Name: Tigranes

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Former Occupation: Former PDF Sergeant, and before that a miner.

Former Rank/Position: Sergeant

Mental and Physical Traits:

Tigranes considers himself, before anything else, a loyal and obedient servant of the God Emperor, these values were insistently impressed upon him during all of his life, and even now he sees no reason to doubt them. This notion of blind obedience to higher authorities was somewhat shaken by the events that lead up to his life in a Penal Legion, but Tigranes is still a servant at heart, and unlikely to challenge authority or disobey orders. And though not actually happy to be in this situation, Tigranes tries his best to not resent his lot in life, and instead rationalizes this as merely a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the God Emperor

He makes up for his lack of mental prowess with physical one. A lifetime of hard, menial work and the years fighting in the Haykan civil war have made him strong and used to hardships and privations. Likewise, his years serving in the Haykan PDF have left him accustomed to a disciplined and harsh military lifestyle. And before that, his years working in the mines have left him with a familiarity for tunnels, sewers and enclosed spaces.

Appearance:

A short and stout man, Tigranes' skin is tanned from the days spent under Hayk VII strong sun. His arms are strong and hairy, with an old faded tattoo of his previous PDF regiment on his left one. His reddish hair has started falling down so he shaves it, his forehead is large, contrasting with his beady brown eyes. While his large nose is slightly crooked to the right. His upper lip is covered by a thick mustache that is better groomed than the rest of him by a fair margin. In general his body has its own share of minor scars and scraps gathered over the years



History:

Tigranes was born in a serf family in the world of Hayk VII, in the lands of Baron Menotius. Like his father and grandfather before him, Tigranes received no formal education, instead he was simply trained to work in the valuable golden mines of the Baron. A task he took with heart once he came of age. After all, as a serf, it was his duty to obey the commands of his lord, just as the baron obeyed the duke and so on until one reached the God Emperor himself, who lorded over all of Mankind from his Golden Throne on Terra.

His life would've likely proceeded without greater excitement or changes, just like his forefathers before him, if not for political machinations far beyond his knowledge or understanding in the refined halls of power of Hayk VII. The death of King Miranes X threw the planet into a bloody civil war. Tigranes overlord, Baron Menotius threw his lot with the late King's eldest son. As a result Tigranes ended up being conscripted by the Haykan PDF.

The young miner went to war firmly believing that his cause was just and the Emperor smiled upon King Miranes XI and his servants. The years of brutal combat and the callousness of the officers did manage to tear away his initial naivety, but nevertheless he persevered in his views. After all, how could he, a illiterate conscript, assume to know better than his commanders? Men and women of refined breeding, education and bloodline?

Tigranes eventually managed to reach the rank of Sergeant, attrition and his own blind obedience to his superior's orders earning his the position. However, he never advanced beyond the rank thanks to his complete lack of formal education, lack of initiative and connections. Not that he minded that too much, in his mind he wasn't fit to being anyone more important than that anyway.

The war continued on and on for years, usurpers and would be kings rising and falling with each moon. Tigranes managed to survive battle after battle, weathering both enemy fire and the callousness of the commanding officers to their own men, not that he saw it like that at the time. Eventually, Meronius XI managed to break the stalemate, seizing the capital and pushing back all other claimants in a series of brilliant offensives. Then the Inquisition showed up.

For as it turned out, Meronius XI had been dealing and consorting in secret with Xenos and Heretics to fund his war effort. With Inquisitorial stromtroopers and Sororita companies landing on Hayk VII and the Ecclesiarchy's official condemnation, Meronius' war effort collapsed as his allies abandoned him and his soldiers deserted en mass, Tigranes included. The war ended in four months with Meronius cousin, one of the last remaining opponents to his rule, crowned as queen.

While the new government busied itself with cementing its position and the Inquisition purged the native nobility, the question arose of what to do with the literal armies of prisoners that had once served the Heretic King. Since Meronius' heresy had been kept a secret and most of his men deserted him soon enough, mass executions were ruled out in favor of more merciful punishments. In Tigranes' case, his involvement with several massacres and bloody reprisals against civilians was enough to condemn him, and so when offered a chance to redeem himself in the Penal Legion, he eagerly took the offer.

