Name: Terren Moursun
Race: Turian
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Appearance: During the War
Allegiance: Citadel / Turian / None
Rank: Vagabond
Class: Soldier
Summary:

A Turian soldier with a long, and relatively successful career in the military decided to leave, in order to find beauty in the galaxy after decades of wars, and to find his true goal in life. However, he truly has no idea where to start.

Biography:



Turian beliefs circle around spirits, which are not so much single dieties but auras of a certain place. Some say that the spirit of the Citadel never was quite right. it felt like home, but to some Turians who kept their aural senses open, it always felt like there was something with a gun watching you as you slept. The spirit of a planet is marred, and diminished into the darkness after war scars its beauty. Many Turians have seen the beauty of a planet marred entirely so that it could not even be recognised in terms of landmass shape, and what grows and lives on its surface. The Citadel, the centre of space for civilised races and organisations, is where stories are ended, and started anew.

The Offices of the Turian Ambassador were, as the believers would say, well-spirited. Despite being built on primarily metal, the offices managed to embrace some natural flow to it. The desk was hardwood, polished so perfectly it could nearly be a mirror, the chair a dark blue velvet, the curtains, a deep red satin. A rug led the way to a pair of chairs placed around the desk as if the desk's owner were some artist or theatre star. Behind this desk, and on this chair sat one of the Military Advisors to the Turian Military. In one of the audience chairs, sat Terren Moursun, a 31 year old warrior, who after many battles, including the battles in defense of the Quarian Migrant Fleet, had become sickened by war. He was one of the believers - he believed in the spirit of things, of noble gesture.

"Resigning your commission?" asked the Advisor.
Terren simply nodded, his beige coloured bony face bobbing slowly. "Its time for me to explore other things, sir."
"But why? You've been commended for several medals for your efforts with the Quarians," the Advisor pressed.
"My reasons are my own, and i refused those medals, sir," Terren responded.
With an exhasperated sigh the advisor tapped his console lightly, an update on Terren's file stating that he had "Resigned from Active Duty".

Terren stood up, nodding softly in thanks. Turning, and making steps in the odd bird-like, yet very graceful manner that Turians do, Terren moved out of the office, down some stairs, and into a corridor.

As he walked, his gloved hand trailed gently across the walls of the corridor, getting a feel of the Citadel at this point. Terren felt surprisingly calm about his actions, and even more now that he really had both the time and availability to ponder on the galaxy, and the spirits within. Moving down into the wards, Terren had to worm his way through the bustle of the crowds to make it to his destination. Upon arrival Terren placed his hands on the railing, and took a moment to look at his feet as he inhaled gently, yet deeply. As his head rose, his eyes opened and he saw out over the Ward, the hustle, bustle, size, and sheer beauty that the Citadel had to offer.

To Terren, the world seemed to fade out, to him, the World seemed to accelerate to phenomenal speeds until the blurs that used to be Volus, Elcor, Salarian, Human, and Asari all seemed to fade into nothingness.
To Terren, he and the Citadel were alone.
To Terren, the Citadel was beautiful in every sense of the word. Its creation, its maintaining, its durability, its homeworthiness.
To Terren, he was free to explore the Galaxy, and should he be required, defend places of such beauty.

He spoke softly to himself, "A beautiful piece of work such as this cannot be allowed to be marred by war," with a sigh of exhasperation, he snapped back to the bustle of the ward, and turned to watch the passerbys.
He watched as many as he could, staring in disbelief as they all bustled past each tending to running the citadel, fighting the political fight in order to save something.
Save what?! None of these bare-faced rats are even taking the time to look at what is worth saving!

Terren sighed, lost in a galaxy full of beauty, scars, business, bustle, war, peace, deciet, love, honesty and betrayal. He had little idea what he was going to do now, nor where he should really have started. But he knew he took the first step by resigning his NCO's commission with the Turian military. Now all he had to get used to was the fact his orders came from him.

Approved

Hi five!
Who wants to RP with the new kid? lol.

I'll RP with you.