Thread: InfiniteSpace: Transhuman Roleplay

Vital Statistics Chath ap Nraig, 5 years by Jupiter, 15 by Mars and 25 by Earth years. Description Chath would be best described as a mining ship. A grey spacecraft adorned with scrapes and dents from his many excursions in deep space, extracting minerals from astroids, comets, and at times, other spacecraft. Robotic arms jut out of both sides, equipped with various grippers, saws, welders, and the occasional weapon to ward off pirates. The hull would be best described as a fading manifest of what it once was, paint constantly peels and falls, in some places acts of artistic vandalism has occured, and most prominent, just under the left rear thruster is a gaping hole put in by an explosive. How such a wound was aquired, Chath could not tell you, so many are his adventures he cannot keep track of every happening. It would be nigh time for him to patch it up, but his worry of its cost has put him off. He is a natural chippery fellow, unusual for one who spends so much time in space. It is a rare occurance, if any, that he ever leaves his ship, most of his transaction taking place in the stars above a wide selection of planets. Although he is cheerful, he is quick to offense and anger and shows slight signs of schizophrenia at times, perhaps a consequence of a lack of companions. Although one might believe that the ship would be his only physical being, there is, in fact, stowed away deep within its, or should I say, his decrepit hole a shell of old which friends insisted that he purchase. Fit to a personal likeness of his own, this shell would be best described as a man-cat. Lean, rail thin, it sports a pair of purple ears, a tail and many other feline features. As appealing as it may seem, to both him, and rarely, to others who see him, Chath keeps the Shell hidden within his bowls, awaiting to be taken out ona special occasion. Of which he is still searching amid the redundant and tedious job of comet snaring and asteroid mining. Shell modifications There are no large modifications done to Chath's shell, other than his ability to extend 'claws' from his fingers. Abilities Due to his time always being, in a sense, cooped up AS his ship, Chath has no true specialized skills, nor abilities, he is no different than the average spacer who flies about attempting to scrape up a bare living. Time spent within his shell actually manages to make him look like a newborn attempting to walk. And failing. Lord knows how he fairs in zero gee. History and Goals 'Birth' was attained on the ruined planet of Earth. Ravaged by mutants and an out of control enviroment Chatch was quickly spirited away by beings he found best referred to as 'parents'. They did not stay with him for long. As soon as Earth's orbit was left, Chath was as well, alone, to fend on his own, as best as a little stream of data can do with no experience. It would be wise of him to thank the gods that he neededno sustenance or he would have perished easily among the unforgiving blackness. He was not known for his excellent trait of self-motivation and often found himself gliding among the stars, quite alone, searching for his next job. His first few nubile years were spent, or rather wasted, passing from planet to planet aboard a tiny shuttle, encased in a shell that should be called torture rather than a body. Money was hard to come by, rarely seen, and what was had, was quickly spent on repairs, or 5 minute entertainment flicks. He was not a 'man' of pleasure. Chath ap Nraig grew up working, and from then until present knew nothing but. Oh, yes, he'd heard of palaces filled to the brim with sensual pleasures, shuddering with moans and screams of the pleased. But it wasn't for him, it wasn't something he looked for, and only tolerated to an extent. To him, such things kept him from his job, from what he was supposed to do. Time passed, and he managed to earn himself a steady and safe position as a miner and a catcher of comets, quickly proving himself to be more than proficient. More time passed, as time is apt to do and Chath was once again, alone. Having broken ties with his former job he now earned his living roaming the reaches of dark space, tracking down spiraling crags of rock and prying their treasures from their stiff grasps. It was his way, and he loved it, knowing no other. What few friends he had urged him to purchase a more appealing and fitting shell for himself, other than the old rusted hunk he rarely tottered around in. He had no need for a physical representation of himself, he had no need for what he didn't use. but to please his friends, he did so. And now, it sat, hidden away like a coat someone got for Christmas they didn't like, and just stuffed it in the closet. This is the life of Chath ap Nraig. Miner of Stars. Catcher of Comets. Other Information Although a bare tolerater of the sensual arts, as time passes, as time does, he grows more curious as to its workings and wonders if there's more to this art after all and whether life can be more than digging hunks out of space.