Name: Lennan Quinn

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 31

Skills: Quinn's skills are that of an infultrator. He is an expert with weapons and decryption, as well as a very charasmatic individual. Stealth either on the battlefield or blending in with a crowd is also another strong point, but none of this matches his abilities in melee combat.

Appearance: Quinn is a man of Gaelic origins. His accent is thick, yet calm and composed. He stands at 6'2 with an athletic form and chiseled face, though his seemingly glazed over emerald eyes center one's gaze. He maintains short brown hair and a light beard. There is a tatoo of an asari carressing a dagger etched along the left side of his neck.

Weaknesses: Working in such a dangerous world without "true allies" means one must always glance over their shoulder to avoid a knife in the back. He also lacks biotic abilities or anything extensive in the technical field, meaning he needs to be more "hands on."

Allegiance: None

Rank: None

Weapon(s): Varied circumstances calls for an equally varied arsenal. That point aside, Quinn keeps an asari dagger sheathed on his person at all times. It is a fine blade whose tempered craftsmanship allows it to slice through armor like that of a krogan blade, while bypassing an armor's kinetic shielding, staying true to its origin. Another thing of interest would be the HMWA assault rifle this Irish "criminal" managed to procure, modified with combat optics and inferno rounds. Those in the underworld circle as well as those of lawful intent know that the only way he could obtain such a piece would be through the corpse looting of a masterfully trained individual. Obvious enough evidence to bring him to a very special holding cell in C-Sec. The reason no one has done so would be the ever lack-luster phrase of "being so secret everyone knows about it."

A rogue Spectre, perhaps, but since when do political assassins, or at best, human vigilantes get tasked with bringing in these dangerous sapients? Backroom politics at their finest.

Of course, where would anyone be without a sidearm? He keeps a simple Ariake Technologies Raikou tucked away appropriately.

Armor: Though most of the time he prefers wearing clothing to the confined protection of a bodysuit, a battlefield demands armor. Quinn demands Kassa Fabrication, Colossus Medium Armor.

Biography: Lennan Quinn was born to Corporal Ryan Quinn and Service Chief Grace Quinn on October 2nd, 2154 aboard the Seoul: a Systems Alliance Cruiser. Quinn was charasmatic, even as a baby. He was allowed to wander freely throughout the cruiser much to the Captain's dismay. Curious enough was the fact that Lennan never cried nore got into trouble. His daily rounds would consist of him going back and forth between his mother on the upper deck monitoring the cruiser's heat levels and down the elevator to his father who was more likely than not playing cards with other bored marines. The in-between would give way to the family-like crew who would pinch his cheeks or let him watch their almost thralling tasks. Who can resist a smiling baby that doesn't touch buttons?

This way of life came to an early end when Lennan was four. The First Contact War was under way. A sister vessel of the Seoul had been lost in the initial invasion of Shanxi. There was no more time for the charasmatic boy; the men and women of the Seoul had bloodlust on their minds: a shared vendetta on the turians. Lennan's mother and father were no exception to this easily catchable mindset. When the Seoul dropped off all non-essential personnel on Arcturus Station, Lennan was forced to go with them. It had been the first time no smile was present on the little boy's face. He'd never seen the outside of the ship. It was ugly.

Lennan spent his days on the station painting nebulas, planets, flora. It was more than he was doing on the Seoul, but somehow, it felt like less. Station personnel appraised his art and it is even believed a piece made it back to Earth for commercial use. Still bored and homesick, Lennan dabbed into culunary. It brought him more peace and enjoyment than painting did, but it couldn't fill the void of a family filled cruiser. The remarkably skilled little boy droned on.

It was not far into the campaign that victory over the turians was announced. A quick, decisive battle had regained control of Shanxi. Of course, Lennan was smart enough to know what happy people meant. Was his mother and father coming to bring him home? No one felt the need to tell him. He would sit day in and day out on a window seat overlooking Themis. One would be a fool to think he was staring at the gas giant below. He tried to maintain a non-pleading appearence, instead turning his water filled eyes on the glass so that it may hide his shame while he looked at the reflections of passer-bys behind him. Who would bring him word? These people loved his art, they loved his food, they thought of him as what humanity should be: masterful. Yet, they did not love him. He would never discover how the Seoul was torn apart by a turian dreadnaught, or how the 13th Marines were the first wave of 3.