Name: Shiah Cuze [shy-ah cue-zuh].

Gender: Female.

Age: 27.

Former Occupation: Narcotics cook.

Former Rank/Position: Supplier of the Deathrow gang.

Mental and Physical Traits: Cunning, clever, creative and capricious are the four C's that best describe the mind of Shiah. She was raised in the school of hard knocks and is brimming with so-called 'street smarts'. Despite the lack of any formal education she's achieved a high degree of skill in manufacturing the many illegal substances consumed by the Imperial citizenry and its armies for both pleasure and performance and has a talent for creating generally useful stuff from a box of scraps and some duct tape. These abilities weren't exactly conducive to saving her from the life of a hive ganger, of course, and she's used to having to watch her back and dealing with the Imperium's worst scum at every corner -- and she isn't exactly a sweetheart herself.

Appearance: Shiah is of middling height with the characteristic bone-thin, knife-sharp build of a hive ganger. Having partaken of her own produce perhaps once too often, it shows in her gaunt face and sallow skin, detracting from her otherwise good looks. Shiah has an expressive, angular face with large, almond-shaped blue eyes, pursed lips, arched brows and prominent cheekbones. Scars and syringe marks are commonplace on her body, but most are concentrated on her arms and legs. Last but not least is Shiah's hair, which is bleached in an alarming shade of bone white and cropped in a short pixie cut.

Wargear:
Lascarbine
Explosive Collar
2 Mono Knives
3 Frag Grenades
3 Krak Grenades
1 Flak Vest & Flak Helmet
Imperial Guard Penal Legion Prisoner Uniform
1 Inhaler
1 Gas Mask
Poor Weather Gear
Rucksack
Basic Tool Kit
Mess Kit & Water Canteen
1 Weeks' Rations
Blanket & Sleep Bag
Rechargeable Lamp-Pack
Micro-Bead
Ident Tags ("Dog Tags")
Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer

History: Born in the slime-slums of the industrial meatgrinder also known as Kahketton III, Shiah Cuze was doomed to a life of hardship and misery from her very first breaths. Both of her parents were drug-addicts and hive gangers, resorting to all manner of petty crime to survive. The primary gang that was active in their turf was the Deathrow gang, named after an archaic practice on ancient Terra in which convicts sentenced to death were not immediately summarily executed but instead had a lengthy appeal process available to them. As a name, it was a constant reminder of the harsh injustice (in their eyes, anyway) the Imperium of Mankind carried out everywhere in the grim darkness of the far future.

Growing up, Shiah was always attracted to the power and value of the narcotics used by her parents and the other hive gangers and slumlords she was surrounded by. The amount of credits and favors the cooks were able to curry with the Deathrow gang and the others in the underhive was alluring, and in a dangerous world it seemed like the easiest way to guarantee her safety. Nobody wants to kill a skilled cook, considering they were few and far between. She was already begging and pleading with the cooks to be allowed to apprentice under them before she even hit puberty. It paid no fruit for a long time and Shiah had almost given up on the idea when she was finally accepted by Old Man Gornar on her sixteenth birthday -- as it turned out,
the cooks had all seen her potential from a young age but agreed not to let her make any drugs until she 'turned of age'. Not all morals had eroded away from the fabric of the underhive, apparently.

Shiah took to it with enthousiasm. She worked hard to remember the recipes, improve her techniques, understand the use of the chemistry equipment involved, and followed the black market price fluctuations closely. She was the first to predict the rise of Koma's popularity, a new drug that induced a near-comatose state and extremely vivid erotic hallucinations in the user, and urged Gornar on to produce more of it.
When the quality of her Koma exceeded that of Gornar's, not long after Shiah's twenty-first birthday,
the Old Man realized he had nothing left to teach the clever and creative girl and he set her up with his contacts in the Deathrow gang before retiring into obscurity.

