Name: Lucius Chroam

Age: 190-ish?

Gender: Born Male, Identifies as an Attack Helicopter. Prefers Male Pronouns.

Race: Is The Ad-Mech a race? Cyborg I guess?

Appearance: The red robes of the Mechanicum do their best to shroud much of his form in mystery. Unfortunately, the once-brilliant trappings of the tech-priest have fallen into great disrepair. The deep crimson has been faded and stained to nearly brown, the cogs embroidered in gold along every hem hang in tatters. His sleeves and the bottom hem of the robe are ragged beyond repair. Not that their wearer seems to care at all. His robe also fails to hide the hunchback that seems to plague so many tech-priests, though he seems to fight valiantly and constantly to stand straight. Faint glows can occasionally be seen peeking through the sheer fabric, depending on the lighting. At least a half-dozen mechadendrites seem to have free reign, slithering in and out as needed, always polished brightly, and one much larger servo-arm always looms over his left shoulder. None of his remaining flesh is visible. Any part of him that appears from the confines of his robe is always polished to the point of being uncomfortably shiny for those around him. Every single component of him appears to have been chrome plated, and his more exquisite parts are lovingly inlaid with an intricate mesh of golden cogs. A third eye sits in the exact centre of his forehead. He often strives to keep it hidden, but seems more concerned with keeping its purpose a tight secret. It, and his left eye seem to always be the same colour, while his right eye seems to change colours independently, and more frequently. The only obvious weapon he carries is the symbol of his office, a metre-long chrome-plated staff that ends in a very heavy-looking symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Surrounding the symbol completely is a wicked blade, and closer examination would reveal that whole device appears to be of one-piece construction, minus the decorations, that was then attached to the shaft. The whole head of the staff crackles with energy, as if it is designed to pull double-duty as both power axe and maul.

Personality: Lucius is a relentless, power-hungry tech-priest, displaying a remarkable whimsy for a mechanical being. The chrome-plated tech-priest is often fervent in his desires, and unscrupulous in his methods. The only thing that seems to speak through this fog of haste, hate, and power-lust is loyalty. While often regarded as insane by those who have met him only in passing, anyone caring to build trust with the tech-priest will find their own goals added to his list of things to achieve, assuming they can survive and tolerate his company long enough to be inducted into his inner circle. Surprisingly warm and friendly despite his cold chrome shell, many assume he makes it his goal to confuse others, and he's never argued that point. Those he considers friends have often found themselves left with great rewards after he's taken off once more in pursuit of his destiny. He is a nearly-recovered sufferer of "The Flesh Is Weak Syndrome", only in that he has nearly resolved the issue by removing his weakness.

History: Lucius Chroam wasn't born, or grown, into the Mechanicum like most people often assume. He was born to parents who'd spent most of their lives dodging servitor-hood on a Mechanicus Munitions Manufactory-Ship. He spent much of his childhood doing the same, until, with the help of an explosion, he managed to con his way into the position of tech-acolyte. From there he spent his time assisting a low-level enginseer, and soaking up all the knowledge he could. That low-level enginseer got himself promoted up to mid-level enginseer, and Lucius just kept on assisting him. Until another explosion saw fit to get him promoted again. The two of them were deployed to recover a Leman Russ that had gotten itself thoroughly stuck during an assault. Someone had clearly forgotten to tell the enemy that they'd been routed, however, as an artillery shell dropped right on top of the tank before they could get it out. The explosion killed the enginseer and scattered bits of him all over the place. Lucius was a good deal luckier, and sustained perfectly repairable wounds, assuming he got to medical attention quickly. However his actions showed no determination to reach such a service. Instead, he gathered up the more important pieces of his former supervisor, and even managed to see that the remains of the Leman Russ got pulled free. A very surprised group of Guardsmen arrived in a Chimera just in time for the acolyte to demand that they hook up the tow-chains he'd attached to the wrecked tank, to their vehicle, and attempt to pull it free and drag it back to its spot in the motorpool. He then passed out, but his orders got followed, and he woke up in the care of the Mechanicum.

The scene he woke to was right out of nightmare his parents had planted in his brain, except that nothing was rusty or grinding or unpleasant, and he couldn't feel any pain. Indeed, once he stopped panicking, he realized even his memories were intact. Everything was also very notably shiny and covered in chrome. The sickeningly clean stench of medical grade disinfectant filled his nostrils, and a gentle whirring was the only sound that even registered in his ears once he stopped freaking out. The medical machines operating on him were replacing his damaged limbs with metal ones, and fitting him with everything he'd need to operate as a brand new low-level enginseer. His actions, along with the records from his former supervisor, had earned him a promotion, and an acolyte of his own. But once the excitement subsided, and tedium set it, his new station wasn't nearly enough for Chroam. He drew the questionable connection between explosions and advancement, and soon found himself driven by a combination of chrome and destruction.

This combination was surprisingly effective. And while he was hesitant to stoop to all-out sabotage, it wasn't hard to let the projects others were working on break, while his own succeeded wildly. Eventually, he did stoop to sabotage, but he was always meticulous when it came to such competition. Eventually, the remarkably bad luck of his colleagues paid off, and he was dropped off on Gryphonne IV to help with the construction of Vortex Missiles. It was here that his true passion was ignited, though the tech-priest didn't stay long, even as he advanced at blistering speed, he plotted to have himself transferred to Graia. Even that planet, with its great engines of war couldn't slake Lucius' lust for knowledge and power, however, and after loading all he could onto his internal cogitators for later study, he abandoned his post once more.

This time, however, accusations of techno-heresy followed, and he soon found himself drifting from place to place, seeking employment only to further his own goals, casually dodging suspicions at the same time. During his drifting, those accusations of techno-heresy became steadily truer. At first, he justified it. It was all for the advancement of mankind. Everyone used slightly radical methods from time to time. It was just a shortcut. That was all. He didn't even realize a point when he no longer bothered to justify some of his experiments. Things most tech-priests wouldn't have considered were almost normal to Chroam.

