Kohrr Molta

**Kohrr Molta** is a lover of fire, fighting and strong krogan booze. Originally part of of the Palma reclamation effort, she joined the Council Recovery Corps to venture out into the galaxy and seek excitement.

## Biography

“*My ancestors were warriors, and yet I’ve spent most of my life being told I’m not allowed to fight. Now times are changing and I’m finally able to put myself to my intended purpose. You need muscle, don’t ya? Point me to whoever needs to be taught a lesson and I’ll roast them to a nice, charred crisp*” - Kohrr Molta

Molta was born amongst the ranks of clan Kohrr in 1877, one of the clan’s few successful conceptions of that year. Like most Krogan females her childhood was a frustratingly sheltered one. The other females of her clan educated her in the art of war, though it was made clear to her that she was only to use her training in self defense. These restrictions, although she understood the reason behind them, never sat well with her. Like any Krogan she enjoyed a good tussle, but craved to take it up to the next level, dreaming of brutal combat like the stuff in the legends told by the shamans. Hunting was one of the few tastes of true combat she got, so naturally, once she was six years old and of physical maturity she was an eager participant in local hunts. So eager in fact that an unfortunate encounter with one of the beasts of Tuchanka left her with a number of ugly scars across her snout. However, Molta proudly considered them battle scars and secretly delighted in her new look. At the end of a hunt it fell to her and a number of other females to prepare their kills for consumption. Molta found that she enjoyed working in the kitchens, chopping meat and applying copious amounts of fire and spice to whatever they were roasting that evening. Upon being considered a proper adult at age 20 in 1897 however she discovered a newfound passion in working in the distillery. Booze was a wonderful way to cope with the boredom, and it tended to make everything a bit more fun. And so, she took up a permanent position in the distillery, learning everything she could about how to best prepare Krogan liquor. She grew so fascinated by the process that she began to experiment with formulas of her own, one of which resulted in a rather nasty explosion. The burn left on her left shoulder is something that she to this very day claims was caused by a frag grenade.

As she grew older life was growing increasingly dangerous on Tuchanka, as female Krogans became an increasingly valued commodity. This would culminate in an age of Tuchanka’s history where the females of the clans of Tuchanka would separate from their brothers to go off and found their own clans, protected from the grasping claws of greedy warlords. When Molta was sixtyseven the females of Clan Kohrr decided to follow suit and departed the Thorny Barrens. Life in these female clans was a bit of an improvement for Molta, they needed muscle of their own, and Molta was more than happy to supply. Molta spent twenty years training tirelessly under her commanders to become a soldier they’d know they could trust. When she wasn’t making another keg of brain melting liquor she served in her new clan’s scouting parties, keeping a watchful eye out for anyone stupid enough to trouble them. Laying a hand on one of them was a crime severe enough for a sentence of exile or death, but that did not mean that there weren’t some that were blockheaded enough to try anyway. In spite of this these skirmishes were not the heated battle she’d dreamt of. She became a ruthlessly effective killer, but disappointingly most of the Krogan clans chose to respect their agreement with the female clans. Her life seemed to turn into an uneventful chain of excruciatingly boring routine.

In 1985 she attempted to join the reproduction efforts along with the majority of the rest of her clan. She did not do so joyfully but it was her duty and she felt obligated to do her part for her people. She was paired up with a Krogan too awkward for his own good by the name of Bragus Bult. He was kind when he was able to muster up the courage to hold a conversation with her, but the whole thing was always awkward. It got worse when their first attempt failed and no living offspring was produced. Molta tried not to dwell on it, after all, this was the most likely result under their circumstances, and she busied herself with her work. Six years later Bult approached her and they decided to try again, but once again to no results. The second time was easier than the first had been, less of a disappointment, and Molta was able to move on from the whole ordeal a lot easier. Yet another six years later Bult came back and they decided to try again, yet once more no living child was produced. There was no fourth attempt. That hurt. That hurt more than any of the times they’d tried and failed. About seven years later she found out that Bult had approached another female, one with a history of fertility, and that they had successfully had a living child. She could not blame him, it was for the best, yet it hurt, it hurt more than she would ever be willing to admit. She rejected all future proposals for repopulation,  being a parent was never something she’d personally wanted, but a part of her did feel as if she’d failed the Krogan species.

