[h1][/h1]
[h3][center][color=lightcyan]Basics[/color][/center][/h3]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/4SncZuw.jpg?1[/img][/center]
[b]Name: Jonathan “Kyrios” Diederich[/b]
[b]Age: 27[/b] 
[b]Appeared Age: Late Twenties, Early Thirties[/b] 
[b]Height: 6'1[/b] 
[b]Weight: 167lbs est[/b] 
[b]Eye Color:Ice blue[/b] 
[b]Hair Color: Black[/b] 
[b]Physical Identifiers:[/b][list]
[*] None
[/list]
[b]Appearance:[/b] Like many others, Jon can be imposing simply because of his height. Being just over six foot, he has had the pleasure of never being looked down upon, forcing others to look up to him. He normally maintains a trimmed jawline, meaning he's usually sporting a 5 o'clock shadow. His eyes have an air of sharpness about them, being the pale ice blue that they are, yet a rugged, tired feel too, the experiences of the years wearing on him. A sturdy jawline and the fact that he almost never smiles help with his intimidating demeanor.

His life of constant travel also bred constant exercise, to the point where Jon is not just toned, but muscular. He's built like a small, dense tree, the years of conditioning evident on every inch of his body. His muscles aren't huge, nor is he the strongest, but he is compacted and tightly wound, providing an ample range of power and speed. He tends to keep his raven colored hair trimmed, to the point of being a mess, instead of a hot one, letting it stick out in random, jagged angles.  

[h3][center][color=lightcyan]Background[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Residence: Captain's Quarters, Motum Diversum[/b] 
[b]Profession: Wraith Captain.[/b] 
[b]Aligned Faction: Motum Diversum[/b] 
[b]Relatives:[/b][list]
[*][b]Grayson[/b]: Johnathan's little stepbrother, cared for by Jon's foster family in Dresdin, Grayson's true family. He is 16, and the exact opposite image of his stepbrother, but with some likeness. Grayson is a scientists, and it shows, as opposed to his military stepbrother. Grayson and his parents all work at the automotive factory, as scientists specializing in vehicles.  [/list]
[hider=Backstory]
 Jonathan lead a life all too common in the wasteland, one filled mostly with strife and danger, a testing fight for survival. He was the child of two brilliant parents, both esteemed gunsmiths and firearms researchers. Though he was much too young to remember them, or their passing, he does have a Polaroid picture of them. Growing up he had always been told stories of what wonderful people Anna and Michael Diederich, his parents, had been. Stories that had both saddened him, and filled him with a childish sense of pride. His stepparents had taken him in without hesitation, being close friends of his then deceased parents.

Philip and Joanna Morris were both automotive scientists, and are single-handedly responsible for many of the contraptions rolling through Dust. Philip was older than Jonathan's father Michael, He and his wife past the age of baring children and heading quickly into old age. A monumental mark that not everybody achieves these days, but far more likely with scientists who never leave safety. Philip is practically an elder, high into his fifties and continually growing a fierce white mane of a beard. His wide, wrinkled eyes spend their days pouring over manufacturing schematics and theoretical designs, his true talent lying in the restoration of older vehicles.

His wife on the other hand, is more of a designer. She takes the good ideas and creates suitable field applications, like mounted weaponry, ammunition feed systems, and everything ranging from tire treading to bumper curve. She too holds the heavy marks of old age, but with auburn gold hair that still holds some of the luster of her youthful days, the roots just now turning white into her mid fifties.

And then there's their son, eleven years Jonathan's younger. The day Jon left to join the Wings, Grayson had decided in his young age that he would build the guns that Jon would use to make bad guys go away. This was ten years ago, and technically Grayson hadn't been a liar, even at the young age of six. His parents always knew he would be brilliant, unlike Jon who was more fascinated with guns and how they killed people. Grayson began his studies and his aptitude proved more than the complex tests could handle. He soared through each course and assignment given to him by Dresden's teachers, so quickly that his parents began devising their own curriculum.

As soon as he was able Grayson joined his parents in the field of automotive science, focusing his intellect onto practical weaponry, working more with his mother than his father. It was Grayson who, in his off-time, designed the modified assault rifle that Jonathan and his squad use today. Also proving himself the prodigal child, he invented and explosive putty based off of old world composition-C, completely malleable, but firm, and requiring a spark to ignite. This item is also exclusive to Jonathan and his squad, but Motum Diversum has the schematics for both the putty and the gun.