What followed were the five best years of Shiah's life. Working as the main supplier for the Deathrow gang gave her status and power within the underhive that her parents -- both dead from overdoses by now --
could never dream of. She grew in confidence and the rough edges of her personality developed into sharp edges; she reacted poorly to criticism, doling out harsh punishment for even the slightest of perceived transgressions, and her simmering greed turned into obsessive avarice fueled by the large and steady influx of credits from her produce.

She was at the apex of power when she tried to broker a supply deal with an upperhive death cult known as the Eviscerated Spine that became her undoing. The death cult turned out to be a front for an Inquisitorial investigation that aimed to roll up the Deathrow gang. Shiah was arrested and given a choice; betray her comrades or die. Shiah immediately gave up everything she knew without hesitation, much more concerned about her own life than that of the other gangers. For her cooperation she was sent to a Penal World instead of being executed, where she awaits the next chapter of her life as the regret over her choices grows every day.

Name: Nathan Hall

Gender: Male

Age: Twenty Four

Former Occupation: Street Scum

Former Rank/Position: -

Mental and Physical Traits: Hall looks out to the world and sees that it's ripe for the picking. Anything goes, anything could be yours if you try your best at it. Hall is cold, confident and cunning man as he uses his silver tongue to persuade others into doing what he wants, or to bypass those who may apprehend or stop him. He can be charming, friendly and warm but these are rare case when they are infact genuine its towards his affinity to children or sexual acts. He has faith in the God Emperor and believes with each child he deflowers is a duty that the God Emperor bestowed upon him. To bring them into the world of dark and give them reason to continue fighting. Despite his conviction for the God Emperor his illusion pollutes his mind and occasionally his personality. A cause for concern for some, or potential berserker on a drop of a hat. Hall is well built for his age compared to his living conditions. He appears to be a normal human besides his build.

Appearance: Hall has short blond hair and blue eyes. His skin tone is pasty white and his hair and body hair are commonly coated in grease and other bodily fluids. He has a scar going up his left cheek, although it appears faded. He has a chiselled jawline which is usually adorned by stubble. Before his untimely conscription Hall use to wear a long raggy shirt and a pair of PDF trousers and jack boots. The man appeared to be of a well built build and usually sported a belt on his PDF trousers.

Wargear: Lascarbine
Explosive Collar
2 Mono Knives
3 Frag Grenades
3 Krak Grenades
1 Flak Vest & Flak Helmet
Imperial Guard Penal Legion Prisoner Uniform
1 Inhaler
1 Gas Mask
Poor Weather Gear
Rucksack
Basic Tool Kit
Mess Kit & Water Canteen
1 Weeks' Rations
Blanket & Sleep Bag
Rechargeable Lamp-Pack
Micro-Bead
Ident Tags ("Dog Tags")
Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer

History:

In Arcadia, you're quick or you're dead.

Nathan Hall, born to a small family that had seen better times. His mother and father were both PDF conscripts in their early years, weird how love finds itself in strange places. The two fell in love after serving in the same unit, after they finished their service they married and had Nathan. Arcadia was hit hard by a famine just as Nathan was a few years old, money was tight and so was food. Nathan's parents scarified their food so that their child may survive the famine, which he did however, Nathan's father Zach did not and he succumbed to starvation as did many others in the hive world. A common sight to be seen in the hive world's as it was the circle of life as bodies were piled day after day in the levels of the hive world.

As Nathan grew older, he soon found his calling. Without his father to guide him his mother fell to illness and habitual drug use, Nathan was attracted to children. Children his age, it was the Emperors will that he shows them the way. It was how the Emperor wanted it - that's what his mind thought, his misled fantasising mind, to mate with a child would be the ultimate pleasure for Nathan and it's what he did. One of the street girls, about twelve and the stronger older Nathan was able to over power her and force her to succumb to his will. It repeated, over and over, the pleasure, the abductions. The Emperor told him they were clean of disease, every child soiled would bring Nathan closer to The Emperor - in the after life. It was his life goal, no one know but Nathan and of course his victims. Nathan was dubbed by the locals as the "Sleep Tight Rapist" as he used a infamous drug named "Koma" to put the child in a coma like state so resistance would be nil.

