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Grel Toffa - Details

Born

28 November 4087

STR

14 (2)

DEX

17 (3)

CON

15 (2)

INT

16 (3)

WIS

14 (2)

CHA

13 (1)

Administer

0

Connect

1

Exert

2

Fix

2

Heal

0

Know

-1

Lead

-1

Notice

0

Perform

-1

Pilot

-1

Program

2

Punch

2

Shoot

2

Sneak

-1

Stab

2

Survive

2

Talk

0

Trade

2

Work

0

MAX HP

55

Speed

30ft

Occupation

Rogue Cypher Tech / Insurgent Asset

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Expert

AC

15

Age

40

Species

Human

Gender

Male


Backstory

Grel Toffa spent four decades deep within the monolithic data-spires of Verokha Prime, serving as a senior Cypher Tech for the Trade Constellation. His career was defined by the silent war of information; he broke codes that were meant to be unbreakable and wove digital tapestries to obscure the Constellation's illicit dealings. However, as the Trade Constellation began to increasingly bow to the draconian demands of the Red Sun Dominion, Grel's conscience—dormant for years—awoke. He viewed the Dominion's encroachment not just as bad business, but as an existential threat to free thought.

He defected, but not before copying terabytes of incriminating logistics data. Retiring into the shadows, he waged a private guerilla war, jamming Red Sun comms and leaking troop movements. His "eccentricity" and paranoia kept him alive until a slip-up led to his capture and imprisonment in a Red Sun detention center on Meristine. Recently sprung by the Free Stars insurgency, Grel is a man on the run, technically an ally of the rebellion but trusting no one. He is currently obsessed with The Nexus Processing Hub , believing it holds the specific quantum-decryption algorithms needed to unlock the final layer of his "plan".


Description

Grel Toffa looks like a prophet of the apocalypse who traded his stone tablets for datapads. He has intense, dark eyes that dart restlessly, conveying a terrifying intelligence and a paranoia that borders on mania. A wild, shock-white beard covers the lower half of his face, contrasting sharply with his mildly tanned, weather-beaten skin—a relic of his recent years hiding in harsh environments. His hair is long, white, and unkempt, flowing over the shoulders of a tattered, heavy robe bearing the faded, embroidered sigil of the Verokha Spire. Beneath the robe, he wears functional, scavenged vac-suit padding. He is physically imposing for his age, moving with a jerky, bird-like quickness. A distinctive, battered utility belt hangs low on his hips, cluttered with bypass shunts, logic probes, and signal interceptors that hum quietly.