Post by TRAM on Feb 9, 2011 2:16:02 GMT -6
(Tram)
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( ∞ [Written in 2011], Program , Matthew Gray Gubler, Add-On to the Tron Program)
(Loyal, Protective, Diligent, Curious, Helpful)[/center]
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Tram is a program written by Ben Bradley. He first came into existence in the year 2011, when Ben created him for his senior project in college. Although designed as an add-on program to Alan Bradley’s Tron program, Tram was fully capable of operating as a stand-alone security program. Ben had been heavily inspired by the Tron arcade game as a child and drew upon it to name Tram—using a combination of the names Tron and Ram, two of the game’s characters.
After Ben graduated college and returned home, Tram was set up to protect his User’s laptop. It wasn’t a particularly difficult task, but that didn’t mean Tram gave it any less than his full attention. He got along well with the programs there, and struck up a particularly close friendship with a media program named Komy and a word processing program named Arrow. The three worked very well together, despite having rather different purposes. However, despite the happiness he had found in Ben’s laptop, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat unfulfilled. He couldn’t place it, but there was something he was certain he was missing. Something he was supposed to do. What could his purpose be, other than the one his User had designated to him?
One day, that question was answered for him.
Approximately three years after his creation, Tram suddenly found himself upended. He was transported away from Ben’s laptop to a new area—a place simply known as The Grid. He was confused and startled by the sudden shift in what he had come to know as his purpose, until he met Sam Flynn, another User. But unlike Ben, Sam was speaking to him face to face, in his world. Sam explained the history of The Grid and why Tram had been brought there. As it turned out, Sam was actually very well acquainted with Ben and, when he’d learned of Tram’s existence, he decided the program was just what they needed on The Grid, especially since he had opened the system to other Users.
Although he had been somewhat reluctant to leave the programs and the system he knew so well, Tram’s insecurities disappeared the moment he was introduced to Tron. The unnamable sense of misguided purpose melted away the second he shook the noble program’s hand. Sam explained that ben had used some of the same coding to create him that Alan had used when creating Tron—that he was meant as an assistance program to The Grid’s greatest protector. He happily took up his new role, protecting the visiting Users, watching out over the Programs, seeking out any potential threats and answering readily to Tron, Sam and Clu’s orders.
Then, six months later, Tram received the greatest shock of his life. Ben was on The Grid. Sam had brought his User there, shortly after the young man had begun working at Encom. Their meeting was one that Tram would never forget, so rapturous was his joy at meeting his User, his Creator. His circuitry’s glow reached near blinding levels when they shook hands, enough so that Sam laughingly asked him to ‘loosen up a bit’. Ben became a regular visitor after that, oftentimes accompanying Tram on his patrols of Tron City if only for the sake of spending time together. It was easy even for Tram to see how much Ben enjoyed their time on The Grid.
Tram’s work has continued on as usual, though, more recently something has felt decidedly off about The Grid. Ben had recently expressed some concern about so many Users having access to The Grid and worried about the programs living there, but as yet, Tram has yet to come across anything truly unusual. Still, the feeling of something amiss persists…
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
EXPERIENCE ~8
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CONTACT surelysherlock@yahoo.com
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
It was difficult to tell whether or not destiny was smiling favorably on him, Fakir decided. It had been nearly a week since he had returned from Sancre Tor, but he’d only really been coherent for the past twenty-four hours or so. Jauffre hadn’t been exaggerating with that whole ‘I fear I’m sending you to your death’ thing after all. Well, alright, he wasn’t dead, but he’d come pretty damn close. The path the gods had chosen for him… was not an easy one. He wondered if it would possibly get even more difficult from there.
“Silly question, I suppose,” he murmured quietly to himself.
Of course it would get more difficult. No one could expect preventing the Tamriel from being swallowed by the jaws of Oblivion to be an easy task, after all. Still, his collection of battle scars was growing rather rapidly ever since he’d begun his crazy quest. He could walk away, but he doubted there would be much to do if the world ended. But that wasn’t really the reason he stuck around. It wasn’t the real reason he threw himself into battle on countless occasions, or traveled more miles than he could count or sustained injuries that nearly cost him his life.
He stayed for Martin. For whatever reason, he was drawn to the heir. There was something that bound them together—fate, is perhaps what Uriel Septim would have said. He was drawn to the Blades, and the odd sort of family they had become to him. He couldn’t abandon them, not when he was needed.
Fakir groaned when he attempted to sit himself up somewhat. His wounds were still painful, despite the week he’d spent healing. He was still feverish, he knew, but he needed to recover quickly. He was prone to strangely sentimental thoughts while he was laid up, it seemed, and he wished to be rid of them. Hopefully Martin had further deciphered the Mysterium Xarxes, giving him his next mission. He thought of the priest, the relief in his eyes when Fakir had finally woken. It made his stomach squirm. Feeling sleep pulling at his consciousness once more, Fakir resolved not to let himself be injured so terribly again—if only to keep the worry lines from growing any deeper on Martin’s face.
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(I know, I just created a character and now I have another one. If that's not okay, I'm sorry. I just... really couldn't resist pulling him out of my arsenal of ready-made characters. *rolls around on the carpet*)
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