Alien Species Information
Species Information:
Height: 6 feet, 6 inches to 9 feet
Mass: 200-450 lbs
Alien Traits:
Large Wings:
While the Canos possess wings that are fully capable of lifting them in flight for short distances, their cultural scarification of said wings damages them too badly for anything longer than painfully slowed falls, or agonizingly boosted jumps. The wings have four large, rending talons on the ribbing, which the Canos use as natural weapons.
It is suspected that the wings evolved as a result of the tremendously mountainous terrain of the Canos home world. The Empire's orbital bombardment rapidly increased the subtle shift of the tectonics of the planet, and in the past seven years, massive environmental changes have forced the Canos to migrate north, nearing their polar ice caps: the chasms are filling with magma, and, while studies show that the Canos are not in any serious danger of extinction, the chasms are steadily filling in.
The leading expert on this exotic Xenos species, Dr. Durik Samirad proposes that the evolution of the ritual scarring was from the fact that Canos tend to attack each other's wings first, in combat, to knock their opponent out of the air; battle scars on one's wings would thusly be considered prestigious and honorable. Current census show that there are a grand total of nine thousand Canos without scarred wings: these are all infants under the age of 2 Standard months.
Claws, snout, and fangs:
The Canos are a somewhat bestial race, and carnivores to the last. Due to the lack of most forms of vegetation in their native terrain, the Canos evolved to become predators: to this day, the hardy species retains it's hunting claws, and deadly biting fangs. They have a dog-like muzzle, although the Basic word for 'dog' translates quite rudely into their native language.
Longevity:
Perhaps due to their diet, atmosphere, or their Syllenium-dust rich atmosphere, the Canos have a seemingly endless natural lifespan. This is almost never taken advantage of, due to the Canos' barbaric culture; their combat casualties are exorbitant. There are legends of thousand-year-old Canos, and talented warriors or lucky peaceful warriors have been known to live for upwards of one hundred and fifty years before unfortunate and seemingly premature death. The oldest living Canos at the moment appears to be in the equivalent of his late twenties or early thirties, and is approximately one hundred and sixty four Standard years of age.
Society and Recent History:
The Canos have never invented any technology more advanced than ironworking and Sylleniumworking. However, their home world is effectively a giant ball of Syllenium, and is incredibly valuable. Rather than simply conquer the planet and strip mine it, a free trader made a deal with the Canos: he would supply them with current technology, in exchange for 60% of their product from the Syllenium mines they had started. Eager to get rid of what the Canos had considered waste, they accepted.
About two hundred years have passed, and a generation of new Canos have become accustomed to the odd mishmash of barbaric culture and modern technology. The Canos have come into the possession of two Cruiser class ships, and countless fighters, as well as many modern conveniences.
Their barbaric society is focused around several totem spirits. None of them have been linked to previous life-forms on their planet, and all seem to be completely abstract, or perhaps based off of some other Xenos that visited the planet in ages long past. There is a somewhat rigid caste system, according to time of birth; there were four castes previously, including (rough translations) Warrior, Worker, Shaman, and Trader. in the past two years, a fifth caste has been added: Conscript.
Two years ago, the Empire's navy came into contact with the Syllenium-enriched planet. Diplomacy came to a stuttering halt when the Empire's diplomat foolishly asked his superiors, in the presence of the Canos ambassador, how he was supposed to 'deal with these dog-faced brutes'. The ensuing naval battle was brief, but the Canos were proven to be exceptional warriors.
In four boarding actions, the Canos captured four Imperial ships. However, their older, less armored ships were easily destroyed, and orbital bombardment quickly ushered in an end to the hostilities. When naval casualties were counted, the number of Canos dead from boarding actions was 39: the number of Imperial Stormtroopers they had killed reached 273: precisely a 1:7 ratio. The defeated and dishonored Canos eagerly joined the Empire, but declined to send one of their own to become a Senator: they reserve that right for when they have found someone who can fulfill its responsibilities properly.
Seeing the military prowess of the Canos, the Empire has recruited 2,300,000 volunteers to join the Imperial Army. This number is steadily rising due to the new caste. They learn quickly, and have a natural affinity for hand to hand combat; approximately one in six have become highly skilled with solid-core ammunition firearms, and all are rather mobile in even the heaviest of solid-shielding full body armor, which they prefer. Their common preference of firearm is an old design, deemed too expensive due to the high cost of Syllenium; the shells required a specific alloy to keep their penetrating properties, and still be converted into shrapnel when the mass-reactant miniature warhead went off. (blatant Warhammer 40,000 rip) These firearms have been termed 'bolters' by the Canos, who are strong enough to wield them in one hand; stormtroopers would have required both hands, and still have had difficulty compensating for the massive kickback from the three-quarter-inch shells.
