Griff

Armor Claim: This, but everything red is Ultramarine Blue.
https://www.halopedia.org/images/7/7b/Halo5_AviatorFull.png

Name: Griffin Dukes

Class: Spartan

Gender: Male

Nickname: Griff

Date of Birth: September 4th, 2531

Age: 26

Height in Armour: 7’2”

Height: 6’8”

Weight in Armour: 513Ilbs

Weight: 263Ilbs

Generation: IV

Preferred Specialization: Rogue

UNSC Primary Weapon: M7 Caseless SMG

UNSC Secondary Weapon: M7 Caseless SMG

Additional Gear: 16” Spartan-grade Combat Knife (2x), Wrist-Mounted Grapple Hook, Series 12 Jetpack, Frag Grenade M9
Suit Colors: Aside from the basic black bodysuit and copper visor, Griff’s Aviator armor is entirely ultramarine
Physical Description: Griff was always a robust, healthy young man, and Spartan IV augmentation has certainly not changed that one iota. A handsome, dark man with a dusky, tanned hide painted by years of living under the Texan sun, he holds his limber frame easy and loose until it’s inappropriate or ill-advised to do so. His clean, chiseled features are invariably covered with a layer of stubble that refuses to submit to a razor, and his coal black hair, being made of the same thick, uncompromising material, always winds up looking mussed. Two emerald eyes flash along with his pearly whites, working together to give his trademark grin an extra punch, with his goatee serving as a visual anchor for it all. Like any man who’s seen his fair share of hard labor and pitched combat, he’s got his share of scars, including one on his left “upper thigh” where an annoyed bull took advantage of his youthful braggadocio at the age of 15.

When he’s not wearing any of his gear, he’s most often found in heavily used denim, steel toes, and whatever shirt he had handy, although he does try to keep his clothes clean, since the ladies prefer that and the military gave him a little more discipline regarding his appearance. If the weather’s right for it, you just might catch him in his dad’s old black Dakota-style cowboy hat. The man’s voice is exactly like you’d expect, rugged, with a deep richness to it not unlike molasses. When Griff’s in rare form, usually after a particularly humorous joke or when he’s enjoying himself on the battlefield, it’ll ramp up in volume to what can only be described as “hollerin’”.

Personality: Griff carries himself with an easy swagger, brimming with confidence and charm just bordering on the edge of arrogance, but never quite stepping over the fine line between the two. An outgoing person, especially with the opposite sex, he’s ever-ready to make a new friend, and chats up just about everyone he meets, drawing on a rich library of anecdotes, tall tales, and bumpkin witticisms. Unlike many of his fellow Spartans, he doesn’t hold himself too much of a cut above the rest of the UNSC forces, friendly inter-branch ribbing aside, and can often be found among friends of mixed company when appropriate. Sure, he recognizes that he is the Elite of the Elite, but has done his darndest to make sure it never went to his head.

This is not to say the man is lacking pride in his profession, though. As lax in decorum as he can be at times, he still holds himself to a high standard of behavior, making sure never to make an ass of himself or his uniform. To that end, as much as he enjoys his drinking, dancing, music, and romantic rendezvous, he walks a fine line and especially with the last of those, remains a perfect, if folksy, gentleman. He’s a great believer in setting example by action, and feels that he and every last Spartan should live up to the unfailing courage and selflessness of the vaunted Master Chief. Like many, he has a fondness for the Spartan among Spartans, one that borders on idolatry. Even in his days among the ODST, he coined the phrase “Mmmmm, Chiefy!” as an exclamation referential not only to the personal hero of millions, but also a centuries old ravioli advertisement he had stumbled across online.

Speaking of which, Griff has a fondness for the antiquated, thanks to the life he grew up in. A great deal of his musical and cultural tastes date back five centuries or more, with Classical Rock, Country, and Blues in their primal forms being some of his favorite auditory distractions. Through much fevered searching he’s amassed a record of old vids from children’s cartoons, situational comedies, and all sorts of ancient entertainment which would seem out of place to everyone except Historians, barring a few things that have lasted down through the ages. While he understands these materials are not to everyone’s tastes, he’s more than happy to share his interests with those who are willing. Otherwise, he’s a fan of time spent on the firing range, hunting, fishing, drinking, dancing, and all the old Southern United States standbys that have served that region well for ages. He even owns an acoustic guitar, and can play a little, but not particularly well.