Then one day, the Tau decided that the ship he was on would be better re-purposed to the Greater Good, and a swarm of Kroot mercenaries led by a Fire Warrior strike team tried storming in through the embarkation deck when the ship's officers fell for a dirty trick. It was then, during Lucius' first trial by fire, that the whispers of "heretek" disappeared from the ship's crew. The wandering tech-priest reprogrammed many of the ship's systems remotely. He desperately, and methodically sought out and destroyed the Kroot invaders. Those that didn't get flushed out an airlock found themselves crushed between bulkheads, or cut in half by doors that were supposed to be locked open. The more problematic bands he set on fire or asphyxiated, by cranking open gas valves or overloading auxiliary motors. The worst of them, along with the Tau, he starved to death in the furthest reaches of the ship, tormenting them with machine spirit whispers until they went mad and tore one another to pieces. And considering the surprisingly low number of Imperial casualties, everyone was kind enough to not say anything about the lack of anything technological left on the bodies of the invaders. It was a vicious, last-ditch effort, but it saved far more than the crew had imagined, and while they were still wary of the chrome traveller, they were far more willing to cooperate with him now.

By the time the ship reached its destination, two more assaults had been weathered with the help of Lucius Chroam. The second was a band of teleporting Eldar warriors, led by some sort of psychic. They lasted weeks longer than the Tau, but were eventually defeated. This time he had the cooperation of every armed member of the crew, and managed, again, shockingly low casualties for the Imperials. He just had to work a little harder at shunting his opponents around into the arcs of his assistants. The relief of was short-lived, however, as the final battle started just instants before the ship jumped out of realspace, from the port they'd stopped at to recover from the first two assaults. A small band of Necrons took exception to the Imperial ship, and teleported in from seemingly nowhere. This fight extended their trip by months, and by its end, the ship was down to a skeleton crew and the tech-priest was exhausted, and very little of him remained chrome-plated or shiny. But he had successfully dismantled the Necrons, and anything unusable was flushed out into the void, to be chewed on by daemons.

When they finally reached safe harbour, Lucius was starting to look better, but wanted a short break. He parted ways with the ship, though the captain insisted that he would always be welcome aboard the Grim Resolve. He took some time in port to re-plate his numerous components, and began reading the works of Paracelsus Thule in his spare time. He was inspired, and by the time he hopped on another ship, he was no longer reading in his spare time, but all the time, and he was now well into the research of Decius Abraxas. This time, though, he did a very good job of keeping his techno-heretical thoughts and projects to himself, and even began seeking mostly honest work. With a knack for making things work better than they had previously, he was soon being asked to fix things that weren't broken. But like anything else he'd done for the money, this was unfulfilling work, and he began to seek greater things once more. He moved on to upgrading weapons systems further than anyone had any business doing, but even that only lasted a little while. By the end of his journey, he was making top-dollar for jumping up personal weapons, and had devised a few techno-heretical techniques for boosting the power and energy-efficiency of las-guns and increasing the rate of fire on naval shotguns, that still agreed with the machine spirits. He even took to reloading horrific ammunition in his down time to amass some more spending money. He found himself wishing for someone with a mind like his own, however, someone who lusted for greatness, that they might ply the stars together, and he could show them what true power was. So when he got off at the next port, his first step was seeking out bold adventure, and not the darker corners of the nearby planets...

Skills: Mechadendrite Mastery(Universal), Luminen Manipulation Expert, Machine Spirit Communication Expert, Tech Use/Repair Expert, Advanced Machine Spirit Persuasion, Advanced Hidden Weapon Training, Advanced Melee Weapon Training, Advanced Multiple Independent Target Engagement Training, Intermediate First Aid Training(Human, Cyborg), Basic Chirurgie Training(Human, Cyborg), Basic Driver/Pilot Training(Universal), Basic Crew-Served Weapon Training(Universal). Multi-Ambidextrous. Mechanical Reflexes.

Equipment: Mechadendrites: Ballistic, Manipulator, Medicae, Optical, Utility. Mind Impulse Unit. MIU Weapon Interface. Scribe Tines(Left arm). Servo Skull(lights/sensors)x1. Servo Skull(Manipulator, General)x1. Servo Skull(Manipulator, Crew-Served Weapons)x1. Power Weapon.

Name: Artyom Barkov

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: A physically fit young man with somewhat pale skin, blue eyes and black hair, Artyom can easily be considered to be something of a heart throb; More then one female schola progenium student found their first crush to be their blue eyed drill abbot. Despite the fact that he has reluctantly taken his leave of his work at the schola progenium in favor of missionary work, he still wears his old uniform while keeping his trusty 'Educational' flanged mace close at hand; He has also upgraded his gear since he started to serve under Horatio Drake by purchasing a laz pistol that he keeps close at hand.

Personality: A pious follower of the Imperial Creed and a man who's first assignment was to train the orphans of the Imperiums fallen heroes in order to live up to their parents example, Artyom proved to be something of a moderate teacher in the schola progenium. While not the most charismatic teacher to ever grave a schola, he preferred to inspire his students to greatness and praised results that were beyond expectations proudly; Slower to punish then most drill abbots, when a student crossed the line where punishment was due Artyom could be very brutal, often employing his flanged mace to make sure that the lesson was hammered home.

Despite his unquestioning faith and dedication to the Emperor, Artyom's decision to volunteer to join the ship of the passing Rogue Trader Drake wasn't exactly due to his desire to do the Emperor's good work where it was needed the most; During his stay at the schola, Artyom might have gotten a little to... close to some of the teenage girls of his class then some schola progenium's would have allowed. It was only due to some quick thinking and a major stroke of luck that Artyom managed to avoid getting caught up in a scandal and decided to take it as a sign that the Emperor desired him to go on to do greater things.

Artyom is friendly enough if treated with common decency and respect for his station as a servant of the God Emperor, more then willing to discuss with someone who processes a troubled mind about how they might best serve mankind or help them through an issue that is preventing them from living up to their potential.

History: Artyom Barkov was born in the middle to upper levels of an Imperial Hive City on a relatively peaceful and productive planet; It paid the Imperium what it was due every now and then and that was generally the end of it as far as otherworldly excitement went... At least until the planet came under attack by an orkish invasion.

Artyom doesn't remember much about what happened; Much like all students entered into the schola progenium the trauma of what happened and his former life were wiped away and he was given a new name. He was informed that his parents had died as heroes of the Imperium, through beyond the fact that the orks were responsible Artyom didn't know much more about them.