The new Canos divisions have been sent across the Empire, and have already participated in dozens of skirmishes and fights. They have proven themselves immensely useful, and very dutiful: out of 2.3 million Canos over two years, there have only been sixty three disciplinary actions.
The Canos have unusual combat habits, and refused to participate in many standard training drills. They, universally, refused to fight each other, even in spars, especially members of the same unit. The root of this behavior problem has been isolated: their native culture focuses heavily on family. Abandoning, fighting, or hurting one’s family is a social taboo on par with murder in non-war times. However, rather than stamp this slightly problematic trait out, Imperial trainers allow it to continue; it builds a sense of unit cohesion that is rare in other fighting forces, and is fairly easy to work around in training.
Recently, there have been a few problems on their home world. The Canos soldiers have not been disobeying orders, but they have not been taking initiative, and the civilians have not been the least bit cooperative. The draft has come to a shuddering halt, as riots rage across the planet: eperts fear that it would be best to leave the barbarians alone, perhaps charging an annual tribute of Syllenium. However, for the moment, military control of the planet persists, and citizens are to rest comfortably knowing that order will, soon, be returned to their homeland.
Preferred Equipment:
Canos conscripts have shown a natural preference to heavier armor than imperial Stormtroopers, non-standard melee weapons, and bolters.
Solid-Shielding Full-Body Armor:
Coated with a light later of Syllenium, this armor is reminiscent of ancient plate mail. It is several layers of alloyed plates, with a layer of mechanical interface in the final layer: the only thing between the Canos wearer and these mechanisms is their thick hide, clothes, and a thin plate of Syllenium. The mechanisms inside the armor regulate temperature, provide minor balance adjustments, and provide structural support for the armor, reducing the strength required to move in the massive suit.
This armor has proven to be less effective at deflecting blaster shots, yet virtually impenetrable to the Canos’ own preferred weapons. Some may find it strange, but the Canos seem to prefer armor which allows them to shoot themselves in the foot safely, despite its enormous weight.
Backstory pt 1
Translated from Frank’s tribal tongue, into basic
I am Scthrk’lmrf-gdrr, a member of the Warrior caste. I have seen disaster, murder, and been enslaved to fight other’s wars. I have been forced to leave my home world, and travel the stars, by the very same people who murdered my family. I am twenty nine Standard years of age, and I am the only one of my species fighting for freedom. For the past two years, it has been a lonely war. Now, I am not alone.
When I was still a boy, the Empire attacked. My father shouted that fire was falling from the sky, and that thunder was striking the earth. At first no-one believed him, but then a plasma bomb struck 300 meters from our village. The plume of dirt, smoke, and ash was incredible. We all ran to our houses and hid. The next bomb was a direct hit.
The wall of our hut was vaporized. My father was closer to the blast than I, and met the same fate. I did not know where my mother was, but I heard her scream. I was spared from the blast, but I could hear my sister wailing. I stood up, using my wings to clear the dust, and saw my sister. Then, the second bomb struck.
A clod of burning dirt caught my twelve year old sister in the side: I darted over to her as fast as I could and tried to keep the flames off of her, but she was badly, badly scarred. Her left wing is all but destroyed, and she has lost the use of two fingers. My hands were seared, and my forearms blistered to the point of near-terminal agony. We fled the village, and hid in a nearby chasm. A shell struck near the edge, and the walls shook: I shielded my little sister from the falling rocks, as she was too delirious with pain to avoid them herself. We hid there for three days, until the bombing stopped; only then did we go out, into the light again. We were both very lucky.
Over the next few months, new tribes were formed out of the devastation. My sister and I were the only survivors of our tribe, and there were no more than thirty or so other survivors within a week’s travel. We banded together, forming a new tribe, a new family. The distinction between adult and child was no longer drawn: if you could help, you would help. This disaster was too great for us to hold onto our old standards. Eventually, the thirty of us made it to one of the spaceports. There, I saw strange creatures, frightening. They were small, pink, and had unusual mouths. They wore strange fabrics, and carried stranger weapons. Then there were others, clearly armed with guns, and armored in white and black. My sister needed medical attention, so I ignored them. If I had known they were partly responsible for this, I would have bitten their throats out. In retrospect, I wish I had.