One day, Nathan punched his ticket when one of the girl's he raped was related to the Governor of Arcadia. The day Nathan regretted so much, the regret. Did he realise he was wrong, that what he was doing as a grown adult to soil a child like that. No, he just wished he was never caught. The Governor's forces arrested Nathan and brought him before the Governor, Governor Justin Freelok a man who had been hunting for Nathan Hall ever since he first started the attacks. Had he known he was the Sleep Tight Rapist he would of had him arrested sooner, but the relative - his niece was no coward, not one who would let themselves be tormented by a meagre street rapist. She was the one who remembered him and kneeling before Governor Freelok, Nathan was scared. But, Governor Freelok showed some mercy, he fancied the idea of Nathan being brutally slaughtered in the Penal Legion. A quick death would be unfitting and why spill a child fucker's blood - it would have to be cleaned up. On the battle field, the blood always runs red as the rivers of dead flow across every battle fields.

Nathan Hall was soon reassigned to a Penal Legion, where The God Emperor - the voice he had been hearing told Nathan.

It's time for redemption.

Name: Octavia Westerlund

Gender: Female

Age: 26

Former Occupation: Guardswoman

Former Rank/Position: Trooper

Mental and Physical Traits: Octavia is by most accounts, a leal and steadfast servant of His Will- with some minor black spots. Considered to be a model Guardsman in her old regiment, she is proficient in most of the ways of war, although she is a master of none in particular. She is perfectly willing to die for the Emperor and for Humanity, although she is not the most creative or daring soldier of the Guard. She does however, possess an iron will and tenacity that few can match. Temperamentally, she is known to be gloomy and even fatalistic and that is before she lost the ability to speak.

Appearance: Octavia is of an average height, perhaps on the tall side, with an athletic build wrapped in sinewy muscles from years of soldiering. The left side of her face could be considered conventionally attractive, with high cheekbones, soft lips, and a small and slightly upturned nose. However, the right side is a mess of scars, some of which are red and fresh and others are old and (relatively) well-healed. Of particular note is the large scar that cuts its way from her forehead through her right eyebrow and down through her eye, which was partially damaged but has since been repaired by a medicae, giving the pupil a more artificial amber hue than the normal verdant of her left eye. Her neck also bears a few scars, most of which are from medical procedures relating to her damaged vocal cords. Her hair is a rather plain shade of brown that has a gentle curl when worn long (which is rare). Currently it is shaved, as is protocol for penal legions.

Wargear:
Lascarbine
Explosive Collar
2 Mono Knives
3 Frag Grenades
3 Krak Grenades
1 Flak Vest & Flak Helmet
Imperial Guard Penal Legion Prisoner Uniform
1 Inhaler
1 Gas Mask
Poor Weather Gear
Rucksack
Basic Tool Kit
Mess Kit & Water Canteen
1 Weeks' Rations
Blanket & Sleep Bag
Rechargeable Lamp-Pack
Micro-Bead
Ident Tags
Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer

History: Octavia Westerlund is a native of the infamous world of Armageddon. She is the youngest of eight children, where she gets her name from. Her family has a long history of military service to the Imperium; her father is a veteran of 20 or so years in Armageddon's own Steel Legion who retired as an Colonel to start a family, and her mother was a tanker in the Steel Legion as well. All of her older siblings have gone on to enlist in the Guard and so when Octavia was old enough, she too enlisted eagerly.

Most of her early Guard years were spent on Armageddon, taking place in the still on-going fighting that pockmarks the planet's ruined surface. Among the ash wastelands and dense jungles of Armageddon she learned how to survive and even somewhat thrive in the Steel Legion, in addition she learned what many consider the trademark trait of someone from Armageddon: she learned to hate the Orks. All Emperor-fearing citizens hate the xenos but few hate the xenos as much as Armageddonites hate the Orks. Theirs is a special, deep-seated hatred of all Ork-kind and Octavia is no different. Years of seeing her comrades die and homeplanet ravaged at the hands of the filthy greenskins have given her a special taste for the death of Orks.

