Name: Major Varl

Age: 75

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Height: 5'11”

Weight: 180lbs

Appearance: (Images (no anime) or written. Written needs to be AT LEAST two hundred words. ) 

Equipment: Varl himself wears the same uniform from his days in the Imperial guard. Instead of the simple black trenchcoat like his men he dresses more akin to a regimental commisar. Thick black leather coat with a deep crimson trim around the cuffs, collar and all hems and edges to give him a suitably sinister appearance. Even a peaked officers cap with the sam crimson trim on the brim but instead of an aquila he has the symbol of his prized regiment.
Some extra bulk is added to his frame because of the masterwork, reinforced carapiece suit worn underneath this coat afford him a great degree of protection and mobility. In lieu of the usual 'one eyed' helmet worn by his men he usually wears a blank faceless mask. This mask is strong, durable and armoured enough to absorb aside a las-pistol blast with nothing more than a scorch mark. Which only serves to make the faceless and expressionless mask look as if it is sneering in rage in response to such an offence. 
He is also known to wear a variety of other masks. All faceless and all reinforced but with various designs. Some simply different colours and others depict snarling deamonic and beastial maws and faces. Others still can have strangely beautiful or terrible scenes and images engraved on them/ Some simple, others mind boggling in their purpose and why such a man know for his ruthlessness would bother with. And others of breathtaking detail in honour of worthy enemies, fierce battles and accolades won by him men and command. Almost as if this is his incredibly odd collection. He will never show his face publicly if possible and none of his men speak of his decision or answer any questions about his appearance to outsiders. 

For melee weapons he wields a curious piece. Much like lightning claws commonly seen on the wrists of champions of both chaos and the Imperium Varl's gauntlet. Each finger is taloned in exquisitly wrought and engraved metal. With a smaller blade on each knuckle to make the piece seem even more deadly and odd. The actual glove part that fits snugly over his arm is made of the leathered hide of a chaos fury. The same fury who's essence and soul live in the very blade. 
The kind of work that would only be found or attempted within the broken reality of the warp. Though these finger tips are deadly in their own right they themeselves are not the chief danger of the weapon. 
Five blades make up the claw. Each one long, wide faced and stiletto thin. They curve wickedly to extract the most pain and spill the most blood of it's victim. The outer most edges of four such blades are razor sharp and seem to keep an unearthly strong edge to themselves. Despite the thinness of the blades they puncture armour with laughable ease and can parry the blows of power weapons and other artifacts. The inner edges are serrated and barbed to cause the most pain and hemoragging possible as they are pulled out of the victims body. The outer edges of these blades are also visable (and touchable) all down the back hand and wrist of the wearer. The two center blades are the longest, straightest and most deadly while the two on the outer edges are shorter, more curved and talon shaped and also extend on slight obtuse angles. 
The fifth blade is far more unique and less less of a blade and more of a thin metal spike that at first glances serves no purpose or function other than to inconvenience it's wearer. This is partly true as this spike actually is meant ot pierce into the users fore-arm as they wield it. Letting the real strength and fury of the deamon trapped within lend itself to it's master. This can and has easily overwhelmed some people and turned them into mindless savages void of anything more complex than the most base primal instincts and needs. Much like the nature of Furies themselves. But also like furies to one who is strong of mind or maybe just dam stubborn enough they can hold back and stem the overwhelming tide of rage and influence from the deamon, for a time at least. And those with truly driven and disciplined minds like varl. Or maybe even just those the gods feel like gifting can find themselves usurping the daemon. To overpower it instead and tame it for his will. Only taking and allowing what power he wants it to. And a fact known only to it's owner or to the odd man fortunate or mis fortunate enough to be close to the weapon to inspect it would notice that these blades, Esepcially the fifth backward facing one almost seem to retract and extend at times. Varl can certainly feel it burrow deeper into his forarm when he calls upon the strength of the daemon and those who get stabbed can almost feel the blades themselves curve just that much more like fingers tightening on their prize. 