Leaving behind his boring life of tests and assignments, Jonathan fulfilled his dream of becoming a Wing. Most of his life was spent with studies he had no interest, and no passive skill for, and being bullied by the “braniacs”, or the smart children. Compared to them he was as dumb as a rock, but with the Winged Guardians he felt right at home, and he was rightly accepted into the ranks. As with every new blood, he did experience his fair share of hazing, pranks, and other minor difficulties. He had no trouble adapting, and was the only cadet in his year willing to return anything he was given. This lead him to garner a lot of unwanted attention, and trouble, and the label of being rebellious.

This was quickly pounded out of him with the help of a mean spirited drill instructor. For the first time since leaving home, Jon felt homesick. But he persisted. He ran laps until he could no longer run, and then ran more for being a show off. He tried to do more physical exercise than the others, and was punished with more. He spent the first month confused, as his desire to excel was met with endless punishment. It wasn't until the end of the second month that he learned the meaning of unity, of comradery. A unit was only as strong as the weakest link, and by trying to be the strongest link he was also the weakest. This was when he also learned the meaning of endurance, compared to just raw will. 

Months three and four were spent training as commanded. He spent his free time with the others, though his stepparents had always taught him to follow rules, the other cadets taught him how to break rules. Smuggling booze, drugs, and cigarettes became an art for some, but Jon never dirtied his hand with such trafficking. He did partake from time to time, his curiosity overcoming his will. Leave was spent going into whatever town was nearby and looking for women, though genital horror stories kept Jon away from the prostitutes and brothels. He did find women, and they did take their close off for him, and sometimes for him and a couple of his buddies. It didn't take long for that childhood shyness clinging to Jonathan's personality to be shed, group sex will do that to a person. He also became stronger, forged in fire and molded into steel. He may not be a genius, but he could be the bulwark that stood before his stepbrother, shielding him from the larger horrors of the world.

Long after his friends had left, joining their respective groups and receiving their assignments, Jon stayed in training. He had no desire to be a grunt, patrolling city slums, gathering intelligence, or standing around in a watchtower. No, he wanted to be the guy that was called to raid drug cartels, the kind of action hero characterized by children's fantasies. He spent time learning to use a long range, precision rifle. He never reached the top of any shooting classes, but he far exceeded the accepted standard. He also took courses in explosives use, gaining proficient use of many different devices and contraptions.

The second year wore on, albeit it was still early. Jon was being pushed to join a regiment. Nobody wanted to fulfill his expressed desire to better equip himself with a broader knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, except for one. Drill Sergeant Thanos said he would take Jon under his wing, for the remainder of the year. Jon eagerly accepted and his superiors begrudgingly accepted, Thanos was a well respected man of the institution and Jon had captured his interest. Jon's happiness at the opportunity was constantly second guessed by himself, as he spent the first few months doing a regimen of physical exercise instead of actually learning close quarters combat. Sergeant Thanos simply explained that raw power was not enough to be an apt fighter, and that Jon would have to hone himself to a peak of perfection before he would be ready to begin learning.

Late a night, a winded and sore Jonathan would think on the prospective benefits of his apprenticeship under Sergeant Thanos. His conditioning included running until he couldn't breathe, immediately followed by a routine of straining physical exercise before he could snag a chance to catch his breath. If he was not quick enough with his exercises he would have to start over. It was nearly a month before Jon even got to the third item on Sergeant Thanos' list, by this time others had become intrigued with the two of them to the point that the mass interest reached the board of directors overseeing military basic training and drill; commissioned by the Executive of Security.

Thanos was instated as special course drill instructor, who then employed Jon as his model of comparison for weeding out all of the initiates. Jon was not the fastest, or the strongest by far, but he did excel in pure endurance. The first test was the run, and only the top twenty who did not quit would proceed. This was also done at a full sprint. Many of the others quickly passed Jon, but it was only a matter of minutes before he passed their wheezing bodies.

The twenty that passed joined Jon in his daily routine. Now, nobody could move on until everybody could together. Additionally Jon's usual four hours of sleep was extended to five, so that they could all have time to “shoot the shit” as their Drill Sergeant stated. His methods did not attempt to breed cold, emotionless warriors, but a well oiled machine that was self sustaining.

Finally, a month and a half before the year was up Jon and his squad succeeded in passing The Run, The Exercise, and a timed gauntlet of obstacles, all done rapid fire one after another. 