As far as his morals go, Griff was raised a generic nondenominational variety of Christian, and while devout in spirit his code of ethics and rule of theology are not terribly rigid or defined, like many of his ilk in this century and for hundreds before it. Aside from casual references in conversation or the occasional oath, it’s not something that comes up too frequently, and is not something he pushes towards others unless asked. Where it is most noticeable is before and after an Op, where he will often take a knee or invite those nearby to huddle up and say a few words, or in moments of loss or joy. More spiritual than religious, he’s apt to “paraphrase” the Good Book as opposed to using a direct quotation, but has a few verses committed to memory. He does keep the tradition of church on Sundays, but often times due to the nature of his duties this means a brief stop in an available chapel or some quiet time in his quarters with his grandfather’s King James Bible.

On the battlefield, he’s essentially the same Griff, but with a bolder, far more dangerous flavor. A positively tenacious combatant, he prefers to be right in the mix, MJOLNIR thrusters and guns blazing, taking the fight right to the heart of the enemy. He’s no fool about it, but he relishes the chance to break out his massive combat knives and go toe to toe with Elites, something their own desire for hand-to-hand fighting gives him ample opportunity for. For him, combat on the ground is a loosely accurate term, as he takes his jetpack enhanced armor’s abilities to new heights, wall-jumping, barricade hopping, and dive-bombing his way to victory. If he’s not allowed to blare some choice music from his speakers, he’ll be sure to pepper the air with one-liners and repartee, unless of course it runs the risk of interrupting squad communication.

Like any good soldier, he knows when to use the right tool for the right job, but does have his preferences for common situations. Dual-wielding M7 Caseless SMG’s is his go to choice, given their flexibility for either covering a large area or zeroing in on one unfortunate target. If he’s hunting bigger game, he’ll tote an M90 Shotgun and a SAW around. When relegated strictly to fire support he’ll keep the SAW but swap the M90 out for an MA5B, preferring it to other models for its larger magazine capacity despite the drop in accuracy that comes with it.

When he’s not “on the ground”, or even when he is, he’s more than happy to get his adrenaline fix driving or piloting the fastest craft the UNSC have to offer, although he won’t mind if he’s put on Scorpion or Pelican duty, as the big guns involved make up for the lack of speed. As far as personal favorites go, he enjoys the “Gungoose”, Hornet, Longsword, Booster Frame, and especially the Broadsword. He’s developed a reputation as a hot hand at the stick, and has earned respect due to his willingness to let his ego take a back seat without any complaint. To him, flight time is flight time, so whether he’s leading a squad, ferrying marines, being a wingman, or providing close air support, it’s all good, but flying into the teeth of the opposing force or being left room to soar is, of course, the best possible option.

Bio: The oldest of seven, Griff was raised on his family’s ranchlands in the heart of Texas. He and his six sisters, who from oldest to youngest were named Daisy, Mary, Susie, Sherry, Hope, and Faith, spent their days helping out on the Dukes’ ranch, doing chores or, as they got older, assisting the ranch hands, who came and went with the years. Given the shear amount of hormone and gene enriched product on the market, the completely organic, free range cattle the Dukes raised were eagerly sought after by those who either wanted to make a statement about their taste or wanted to eat as naturally as possible. It only stood to reason for the Dukes to make a show of rearing their cattle the “old fashioned way” from centuries ago, adding a whole heap of marketability to their product and allowing them to charge more on top of it all.

The end result was that Griff grew up hardier and more physically fit than most of his peers, and was sought after by several educational institutions for his talents in a number of sports as he started to come of age. He paid them no heed during his teenage years, and under the guiding hands of his parents and one surviving grandfather, did moderately well in his academic studies, with his favorite subject being history, specifically North American cultural heritage. He still found time to put his charm and good looks to use with girls his age, though he always treated them well due to his close relationship with his sisters. Lord help the boy who got fresh with them…and even moreso once he enlisted.

All through this period of his life, the Covenant waged their bloody burning war against humanity, and it always hung like a grim cloud in the back of his mind. It was no secret to anyone that he planned to enlist as soon as he hit eighteen, and though all his loved ones were clearly nervous, they couldn’t help but feel pride as he joined the UNSC Marines. He’d planned on this for years, becoming ever more invested in making sure humanity stayed safe from the monsters beyond the stars, and gave everything he had toward that end. And so off Griff marched, a photo of his family and his grandfather’s Bible the only items he took with him. He excelled during Basic, and during the two years he was in the ranks of the Marines earned a reputation as a risk-taker, but one whose risks had a habit of paying off. It was here he became adept with the M90 and showed his prowess and eagerness for close quarters warfare, his brazen tactics surprising the enemy and earning the respect and admiration of his peers.

