Margaret Calloway

[AndarielHalo]

Mugshot

Stats:

Height: 5'7"
Weight: 180lbs
Hair Color: Scarlet
Eye Color: Red-Brown. Blue contact lenses.
Status: Married
Age: Presumably 22
Race: "Clearly not Nomad"
Noted Traits: Occasional snorts after laughing, roguish half-smile
Typical Attire: Blue jeans, red T-shirt, purple elbow pads, fingerless purple glove on left hand, purple finger-parts of glove on right hand fingers, purple curled-toe boots.
Nicknames: The Superstar, Bloody Margie


My journey began in Rheinland space, where I and my family descended from the start. I don't particularly know why, but my father left me a transport ship, by which to engage in cargo runs through the supposedly nonexistant Alaska system, dealing in artifacts, medicines, consumer goods, and the like.

My story should have ended a half a dozen times, as Nomad ships came upon me, but I made my name amongst my community for outrunning them each time, and never needing to open fire to do so.

When my father died, I traded in the bulky transport and took hold of a Startracker in the Liberty system, on a quest to do right where I was wronged. You see, drugs was one thing I could never engage in, either consuming or trading. Drugs, I hold responsible, for my family's destruction. My father was a pitiful Cardamine addict, incapable of overcoming this addiction.

It was years where he would return home strung out, and start fights with my mother. I would hate him so, and close myself off from the world around me. It took a vicious event in which he beat me and attempted to have his way with me that he realized he had hit rock bottom, and so sought help for his addiction.

But gradually he would return to his habits; worse now because it was no longer a daily occurrence, but a once on occasion occurrence. I could no longer tell when he was stoned or not, and it filled me with a sensation running from Nomads never could--- fear.

I feared him. And it was at this moment I realized I needed to escape.

But he died first, before I could flee. And I took his gift to me to apply where I could---my anger, and my hatred. And his ship.

Maybe I did go insane, spending months and months alone in space, traveling from sector to sector, barrier to border, doing nothing more than simply exploring, begging pirates not to take me or my ship, befriending outlaws like the Rogues and Lanehackers by taking on missions against their most common enemy---Xenos. Missions in which I could lean on the furthest corner of space and watch as assistance destroyed them for me.

They called me insane for joining the Junkers, so I could scrap and scavange for money. They called me insane for attempting to run through Alaska again with a stock full of artifacts. Insane for questioning LSF as to why they could be illegal. Insane for leading the LSF on a chase through the minefield, and having my newer transport destroyed as I fled on an escape pod bound for Rochester base.


Truth is, I took enjoyment from it; I enjoyed having pirates refuse to attack me, for either fear, pity, or amusement as I threatened them in my inferior ship.


What I took no pleasure in was LSF, treating me as a common pirate. All it would have taken was a decent explanation as to why this commodity was illegal, or why I could not approach the Alaska minefield, or why they claim such a system does not exist. They chose instead to resort to murder rather than reason or logic. They showed themselves to be the true terrorists and pirates in Sirius.

I was friendly with the Corsairs, but they were too disorganized for me. As I joined their ranks, I was greeted as a friend. As I dropped their affiliation for a few days, I was treated as a hostile, as if I had never existed within their ranks. It seemed every Corsair was a faction unto themselves, incapable of deciding whether it was allowed to begin a trade route with planet Crete or to first bring a full load of supplies to Crete, incapable of deciding whether I should be trading with Omicron Gamma, incapable of even deciding whether I should even be within their system. People did not matter to them; only faction affiliation.


The Order was left. The Order was disciplined and organized. The Order was advanced and sophisticated, but most of all the Order was just.

Liberty can promise the people prosperity and peace, but The Order knows the truth! People are suffering and dying because Liberty would rather govern themselves in an Orwellian manner rather than help the innocent traders and civilians. The Order knows the truth; these people have NOTHING! BUT! THEIR! ANGER!!

A spark is what it would take--but all that is needed. A spark to ignite war on the House of "Liberty". My place is on the side of a faction that is just. One vision---one purpose.













Vices and Virtues:


Frugal: Money is best not wasted, in this woman's opinion. And her definition of waste is wide ranging.


Hale and Hearty: This woman's name is almost a byword for vigor and good health. No one can remember a time when she complained of as much as a toothache, for example.


Optimistic: This woman exudes confidence that things will turn out for the best, making others feel the same.


Honest: This woman is blessed with a reputation for honesty and straightforwardness in all her dealings.


Religious: As an overtly religious woman, this individual believes that the will of the Gods influences every aspect of her life.


Spartan: This woman has chosen to live without any luxuries, save the luxury of self-restraint.


Genius: This woman has such a sharp mind that she sees through problems straight to the solution. It's a natural aptitude that affects all she does.


Godlike Perfection: Aphrodite would gaze upon this woman with jealousy. Many ordinary mortals already do.


Intelligent Husband: A wise woman heeds the sound advice of her spouse.


Former Alcoholic: Once, this woman would scarcely be seen without a bottle of wine at hand. Now, she's sober and capable of resisting another glass.


Dauntless Woman: Pity the poor assassin that is sent to cut down this 'delicate flower'.


Insatiable: This noble nymph is clearly interested in the act of producing an heir, or several.

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