One day, as Jon finished his lap over walls, through tires, through mud, ropes, and multitudes of other obstacles that he and his team had constructed by hand, thinking about how quickly he could do his laundry, Sergeant Thanos announced that his “baby carrots had grown into the long, hard dicks of men.” That's when Jon finally got the final piece to his warrior's puzzle, hand to hand combat. It was the hardest thing he had done yet. Having his ass handed to him day in, and day out, sleeping for only a couple of hours a night before doing it again. The worst part is the Sergeant never seemed to tired, never seemed to waiver, and never seemed to receive a hit.

Most of the practice was done on each other, sparring rituals, and simulated combat. It was hardly simulated, as Jon and his brethren went full out on each other. Pains and aches did not stop Jon from trying to hardest, and getting flipped on his back every time by Sergeant Thanos. But, slowly, Jon and the others found themselves able to block a few more times, able to last a little longer sparring against “Master Thanos” as they began fondly calling him-- Never to his face.

By the end of the year they had become experts on the craft, though never able to best Sergeant Thanos, they did receive his praise. Most of all Jonathan, this being the only thing he had ever masted. He finally felt fulfilled, like he was worthy of life. He was no genius, but his was an expert combatant in close quarters. It was around this honorary graduation that his brother was deemed to smart to attend regular school. Jon would be 19 now, making his step brother 8. Still, this didn't dampen his spirits, he didn't have to be a genius baby, he was the protector, the sword and the shield.

Jon found himself slightly saddened as his comrades in arms went their separate ways, there was no official squads or regiments to join for the completion of Sergeant Thanos' Drill. And, despite everything Jon had put himself through, he was still assigned a paltry position as a Winged Guardian stationed in Russel City. 

He endured on however, refusing to fall to corruption and greed. He was made to endure, and he wouldn't mar the image of the warrior Sergeant Thanos had molded him into being. He stayed away from the more illicit activities of the Guardians, doing his rounds dutifully, and with purpose. He upheld the law as fairly and justly as he could, even when left up to interpretation. He even found his fair share of lovers, but he could never see himself settling down with nice, normal folk. It was mostly wild flings in the night, and hot love affairs. Perhaps the worst thing he did was smoke cigarettes, drink a little, and balance multiple lovers. What's the worst that could happen anyways? A warrior's greatest honor was death in battle, he was destined to die.

He had nothing to fear.

His life dragged on this way, day in, day out, purpose and routine. Eventually he became comfortable with it, though most days he spent his patrol jogging. His nights were filled with exercise and his one enjoyable habit, smoking. He slept only a little bit each night, some days choosing to start his duties early and end them late. It wasn't long until his actions were noticed by those higher up than he, and become a model of excellence for those who cared. Most higher ranking officers didn't much care for high moral codes of justice and honor, too involved with extortion and tyrannical power. But some did notice, and Jon ascended the ranks until he found himself a sergeant, and captain of his own platoon. His own platoon of liars, thieves, and officially sanctioned thugs.

The state of affairs was disappointing, and Sergeant Diederich tried to instill some honor and fear into his men. They requested transfers and were quickly accepted elsewhere, wherever it was that corruption festered. He tried his hand with newer recruits, but it wasn't long until they learned the ways of the others. The darker, fun side of the Wings. News of this reached the ears of the Executive of Security, who was often far too busy to actually meet personally with his underlings.

Jon received a warning letter, about his poor performance with his new position. He responded back by attempting to explain himself, explain the state of affairs within the city. The Security Executive declared Jon's accusations ludicrous, that the city was in fine hands and Jon was the only problem. He obviously didn't know, somewhere up the ladder the news was filtered before it could reach the ears of the appropriated executive.

