DRGN's Krogan Application

FORMAT:

Steam Name: TheMightyDRGN / LQ-84i Bladewolf
Steam ID: STEAM_0:0:19286320
Steam Profile Link: rrerr <-[this is a link]
RP Experience: I created this account back in 2008. I was roleplaying before that on another. That creates an excess of eight years at this point.
Tell me a cool Mass Effect Fact: Geth do not Intentionally infiltrate. <-[this is a link]

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Character Name: Drau Havyl
Age: Exceeding 1,400 years.
What can your character do for our ship? (Muscle, Maintenance, Triggerman, Comedic Act, etc.) : Muscle comes naturally, although they’re more partial to simply exerting the wisdom bestowed of their age.
Character Equipment: Heavy Krogan armor, befitting a Warlord. No Maul. No other equipment. It’s better if stuff is gained, if you ask me.
Moral Alignment: True Neutral.
Strengths: They are tempered through their age, and will often seek to impart wisdom to those who may seek it. Additionally, they yet exert the infamous strengths that Krogan are renown for.
Weaknesses: Tempering a metal can make it brittle. The countless centuries that’ve passed have otherwise jaded Havyl’s atypical approach to warfare, and they’re hardly a keen edge when it comes to displaying their prowess as a result – based on the grounds of often being unwilling.
Character Backstory. How or why are you here (One paragraph minimum, be creative!):
Funny. I thought I said short-summary, but this sort of just happened. Sorry, I guess. Sidenote; I conferred about the age and story. I was told it was a-okay.

Drau Havyl was brought into the galaxy in the midst of the Krogan Rebellions, circa 700 CE. The Galaxy had once again boiled over with yet another immense conflict of a particular scale in which the Krogan advance and expansion was finally contested by the Council, following a decisive victory over the Ranchi incursion. He was not born into a particularly valorous way of life – much like many Krogan at the time. Rather, his swift onset of maturity was merely exploited – he would have been cast into the war of attrition that was the grinder, composed of an entire array of Council forces. Havyl was quickly taught to despise his foe, for they challenged the claim of his kind. They were weak, and the Krogan were stronger and more plentiful. This natural pecking order insisted that their right to dominance was established.

Despite the various campaigns and losses that he saw through, he had managed to endure through some uncanny measure of misfortune. Rather than dying alongside the rest of his younger kindred, he would eventually come to witness the surrender of his kind – whilst likewise playing host to what was perhaps the greatest controversy the Galaxy could have ever conceived.  Born into warfare, his upbringing was not centralized on the traditions of clan life, and although he was deemed as one from Clan ‘Drau’, he demonstrated little to no regard to the word of his superiors. They’d failed to ensure that victory was theirs, and he carried a bitter weight with him as he passed on from Tuchanka. He would come to establish himself as a Pirate among the seedier spawn of the Galaxy, selling himself off so he could continue his violent throes yet still. He walked among the many Krogan who had left to consign themselves to an eventual death away from the hostile sands of their homeworld.

He was a Krogan, however – a hardy creature that would not readily succumb to a decisive end. It would take more than the dangers of simple thuggery to evoke death. He treated the misfortune that he carried, like many of his kind, like a harsh burden. To know that his kind’s eventual annihilation was forthright led him to act out of sheer arrogance and self-righteousness, for there would be no respite – not for him, or any other Krogan when it came to the day that they would perish. For the duration that he was alive, he would make the most out of what he could, furthering his own cause.

This steely resolve and boiling anger that he had held, however, began to churn into a drowsy melancholy with the passage of time. A creed of eternal war brought no sense of fulfilment, for it changed nothing. He was yet one individual, a single piece from the image of a broken species. No matter how much he could have tried, the fate of his kind would have yet remained steadfast. Every dead Krogan was nigh impossible to replace. Everything else in the Galaxy was simply plentiful in comparison, and much easier to replace no less. The gradual euphoria of battle began to grow dull over centuries, turning what was once a raucous warmonger into a halcyon being. He acknowledged that he was yet transient, and it was in the instance of the passing eighth century of age that he had come to truly acknowledge just what he had wrought.

He wore the guise of a warrior well. Through his trophies, he had earned an array of equipment – although in his endeavour to return to Tuchanka, he would have simply offloaded most of it to those who would have given such tools a practical purpose. Such weapons were made to shed blood, but his passage to the homeworld was not one with ill intention. Two centuries were spent in reflection alone, under the guise of the Clan that he had belonged to. He sought to take in the old traditions and history of his people – an opportunity that he had missed when he was brought into life, only to be cast into warfare. Havyl wanted to understand just what would be lost if his kind were to truly perish due to the genophage, for his past experiences had merely convinced him that a species of warmongers would merely cease to threaten the galaxy. He no longer wished to be a part of the problem in this regard.

Despite everything, however. His spoils would not promise him an easy life. The credits that he had accrued would only go so far. Havyl, in the advent of the eleventh century of his life, took to the premise of simply using the experience gained through his long-life of warfare as a bargaining chip for various odd-jobs. He sought to keep himself occupied, ever clinging to the hope that there may have yet come a day where his kin could have earned a pardon from their fate. Havyl had no legacy despite his age, although he knew that it was more or less out of the question due to the genophage. He confided no doubt to himself over the fact that he would seek to change this should the situation of proven him capable of doing so, but as things were – he was yet to remain on the job of ensuring that he could yet support himself through both ‘legal’ and ‘less-than-legal’ avenues.

His equipment was provided on the job most of the time as per a part of his demands, although he made a strict point of carrying a personal raiment alongside him wherever he went. A gross and grisly memoir to older, bloodier times. A token to reinforce his experience as much as it was a tool to promote his longevity. Even fourteen centuries into his life (a notion derived from the advent of the rebellion, as opposed to an actual birth-date), he yet confided a sense of stalwart duty to his own motives. So long as he had a steady income of credits in his name, there was little that could go wrong. He spared indulgence and luxury in the name of accruing something worthy of a legacy in credit – the purpose of which was yet to be decided. There would come a time where it would have purpose, but for now, he yet maintained his creed of work; he latest of which carried him to the drab regions in Hiromi city. He would have saw himself contracted by the Syndicate which ran an immense red sand operation, just one more line of work in his stead. He would have found himself boarding the Geisha – a retrofitted Batarian vessel made to transport numerous kinds of goods.

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