As he’d already been in and around off-road vehicles his entire life, whether it was for work or entertainment, he took to the Mongoose and the Warthog with ease, as an old hand in the saddle, so to speak. It was only after he’d done some time in the training simulations that he found that one of the reasons he stood out as a driver also set him scoring well as a pilot. He had top-notch reflexes and spatial and situational awareness, and while he wasn’t used to the multitude of instruments at first, he took instruction well and was eager to learn. As it was clear these talents were useful in the field, he was regularly called upon to man aircraft which had recently lost their pilot, either to provide close-range support or simply get himself and the rest of his squad out of a jam. He had jumped at the chance to be an ODST initially out of a desire to better take the fight to the enemy, but found the increased flight training to his liking as well. This came in handy during the Battle of Reach, as what was left of his drop, along with a handful of civilians, wouldn’t have made it off-planet alive if he hadn’t been able to get a nearby Pelican into orbit for pickup despite heavy anti-aircraft fire and enemy aircraft interference.

On Earth, like most surviving ODSTs at the time, he saw heavy action and lost the remainder of his squad, marking this as his lowest point since joining the armed services. It was here he dropped his first and only Brute Chieftain, barely managing to dodge the monster’s gravity hammer long enough to take it out with a well-placed shotgun blast right between the eyes. If only he’d been able to pull that off before it had carved through a Scorpion, several Warthogs, the rest of his squad, and a handful of civil defense force men… Yet, in the end, he had stopped the bastard from reaching an evac vehicle full of terrified civilians, and that fact was what kept him going for the rest of the engagement. With a fierceness born of desperation, he pushed past limits he never even knew he had, just like so many others who understood all too well that if they failed here, humanity would likely be lost. As the long-dead Admiral Nimitz had put it, “Uncommon valor was a common virtue.” for the duration of the Covenant’s invasion of Earth. Everyone went feet-first into Hell, and most didn’t come out the other side. And yet, when the dust cleared, somehow, as he would put it, “By the Grace of God”, he made it through the Battle of Earth, and joined the rest of his species in breathing a collective sigh of relief when the Human-Covenant War ended.

Yet for him, the fighting did not stop there. He participated in whatever mop-up op came down the pipe, ranging far afield across humanity’s portion of the stars, stacking bodies and ensuring that mankind had a future. It was during this period that he was first contacted about becoming a Spartan IV, an offer he was uncertain of in the beginning. While he had seen action, at a distance, alongside Spartan II’s, witnessed the death of a Spartan III on Reach, and held them all in high esteem, he too had heard the horror stories about their origins, and later, about Dr. Halsey. The sordid past of the program filled him with revulsion and he was initially going to decline the offer, preferring not be a part of something so tainted. It was a conversion with his eldest sister Daisy which changed his mind. She asked him if he still wanted to make things better for as many people as possible, while still keeping his boots on the ground. Griff had to admit that, absolutely, he did. Besides, she had told him, maybe the program needed men like him to make the Spartan program what it should have been all along. Good men, who were there out of love for and duty to Humanity, instead of those who had been taken against their will and given little choice in the matter.

Griff accepted the offer, and for the third time went through training that, despite his combat experience, still tested him. As expected, he performed exceptionally in CQC and all manner of aviation tests. While the armor took a little getting used to at first, he was the best in his class at handling its thrusters, displaying a natural aptitude with them. When others were still learning to safely take off and land without slamming themselves into the dirt, he was busy finding ways to navigate high-difficulty obstacle courses at top-speed. While he proved himself very capable of working within a team of Spartans, given his “Can do!” attitude, his impressive functionality as a one-man unit allowed him to do very well in training scenarios involving non-Spartan forces as well. It was only fitting that he stuck with the Aviator armor, given his skill in the cockpit, so that if needed he could easily be scrambled for aerial combat as quickly as he could on the ground, whether he was with his fellow Spartans or working on a joint op.

As a Spartan IV, Griff’s idiosyncrasies found new and exciting outlets. His hunger for the ultimate adrenaline rush of heavy close-quarters combat and undeniable skill in that domain of war, as well as his excellence in handling any variety of swift vehicle, made him a shoe-in for the battlefield role of Spartan Rogue. Not only could he personally see to it that his charges arrived at the destination by piloting the transport himself, but upon arrival he could provide support from the vehicle by land or air, or even join the fray personally, his jetpack-modified Aviator armor sending him blasting toward where the peril was greatest. His ability to retain his comradery with un-augmented Marines and ODST, as well as non-combat personnel, set him apart from other Spartans, and it was simply a good use of resources to assign him to escort missions or attach him to non-Spartan fire teams. This was also a boon when he needed to fly escort missions or lead squadrons of un-augmented pilots into battle.