Over the next fifty years or so life on Tuchanka seemed to continue uneventfully, Molta’s work kept her busy, and going to bed appropriately drunk seemed to keep most of the bad stuff out of her head. A band of pirates made landfall on Tuchanka, established a small encampment for recruitment purposes and started to garner a fair bit of attention. Curious, Molta snuck off one night to see what these alien pirates were all about. She’d never met an alien in person before and she wanted to have a look, to see what she’d be up against if she was ever able to get off this damnable rock. They were overall a disappointing lot, the Turians too stiff, the Asari too deceitful, the Salarians too puny, the Batarians too arrogant, the Vorcha too dumb and she wasn’t sure if the Volus were even people or just huffing bags of gas. She had her first taste of alien alcohol and declared it an insult to the very concept of booze. She’d had a vague idea of perhaps signing up and escaping off Tuchanka, but this lot really wouldn’t do. She returned to her clan and was harshly reprimanded for leaving without permission though at this point she was hardly even listening. Her life was beginning to feel aimless, she did not have the temper to become a shaman, nor the experience to become a commander. Shortly after turning two hundred and thirty one years old an envoy from Clan Kohrr sought her out and informed her and her mother that her father was dead. Her father, Kohrr Gron, had left Tuchanka over eighty years ago and from what Molta had heard had worked as hired muscle for various criminal organizations. Molta had always been proud of her father for leaving to pursue his dreams, and she felt even prouder now. Dying in the heat of battle was about as good of a death as any Krogan could hope for. Apparently he’d been gunned down during a C-Sec raid on a smuggling ring operating out of the Citadel. That night, as Molta and her mother made a toast to her father’s memory she promised herself that eventually she’d find a way to follow in his footsteps.

In 2153 she had a rare opportunity to escort one of her friends who was to be the partner of a renowned Blood Pack warlord. He was held up on the station of Omega and due to an investigation regarding a number of dead security personnel was prohibited from leaving for at least another couple of months unless he wanted things to get ugly. Along with a mighty number of Krogan warriors they escorted her to Omega and Molta left Tuchanka for the first time. She was unbelievably excited once they arrived at Omega and it didn’t take long for her to abandon the rest of her party in order to explore the place. She missed the entirety of the negotiations with the Blood Pack warlord but instead got to have an exciting couple of adventures of her own. She got into an actual-for-real bar brawl which ended with her tossing a drunk Turian across the room, head first into a ventilation shaft, she happily paid for the damages. She was able to convince a pair of Asari to try her homemade booze, she fled the scene once the convulsions started. She even got a job offer from a local group of mercs who happened to be hiring. Unfortunately the other members of her party found her before she could sign up, and with a very grouchy look on her face was escorted back to the ship. After getting back to Tuchanka all she could think about was leaving. Just a few years later there was news about a strange new alien race being encountered called Humans and she was really starting to get exasperated at missing out on all the fun that was going on in the galaxy. She was determined to leave but her responsibilities seemed to keep her shackled to Tuchanka.

Everything changed however when an announcement of a possible cure for the genophage was announced in 2185. A cure was something many (including Molta) had considered impossible, and the ramifications of one if it was real could change all of their lives. There were a number of hurdles that needed to be overcome of course, but, like so many times before, Molta was forced to simply sit back and wait, hoping things would work out. Her patience was rewarded when the cure for the genophage was finally delivered to Tuchanka, every Krogan celebrated in joyful jubilation as the females were finally able to reunite with their clans, uniting the Krogan species as one. From the ashes of the ruined Tuchanka the Krogan Empire rose once again, and their people stood proud and powerful, finally a race to be feared once more. The Krogans encountered an unexpected problem early on however. With their newfound fertility and the rate at which Krogans are able to reproduce, it became clear that if the repopulation efforts were left unchecked there wouldn’t be enough resources to feed everyone. As such, certain females were encouraged to hold off on reproducing, at least for a time, until they had the resources to support such a massive population expansion. This suited Molta just fine, who saw a different opportunity in the genophage being cured. Female krogans were no longer as precious of a commodity as they’d once been, and so she hoped to finally be able to embark on the adventures she’d always been prohibited from.