Three of her older brothers and one sister had died on Armageddon and when it came time for her regiment to be shipped off to another world Octavia was not sad to leave it. She did hope her parents would stay safe but the planet itself could get consumed by the Warp for all she cared. The next year was characterised by frequent short campaigns on many different worlds. Many only lasted a few months as the overwhelming strength of the Steel Legion crushed the enemy beneath the treads of the Chimera and Leman Russ. Of particular note was the battle on Jjod II. A band of Dark Eldar corsairs had been harassing a nearby Forge World on Jjod Prime and it was discovered that they had been using the moon, Jjod II, as a staging area from which to launch raids against the Forge World. The fleet which Octavia's regiment was attached was sent to deal with them.

The battle was short but the fighting was fierce. The piratical eldar had their webway gates destroyed, leaving them only one option: fight a doomed battle. During this savage engagement, the much-admired company commander of Octavia's company was killed, which was a heavy blow to the men and woman of the company, many of whom had been with him since they left Armageddon. The replacement commander was adequate but he had big boots to fill and the wound never quite healed.

Another notable battle came on a hive world when half the regiment was lost after heretics tried to use a makeshift warp engine to bring the whole hive city into the Warp. They partially succeeded and a third of the city was riven from the ground and sucked into the foul recesses of the Warp. It took many months for the regiment to make it back up to full combat strength.

The last fateful campaign came on another hive world by the name of Ashou. Ashou had been besieged by a sizeable Ork Waaaagh! for many months and the battle for the planet had ground to a bloody stalemate. Finally the fleet which Octavia was attached to was diverted to help. The landing went well, and the first month of fighting made good progress, that is until they hit the first hive city. The Orks had heavily fortified it and the streets were too narrow and cramped for the vehicles of the Steel Legion to pass through so they were forced to dismount and clear the city block by bloody block. Unbeknownst to the guardsman of Octavia's regiment the Orks had booby-trapped the thermo-generator at the heart of the city to explode. Which it did. The city was turned into a twisted, broken, apocalyptic mountain. The whole regiment was assumed lost. Through some miracle of the Emperor though, Octavia had survived.

A smaller blast had thrown her into a relatively safe, unpowered hab-block where she avoided the worst of the detonation. The blast had also destroyed her rebreather, however, and the heated air scorched her throat and ruined her vocal cords. Worse yet, the Orks moved back in shortly after. For the next week Octavia survived in the wreckage of the hive city by wits and luck alone. Her lasgun had been destroyed and the Orks were physically bigger than her, so physical confrontation was not an option. By night she creeped her way through the ruined streets, sleeping in spaces too small for Orks to fit. She killed only one Ork during her ordeal. A member of an Ork patrol was poking around when he discovered Octavia's hiding place in a demolished hab-room. He broke down the door and thrust his head in and received a standard issue mono-knife straight into the eye as an answer. The greenskin howled in anger and pain and grasped at his newly opened eye cavity as Octavia made her escape through the hole the in opposite wall where she had entered. She could hear the Ork slowly dying over the course of next couple minutes as she made her way into an adjacent hab-block.

At the end of the week another regiment entered the hive city to clear out the new Ork occupiers and Octavia surrendered to them peacefully. She was assumed to be a deserter and taken aboard the fleet for trial and punishment. Due to her formerly exemplary service to the Emperor she was spared summary execution and was given the chance for redemption in a penal legion. In addition, the medicae refused to replace her vocal chords as a result of her status as a deserter, instead electing to merely heal the damaged remains. Permitting her to make some limited noise but still unable to vocalise properly. The disgraced guardswoman spent the next few months in a cell as the campaign was finished up and the fleet departed. At the next stop Octavia was exiled to a penal world where she was inducted into the local penal legion.