Quinn was passed from station to station. Knowledge of his talents diminished with each change of ownership. The first was a human scientist who did little more than monitor him, wondering if his cleverness and maturity was due to biotic tampering. When the results proved negative, he was cast aside to a volus merchant. He was alright with stocking shelves and counting credits. A human prostatute, an elcor diplomat; he was even taken in by a batarian once. Lennan made a good punching bag. Then came Nasira, an asari "entrepreneur."

She was in fact a very efficient and well desired mercenary, in many fashions. She saw him as a focus point for her maturnal love, which she kept bottled up. That... and she thought his unique accent would make for a nice sell later in life, or so she said. For once in a long time he was a son again. The asari taught him her ways of combat and the universe as she saw it. It was this mentoring that made Lennan into the dangerous person he is today. He was blessed with her connections and her knowledge. This relationship forever made a soft spot in Lennan's heart for the asari people.

He was sixteen when a krogan mercenary killed Nasira. They were lounging in Chora's Den. Nasira had been drinking while teasing the young Quinn by getting an asari stripper to show him the wonders of a "personal dance." The krogan came in bluntly, pushing Lennan aside to get a clear view of Nasira. He claimed that she had become trouble for the Shadow Broker. Her time was up. She was caught off guard in a drunken state, still lulled by having fun with her son. The shotgun blast tore through her breast and layed her flat, killing her instantly. A shocked audience of low-lives and employees watched the enraged apprentice slip Nasira's dagger from her sheath and leap onto the krogan's back. An able slice of the krogan's throat spew a trail of thick orange along the sliding door. Lennan dropped the dagger and dug his fingers deep into the exposed flesh. The krogan cried out in agony, flailing his arms as the boy found bone and gripped. He slowly started to break off the krogan's skull. Of course... he was but a boy. It took a hour and some help from the door to remove the head completely. The krogan was presumed dead by the time the jaw started to look like a trash can lid.

Lennan had to stand on his own two feet. It took work, it took patience, it was dirty. Quinn made his way up the proverbial underworld ladder. As he grew so did his influence. By the time he was in his mid twenties he had finished establishing an intricate web of connections and clients, with a sphere of power reaching beyond Citidel space. Despite the part the Shadow Broker played in his mentor's death, Quinn has a strong working relationship with the mysterious name. Some speculate that the Chora's Den tale is just a cover up to mislead from the fact that Quinn is the Shadow Broker, while others are quick to point out that the Shadow Broker was around long before Quinn came to the Citidel... which is usually countered by another theory that the Shadow Broker is a title passed down to respective individuals. The real Shadow Broker deals in information, however. It would be in truth to say that Quinn is just a favorite card to play.

It is a wonder how Quinn remains so secretive in his work with such a popular reputation in both the lawful and unlawful. He's even been known to leave "trademarks" at the scenes of his work. An asari prayer bead; a smooth, marble-sized ball of turqoiuse. It must certainly be maddening to the officers at C-Sec to have a pile of evidence only to be turned away due to the man's secracy. They do not have a face to match the name to: he always has the hazard shield up on his helmet when meeting with clients.

The rules are simple. If you want something done, you don't contact Quinn, he contacts you. Quinn gets the job done his way, and if the job consists of harming innocents as percieved by Quinn, you can forget about the job. Military assignments are short term. As a courtesy, Quinn recieves payment after the job is finished rather than before.

RP Sample: The soft gaze of an asari in an elegant purple and white hued gown caught Quinn's attention. A smooth rotation of her neck to the balcony across from the diplomatic assembly gestured the human forward. He answered with a warm smile and bowed his head to the C-Sec guard after having just submitted to a routine weapons screening.

He adjusted his formal clothing: a black vest with matching slacks, upon leaning on the sterile white railing. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss t'Nal." A subtle smirk creased his lips as the asari whispered back harshly, betraying her elegant appearance. "It's Alia, Quinn! I almost got caught by C-Sec at the door! I thought you were going to come in through the maintenance vent!" Quinn chuckled idley as he folded his hands and looked down at the tranquil waters below. "It's cold in space, Alia... not to mention this looks like a pleasent gathering" He turned around to motion to the grand show of lies at face value and brown nosing that is a diplomatic party. "Besides... you know my rules..." The asari bit her lip as Quinn's brow furrowed and his smile settled into a grin, offering his hand to the asari. "Introduce me to your friends?"