Entering into the schola at the age of six, Artyom spent twelve harsh years learning to become one of the best that the Imperium had to offer; When it came time to decide what function he would serve in the Imperium at large, Artyom requested to become a drill abbot. The request was accepted and after four years of training and working as a teachers aid, Artyom officially became a drill abbot at the age of twenty two.

While he served as an excellent example of a drill abbot, Artyom found himself...indulging a little in the vice that was several of his teenage female wards; He never forced the issue or anything and all persons involved were consenting, through such relations could harm a man's reputation.

When rumors started to spread that one of the drill abbots was abusing his wards and taking advantage of them in the worst possible of ways, Artyom managed to draw attention away from himself and pointed it towards a random colleague by planting faked evidence... which led to the discovery that the man in question was actually a member of a heretical pleasure cult that had been sneaking away students under the age of ten to fuel the depravities of both himself and the cult in question.

After the shift and quiet executions, the ship of the Rogue Trader Drake arrived, requesting some supplies and man power to go into wild space past the boarders of the Imperium. Seeing this as a sign from the Emperor himself that he owed the God Emperor of Mankind big time for saving his worthless live from ruin, Artyom volunteered to join the crew as a Missionary in order to help safeguard the faith of those brave souls that were going into the unknown.

Skills:
As is expected of a drill abbot in a schola, Artyom has a functioning knowledge of the Administratum, the Ecclesiarchy and the Imperial Creed, Imperial History and Philosophy, as well as fluency in High Gothic.

His skill with ranged weapons could best be described as basic, through he somewhat makes up for that with a surprising skill with melee weapons, namely his flanged mace.

Two years as a teacher has proved that Artyom can be somewhat charismatic, through there are clearly people out there that are much better at it then him.

Equipment:
Standard Schola Progenium drill abbot uniform.
1 Laz Pistol
1 flanged mace
1 Book of Imperial Prayers
1 Imperial Holy Amulet

Miscellaneous:

Name: Lithalia Blissponis

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance: Lithalia is an obese young woman, with a large stomach and a heavy form. She has soft arms and legs, with a double-chin creeping below her face. She has dark lips which conceal glistening white teeth, and emerald green eyes shimmer on either side of her stout nose. An explosion of coal black hair cascades down her shoulders, falling in a sort of elegant yet messy bunch of tangles. Her cheeks are rosy and puffy, and she is reasonably large-breasted. She has a relaxed and casual stance, with sloped shoulders and a slightly curved spine.

Her body is adorned with different piercings, most notably in her lip, nose, and ears, and the insignia of the Blissponis Crime Syndicate is tattooed on her left arm.

Lithalia dresses in a fairly stylish manner, garbing herself in clothes which most would consider to be above her station. Appearance is important to her, and she takes heavy strides to make sure that she always looks well-groomed and presentable.

Personality: Lithalia is a shady, larger-than-life swindler, with a wicked grin on her lips and a mischievous gleam in her eye. She has built her life upon supply and demand, and has a knack for fishing out the profit in any situation. Outwardly, she may sometimes emit kindness, but her twisted personality holds a much more dark and barbaric side, which rears its ugly head when the situation demands it, or when she’s simply having a bad day.

The young woman panders to social norms, and knows how to weed her way into most conversations, and how to play her opponents. She has little regard for life, human or otherwise, and her main concern is asserting herself as a powerful figure, through illegal means or otherwise.

History: Lithalia was born into a merchant family in the cluttered halls of Port Wander (the last bastion of the Golden Throne’s rule in the Koronus Expanse) living out a fairly sheltered childhood. Amidst the almost lawless expanse of the station, crime and underhand tactics were ripe, and most merchants dabbled in skulduggery and unlawful practices, with the Blissponis family being no exception. The Imperial reserves stationed at Port Wander were usually there as punishment for dishonourable acts, and as such this marked the end of progression in their military careers; making them bitter, resentful, and easy to manipulate.

Growing rich off of extorting asteroids of their precious minerals, the Blissponis family existed within the upper-crust of Port Wander society, utilising disgruntled guardsmen to enforce protection rackets throughout the space station, and keep their competitors from ever becoming too powerful.

Branching out into smuggling, the family shipped Obscura and other narcotics in through the great piers, occasionally dabbling in Xenos technology if the buyers paid enough.

On the verges of establishing an independent trading cartel, the Blissponis’ operations soon collapsed under their own weight, and became overrun with untrustworthy thugs and shady characters, to the point that the organization simply dissolved into Port Wander’s underworld. Lacking their previous funds but addicted to a lifestyle of excessive luxury, Lithalia’s father sank into a deep depression, becoming addicted to the Obscura he had once smuggled, before falling even further into darkness once its effects had worn off. The all-consuming despair soon whisked away her father’s life, and he was found with a suicide-induced gun wound in his head, lying bloodied in their cramped little apartment. Her mother followed suite, and the young girl was left to fend for herself.

Lithalia became a gun runner, finding work down in the docks that her family had once used to smuggle their wares, keeping herself in the good books of Port Wander’s major players. The young woman established herself as a reliable and trustworthy smuggler, and her business profited because of this. While she by no means returned to the life of immense splendour she had grown used to, her new wealth was a grand step up from the near povertous conditions she had been teetering on.

Becoming further intertwined with the black market, Lithalia started to draw cautious eyes from the station’s most vicious gangsters, which she took as leave to seek out her fortune elsewhere. Fleeing to out into the deep expanse of space, the last of the Blissponi spent some time hopping from place-to-place, finding new jobs wherever she could. Whereas her parents had ultimately broken in the face of adversity, Lithalia persevered, and worked day and night to carve out a new life for herself in the grim darkness of the 41st Millenium.

Skills: Lithalia understands people, and is able to get inside their heads and manipulate them. While not a fighter in the physical sense, her cool charisma and deceptively welcoming demeanour are truly forces to be reckoned with, and her uniquely deductive brain gives her an unseen advantage in tense life-or-death situations. Having spent some time on the rough streets of Port Wander, Lithalia has a basic understanding of close-quarters combat, although her unfit state makes this almost completely useless. She has a keen eye, and is a decent shot with her scoped laspistol.

