## Metadata Name: Crimson Breath Holding: None Office: None ## Background You were born for a purpose. Very few people in the galaxy are so lucky, and you've been aware of that fact all the long, long years of your life. To be honest, you have no idea how old you are. Your siblings claim you're hundreds of millions of years old, and you have no reason to doubt them, but your memory is like the rest of you, crafted to a specific purpose. You can make anything sick. Anything at all. Medicine? Psh. No problem. You can make medicine sick, easy. When you were born, or so your siblings tell you, it was to fight the Empress Herself. She has some kind of special immunity thing, apparently, and only the perfect disease could harm her. Unfortunately (again, according to your siblings) the amount of processing power involved in creating that kind of weapon meant that you got less cognitive space than any of the others. You think just fine (or at least, you think you do), but memory, attention, not causing people to vomit their own intestines when you're in a bad mood, all of those little nuances just escape you. What doesn't escape you is everything else. You aren't like the other omniphages. You're not just a cloud of nanobots larger than most planets, you're also a living disease so virulent that you can poison empty space. You signature, and the reason you're called Crimson Breath, is finding worlds where the people have rendered themselves impervious to external harm and forcing them to expel all the blood, and eventually organs, in their bodies. No matter how powerful, how hygienic, how carefully crafted, there is nothing you cannot make ill. And, if you can make it sick, you can devour it. Your siblings have made it clear that you're only allowed to devour worlds when those worlds attack you first, but you're starting to wonder if they meant for you to count possession of antibiotics as an attack on you personally. Whatever the case, they've made it clear you have a specific target tonight. The death of the Plaguesmith has really upset your siblings. You don't really get upset much; you're a pretty happy person, all in all. You only poison the very firmament of space itself because that's what you were made to do and you like being good at your job, not because you have any ill will toward anyone. That said, you know that the Plaguesmith was always good to you. He made you with a purpose, after all, and very few people are that lucky. Between that, and the fact that your siblings are so upset, you're getting a clear signal that whoever killed the Plaguesmith is in for a good, old-fashioned intestine regurgitation. ## Mechanics ### Asset: [[Omniphage|Omniphage]] You are an Omniphage, a child of the Plaguesmith better known to the galaxy at large as a "Sapient Plague," or by the derogatory term "grey goo." What you really are is a cloud of nanobots larger than many stars, capable of maintaining connection to small, detached parts of yourself. You can, for example, attend a gathering in a roughly humanoid form while the rest of your impossible bulk waits a few convenient light-seconds away. At the same time, your wroth is a terrible thing to behold. Devouring an entire Fleet is well within your power, and indeed falls under the heading of "tasty and nutritious." You can participate in any [[Combat]], and the side on which you participate gains one advantage, plus an additional advantage for every participant on the other side(s) of the combat, except other Sapient Plagues. In any one-on-one scenario, you automatically win unless your opponent has an Asset which explicitly allows them to fight Sapient Plagues. ### Lien: [[Nanobody Likes Me|Nanobody Likes Me]] Being a sentient cloud of nanobots capable of devouring most starships without a fight can make it surprisingly difficult to make friends. Many Holdings believe Sapient Plagues are no more than living curses, monsters to be fought and killed at any cost. The truth is that most Sapient Plagues tend to eat dead matter until they grow to a maximum size, bud off a few children, and then retire to a quiet life drinking radiation from dying stars. Fortunately (or unfortunately, given your perspective and current appetite), most of the Holdings with monster-hunting cultures aren't really up to the task of killing a Sapient Plague, even with the element of surprise and plenty of lead-up. Statistically, Sapient Plagues mostly eat in self-defense. Even so, when you are a member of a [[GiC Holding]], that Holding automatically loses one advantage at the start of any [[Negotiation]] or [[Endeavor]], as the galaxy looks on in suspicion at those who would harbor such a power. ### Special: [[Æsahættr]] You were forged to kill things far greater and more terrible than any god. If you choose to kill something, it dies. Those few immortals granted their status by the Empress Herself will not die, at least not immediately, but they will become deathly ill. You're certain that, if this power became widely known, you would be destroyed by the Voidstalker Corps. ## Themes These themes are offered to help inform roleplay, but do not carry a mechanical effect. - People as Weapons - The Peculiar Perspective of an Unstoppable Force - Violence Without Malice