[Splat]

ooc: Odd Ryan, before you start posting here, please learn to use a full stop (the little thing that looks like this . ) and capital letters! It will make your posts a thousand times easier to read and will generally give you a much better reputation around the forums as a whole.

IC:
Anni nodded reluctantly at Skullik's suggestion. She stood up at looked over at Gewehr who had started work with one of the machines. "Look, Gewehr, I'm sorry about loosing my temper. But Arnie doesn't like it when the slig's hit mudokons; it's been one of his rules from the start, as far as I know. Jim wasn't being rude; he was just frightened of you. He's frightened of all sligs."

She paused and then added, "There are more machines upstairs. Maybe Jim could go and work up there; Skullik could go up with him if you want, and then he can work without having to worry about you; I can work down here."

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Dionysia had wondered to the doorway of the store room and was watching the mud run back and forwards loading meat into the machinery. "See, it's working now. Do I really have to say here?" She muttered to Arthur.

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Krik's train pulled away from the station with a jerk an an enourmous wheeze which flooded the station with smoke. It began to thin, drawn into the void left by the exit of the metal behemoth. Out of the smoke emerged a slig.
It was bigger than a normal slig, but if it was a big bro it was very small. Its pants were battered and rusty; they were a very old model, as was its gun, but despite its age the gun was much better maintained, gleaming in the striplights, every part meticulously greased, the whole thing free of dirt and grime.
His tail, chest and arms were strung with bulging, knotty muscles, his skin mottled with scars and spooce burns. His mask was an old model designed for combat, with a wide visor, not glowing but translucent enough that his sunken, puffy eyes and ugly face was just visible through.
A skinny, badly rolled cigarette hung from between his tatty tentacles at an angle so that the smoke rose and engulfed his head. His body language suggested a grim, mirthless smile as his pants clanked and clunked him into the factory.

Name: Grace
Gender: Male
Species: Slig
Age: 18 (Sligs live to be about 20)
Appearance: Notably smaller than your average big-bro, but still quite big enough thank you very much. His mask is the old visor-style but not quite as opaque as normal; a little can be seen of his sunken, puffy eyes beyond. He bares a fair share of scars and looks fairly roughed-up at the best of times.
Personality: Shrewd and mean; his interests are only for himself and he distains the society he lives in. He's never violent for the sake of violence, but he has a dangerously short fuse.
Equipment: His pants are old and poorly maintained, his visor is old, specialised and reasonably well looked after. His gun is a very old model, but powerful and treasured by its owner.
History: A old battle veteran from when land and slaves were won through war and not deception, Grace was retired from the military when his usefulness was used up. A tactician and a fearsome leader, he did not adapt well to life as a guard. His inability to hold down a job for more than a few weeks have caused much wandering across Mudos, finally leading him to Rupture Farms.