She followed his act, gently taking his hand as she descended to the party in a manner that was expected of her. The fake couple were prompty directed to a table in the middle of the gathering, a stage and podium set up at the large room's center. He brought the chair out from the table for the asari, which caused her to roll her eyes. After he tucked her into place and sat down a humble volus and male turian joined them at the table. The two diplomats seemed eager to start conversing about anything and then some. Mining surveys, the party's chef, the Consort. The asari seemed to be at the point of falling on the floor from boredom, yet Quinn remained composed, with a soft smile. "What do you do for a living, sir? If you don't mind my prying" The volus finally turned towards Quinn. He nodded his head and was about to respond before Alia felt the need to demonstrate her unhappiness with the situation. "Oh, my partner is an active investor in ExoGeni. He's really reaching for the stars!" She smiled coyly, which drew an annoyed glare from Quinn before he was forced to smile again at the volus. "Oh! Marvelous! I hear they are doing wonders for your kind in colonization"

He nodded his head in agreement and slowly began to slip his hand under the asari's dress. Quinn glanced to make sure she was not going to screw up her lie before he went further. His fingers traced the curves of her thigh, careful not to make too much movement, until he found what he was looking for. He grinned as he felt the magnetic strip tied to the inside of her thigh, holstering his Raikou pistol. Though, his brow furrowed as he felt the other side, disappointed. His hand creeped higher, becoming more invasive, which made the asari shift and change tones. "But sometimes he needs to know when to stop reaching!" They glared at each other for a moment which was enough of a sign to turn the volus' attention to his friend, allowing Alia and Quinn an exchange of harsh whispers. "Where is the Naginata?!" Alia responded by grasping Quinn's hand and forcing it from her crotch. "You expect me to get by security with a sniper rifle between my legs?! It's on the deck, already in place! Take your pistol and stop wrinkling my dress!" She took the pistol out for him and stuffed it into the waist of his pants.

His glare faded and he cocked his head to the side with a sigh. All eyes were brought to the front as clapping insued and a salarian took the podium, waving down his audience. It was time. Quinn cleared his throat and stood slowly from the table. "Please excuse me." He smiled and rested his hands in his pockets as he walked towards the employee's entrence, whistling a merry tune. The cautious gaze of a turian C-Sec officer fixated on Quinn as he stepped through the restricted doors with no second glances. He unholstered his Brawler and discreetly followed.

Quinn's appearence changed quickly. His whistling continued as he unbuttoned his vest and cast it over the side of the railing. He worked on the cuffs of his dress shirt as he entered the maintenance elevator, plucking a worker's uniform from the rack before ascending. It did not exactly match his slacks, but it would do well enough. He stopped as he slipped on a pair of gloves: listening. He was being followed. Quinn pressed the button to close the door behind him, going up.

The C-Sec Officer was no folly to this intruder's plan. When the elevator returned to its berth, the Officer stepped inside and pressed the button to go up. His pistol was aimed precisely to the left of the elevator's door. He knew this area. The only chance the intruder had to ambush him would be at the corner of the elevator, since it was not a straight hallway. He had already won. "Psst." The C-Sec Officer looked steadily upwards to see the panel removed from the top of the elevator. Before he could rethink his actions a bullet tore through his skull, leaving a pleasent splatter of blue blood on the elevator floor. A grenade could go off inside an elevator and no one would hear it. The convinience of modern living Quinn thought to himself.

He dropped back down into the elevator as it reached his destination. After stepping out, he prodded the dead turian's arm back inside to make sure it would not get caught in the door, then walked along the rampart overlooking the gathering below. It was a good spot. Dark, workable angle. He looked to the aesthetic poles lining the rampart. Easy escape as well. A Naginata rifle lay on the floor in front of his proposed position. Quinn stepped towards it and took it into his hands. It unfolded from its compact version and a blue light hummed around the scope. Quinn adjusted his footing and aimed the rifle at the "preaching" salarian's head. He let out a silent sigh. Goodnight.

Excellent. Approved and welcome to the site.