten coating, kept it from freezing in the tubes and cracking out the oxygen seals. Also: useful for stopping shredder rounds. Nasty fuckers were using shredder rounds. On a lady.
Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic.
With a quick twist, she leaned and squeezed out seven shots in succession. She hadn't really aimed, beyond the general area of fire, so the various Tuchunkan' vulgarities were surprising and encouraging.
What the hell had she loaded her thermal clip with? Polonium? Nice.
"You know, we can do this the easy way, and you can walk away," Shepard shouted as she popped the heat sink and loaded another. Her gun let out a satisfying charge-hum.
Three assault-rifles loaded and emptied against the bulkhead, floor, and duct around her.
"So we do it the Krogan way, fine by me," she muttered, exhaled, and dove out from behind the column.
Fucking Monday mornings.
Network Sample: It was really not all that different from the VI recorders she was used to. The small replica jumped to life, her hands were square on, folded across her chest, and the little Shepard glared even in playback. It managed to capture the threatening lilt in her voice just a little too well.
Maybe there was an override for that.
['I'm Commander Shepard, yes, the Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite food joint in all of Sacrosanct.'] The little Shepard gave a sneer and the device deactivated.
"Damn, there's no way that will get me a discount."
Re: Commander Shepard
Shepard's pistol is common. Nondescript make and model, various overheating problems, and a handful of clips, it's an item that quite literally must be pried from her cold, dead fingers.
Appearance:
Commander Jane Shepard is approximately 5'8", with the general physique of a marine and the scarring to match. She has chin length reddish brown hair, lightish eyes, and is always clad in the highest quality armor she can salvage/strip off her enemies in pieces. It always bares her favorite logo, however, the N7 rating on the chest-plate.
Age:
30, give or take a few years added while she was dead or subtracted when she was regrown.
OC/AU Justification ;
If AU, How is Your Version Different From Canon, and How Will That Come Across?
(For you Mass Effect Nerds: Earthborn, Ruthless, Vanguard.)
(For everyone else: She's kind of a jerk, but a jerk with noble-minded goals about hauling ass and saving the universe, goddamnit.)
If OC, Did You Run Your Character Through a Mary-Sue Litmus Test?And What Did You Score?
Samples ;
Log Sample:
Whatever asshole said 'Mornings were Hell,' was clearly thinking of Omega at the time.
Strangely enough, so was the guy who coined that 'Case of the Mondays,' piece of trash everyone spewed out at her once a week.
Suffice to say, Monday mornings on Omega were a fucking awful time to be alive, a problem three large, annoyed, and well armed Krogan were trying to solve for her. She'd been bum rushed out of the suite--something she'd have a chat with the owner about later--and landed outside with her pistol and half a dozen hung-over, anti-earthers.
She may have made one loud, and more than slightly racist, threat involving the Batarian doorman and things got out of hand. It was a good thing she'd had a pistol in the other, but fuck, you nick one Blood Pack's armor and they get goddamned uppity about it.
Shepard dove behind the water duct. They were reinforced titanium with a tungsten coating, kept it from freezing in the tubes and cracking out the oxygen seals. Also: useful for stopping shredder rounds. Nasty fuckers were using shredder rounds. On a lady.
Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic.
With a quick twist, she leaned and squeezed out seven shots in succession. She hadn't really aimed, beyond the general area of fire, so the various Tuchunkan' vulgarities were surprising and encouraging.
What the hell had she loaded her thermal clip with? Polonium? Nice.
"You know, we can do this the easy way, and you can walk away," Shepard shouted as she popped the heat sink and loaded another. Her gun let out a satisfying charge-hum.
Three assault-rifles loaded and emptied against the bulkhead, floor, and duct around her.
"So we do it the Krogan way, fine by me," she muttered, exhaled, and dove out from behind the column.
Fucking Monday mornings.
Network Sample:
It was really not all that different from the VI recorders she was used to. The small replica jumped to life, her hands were square on, folded across her chest, and the little Shepard glared even in playback. It managed to capture the threatening lilt in her voice just a little too well.
Maybe there was an override for that.
['I'm Commander Shepard, yes, the Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite food joint in all of Sacrosanct.']
The little Shepard gave a sneer and the device deactivated.
"Damn, there's no way that will get me a discount."