Name: Gate Kurman

Gender: Male

Age: 29

Former Occupation: Adeptus Arbites (Local Planetary Division)

Former Rank/Position: Enforcer

Mental and Physical Traits: Overtly, Gate's demeanour carries an unmistakable edge of order that sets him apart from penal legionnaires who led former lives that were less regimented. This is betrayed by occasional uncontrollable bureaucratic obsessions, such as wanting to stick rigorously to an intinerary or a trained routine, or some arbitrary neatness in his possessions, such as enforcing a strict policy of categorizing his baggage or arranging his bedding in a specific way. Inwardly, Gate is a conflicted individual; he despises being mixed amongst the rabble he once hunted and is firmly convinced of his own superiority relative to his fellow penal legionnaires. However, this hate does not arise from any belief in a moral high-ground - Gate is quite comfortable with his identity as a criminal and a cut-throat - but instead arises from the feeling that by losing his status he has lost all his power to do anything worthy with his life, and is instead now no different from the millions of faceless souls that churn in the Imperial machine. He is regularly reminded of this by the many officials that now threaten him, punish him and regiment his life, who have become objects of both admiration and utter resentment for Gate. As a result of the above, he regularly fluctuates between moods of nihilism and despair, and moods of violent cut-throat ambition and determination.

Appearance: Gate has a stocky build, standing shorter than most but compensating for it with a natural muscular girth. He has dark brown eyes and dark, razor-cropped hair that flows into a bushy and unkempt beard. His overall appearance bears a rough, dirty look unremarkable amongst the hordes of downtrodden scum found amongst the convicted occupants of a penal world.

Wargear:

Lascarbine
Explosive Collar
2 Mono Knives
3 Frag Grenades
3 Krak Grenades
1 Flak Vest & Flak Helmet
Imperial Guard Penal Legion Prisoner Uniform
1 Inhaler
1 Gas Mask
Poor Weather Gear
Rucksack
Basic Tool Kit
Mess Kit & Water Canteen
1 Weeks' Rations
Blanket & Sleep Bag
Rechargeable Lamp-Pack
Micro-Bead
Ident Tags ("Dog Tags")
Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer

History: Gate was born on the hive world Taranis, as the son to one of the many multitudes of middle-houses that exist in society between the underhive and the upper houses, which exist mostly to act as a social buffer zone and perform jobs bridging the two economic extremes. The Kurman family line was one of law enforcement, with many generations of sons and daughters finding themselves in the employ of the hive enforcer cadres that maintained order on Taranis under the occasional discretion of the Adeptus Arbites.

Gate was no exception, and upon coming of age joined the enforcer cadres along with this three brothers and two sisters with little other thought. Gate, however, was different from his siblings. He had difficulty adjusting to the idea of a life of selfless duty, concerned only with meeting the details of his superiors. An attitude such as that - within the relatively oversight-free enforcer cadres - meant that Gate was able to avoid his official duties and instead pursue his own agenda. For the most part, his agenda coincided with that of the law; he loved nothing more than satisfying his personal vendettas against criminals and orchestrating their downfall. But his pride and willingness to bend the rules put him at increasing risk and increasingly close to betraying the laws he was intended to enforce.

His fall came as the result of a particularly elaborate sting, in which he began his own smuggling ring in order to attract an affluent black market buyer with a large bounty on his head. However, his plan failed; the black market buyer he had been hoping to attract was captured by another bounty hunter on the day he was planning to make the transaction and perform the sting. As a result, he was left with a large amount of smuggled goods and no bargaining chip to justify his actions in the form of the black market buyer.

His attempts to cover his tracks failed, and he was promptly identified as a smuggler, discharged from the enforcer cadre and a bounty put on his head. Ever proud and ever an optimist, Gate decided that this was for the best; he was getting bored of operating from within the cadre and he was making more hive credits from the smuggling business than he ever did as an enforcer. Robbing everything he could from his poorly supplied office in the neighbourhood, he left to disappear into the shifting lawless crowds of the underhive and make a new life. Unfortunately, Gate found that he had greatly underestimated just how hard it was to operate as a criminal without the benefit of his status as an Enforcer, and it was only two months before a gang of underhive bounty hunters captured him and turned him over to the local authorities. Gate ran the lottery of justice, and - perhaps due to his former status, connections or simply luck - avoided execution, and was instead sent to join the massive pool of convicts billed for relocation to a penal world, and eventual conscription into a penal legion.

