ver. 0.3.2
Arthur 'Asset-882' Pendas - Details

STR

10 (0)

DEX

10 (0)

CON

10 (0)

INT

10 (0)

WIS

10 (0)

CHA

10 (0)

Administer

-3

Connect

-1

Exert

2

Fix

1

Heal

-3

Know

-3

Lead

-1

Notice

1

Perform

2

Pilot

-3

Program

-1

Punch

-2

Shoot

-3

Sneak

1

Stab

0

Survive

0

Talk

0

Trade

1

Work

1

MAX HP

30

Speed

30 ft

Occupation

Compliance Officer (Junior Associate)

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Expert

AC

10

Age

25

Species

Human

Gender

Male


Backstory

Born within the claustrophobic confines of The Spire of Dividends on Encarys, Arthur Pendas—designated Asset-882—has spent his entire life climbing the corporate ladder of The Board. While his title is 'Junior Compliance Officer,' his personnel file hides a terrifying secret: he is completely incompetent at actual administration. In a society where 'Termination' is taken literally, Arthur survives not by doing his job well (his grasp of the holy bylaws is tenuous at best), but by mastering the art of looking busy and physically avoiding his superiors.

He spends his days in The Median Operations Tier, shuffling between departments with a hurried walk and a stack of meaningless papers. When The Mortal Veil pirates—whom The Board calls 'Third Party Security Consultants'—arrive for their laundered credits, Arthur is often the one shoved forward to hand over the physical crates, mostly because he is the only one in his department fit enough to lift them. He treats these terrifying encounters with pirate warlords with the same glazed detachment he applies to a jammed printer, viewing a blaster to the face as merely 'aggressive negotiation tactics.' He is the embodiment of the Peter Principle, having reached a position he is unqualified for, and now desperately tries to remain invisible to the auditors.


Description

Arthur is a man painted in shades of beige and grey. He wears a standard-issue, synthetic Junior Associate suit that is slightly too large, the cuffs frayed from nervous picking. His skin is the pallor of someone who has never seen unfiltered sunlight, and his brown hair is parted with severe, geometric precision. He carries a permanent expression of mild, vague concern, and his eyes are often unfocused, staring just past whoever is speaking to him. He is rarely seen without a heavy, antiquated data-slate clutched to his chest like a shield.
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