For ranged warfare he prefers his tried and trusted laspistol. It has been with him his entire career and it;s rugged reliability and versatility saved his hide far more times than he hs cared to admit. Even though he could have long since passed it up for a fanicer hell pistol or hotshot variant or even a bolt pistol he does not want to abandon something that has served him so well in his life. And the machine spirit within it, despite everything the Imperium taught him did not cease to function or boject to his new 'career choice'. If anything it seems to serve him with even more vigor and zeal nearly fifty years later.

Laspistol - http://www3.telus.net/ignusdei/funnies/Laspistol.jpg
Mask - http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs20/f/2007/262/4/2/Virindi_Mask_by_Jin_Saotome.jpg 
Fingers of his gauntlet - http://www.swordsswords.com/ProductImages/s/IRON_REAVER_BLADE_MC1026-2.jpg
Regimental decal - http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140114021643/starcraft/images/c/c4/Mercenary_SC2-HotS_Decal1.jpg 

Powers: 
Disciplined mind- Whether by training, Imperial indoctrination, birth or what have you. Varl has an incredibly stubborn and strong mind which helps his resist many things that would render most mortal men gibbering and broken mentally. From the Constant barrage of deamonic influences that is a life serving chaos to the direct mental and phsycial link he possesses with the deamon in his blade to simply resisting unwanted psykic intrusions he is able trough sheer stubborn tenacity and disciplined will to wall off his mind. Instead of simply pushing back on an invading presence like most would he focuses on defending against it. Playing out the invasion of his mind as just another battle field to manipulate. Moves and counter moves that happen smoothly and in the blink of an eye that has left more than one sorcerer and would be invader quickly routed and pushed back before they realized what was happening. 
His mental fortitude is equivilant to that of the most stubborn of army chaplains and even rivalling the level of an astartes. 

Commanding presence/Booming voice- helping to keep with his personal beliefs and standards for his men and their performance Varl has what can best be described as a commanding personality. Which only seems to have been amplified beyond the norm since his turn to chaos. The gods gifting him with several things one of which is a deep booming voice that drips with authority and power. The kind of voice that demands obedience and always receives. 

Between the added supernatural weight to his presence and the almost irresistable nature of his tone and commands that have compelled even enemies at times to obey his orders almost as if on reaction. Though weak minded individuals are often needed for this. Some civilians or guardsman have actually opened fire and attacked their fellows after Varl roared a charge and before they realized what was happening had their comrades blood flowing over their hands and the commisars bolt pistol blowing out their brains. 
Overall he has just a being of incredible confidence and authority. Which could very well explain some of the fervent and unquestioning loyatly of the men he commands. 

Loyalty – not so much a power but the unshakable and unflinching loyalty and obedience of his men is definatly a boon. They seem withdrawn to others. Unlike most cultists will keep to themselves, not inteact, are not prone to outbursts of emotion or violence. And will carry out their orders to the letter and without fail or die in the attempt. Any questions about their leaders and tactics or even state of readiness is met with stony silence and they are not unknown to kill those who persist in such lines of questioning. 
They are fervent enough to the point where they will gladly and immediatly carry out any assignment or mission Varl commands them to regardless of how one sided the odds may be. Even assignments that have been doomed to be one sided trips have been accepted with a nod and salute and most importantly. No regrets or hesitation. 
While they are fiercly loyal to all of their officers and their unit as a whole they have a reverence and deciation to Varl such that if he were to simply hand one a blade and order him to die they would probably do so. 
Rank Among Chaos: 'Champion' leader of what would probably be called a minor warband.

Bio: Varl Started his career as all renegades do. In the service of the Emperor. As an officer of the 903rd Cornithian infantry regiment. Nicknamed the Marauders for their agressive and effective tactics. A proud regiment with a proud tradition of service stretching back centuries. Being selected from the imperial academy to serve within it;s ranks was an honour. It was easily one of the more desirable posts amongst the young and aspiring generals to be as all officers are at that age. Plenty of combat, bloodshed, glory and honour and all of that. And he got exactly what he wanted. 
It was everything an aspiring glory hound could want. And he can still recall how his breast swelled with pride each time a new battle honour was sewn into the regimental standard. And the satisfaction he received from putting down the enemies of the emperor. Their disguting mutated hides and pathetic lives being put to the sword. 
As he got older and his promotions came through and he was moved up the chain of command his mood and demeanour changed. Not uncommon in the army to have youthful arrogance and pride replaced by reality. Eager men became grizzled and determined and so forth. And while his mood changed he did still relish the fight. Just in a different way. The glee of a simple kill was repalced by the immense pride and satisfaction of outmaneuvring ones opponents. Crushing them completely and utterly under ones heel with iron discipline and tactics. And that same satisfaction came from any foe whether it be heretic, xeno, or just rebellious citizens. Over time and as his career dragged on victory alone started to mean more than victory for the emperor. He still identified as loyal to the Imperium as any man would. But his faith was placed more in his comrades and men under his command. Than the hope of theological assistance that experience taught him would almsot never come. 
That and the imperium's uncaring and inability at times to provide the support and proper supplies needed for a regiment to survive. With lesser regiments he might understand their low priority. But the Marauders were anything but a trivial batch of whitesheilds. They were hardened men. And effective fighting force many times over. But the Imperium didn't give a shit. It never did and he supposed he knew all along it never really would. 
This theory was proven without a doubt as his regiment was deployed into a literal meatgrinder of a warzone. The archenemy was entrenched deep into it;s soil and was putting up a damed good defence of it too. For weeks they held a strategically worthless position with minimal support and almost no word from command. They lost hundreds of their men during those weeks only to be told their deployment there was the resault of some generals mistake in the war room. The entire venture was pointless and a waste of lives and resources. And without so much as a day to catch their breath they were marching forward yet again. 
The rest of the campaign on that world farred little better. And Varl noticed changes in some of the men. Open wounds became infected more easily and with things far more horrifying than simple gangrene. Men muttering to themselves or to no one in particular. Small things that gave the comissars a field day. There were days when more were executed on suspicion of mutation and corruption than were actually killed off by injury or enemy harassment. 

It was during these invasions that he came across the mask he has now become known for wearing. People who see him wearing it may like to think it had some deep story behind it's discovery. That it was forged in the warp or that his face was so disfigured and scarred from some previous battle that he takes to wearing it out of anguish and shame to hide his disfigurement. And Varl does not actively try to dispell or spread any such rumors about his refusal to show his face. Mostly because he doesn't actually care what people think. He knows that some of those rumors only serve to cement and inflate his budding reputation. Some may think there is power in the mask that gives him such command over his men. Assassination and teft attempts have been made for it in the past. Even his subordinate officers have at times fallen to such thoughts and actions only to be executed shortly into their plans. 
In truth he wears it for a far more personal and sober reason. 
He origionally found the mask during some cleaning out of the enemy. Even today he could not remember the exact location or building where he found the peice have buried in soil and ash. He more saw it as a curiosity. And at the time he wasn;t willing to say outloud whether or not it was an Imperial possession or one created by the chaos horde. And even today it is a detail he is not entirely certain about. But he for wahtever reason was loathe to part with it. He found himself starring at it more and more as the war dragged on. Not out of admiration for craftsmanship or aesetitically pleasing style. More because he found himself relating to it for and more every day.
Every day that war dragged on and the incompotence that was the imperial command continued throwing men at worthless or far to strong positions the more he started to feel faceless. Like he was just a faceless cypher of war. And that even a proud and loyal man like him, in a proud and loyal regiment with centuries of honourable service could just the thrown aside and beaten down and forgotton at the stroke of a pen. He even took to wearing the piece as a form of silent protest that his men surprisingly didn;t question and even seemed to understand. 

But it wasn't until much later during the final crack downs on the few enemy strongholds left (a process that took some years to reach) that Varl was truly pushed over the edge. After years of fighting on that blighted little shit of a planet Varl was fast becoming fed up with the Imperial method. The superior ranks were staggeringly incompotent. A victory that taken years should only have taken one at most with a proper strategist at the helm. The supply lines were a mess, reinforcements almost never came which only put extra stress on the regiments involved as they barely were able to make proper front line rotations. 
But his turn to chaos was oddly enough not the resault of chaos deamons whispering into his ear promising power and glory but really is was the final blow to his pride that really pushed him to turn his back on the Imperium. Before the final assaults, there was a lull. One welcomed by many to re-organize and re-equipp for the bloody battle that was sure to follow in the coming days. The army underwent a customary period of reconstruction as well. Those regiments that were due reinforcements received them. And others that were battered and bloody and little more than a few companies were organized into temporary 'detachment' regiments. A common enough practice to combine many small forces into a single larger unit until their own reinforcements arrived. 

A more uncommon practice is to wipe some regiments entirely and merge them with other nearly full strength regiments to buff their numbers. That was supposed to be the scheduled fate of the vaunted Marauders. To be simply wiped from the annels of history, their banners sent back to the homeworld in shame and their deeds only to be remembered by memory. And why? Because the esteemed generals in charge of the bum fuck that was this invasion wanted the spotlight of the victory to go to the regiments of their world. And the easiest way to give that spotlight and ensure they had the men and means to do this was by merging regiments. Most regiments went meekly enough but the remnants of the marauders were enraged. By this point nearly all of the command staff save Varl himself were already dead which left him defacto in charge of the regiment. And he fought this injustice tooth and nail to the point of insubordination. 
This wasn;t a spit in the face to him as an imperial but to him as a soldier. To his unit that he grew to rely and appreciate more than the imperium itself. It was then he heard the small voices in his head telling him to wait and bide his time. That he would have a chance to strike out against this injustice and ensure his men and their name would live on. 
His first loyatly was to regiment and it;s pride. And when the arch-enemy launched their sudden counter attack. Backed by a massive incoming fleet that dropped right out of warp to surprise and catch the agressor imperial army off guard Varl rallied what men of his that shared his sense of loyatly to themselves and their unit and killed those who resisted. In short he defected. Not because of riches or power but because of pride and honour. And that thought of losing all of that, not at the end of a sword as would be an easier fate for a proud soldier to swallow but neutered by the pen and politics. was too grevious of an insult to bear. 

When the arch-enemies surprise counter attack was launched Varl took advantage of the confusion. A massive fleet appeared in orbit and took the navy off guard and a sudden surge of reinforcements, some of which daemonic through weeks of careful planning into dissarray.  Rounding what loyal men he had he cut his way out of both the Imperial and heretic lines. To him the most important thing ws keeping his regiment.... his name alive. The Marauders would live on and continue to earn their battle honours with or without the imperium at their backs. 
Still more to be written. 

Aligned: unaligned 

Retinue: ~500 soldiers, Split into two main companies of two hundred and a third that maintains it;s support weapons/vehicles and other axuleries. As well as houses the platoons Grenadier elite under his direct command. Their supply of Light carapiece armour they can afford/scrounge are meticulously kept and used to arm the 50+ storm trooper elites. Any hellguns the company has also go to these men. Making sure at least all fire teams see at least one such weapon. Grenade launchers are also common support weapons in these fireteams. 
The auxilaries would be whatever servitors, mechanically minded laymen, hereteks, Even a sorcerer or two that they can afford and/or enslave to their cause. 
Most troopers are armed with basics that any imperial gaurdsman would see. Flak vest, helmet, uniform. Though the marauders are unique in marching into battle in trenchcoats and a helm designed by the major and special crafted at his request from what forges they could afford. These helms are a much a symbol to pick out one another as they are to their enemies. Faceless and simple, devoid of carvings and personal touches one would normally find in military units. So that each looks as cold and impersonal and identical as the man beside them. 
Standard issue and quality lasguns and carbines, A handful of grenades a piece. A long las or grenade launcher per squad if possible. 
Most heavy weapons are simple and reliable pieces. Nothing that is too complex and would need a an arch-heretek to fix. As well as being relatively cheap to purchase, maintain and supply with munitions. Mostly heavy stubbers.