[hider=The Rebel Xander]
[b]Character Name: [/b]	Crispin Xander

[b]Sex:[/b] 	Male


[hider=Appearance]
[center][img] https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ef/68/ba/ef68bae99c0142384e8cf517190861b5.jpg[/img][/center]
	A generally suave looking fellow with absolutely no modifications. A normal human.
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[hider=Autocratic House]
[center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/b6/88/ae/b688aeafcca18f26bfeb6771e363d86a.jpg[/img][/center]
[center]Tsargorav[/center]

	Tsargorav is a militaristic faction led by a family of the same name that helps keep Merkadian forces armed to the teeth and trained to respond quickly. They profit mostly off of the sales their weapons make including the shadier aspects of their business.

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[b]Biological Enhancements:[/b]
	Absolutely none.

[b]Personality: [/b]

	Crispin is stoic and rebellious. Willful strength is something he has in droves and he isn't afraid to let everyone else know. He admits that part of his strength comes from his Christian belief, a religion that has been in massive decline since the rise of the Merkadian regime long ago.
	This rebel is in a state of mind where he knows he will die eventually and he damned well will do as much as he can to make it take as long as possible. Maybe if he lasts long enough his cause won't totally die with him.

[b]History: [/b]	Here's a short story instead!

	"Crispin Xander?" A rather short man confirmed, looking down on the chained rebel from atop a stand. "THE Xander? Hah, you lasted a while out there didn't you?" Crispin looked up at the auctioneer before looking back at the ground in silence. A lot of his energy had been beaten out of him the last time he tried to fight back. "Come now. I've given you permission to speak, so speak!" The weasely auctioneer demanded.

	Crispin tried to posture himself against the pole that held him in line with the other men and failed against the solid bindings. It was a showing of new slaves for the arena and corporations, syndicates and other houses were here to bid for them. Finally he looked up at the diminutive man's eyes, staring coldly at him. "Just kill me you little shit stain." The auctioneer beamed wickedly at him, triumphant in getting a rise.

	"Oh we'll see who the shit stain is after the beasts of the arena eat you." He chuckled at his own clever remark."Xander, you and your men here have been condemned to fight in the arena until death. Your little escapades mean nothing anymore. Play nice because you're going to help line Merkadia with profit. See? Even your death will mean something!" The little auctioneer boasted.

	Men in suits and various other types of ornamental outfits started walking in to see the day's haul of merchandise. "Here they are. Grovel and you might get a nice patron." The little man whispered. 

	A man in a black suit, lined with red gilding started eying Crispin's line as the other patrons spread around the chamber to look at others. He was middle-aged, wrinkles just setting into his eyes and gray hints striking his hairline. He looked up and down at each person with the kind of passionless poise of a man deciding what he wanted for dinner. He paused in front of Crispin and turned to look back at the auction master. Who promptly asked him a question, "Is something the matter, sir?"

	"Is something the matter he says? Of course something is the matter. This merchandise is battered. Damaged merchandise is not worth such a cost. Even if it is rebel scum you should have just executed them!" He turned and leaned in toward Crispin. "Especially this one." Crispin scowled at him before forcing himself forward and head butting the man in the face. The patron fell on the ground cradling his face as some blood dripped between his hands onto the expensive suit. The hands muffled the string of curses he spat out.

	The auctioneer acted immediately, arming himself with the shockstaff he kept handy against his stand and prodding Crispin. The rebel clenched and shook involuntarily as the shock hit him. "Stop!" The patron shouted, word partially muffled by the handkerchief he had pulled out to cover his bleeding nose. "This one has fire. I will enjoy snuffing it out." He wiped the blood from his nose and glanced at the rest of the line. "These are all his troop?" He questioned the auctioneer.

	"Yes, Mr. Tsargorav." The auctioneer responded instantly.

	"Good, I will buy them." He blew blood into the handkerchief and continued." ... At a discount!"

	"A discount sir?" The auctioneer looked puzzled. A threatening leer from Mr. Tsargorav was enough to coerce him. "Of course sir, for damage done, a discount."

	The Tsargorav looked the rebel in the eyes, staying away enough to avoid another sharp head butt. "You've made me bleed. I will enjoy finding creative activities for you to make me money. You will survive so long as I allow it." He turned away to motion for some of his retainers. "Don't worry, I won't keep you waiting."

[b]Quick Overview:[/b]	Crispin Xander is a notorious rebel who lasted for months in Merkadia without being caught, causing all kinds of havoc until special forces finally tracked him down. It is unusual for anyone to give military forces so much trouble. They killed most of his men before capturing the rest with non-lethal weaponry to ensure there were no more insurgencies to be had. As a show of good will to their national past time they enrolled the remaining few who were not tortured to death for information to spend the remainder of their short lives entertaining Merkadia.

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Hope you enjoy, I actually enjoyed writing the "history".