As a member of the Warrior caste, it was my job to ensure my family’s and village’s survival. With my caste talisman hanging around my neck, I did that, taking my sister to a doctor. I was told that she would need to be given intensive care, and that it would not be cheap. Nodding, I went to see if I could get money to pay for my sister’s surgery.
Instead, I ran into two of the armored aliens. One said something to the other in a language I didn’t understand, and then nodded to me. The second one gestured at me with his weapon, and I tried to tell him I didn’t understand. He gestured again, and then the other one grabbed my wrist. He wasn’t half as strong as me: I could have broken them both in half with my bare hands. But, I didn’t: I was too worried for my sister. I should have.
They took me back to the first humans I saw, and gestured for me to get in a line that was forming. It was entirely young Canos, like myself; all of us were strong, muscular, and most of us were of the Warrior caste. I waited, confused, wondering why everyone ahead of me looked so worried, and afraid that if I left, they would kill me… I should have gone back to my sister. The line moved slowly, and as I got to the front, I could hear a mockery of our tongue. The human was trying to speak our language: it was laughable, but understandable. I listened, and realized the cause of their worry: this was a conscription line. I turned, and saw that the armored humans were watching us closely, and had their weapons ready. A sinking feeling filled my heart, as I approached the stand, and was forced to sign my freedom away in exchange for what seemed like a fair amount… It was enough to pay the doctors.
Three days later, I was loaded into a ship, with hundreds of my cousins. We were kept in the dark, unknowing what would happen. It was horrible. Even when they let us out, it was far too cold. The floors were hard, the air smelled funny, the ceilings too low, the food was horrible, etc. The list of complaints could go on forever… At least until training began.
We were first given oversized blasters, and put in firing ranges. I had seen these weapons used before, and so was not totally clueless as to the weapon’s operation: the occasional tzang-SCREAM made it clear that most others were not so talented with these weapons. I managed to hit the target at 50 feet twice; I outperformed everyone else around me.
Next was unarmed combat. Needless to say, there wasn’t much to teach us here: we were warriors by profession, and thus fighting was our trade. The droids built to spar with were quickly demolished: we never learned the martial arts styles that they taught, but our simple strength and power was much more effective in the long run.
Then, there was melee training. The first six month’s lessons were using our blaster butts and bayonets, until one of us stumbled across training swords and other proper weapons. The Stormtroopers didn’t even think about making us stick to the preprogrammed routine: we were ready for whatever combat situation we would be put in.
It wasn’t until the fourteenth month in space, in training, that I found a bolter’s design schematics. I didn’t have most of the principles down at the time, but we had been being taught how to maintain our blasters, and with a little creativity, I dismantled both of mine, and built most of a bolter. It didn’t work, and didn’t have any ammunition, but the stormtroopers took the hint, and within another month, we were training with good old fashioned solid core ammunition. This sat much better in our hands and hearts, and our training schedule was adapted thusly.
After the year and a half of training, we found out that we had been the test group. We were given suits of armor, embellished with Imperial designs: many of us took our own spare time to decorate our armor with old tribal insignias. I adapted mine to show many more imperial symbols, and mixed in my own tribe’s sigils, to finish the design.
A month after the training, we were sent back home. What we didn’t find out until we got there was that we were there for our first mission… this was the mission that made me realize just how much of a traitor I had been by not leaving that line, and dying for it. We were to control a protest, and keep it from turning into a riot. The Empire had decided that sending natives backed up by a few units of stormtroopers to do the job would be better than sending vast numbers of easily intimidated stormtroopers. They were right, for the most part. We were stationed at home for a month, and the whole time, it was protests.
I found out that, in the past year and a half, the Empire had tampered with our culture. They had forcibly introduced a fifth caste, children who would be raised to become soldiers for the Empire’s armies and navies. This draft was what was being protested; the fact that our children were being kidnapped and whisked away to become military machines. It was sickening. When I heard of it, I felt something go click inside me. A series of images flashed in my head: ammunition chambers, plasma rifles, bomb bays, burning villages, my father’s disintegrating body, my sister’s burned side, the white armor the stormtroopers wear… All of it, suddenly clicked together. It was all I could do to keep from opening fire on the stormtroopers.