Equipment: -Monomolecular knife
-Scoped Laspistol


Miscellaneous: N/A

Name: Galga'roth Brabazon, of House Brabazon

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Race: Abhuman - Navigator (Homo navigo)

Appearance: Navigators are frequently heavily mutated in nature, and Galga'roth is no different. Though he is at least humanoid in appearance, what most people would see if he were nude is a tall, pale, somewhat over-lean figure, whose normal eyes consist of pupils and sclerae with no iris, and who completely lacks any sort of body hair. More overtly, he possesses a third eye in the center of his forehead, this being the Warp Eye common to all Navigators, and which, when fully opened, would appear to any normal man to be a solid, oily, writhing surface depicting the Warp as it truly is, in the brief moment before his inevitable destruction. However, as is the nature of Navigators, this is typically covered up except when navigating the Warp or when used for combat, in Galga'roth's case by an artificial "eyelid" that opens and closes in a six-sectioned spiral pattern to hide as much or as little of this eye as is needed.

With regards to clothing and equipment, Galga'roth's gear would seem to be quite typical of a high-faluting, self-absorbed Navigator with little knowledge of the real world - extravagant purple robes of the finest materials, covered in ornate golden decoration both fabric and metal, with a hood to further cover his Warp Eye and the rest of his head, all topped off with the symbol of the Navis Nobilite on the left shoulderpad, and of House Brabazon on the right, plus a wallet's worth of Thrones and credit cards for funding. This, however, is part of his "look sillier than he truly is" act: worn underneath this robe in most circumstances is a full set of flak armour, and the robe itself incorporates a carapace breastplate to best protect his most vital areas, as well as scales of plasteel and ceramite woven into the robe in other areas to boost protection of his extremities without increasing the robe's weight too vastly. Thanks to the wealth available via House Brabazon's funds and their links to certain parties within the Adeptus Mechanicus, he has ensured that all of this is of the highest quality possible, and similarly with the Merovech Model 481 "Persuader" lasgun whose holster is hidden in the folds of his robe on his left side, admittedly intended as a last-resort weapon should his more overt Warp Eye powers fail him, though it has enough stopping power to put down lightly-armoured foes nevertheless.

Personality: Galga'roth is one of the comparatively few people in the Imperium born into the privilege of wealth, as is the case with the members of most Navigator Houses, and he has developed into a rather spoilt bastard because of it. He is at once capricious, extravagant in clothing and deed, and very slow to accept the companionship of one who is not at least as powerful and well-off as himself. In particular, he exhibits great distaste, perhaps even outright disgust, for the vast majority of mutants and even accepted abhuman sub-species, despite himself counting as a human mutant to probably a greater extent than most of those he scorns; he writes off the mutation of his own kind as irrelevant, citing the Emperor's "special decree" of Navigators being necessary to the Imperium as meaning they are better than the scum of the Imperium. That being said, he is not stupid, and does what he can to maintain his health and well-being in a galaxy that rather dislikes his kind, to the point of frequently playing up his own excesses and flaws to throw off those who might do him harm. Above all else, he knows his job, and he does it vicariously, for the glory of House Brabazon, the Imperium, and of course the highest bidder.

History: Galga'roth's story is one of those rare tales that begins before he is even alive, at least as anything more substantial than separate sperm and egg cells. Rare overall, of course, but more common within his particular race; the tale of House Brabazon is that of a clan of high standings, with more accurate charted routes through the entirety of the Empyrean than any other House, which through no obvious fault of its own was then deprived of these charts as a result of massive and wide-scale corruption of all their data. Whilst many members decided it would be best that they simply start again and pray the corruption of their charts did not occur again, others gathered to one another with the same thought on their minds and lips: "What if we made sure a repeat of this misfortune was an impossibility? Charted, permanent routes through the Warp are all well and good, we suppose, but say we produced Navigators who could discover impermanent routes on the fly, and exploit them for gains that could not be replicated by other Houses? What an advantage that would be!"

Needless to say, experiments were performed upon a large number of both male and female gametes to try and encourage these qualities, only for both to be combined to try and produce the most valuable children possible. Many of these only resulted in slightly different children, with no obvious benefits for or against what they'd otherwise have been born as; many more led to over-mutated abominations, who were subsequently either killed or hidden away on one of the many Brabazon-owned ships for this purpose. Evidently, though, it is an inevitability of this tale that Galga'roth must be one of the more successful results, and it was certainly noticed by his parents (insofar as they were his keepers and the donors of the cells which produced him, if not his final genetic code) that he exhibited signs of being able to utilise, not just those abilities he had been keyed to excel in, but just about every common or uncommon power that the Warp Eye of the Navigator might feasibly provide.

For this specialty, and because such is the lot of any Navigator, he was somewhat spoilt by his parents even as they travelled through the Imperium, effectively raised, taught, and trained on a single ship, and given just about everything he might want in his childhood. Ultimately, at the age of twenty, he was handed over to the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, who installed into his head the shutter to cover his Warp Eye, which would then allow him to pass relatively freely amongst society. At his father's insistence, and with a "kind donation" of twenty thousand or so Thrones to the Omnissian cause, he also received the quality equipment which, to this day, he has worn and wielded for his protection, maintaining everything as needed. With these received, he finally chose to begin making his own way in the Imperium. Bidding his family farewell, he was dropped off at a major star port, and very quickly found himself a permanent job on an Inquisitorial ship, a lucrative, practically dream-like bidding for somebody of his inclinations!

Or so he thought, until he realised that the Inquisitor he was working for was a touch more radical than he had realised. Not explicitly so, of course, for he did not specifically utilise Chaos-touched weapons to try and destroy Chaos, but Galga'roth quickly noticed that the Inquisitor's crew had far more abhumans on it than regulations might have suggested was reasonable. Ogryns and ratlings alike were unreasonably common, mingling with their human fellows quite readily, and others such as the soulless blanks, the darkness-inhabiting nightsiders, and members of the infeasibly-unlucky Afriel Strain also found themselves as crew members; there was even, much to Galga'roth's disgust, some hair-covered cat-like humanoid that he was sure must be a mutant, though he was later informed that said creature was actually a Felinid of the planet Carlos McConell. Most pressingly of all, far too many psykers for Galga'roth's liking were present on the ship, presenting (in his mind) an unfeasibly high risk of possession when travelling through the Warp, or ever for that matter.

