Elizabeth Brinn

Armor: 

Weapons/psionics:

Money/Funds:


 * Blacksmithing: N
 * Bowyering:
 * Cybernetics:
 * Fletching:
 * Genetics:
 * Gunsmithing:
 * Horsemanship:
 * Leatherworking:
 * Mechatronics:
 * Musketeering:
 * Swordsmanship:

Saves:

Combat Skills:

Technological Skills:

Stealth Skills:

Psionic Skills:

Misc. Skills:

Racial Traits+Perks: (Add more as you need)

 Hobbies: 

1) Reading and Writing (Studies)

2) Movies and Video Games (Mysteries)

3) Arts and Crafts (Gardening) - Hobbyist

 Fears: 

1) Heights

2) Spiders

3) Tooth Decay

 Likes: 

1) Paperwork

2) Galas

3) Diplomacy

 Dislikes: 

1) Flying

2) Dancing

3) Pretenders

 Character Bio+Description: 

Elizabeth Brinn might be best described as a over-achieving, determined idealist, someone with a goal and the will to achieve it. She was the type to get straight A’s up through high school, with a host of extra-curriculars under her belt; chief among them the 4-H club, still going strong in Des Monies after all those years. College was a whirlwind of speech and agricultural classes, leaning deeper into the science of it all… though it wasn’t free. Naval ROTC paid for it, along with 4 years as a logistical officer at the Military Sealift Command.

From there, it was getting elbow deep into government service, into the muck both managing farms and people. She started small, at first, leading a small team, a few people thinking on new ideas and regulations, but climbed the ranks up the department quickly. Her studies captured an important movement of the technological world, dealing with the increasing distance and isolation of American farmlands to the rapid expansion of its urban centers. She wrote practices and regulations on new ‘victory’ gardens in the tall apartment buildings, the use of vertical techniques in farming.

This would have left her a functionary buried in an office by itself… but she knew how to walk and schmooze lobbyists and politicians just as well as through rows of hydroponically grown soybeans; she had the acumen to get her ideas into practice, linking the political to the practical, and getting changes entered into law that anyone else would have doomed to being excised in the latest Farm Bill.

Her relationship had been to her work primarily, and left little opportunity for any significant other. Certainly, she tried, using a few e-dating sites and real-life meetings. While some of them did end in lasting friendships, anything serious didn’t last more than a few months against her constant traveling and late nights. That suited her just fine; It was fulfilling work, and it was showing progress.

She climbed up through the ranks, attracting the attention of the right people at the right times, with the result to back it up. Leading larger and larger teams and sections of her department, leading to an eventual selection as the Undersecretary of Agriculture for Hydroponics and Urban Farming, and with it, the capacity to do real good. It had only been a few years, but she was still being noticed. The presidential front runner for the next election was rumored to have her as the first choice for Secretary, given her reputation as an apolitical technocrat, someone who stuck to a job instead of party politics. There were even a few whispered rumors about shortlists for Vice President, and from there… who knew.

It was early in the morning when she received the vidcall at her townhouse in Foggy Bottom; half remembered codewords spoken by voices emotionally detached through training, stumbling to recite the counters as shock and tightly controlled terror seeped through the fog of sleep. She was sent outside in the brisk winter night, jumping into a town car, screeching to pick her up and then head out.

It was a long trip, in the traffic, several hours to the destination, then destination, then destination, the fires on the Eastern Seaboard rising behind them. Communication was patchy, snatches of texts and cell phone conversations when a working mesh network was encountered that wasn’t jammed. Too little sleep in the back of one car, then then next, cots at whatever place they could find next. She was sixth in line for succession; she could have been Acting Secretary. She could have been Acting President. No one knew.

It was 36 hours after she rushed out that the last vehicle in the chain, an aging IFV with a few Virginia National Guardsman rattling in the back of it, arrived at Raven Rock. A long ride down an elevator to the cavernous cryogenics chambers, collecting dust as the last contingencies. Names checked off of lists, far, far too many gaps in who should have been there versus who was actually. It had happened too fast; as the numb, cold unconsciousness of hibernation took her, she still hadn’t processed exactly what happened; a career that seemed important, serving her country without the glory of soldiers or glamor of diplomats, suddenly destroyed in a blink of an eye. Who could have accepted in a scant day and a half after?

It was supposed to be ‘for the duration’. Saving resources on a core of personnel in case the worse happened. A few months, a couple of years, maximum, before they would begin coordinating what was left. Continuity of Government. She isn’t prepared for 70 years in a strange land, so different, so barbaric compared to where she left. But she always looked at life as a challenge. And if building a department was a start, rebuilding a nation would be an even bigger one.

 Backpack Inventory(C.C): 

Cell Phone (1)

Winter Sleeping Bag (6)

Tent (Two Person) (5)

Winter Jacket (2)

MP-5 (6)

Flashlight (1)

Field Rations (1)