There were no more than three hundred protesters, and yet the Empire had sent twice that number to quell them. Most of them were stormtroopers and only a few of them were Canos. It was an organized drill, the stormtroopers ordering us to fan out and hold the line. I followed orders, keeping my almost endless wrath under a lid…
I stood there, bolter in one hand, untranslatable word (pronounced ‘blaze’) in the other, and stared into the crowd. I recognized a few of the faces: people change a lot in a year and a half. But, one of them caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but focus on her. It was my sister. She’d healed well: she’d grown a lot, too. Waving a sign that said ‘Fight your own wars’, she shouted insults at us for betraying our people, and then stopped dead when she saw me. The sign slipped from her fingers, and she began to shoulder her way through the crowd.
I didn’t see the stormtroopers raising their weapons until it was too late. I should have known to tell her not to come too close: civilians weren’t supposed to cross the line we were holding, and she would have to in order to come close to me. And she did…
The blaster shot was louder than anything I ever heard.
My sister fell, and I caught her before she hit the ground. The crowd fell silent in an instant. She hugged me back, weakly, and whispered, “I’m sorry…” She died, then and there. I stood there, holding her, her life’s blood flowing from the hole in her left side. She wasn’t even fifteen
Backstory pt 2 and sheet
The crowd moved all at once. They, not surprisingly, didn’t touch us, but focused their wrath on the stormtroopers. There were several more sounds of blaster fire, and then the loud, rapid blasting of bolter fire. I didn’t know where it was coming from, until I realized I had my bolter in my hand. Three stormtroopers lay dead in front of me. I felt cold hate flowing in my veins, as I drew my blaze and hacked another one of them in half. One stormtrooper blocked my blaze, and I wrapped a claw around his shoulder. Hauling him up to my height, I bit his throat out, and threw him to the ground in a spray of blood.
It wasn’t a riot. It was a war.
It was a war that we were destined to lose. There were too many Stormtroopers, and the civilians were unarmed. I was the only Canos soldier fighting: the rest just followed orders, and held their part of the line. The stormtroopers broke, and fled, however, and the Canos pursued, into more stormtroopers. The crossfire slaughtered most, and the panicked rush to escape killed the wounded who may have had a chance to survive. I snatched a bolter, and ammunition, off of other Canos, who did not protest, and slaughtered dozens of stormtroopers on my own… I lost count of my kills.
But I couldn’t remain. They were looking for me, and once my blood cooled enough for me to think, I ran. There were too many stormtroopers for me to kill, and I would be no use dying in a suicidal flurry of destruction. There had to be some kind of resistance. And, I found it, in a merchant, smuggling Syllenium off the planet: I was startled when he actually understood me, but this ‘Rhys’ was good on his word, when he found out what had happened…
Sheet
Scthrk’lmrf-gdrr, AKA “Frank”
Former Imperial Xenos-Elite Trooper
8’ 8” tall, 350 lbs
PHYSICAL
Strength 9
Agility 6 -2 from armor
Dexterity 7
Speed 7 -2 from armor
MENTAL
Charisma 8
Intelligence 8
Willpower 7
Perception 6
FORTUNE 3
Combat= 14
Fix-it +4
Guns +5 (max 12)
Intimidation +7
Languages +4
Merits:
Lucky
Combat Tricks:
Channel (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Surprise Strike (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Flying Kick (Pool 2, Frames 3, Predictable)
Throw (Pool 1, Frames 1)
Hold (Pool 1, Frames 1)
Hard Strike (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Head Butt (Pool 1, Frames 1, Predictable)
Trip (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Knee Drop (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Bear Hug (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Parry (Pool 1, Frames 1)
Twin Attack (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Quick Attack (Pool 1, Frames 3)
Cut and Roll (Pool 2, Frames 3)
Strike of the Master (Pool 2, Frames 3, Predictable)
Alien Schticks:
Superior Physiology
Natural Weaponry (+2 Hand Damage)
Warrior Society (5 Combat Tricks)
Widely Experienced (Ally: Rhys Kyril)
(Possible) Equipment:
Two bolters (heavy pistols with shorter range and higher damage?), sword, Solid-Shielding Full-Body Armor (4 points of armor)
Incomprehensible: He refuses to sully tongue with basic. Well, at least that’s what he writes if someone asks; in truth, his accent is so thick and his fangs distort the sound so much that it is virtually impossible to understand him.