Name: Phrike

Gender: Male.

Age: 32.

Former Occupation: Prisoner, born and bred.

Former Rank/Position: Prison cutman, "ghetto medic."

Mental and Physical Traits: For such a man who looks like something fresh out of a nightmare, Phrike is oddly jovial and friendly, if only superficially, as the man puts no real trust in those around him and uses his submissive nature only to see another day - as grim as it may be. He rarely fights, not without it being on his terms and is not prone to great feats of courage. In fact, he tends to cower around authority.

His strengths lie in his resourcefulness and tenacity, characteristics necessary for a man who operates on men with intestines pouring out, stab wounds and broken bones from tyranical Arbites with nothing but the bare minimum and hard fought knowledge. An addendum, he holds no love for the Emperor or any other faith, the Legion is only but a way to flee the cage he has been born into.

Appearance: Tall, overtly so for someone as nutrient deficient as a prisoner of Redemptio, and whip thin at that. His nose and face is covered in burst blood vessels, sunken blue eyes with eyebags like you wouldn't believe and a face marred by pox scars, with a huge gash running along the top of his lip through his right nostril. His gait is hunched and awkward, his arms, neck and stomach laced with self-harm scars.

He is missing a finger or two on his left-hand from frostbite and he habitually shaves his head down to the scalp, as well as his face and eyebrows - the risk of contracting ticks and mites in his line of work is too common to handle. The barcode tattoo common to all in a Penal World has been placed on his forehead, as well as varying blue, faded tattoos of various denominations: such as a pin-up on his left chest, eyes above his groin and various administrative tattoos along his scalp, such as his prisoner ID, services rendered, etc.

Wargear:
Lascarbine
Explosive Collar
2 Mono Knives
3 Frag Grenades
3 Krak Grenades
Flak Helmet (His Flak Vest has been stolen, unfortunately for him).
Imperial Guard Penal Legion Prisoner Uniform
1 Inhaler
1 Gas Mask
Poor Weather Gear
Rucksack
Basic Tool Kit
Mess Kit & Water Canteen
1 Weeks' Rations
Blanket & Sleep Bag
Rechargeable Lamp-Pack
Micro-Bead
Ident Tags ("Dog Tags")
Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer
Various medical implements (if that's alright).

History: Just another lost soul, Phrike was born into the harsh realities of Redemptio and survived only by the generosity of a few Arbites, the weight of his parents connections and luck; it seemed more than likely that he'd die from starvation or one of the many infectious fevers that ran through the confines of the colony. However, as it is with all things, his parents passed as time went on from one thing or another, Arbites once kind to him were transferred, killed or turn coat and the connections he once enjoyed soured. A teenager, alone, he was abused frequently - his fear of authority comes from the many "visits" to his cell by Arbites after light's out.

There's no real history to be had for Phrike, actually. He survived by luck or tenacity into his adult years where he became the local cutman, an apprentice to the underground surgeons and bloodletters for those who feared punishment or retaliation from authority for injuries rendered. This allocated him some respect, gave him a purpose and allowed him to survive as long as he has.

His name had been passed over numerous times for introduction to the Legion personally by the High-Governor, his presence calms the local populace and takes valuable stress of cramped infirmaries. How his name made it past the ballet this time is unknown, but it has afforded Phrike the opportunity for a life outside his cage.

For how long, though?

Current Post

Name: Waldo

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Former Occupation: 97th Orcan Stonecrushers

Former Rank: Sergeant aka Bone'ead

Mental and Physical Traits: As with most Ogryn's, Waldo is prodigiously strong and durable and capable of tossing a man across a yard and lifting a fallen Sentinel. His thick skin can shrug off a las-shot that would kill a regular human and the usual scrapes and wounds of combat rarely register. Smarter then the average Ogryn, even more so after Biochemical Ogryn Neural Enhancement, Waldo is still considered stupid by the standards of the average Imperial citizen. The only quality that truly sets Waldo apart is a strange trait for an Ogryn: doubt.