Still, he told himself to remember the money he was making, and in doing so managed to not quit his position for the next ten years, though he rarely interacted with the other crew members in this time, finding the many abhumans he would have to talk to annoying on a personal level as well as unsettling on a moral level, and he quickly found himself growing more and more unfriendly with them. Many times in the later years of his career did he find himself before the Inquisitor, being yelled at for his apparent insensitivity, intolerance, and occasional outright bullying of other abhuman members of the ship even given his own heavily mutated nature; each time, he maintained his ever-reinforced view that the Emperor's decree meant he was special, that he was better than other abhumans, and usually moreso even than normal humans, for what normal human could navigate the Warp as magnificently as him and his? Moreover, he offered whenever his job was threatened, who could find the routes he did, achieve the results he did as he broke through paths that lesser Navigators would consider impossible?

To this day, Galga'roth maintains that the disaster which befell his ship just after his thirtieth birthday had absolutely nothing to do with him. He did everything right, he would say to himself and the very few people who knew anything about it and bothered to ask him, he did his job. The momentary failure of his ship's Gellar Field the second before it re-entered realspace was not at all his fault; it must have been one or more of those damn mutants who fucked up the maintenance, or failed to control their psychic powers, or moved too close to the engines and had their bad luck screw it up, or any combination of reasons that did not involve him in any way whatsoever. Regardless of how the Gellar Field began flickering, though, the result was that a small cadre of Chaos daemons found their way into the ship even as it broke through into realspace, and promptly slaughtered every other person on it, up to and including the Inquisitor himself. The only reason Galga'roth himself survived was a clever combination of those powers called by those who utilise them "Aether Doldrums", "A Cloud in the Warp", and "Pass Unscathed", masking his presence from the monstrosities who had obliterated his crew members and preventing his own corruption by their presence until such time as the ship passed near a certain planet at the edge of Imperial space; at the doomed hulk's point of closest approach to the station, "The Course Untraveled" was followed, and rather than remaining on the ship, Galga'roth found himself just entering the main bulk of the nearest planetside port proper, mind temporarily frazzled from his relatively extreme re-evaluation of the timeline he chose to occupy, and the staff of office endemic to most Navigators inexplicably missing though he knew he had held it tightly as he made the leap through time, but nevertheless alive and well.

His options for future employment were rather more concerning. Though he was easily rich enough to live in this place for the rest of his life, he had no desire to do so; contact with one of his fellow House members from this far out was near-impossible, and practically every ship that passed through for any reason was already possessed of a Navigator, and they didn't need the employment of some young upstart adding to their costs, thank you very much. It took a year before Galga'roth began lowering his prices in an bid to increase how valuable he was, but he didn't completely give up until about three years after the incident, finally resigning himself to living a life of boredom and, thankfully, a certain degree of the luxury that he rightly deserved as befitted his role. It has been a year and several months since then, and he considers his future as being somewhat bleak and unfulfilling. If only he could find somebody who needed his particular services... if only he knew what the future held for him.

Skills: Galga'roth's path has been set from before the moment he was conceived: the only skill he maintains as a definitive part of his job is the capacity to navigate the Warp as granted by his third eye, specifically to find temporary routes through the Warp that might otherwise be overlooked as shortcuts for their dangerous nature, as well as the associated personal powers it grants ("Yes, CLEARLY, not a single Navigator is a psyker in any way"). However, he does possess certain other skills, necessary aspects of getting to the main point of his existence, most notably a fair amount of charisma based around political manipulation and haggling with potential employers for the best prices for his job, with little care for what the masses think of him and little skill in interacting with them as a result; if push comes to shove, he has also trained to be able to aim and fire most basic guns with reasonable accuracy when placed in his hands, though he much prefers his own abilities when he needs firepower.

Equipment: -Flak armour (underneath robes)
-Carapace breastplate (incorporated into robes)
-Scale mail, plasteel and ceramite (incorporated into robes)
-Merovech Model 481 "Persuader" Lasgun, with drum magazine and attached monoedge bayonet (holster hidden in robes)
-Wallet containing money

To wit, even designed with his physique and potential side effects in mind, the entire armour construct is rather bulky, restricting his speed and agility somewhat, whilst the carapace breastplate in particular has a tendency to overheat after excessive activity or in warm climates, which presents certain problems at certain times. Furthermore, he completely lacks utility items such as an auspex, seemingly relying on the inevitable presence of other crewmembers to provide their own contributions to the group under the implied suggestion that his very presence should be valuable enough a resource for any starship.

Miscellaneous: In case it's not yet obvious, Galga'roth possesses a number of auxilary powers derived from his Warp Eye and capacity to perceive the Warp; these are described here. So far as Galga'roth is aware, he can potentially access most or all of these abilities to some extent or another, with his genetic modifications granting him a particular affinity for those abilities that aid his capacity to seek new, often temporary paths through the Warp, such as Ebb and Flow, Seek the Path, and Stacking the Deck, with a lesser affinity for space-time manipulating abilities in general, e.g. Foreshadowing.

---

Name: Jean-Luc Bauta de la Mare

Age: 42

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:
La Mare is a moderately tall man of a build both lean and hard, his posture good and his poise impeccable. His homeworld bequeathed him pale, almost waxy skin, with a long, aquiline face and shoulder length black hair topped by a sharp widow's peak, eyes a wan and distant shade of blue-grey. For a man so drenched in warfare, he has surprisingly few blemishes, and as yet no visible bionic prosthetics. His hair is partially shaved on the left side, showing a penal legion number and insignia tattooed onto the side of his skull.

He is most often seen clad in an armored bodysuit under a heavy longcoat, armored cavalier boots and gauntlets completing the ensemble, his elegantly customized power sword sheathed to one side. Two mismatched bolt pistols remain holstered behind his back, and various other glints of weaponry can be glimpsed concealed beneath his apparel -- as can a muted glimmer of light from some luminous amulet he wears on a chain around his neck, close to his chest.

Personality:
If Jean-Luc's disposition could be summarized in a single word, it would be a long, heavy sigh. Nothing excites him. Nothing seems to bring him pleasure. Though the very image of a perfect gentleman and possessed of a laconic sense of humor, he regards everything and everyone with jaded indifference, a cultured, courteous nihilist, and one can frequently find him by the viewing ports; his dead, bored eyes regarding the majesty of space with fathomless ennui.