Jon fell back into complacency. His squad did what they want, only being reprimanded for breaching orders and enforced protocol. Jon went back to his routine of running and exercising, losing his wandering mind in the repetitive nature of it all. He didn't although himself to think much, because he was prone to thinking dangerous thoughts. Treasonous even.  
[/hider]
[h3][center][color=gold]Gear[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Weapons:[/b][list]
[*][url=http://oyster.ignimgs.com/mediawiki/apis.ign.com/battlefield-3/thumb/3/34/Scarh.png/468px-Scarh.png]Modified Scar-H[/url]: No longer your average assault rifle, Jonathan's gun is one of the holy preachers of death. Featuring an adjustable zoom scope, with an optic range finder built in, and an interchangeable rate of fire; from burst to single. It also has a barrel mounted flashlight and laser dot, which forms the three dot pattern in likeness to his helmet's optics. It is the probable combination of a low recoil assault rifle, and a precision sniper rifle.
[*][url=http://butikk.wasteland.no/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/c/c/ccp8b2.png]Vigilante Revolver[/url]: This is the gun that gave Jonathan his nickname of “Grimm” before becoming a Wraith. A simple black, six shot, .50 caliber revolver. 
[*][url=http://images.knifecenter.com/knifecenter/united/images/UC784a.jpg] Arthur [/url]: Jon's fusion between brass knuckles and a tactical knife, does exactly what it looks like it's supposed to. Nobody knows why it is named Arthur. 
[/list]
[b]Armor:[/b][list]
[*][b]Wraith Helmet[/b]: A full face helmet, commissioned for the Wraiths featuring; Normal, Infrared, and Night vision switchable optics; Built in air scrubbers and an oxygen filtration device. It's also highly resistant to low caliber, dirty rounds.
[*][b]Wraith Mantle[/b]: A light metal cover over the shoulders and torso, padded with thick Kevlar-esque material. It has a reinforced spinal 'band-aid' weapon holster, and acts as a one gallon camelbak, holding water within. It also features the same low caliber resistance as the helmet.
[*][b]Utility Belt[/b]: Standard issue utility belt, with a metal cinch instead of plastic. Has two, rear hip mounted satchels; two 'slim' pouches typically carrying a flashlight and mace; an elastic band typically holding grenade canisters; and a quick clip sheath.  
[*][b]Other Attire[/b]: Standard issue combat boots, with a secondary knife sheath, and solid metal knee pads woven into the light green pants. Also light green, a cloth duster style jacket is worn underneath the wraith mantle, with the badge of the Motum Diversum Winged Guards sown onto both sleeves. A light, similarly colored shirt with long sleeves is worn underneath that, following the protective theme of the wastelanders protecting their skin from the harsh desert sun.[/list]

[b]Ammunition:[/b][list]
[*][b]Dirty Rounds:[/b]Four mags of 7.62x51mm holding 45 rounds each. (180) 
[*][b]High Grade Rounds:[/b] Two mags of 7.62x5mm holding 45 rounds each. (90) 
[*][b]Heavy Ammunition:[/b]None 
[/list]
[b]Backpack:[/b]None

[b]Belt Pouches, Pants, and Mantle Pockets:[/b][list]
[*]2x concussive flashbang canisters, 2x fragmentation grenade, 1x incendiary grenade, 1x block of explosive C-5 putty, in a bullet proof satchel case, 8x putty ignition devices, timed and remote. Small trauma kit: Bandages, Stitches, Needle and Twine, Sterilizing Agent, 2x morphine pills. Flashlight, Arthur, Cigarettes, Lighter, Canteen, Water purifying tablets, energy pills, protein pills.[/list]

[h3][center][color=navajowhite]Immortalis Information[/color][/center][/h3]
[b]Manifested Phenomena: None[/b] 
[b]Unique Abilities:[/b]None
[b]Strengths:[/b][list]
[*][color=lightgreen][b]Military Conditioning[/b][/color]: Because of Jon's profession, he is a well rounded war machine. He has high endurance, good strength, good speed, and a hearty mental fortitude.
[*][color=lightgreen][b]There are many like it.[/b][/color]: Jon's weapons are not just firearms, but an extension of himself. He is an excellent precision shooter, with either gun.
[*][color=lightgreen][b]Canned Whoop-ass.[/b][/color] Along side his firearms training, and his conditioning, Jon has also been trained to be an excellent hand-to-hand combatant, top of his class in fact. [/list]
[b]Weaknesses:[/b][list]
[*][color=lightcoral][b]Man of Action[/b][/color]: Jon is a man of action, meaning his life is filled with purpose, and adrenaline. He doesn't take leave, he can't foresee himself being a civilian, and without purpose there are a range of emotional and mental consequences that are highly likely to affect him. 
[*][color=lightcoral][b]My Only Weakness[/b][/color]: Jonathan loves his brother Grayson, more than life itself. So much that he mails half of his payment for being special forces to Grayson, personally. This is a considerable weak-point in his otherwise iron fortitude.  
[/list]
[h1][/h1]