War followed not long thereafter, and in 2186 the Terminus War erupted as the Krogan Empire and their new allies bared their fangs against the council races. Despite restrictions being somewhat lifted they were still in the early stages of their repopulation efforts and as such female Krogans were still considered rather valuable. As such she was allowed to join the Krogan armored guard, responsible for protecting Tuchanka from alien invaders. This was not ideal but it was better than nothing. Molta spent the ensuing war on Tuchanka, revelling in the few precious times she was deployed into combat to repel assassination attempts by the agents of the Council. But it felt as if they’d barely started fighting one enemy before another one appeared, this one entirely alien to both them as well as their old enemies. The reaper threat seemed to come out of nowhere and the more Molta heard about it the more frustrated she became that she was stuck on Tuchanka, patrolling the desert. It seemed as if news came in every day of giant alien monsters blowing up people by the millions, and Molta kept getting increasingly pissed off that she wasn’t allowed to see any of it. Her mood didn’t improve when she found out that that pyjak-humper Bult had gone off and gotten himself killed in glorious combat, jealousy had never suited her. She made numerous requests to be allowed to be deployed off-world, requests that were always denied. Embittered she watched as the greatest battle of her lifetime passed her by. By the end of it even the war with the council had come to an end, and while the rest of the Milky Way cheered, Molta was punching a rock into a thousand tiny pieces in rage.

Finally, all large-scale conflicts appeared to be over. The newly formed Krogan Empire was at peace, and Molta was officially done with being coddled. There was nothing in this universe that could get her to stay put and stay quiet at this point. For the first time in centuries the Krogans faced the possibility of actually being able to expand. A large band of warriors from Clan Kohrr were making plans to recapture the old Krogan colony of Palma, which had been abandoned like so many others when the genophage had hit them. The planet was said to now be a haven for pirates and smugglers, which sounded like a most tempting fight indeed. Molta, eager to seize this opportunity to finally join her brothers in battle, attached herself to this group of eager young warriors. There were of course others who complained, who insisted that her place was on Tuchanka. To shut them up she pointed out that as the Krogans were expanding they’d need to begin their repopulation efforts on their newly conquered colonies as well. And so, she was finally able to leave Tuchanka, joined up with younger Krogans more willing to let her embrace her warrior’s soul, and off they went to Palma.

Palma was a beautiful planet, though low in minerals. 78% of the planet was covered by deep oceans, and the rest was clusters of vast archipelagos. The atmosphere was breathable and the planet had a thriving ecosystem, which was all the Krogans needed to decide that it was a worthy prize. Molta and her clan brothers established a war camp on one of the larger islands from which they immediately began to carry out hard-hitting assaults on the pirate settlements scattered across the planet. Molta was finally able to participate in the armed combat she’d yearned for for so long, and she revelled in it. Their lives turned into a series of savage raids only ever broken up by wild night-time feasts with freshly caught local marine life, hard Krogan liquor supplied by Molta and a few other distillers, and bonfires so large they could be seen from miles away. Their reclamation efforts were turning out to be an astounding success, though this had mixed results as to their grave disappointment many pirates chose to flee rather than fight. For two wonderful years this was life, and Molta had never been happier.

But sooner or later, all good things must come to an end. The pirates were growing fewer by the month and the reclamation effort was turning into more traditional colonization. Molta loved working in her distillery tents and had come to really consider Palma her new home. But she was growing restless. The fighting had died down and now most of their days were spent rebuilding old structures from ages past. She craved excitement, drunken brawls and frenzied firefights, this quiet island life was nice and all, it made for a good retirement plan, but she wasn’t ready for it. She began looking at her options for venturing out into the galaxy once more, and it was then that she came across the CRC. She’d considered signing up with aliens once before and decided against it, this time though she was willing to take the chance. She said her good-byes to her clan brothers, assured them that she’d be back and urged them to call upon her if they ever needed her help, and then set off to join the CRC.

## Personality

Depending on the mood you catch her in Molta may either come off as rather cheery, or unbelievably grouchy. When allowed to have her way she’ll laugh, pat you on the back, make crude jokes and buy you a drink. She is however rather prickly when it comes to her honor, her capabilities and her worth as a soldier, and if she feels insulted, will happily snap you in two. She dislikes being told what to do by anyone who hasn’t earned her respect, and will not even attempt to hide it if she doesn’t like you. Some may take her grouchy attitude for hostility and as a result she may at times have some trouble making friends. However, anyone who gets to know her will tell you that her at times grumpy disposition is just the result of a lifetime of frustrations.

Whenever she does make a friend she tends to be fiercely loyal and may even turn rather protective at times in a hypocritical bit of irony. She’s rather open about her sexuality and if asked will shrug and tell you that stuff like gender and species doesn’t really factor into whether she finds someone attractive. Despite that she doesn’t respond well to being approached romantically due to a lot of bad experiences regarding the Krogan mass-reproduction efforts. She’s in her cups often, perhaps a little too often, and will eagerly encourage people to drink with her. Though if she offers you something from her personal storage, you’re advised to politely decline unless you’re a Krogan or VERY confident in your stamina.