Jean-Luc is known to have a taste for the finer things -- exotic teas, Imperial opera and fine wines -- but even these proclivities merely serve to pass the intervening time. Even in combat he remains detached and composed, like some murderous butler. Only in the most extreme theaters of overwhelming violence does the listless disinterest seem to disappear. Today. Tomorrow. None of it matters. At the beginning and end of it all, there is only war.

History:
Jean-Luc is a native of the Death World Samara, a predominantly oceanic world in the grip of a permanent, planet-spanning typhoon. It is a place of nightmares, wracked with electrical storms and infested with murderous plant and animal life, criss-crossed with a coral-studded network of cliffs and canals that provide the only shelter from the perpetual hurricane. Hideous things lurk in even the shallowest pools, and surging tidal waves, lethal enough in themselves, dump frenzied aquatic killers onto dry land with little to no notice, often in locations that seem almost calculated to spill the most blood.

Having survived to what passes for adulthood on a death world, a young La Mare was tithed into the 13th Samaran Tempest corps of the Imperial Guard, a semi-mechanized company of terror squads, specializing in hostile conditions and fast, brutal assaults. Despite the violence of their work and homeworld, the men of Samara had a code of tradition and courtesy which endured in the face of any and all adversary. By virtue of exemplary service (body count) Jean-Luc grew to Captain of his platoon in fair time, only lacking the necessary zeal for the higher echelons of command. It was for this reason that the eye of the Inquisition first passed over him, mercifully finding no disloyalty despite a moderate degree of torture and psychic intrusion. Though not presiding, the examination was attended by one Inquisitor Vonn of the Ordo Xenos, a grey and ageless man who took unsettlingly careful notes.

Undiminished, Jean-Luc went back to killing. He killed orks. He killed Tau. He put down traitor squads and rebellious populations. He fought the spearhead of hive fleet Kraken at Babel's Dock, where his company was decimated. And then he put a las round through the head of a planetary governer's nephew and was sent to the penal legions, spared a more conventional execution by a shadow of ambiguity about the act. In his new, less civilized unit, La Mare remained alive through experience, determination, and ensuring his less competant fellow conscripts soaked up the more problematic enemy fire. Really, charging through muddy craters into the face of an Alpha Legion gun emplacement wasn't so different to living on Samara. You simply had less interesting company, and nothing worthwhile to drink.

He was eventually plucked from this blizzard of hellish warfare by the intervention of Inquisitor Vonn, who requisitioned him for his personal retinue during an investigation of some difficulty: A quest that required, nay, demanded a born and fated killer. La Mare's combination of lethal efficiency and understated good manners suited the Inquistor perfectly, and his survival of the punitive gauntlet only confirmed his practical worth. In addition to his duties as bodyguard and executioner, he now dealt with a different sort of battleground -- Imperial nobility, underworld labyrinths, hive kingpins and -- Emperor forefend -- non-hostile aliens (though mostly hostile ones). Long journeys with the Imperial Navy and an operation both of and above the law were now de rigueur.

Though the long pursuit was finally successful and the threat destroyed, the squad was obliterated, Vonn himself critically wounded at the hands of the Eldar, only La Mare remaining alive to drag his crippled body out of the wreckage. With his handler spending months recovering and his duties, perhaps, technically discharged, if one neglects to recall that to be an Inquisitor's servant is to serve for life, he has an opportunity to leave the unpleasantness of his debt to Imperial society behind him, and he intends to take it. He has left a polite note for the good Inquisitor explaining that he intends to 'take a spell of leave', and now seeks to earn his way out of the system.

Skills:
De la Mare is a killer. It is his raison d'être and his ne plus ultra. Beneath his bored exterior and underlying his numb, jaded soul is a perpetual tension, a man constantly listening, evaluating, bracing for the next surprise attack, calculating the most efficient way to murder every last living thing in sight. Any weapon is lethal in his hands, and anything in his hands becomes a weapon -- his gift for martial improvisation perhaps best demonstrated when he put down a Genestealer with a broken wine bottle during an official-function-cum-deathtrap he has since referred to as 'the second worst Imperial dinner I have ever attended'. He is patient and precise, disdainful of wasted ammunition or needlessly exerted energy, with no use for motion predictors or targetting aids. There is only, as he puts it, the man, the means, and the outcome.

Though most comfortable operating alone or in small groups, he has long experience with the Imperial Guard, an understanding of logistics, squad command and small-scale tactics, as well as the operation of heavy weapons and some Imperial war machines. Further, his time in the service of the Ordo Xenos has granted him some small knowledge of alien anatomical weaknesses and behavior in excess of what one can find on the Imperial battlefield.

Equipment:
Ceres-pattern bolt pistol
Garm-pattern bolt pistol (borrowed)
Power sword, custom
Flintlock, loaded with silver shot
Krakentooth dagger (Samaran)
A small assortment of grenades, crude, but sometimes necessary.
Armored body, Flak coat
Micro-bead

Name: Mycandra Castell

Age: 37

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance: As a member of the Adepta Sororitas, Mycandra is usually clad in her armor, a form fitting suit of steely-looking plates of ceramite and other various materials. Various fleurs-de-lis can be seen on her armor, mainly on the joints and chest, with studs on the main breastplate. Underneath the armor she sports a set of plain red tunic and trousers. Attached to her waist is a length of red cloth upon which is threaded a golden cross and halo. A similar piece of cloth hangs from her back, except the outside is black fringed with red while the underside is entirely red. Various Imperial seals are engraved in silver on her armor, primarily on her pauldrons and arms. The hand-flamer and bolt pistol hang from her hips, ready to be drawn in a moments notice. A thin leather belt holds Mycandra's simulacrum imperialis and medicus ministorum except when she is praying. Various strips of paper, inscribed with various litanies of the Imperial Cult, are bound across parts of her armor, changing every day to reflect the complete devotion to the Emperor's creed.

Mycandra herself is an exceptionally tall woman, standing 6'1" without the armor, which then adds another few inches. A scar runs down the left side of her hard, drawn face, crossing over her eye and cheek. The left eye has been replaced by a bionic, an additional memory of the event which gave her the scar. Near the peak of human ability, she is an exceptionally strong and agile person, weighing much more than a normal woman and able to compete a vast majority of men, especially because of her armor. Short brown hair hangs loose when not covered by a battle helm. Piercing gray eyes appear to scour the soul of any who gaze upon them, accentuated by the stern expression usually on Mycandra's face.