Appearance: Waldo stands 7'6" and is a broad and muscled specimen. He's got a bit of a paunch, but isn't unpleasantly fat as many Ogryn's tend to be. Waldo has developed a scruff on his chin since his incarceration, which is slowly turning into a beard. He still prefers to keep his head shaved to Auxilia standard, because he doesn't like 'the tickly bits touching' ma ears.' The left side of Waldo's shaven head is covered by a thick steel plate fitted to the shape of his skull, concealing and protecting the augments he received as part of his BONE treatment.

Wargear:
Ripper Gun (Ogryn sized auto-shotgun)
Trench Shovel XXL
6 Frag Grenades (Multiple grenade types are too confusing)
Flak Vest
Penal Legion Uniform
Gas Mask with inbuilt Inhaler
Ruck Sack
Mess Kit & Canteen
1 Weeks Rations (theoretically)
Blanket and Sleeping Bag
Micro-Bead
Dog Tags

History: The 97th Orcan 'Stonecrushers,' as with most Ogryn regiments gets split into units and seconded to other more standard Guard regiments. Sergeant Waldo's squad and three others had been given to the 43rd Cadian. In Sgt. Waldo's last tour, the 43rd was tasked as part of a mixed Imperial pacification force, bringing a system to heel during an extensive cultist uprising. Waldo's Blue Squad served alongside Cadian infantry amidst brutal trench fighting during the siege of a small hive city that controlled much of the heretics manufacturing potential, and the Ogryn's became a key unit in storming enemy trench works.

The trouble began when Blue Squad was clearing out bunkers alongside the 2nd Platoon of the Cadian 43rd. Ever obedient, Sgt. Waldo would enter each bunker on command and he and his squads Ripper Guns would turn its occupants to mulch. After exciting a recently cleared fortification, an order came from the right of the Ogryn's.

"Ogryn's!" shouted an authoritative voice. "Fire on those men! Clear that trench!"

The Sergeant looked at the source of the command and saw what to him looked like a high ranking officer; a peaked cap, chest full of medals and power sword. Dutifully, Sgt. Waldo ordered his squad to fire with a roar of "Get 'em!" and proceeded to unload upon the panicked soldiers to his left. From that same direction came shouts from 2nd Platoons commander, Lieutenant Stradt.

"Blue Squad cease fire! Blue Squad! Waldo you bonehead, STOP SHOOTING!"

As their Ripper Guns fell silent, Lt. Stradt stepped out from cover, furious.

"You're firing on your own," the man shouted. "The enemy is that way!"

"Don't listen to that man, Blue Squad!" called the other officer. "They're the enemy! Shoot that man!

Lieutenant Stradt's eyes went wide as he saw the expression on Waldo's face turn contemplative. Panicking, the officer raised his laspistol and fired, gaining a direct hit to Waldo's flak covered chest. The Ogryn shredded Stradt with a retort of scattershot, then opened fire on the soldiers behind him. Blue Squad dumbly followed suit. The mystery officer stepped forward, speaking words of praise, only to be shot off his feet in turn as the squad, following Waldo's lead, attacked his position as well.

When other elements of the 43rd came upon Blue Squad's position, the officer in charge demanded a report, he was met with refusal and a repeated question of "Who's side you on?" Quite unsure of what to do with the insubordinate Bone'ead and unable to order he and his squad back to their position, the officer was forced to call for a Commissar who, with an escort of another squad of the 97th Orcan, was able to put Waldo and his fellows under a semblance of arrest.

Upon later interrogation - an arduous affair when speaking to the intellectually deficient abhuman - it was found that the Bone'ead had a rather unique form of insubordination. For most Ogryn who were folded into the Astra Militarum, the Chain of Command is an almost sacred military edifice, in which the will of the Emperor works its way down through the Officers of the Guard. For former Bone'ead Waldo, that whole fact was now in question. He'd been given contradictory orders by two officers. Which one served the Emperor? How could he tell? What if an order came from the enemy? Waldo was puzzled, and until he figured it out he wouldn't follow any other orders for fear of acting against the Emperor. Facing this sort of insubordination, the Commissars of the 43rd shipped Waldo off to a penal colony to be someone else's problem.