### Exceptional Skills

* *Feel the Burn -* The Krogan of Clan Kohrr who once dwelled in the Thorny Barrens of Tuchanka have always been fascinated with fire. It is said that it was a battlemaster of Clan Kohrr who once trained the Vorcha Pyros of the Blood Pack, teaching them how to wield flamers with deadly efficiency. Molta upheld this tradition even when the females of the Clan separated from the males and ventured off to form their own. Since the cure of the genophage however she’s since been able to practise the old family tradition in the way it was intended. She revels in being able to unleash an inferno of destruction upon her enemies, her Krogan blood running hot through her veins as the thrill of battle makes her want to let out a triumphant, earth-shaking bellow. She’s more than willing to admit that this is far from the most efficient way to fight, but, as she puts it; it’s pretty fun though.

* *Booze, and lots of it! -* When not fighting along with the rest of her clan Molta works tirelessly in the Clan Kohrr distillery tents, making hard Krogan liquor. She finds the process not only rewarding, but also fascinating and is constantly experimenting with different formulas. Krogan alcohol (ryncol) is infamously strong, it would have to be since alcohol from alien cultures tend not to have much of an effect on them. And the distillers of Clan Kohrr are renowned on Tuchanka for making some of the strongest (and by Krogan logic, finest) booze on the planet. Molta has a great personal distaste for alcohol produced by other cultures, calling it “alien prune-juice” as she considers all of it far too lacking in potency. She’s been observed loudly complaining that if there’s no risk of waking up blind then it's no better than toilet water. The shamans of Clan Khorr tell great tales of Khorr warriors in ages past charging into battle fearless and stark raving drunk. As such being a distiller of Clan Khorr is considered a highly respectable occupation as you’re directly responsible for supplying the clan with their precious “war-milk”. A boring man (probably a Salarian) once said that combining some of the hardest liquor in the galaxy with a clan of flamethrower-wielding Krogans was “a recipe for a disaster on an unprecedented scale”. The same boring man probably also wears a helmet when he goes cliff-jumping to protect his fragile little skull. Molta takes great pride in her work and brings a personal distillery station with her whenever she travels. Unsurprisingly she’s noted to have a bit of a drinking problem.

* *Cooking with Gas -* A connoisseur of Krogan culinary arts who doesn’t use a flamer of some kind just isn’t trying hard enough, or so the flame-loving louts of Clan Kohrr would have you believe. It may surprise you to learn that Kohrr Molta did not become so proficient in the use of her beloved M-451 Firestorm for military purposes (at least not initially). Roasting a varren with the use of a flamethrower may not be the most effective way you could do it, but oh boy is it fun. Molta spent much of her youth in the kitchens of Clan Kohrr and is now considered a fairly accomplished chef by Krogan standards. Her skills in preparing food suitable for the Krogan digestive system range across a great number of dishes, all prepared in spectacular fashion. While her true passions will always lie in the making of alcohol one cannot properly enjoy a good drink without a fine slab of roasted varren, charred black on the outside and red and bloody on the inside, just the way she likes it.

## Physical Description

Molta is an average-sized Krogan female with dark grey skin, black plates and reddish orange eyes. Her shoulders and hips are broad and her limbs strong, thick and sturdy. In the eyes of a Krogan, she looks like a very healthy example of their species in the prime of her youth. The clothes and armour she wears tends to be in the orange colors of her Clan. Her tongue has a pearl-shaped silver piercing which she appears to be exceptionally proud of. Her snout is marked by the scratch-marks of some alien beast and her left shoulder is marked by burns.

Whenever she’s happy her face tends to soften up to the point where she almost looks quite cute, even to aliens. Her eyes will light up, the dimples in her cheeks will become more visible and some have claimed her little stump of a tail even waggles a little. She has a small nose and large expressive eyes which tends to add to this rare bit of charm. Yet once cross she will narrow her eyes, bare her fangs and her face will tense up into a horrid grimace of fiery fury. Much like other Krogans she moves like a lumbering brute, there is little grace in her movement but a fair bit of efficiency. In battle she looks much like a giant furious obelisk, unyielding and always advancing, perhaps slowly, but never stopped.

### Armament

* Executioner
* M-451 Firestorm
* Enflamed Omni-Blade

### Abilities

* Incinerate
* Shield Boost