Personality: Mycandra is a very stoic, devout, and unrelenting person, a product of her childhood spent among the underhives of the planet Eydolim. Many of the religious practices native to the Shrine World, especially worship to Saint Kodaline, has remained with Mycandra throughout her life and she will frequently reference the patron Saint of her home planet. Although some would consider her simple-minded, nothing more than a pawn, Mycandra is in fact a rather intelligent person, able to puzzle her way through situations given time and/or tools. Because of her position as an Adepta Sororitas, she despises those that do not adhere faithfully to the will of the God Emperor but is willing to make concessions in order to further His plans. Because of this trait, she can appear rather stand-offish in the company of the others and rather derisive. Should you befriend her, however, you would find a true and loyal companion.

History: Mycandra's childhood is one of deprivation and despair. Born to members of the lowest laboring classes on the Shrine World Eydolim, birth place of Saint Kodaline, lived much of her child years without seeing the sun itself, only the filtered rays that streamed down through the levels of the hive. Her parents were constantly working and did not usually have time to spend with Mycandra apart from worshiping every day at centers of the Imperial Cult. Already larger than most girls and many boys by the age of nine, she herself was then put to work in the underside of the world of Eydolim. Exposed to violence, smuggling, and other sorts of illegal and unsavory activities, Mycandra's survival rested entirely on her faith in the glory of the Emperor, sustaining her physically-degrading body spiritually.

It would fall upon Mycandra's perception one fateful day when of age twelve that her father and mother also participated in several illicit activities, though she could not reliably explain which ones given her age and seclusion. Venturing out to a nearby Arbites station, she convinced one of the Arbites that he needed to come with her as her parents were engaging in illegal activity that went against the Shrine world and the Emperor. The Arbites escorted her to her house and what followed shocked Mycandra. Her father recognized the man and slipped him money, thanking him for bringing his daughter back. After the Arbites explained the reason Mycandra had sought him out, a grim expression took hold on her father's face. Closing the door after the two men parted, Mycandra's father beat her, breaking bones and shattering her face. Locked into her room afterwards, she received no food and only a paltry amount of water the next few days.

Released unexpectedly, her father began to drag Mycandra through the underhive forcefully. Coming into a crowded area, she was bumped free of her father by the press of bodies. Utilizing this moment to escape, Mycandra darted away, fleeing blindly from her father. Paying no attention to the direction she was taking, she found herself lost an hour later. Fearing that if she went home her father would be waiting, Mycandra ascended the hive as rapidly as her long legs could carry her. Having passed into the upper-middle section of her particular hive block, Mycandra found herself amazed. Graceful pillars spiraled into the air from vast Gothic churches. Well-clothed individuals bustled through the streets, several sporting displaying cybernetics. Shops filled with items and foods unheard of called to her senses. And that was when she saw them.

Striding through the thoroughfare was a host of Adepta Sororitas, armored figures glistening in the light. Each seemed a perfection of what humanity could be to Mycandra's eyes, a radiant symbol of the Emperor. Afraid that she would be rejected were she to approach them directly, Mycandra instead followed behind the group. They entered a grand temple of gold and marble, crowned with a statue of a figure, whom Mycandra presumed was Saint Kodaline. Following inside furtively, she stood there for a time, uncaring of the world around her. Her attention was fixated wholly on the massive mural across the wall, depicting the history of Saint Kodaline and other important religious figures. One of the Ministorum priests noticed her and moved to evict her from the building but was stopped by one of the Sisters. Introducing herself as Sister Arda of the Order Hospitaller, Mycandra was taken to be fed and healed of her wounds. And so began her journey with the Adepta Sororitas.

She would spend years upon years training with the Sisters before becoming a fully-fledged Sororitas in the 20th year of her life. Equipped with the tools of a Sister Hospitaller, she was deployed alongside numerous Guard regiments travelling to one of the various warzones of the Imperium. Constantly moving, Mycandra would nurse countless soldiers back to health and ease the death of countless more during her time with the Guard, revealing to her the dedication that even normal men could display in the face of the otherworldly horrors which plagued the Imperium. Desiring to do more, she transferred to the Order Militant in the 26th year of her birth and was redeployed with other Sisters. Serving in the suppression of heretical rebellions and staving off attacks by xenos, heretics, and deamons, Mycandra learned the ways of war, finding a simple purity in cleansing the Imperium.

Another point of change occurred during the battle for the planet of Villum, an Agri world in the Ultima Segmentum. Facing a sizeable Ork infestation, the Imperial Guard, Sister, and PDF forces were in the final stages of clearing the xenos when a tendril of Hive Fleet Leviathan appeared in the sky. The thud of massive artillery batteries and the cracking of hundreds of thousands of lasguns could be heard throughout the entirety of the world as the Imperial forces desperately attempted to stave off the invasion. Guard positions within a thousand miles of the drop-point were overrun within the first week and the march of the Tyranids appeared relentless. Imperial Navy vessels arrived in system in the second week and managed to beat back the hive ships in orbit, yet the ground could not be cleared without sacrificing copious amounts of military equipment. Therefore, dropships were sent with escort fighters to retrieve the remaining troops before they were too consumed. Mycandra was at one of these positions and was told to hurry to the drop point. However, a premonition told her to stay and venture into one of the nearby crypts. Inside, after searching for several minutes, she found an object that she did not immediately recognize yet felt was important. Some of the other Sisters had forced the dropships to stay and so she was barely able to escape. When the item she had recovered was examined by one of the Ecclesiarch personnel on the ship, it was determined to be a relic of the early days of the Imperium. And so began her duty as a member of the Orders Pronatus.

The next few years, she would search numerous worlds for other relics. Sometimes she was successful but more often than not the expeditions were fruitless. Having heard rumors of an important relic lost within the Koronus Expanse, Mycandra has travelled to Outpost 57 and there seeks passage into the Expanse by any means. For no duty or condition is too unsavory for one loyal to the Emperor.

Skills: Mycandra has served as one of the Order of the Eternal Gate's most effective Sisters in her time, although her skills extend far past what is required of her. Having faced frequent combat during her time in the Orders Militant, Mycandra is well-versed in the art of war, adeptly wielding her bolt pistol and hand flamer. Of equal skill with many veteran Guardsmen in terms of training both in close-combat and ranged fire-fights, the enhancing abilities of her power armor allows her to greatly surpass many mortal men in the fields of strength, accuracy, speed, and senses, making her an excellent combatant. However, Mycandra's main calling is outside of combat.

A member of the Order of the Eternal Gate, she is able to identify ancient artifacts rather easily due to her frequent encounters with objects of value to the Ecclesiarchy. This makes artifacts less mysterious to her and as such she can sometimes puzzle out the function of old technology. In addition, exposure to various types of equipment used in expeditions has left her somewhat familiar with the use of auspexes and related scanning and digging equipment, although her primary focus is retrieving the artifact. She has minor experience with repairing equipment because artifacts would sometimes require immediate, on-site attention lest the item be lost due to a breakdown. As with all Sisters, she is familiar with the teachings of the Imperial Cult and has experience leading others inside and outside of combat. She has extensive medical knowledge due to being raised with Sisters from the Order Hospitaller.

Equipment:


Miscellaneous: I fight in His name. Do you?

Name:
Regias Rook

Age:
50

Gender:
Male

Race:
Human

Appearance:
Not particularly handsome in his youth, middle age has caused Regias to go from gawkish and hard faced to a certain gravitas and dignity. A hard jaw, well groomed beard, icy blue eyes and thin mouth make him look like someone who takes no nonsense and gives none either. Regias wears blue coats with gold trim, the traditional clothing of the nobles households of his homeplanet. He was and is far from noble but since he's many years travel away from Selenai III, who's going to tell him otherwise? His eyes are not what they once were so he now wears a pair of reading spectacles as well. Wherever he goes, he takes an Eldar Shuriken pistol under his coat, to protect him from harm and bring him good luck.

Personality:
A man of principles and loyalty, Regias will burn a world to save a brother and expects the same from any of his subordinates. Although he has a keen analytical mind, he also has a thin skin for any insults directed at him or anyone one he considers a friend. When addressing those less senior than himself, he used clipped and precise tones designed to communicate as much as possible with as little effort as possible. When first serving with him, some people see this as a brusque rudeness but it is simply that Regias considers doing a good job more important than being polite while working. To those superior to himself in the chain of command, he modifies his tone slightly, in order to not seem to be being disrespectful.

While not a terribly social fellow, Regias's firm convictions of loyalty and respect have won him many friends and allies during his travels. If you do Rook a favour, it is said, then you can count on getting a favour and a friend in return. What Regias finds more difficult than making friends, in fact, is leaving them behind. If asked to choose between letting a rampaging Greenskin Waaagh into a sector or letting a friend die, he'd probably have to think about it for a while. Apart from this he has only one serious weakness; xenos. All things alien fascinate him, from their biology to their technology. Acquiring new alien technology or even just xenos trinkets excites him like nothing else.

History:
Born into a poor family, Regias knew there were two ways you got out of the gutter; with a knife or with a quill. He chose the second and learned the secrets of an honest businessman. Regias was well on his way to becoming a serious trading power on his home planer of Selenai III, when an argument over a young lady escalated into first a duel and then a full scale vendetta. Unfortunately Regias was on the losing side of the confrontation, and was forced to leave his home with nothing but the clothes on his back. He sought a way to earn money with no questions asked without compromising his principles, hoping it would allow him to return to the planet and the life he had left behind. He helped balance the books of several shipping houses and then an orbital Mechanicum construction bay, quickly getting a feel for how each of his clients thought about their finances. Sailors tended to think of them as inconveniences and annoyances while Mechanicum acolytes saw them as holy numbers they hadn't been given the training to deal with. Rook also started to learn the more unscrupulous tricks of the trade by reverse engineering the flaws that he founded in shipping manifestos, causing more than one person attempting to dodge the Imperial tithes to be arrested, tried and executed or imprisoned.

Soon the name of Regias Rook was passed around through dingy taverns and roaring fighting pits so that every dirty trader and every cunning smuggler knew to avoid any company or house under his all watchful eye. And that sort of reputation in the underworld soon makes people see you as a complication that could very easily be made to... cease complicating. The first attempt on Rook's life was very nearly successful, two thugs jumping him in an alleyway. It was his good fortune that there was another man in the alleyway, a one eyed ex-pirate with only one thing of value left in his life; an Eldar Shuriken pistol. The man dropped the two thugs with contemptuous ease and told Rook he'd better get himself some protection. Something in Regias's head joined the dots between protection and the alien nature of his saviour's gun. He thanked the man profusely and offered to buy the pistol, raising his offered price until the man caved and handed it over. The pirate died three days later, of a distended liver, but Rook still carries the pistol with him at all times and has done all he can to become adept at firing and maintaining it.

But after many years of toil and work, Rook was finally getting the point where he could return to Selenai III and continue where he left off. He could build a respectable business there and set up the house of Rook. On that day, looking over his personal fortune, he realised he didn't want to. On Selenai III, he'd be a big fish in a small pond. In the vast expanse of Imperium and greater galaxy at large, he might be less than a minnow, but he have an ocean to swim in. Within a week, he'd shifted enough capital around to buy a passage to the fringes of Imperial space and to put his name out there as a seneschal and tradesman for hire.

Skills:
Regias has been balancing books and moving numbers since he was twelve years old and is extremely good at it. He can barter, appraise and sell with the best of them and can budget a endeavour to within an inch of its life. However, he refuses to use his skills to hide transactions or to lie to the proper authorities about how much was made or spent. In fact, he is extremely skilled at spotting anyone attempting to do just that and will report irregularities in a flash.

He has some skill with small arms and in fact keeps an Eldar Shuriken pistol on his person at all times. He purchased it from a drunken pirate down on his luck and has carried it with him ever since. He believes it protects him and brings luck, causing him to be very protective over it and extremely punctilious about practising with it. When he was younger, he had some skill with a knife but hasn't used one in decades.

Equipment:

• An Eldar Shuriken Pistol
• Data Slate for financial work
• Stylus

Miscellaneous: