[hider=Corpus Ertelt]
[indent]
[b]Name:[/b] Corpus Ertelt

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Role/Archetype:[/b] Hierophant

[b]Personal Demeanour:[/b] 

Corpus is a rarity among many in the dark times of the 42nd millennium; a genuinely friendly fellow. Often jovial, and with a certain gift for gab, the priest takes a deal of joy out of interacting with his fellow Man. Whether it's spreading the gospel of the Imperial Creed, discussing literature with the more learned, or simply hearing the plight of a crowded hab block worked, Corpus prides himself on being able to mix and mingle with all sorts of good, God-Emperor fearing folk. 

As a missionary, Corpus is quite lax in his following of the Creed. Indeed, while some more overly zealous members of the clergy see evil in all things, Corpus merely concerns himself with ensuring his flock follows the forest tenets of the Creed. He believes the God-Emperor's light is a means to guide and protect Mankind, not a tool to keep the masses in line as some would think. It is easy enough to accuse him of lacking in faith as a result.

Yet, nothing could be farther from the truth. Passionate and burning with zeal in his own way, Corpus directs bias inner flame not to burning free the sin, but to fending off that which lurks beyond. His first contact with the Neverborn has reinforced his belief; there are far worse things in the universe than a lack of flagellation, or forgetting to offer a morning prayer. Against such horrors, only the light of the God-Emperor protects, and anything which would alienate his followers, or turn them from his benevolence with selfish displays of pedantry is tantamount to heresy itself.

[b]Speciality:[/b] Zealous Oration & Ecclesiarchal Lore

[b]Rank:[/b] Acolyte

[b]Description:[/b] 

At first glance, Corpus does not cut a particularly intimidating visage. He is tall, yes, standing at nearly six foot four inches in height, but thin and lanky despite this. Groomed well, the priest keeps his brown locks combed back out of his face, streaks of grey beginning to form at his temples and flecking through the neatly trimmed goatee upon his chin. His face his sharp and angular, a thin yet defined jawline and pointed nose making him seem more gaunt than he truly is. His eyes are rather striking, bright green and vibrant with the Emperor's fire, and his skin is largely unblemished, a soft peach color throughout.

He clothes himself quite modestly compare to some of the clergy. Thick, blood red robes of the hooded variety wrap around him, covering him entirely from neck to calf and sheltering him from the worst of the weather. Beneath it, a simple cream colored tunic and charcoal trousers that bunch up around the heavy black leather of his boots. A thick belt of similar material hangs around his waist, securing a number of his belongings. Chief among these are the tome of Saint Eugenios, a hefty old book with a well worn cover and equally worn parchment within. It is secured to his hip with a long strand of adamantine rosary, not unlike a pious chain.

The belt is also host to many of his other effects. On his right hand side, a holster for his hand flamer sits opposite the Incandescent's scripture. Two replacement canisters for its holy promethium sit strapped behind it further towards his back. A satchel of sorts hangs off the back of his belt. Within it, innumerable incense, bullets, prefabricated purity seals and vials of blessed oils and ungulates lay, the tools one requires as a man of the cloth. 

Though it's hardly noticeable under his heavy robes, another holster slung across the priest's chest holds his stub revolver close to his heart. He is never far from his precious staff. The old, dark wooden pole is meticulously crafted, runes etching every inch of it's length from the tapered bottom to the glorious bronze Aquila that dominates its head. The staff bears the true names of ninety-nine foul daemons, and is their anathema in every way.

[b]History:[/b] 

Corpus was born on the civilized world of Iotov II within the Calixis Sector. Having long since been an agricultural cornerstone of its sub-system, the brutality that consumed the galaxy following the Eye's horrific expansion saw the massed increase in industry upon the world. As factories sprung up to provide supplies for an ever growing war, so too did the cities required to support them. It was here that the young man would start his youth, in the equally young city of Dervish. 

As the population flocked from the countryside to the city looking for work, or at the behest of the governor's defense forces to fill the manufactories, so too did the few organizations from off world who could spare the resources. The Ecclesiarchy, a monolithic force in the Imperium, was no exception. A mission took up in the concrete jungle of Dervish, temples being raised along side hab-blocks, and priests milling about with the displaced masses to preach the world of the Emperor to their down trodden likes.

Corpus' parents, exercising an uncommon care for their offspring, decided the grueling toil that was their new lives in the metal coffins of Dervish's manufacturing blocks was not the life they wanted for their child. He was a bright boy, one who could do more than simply assemble laspacks or flak armor for the rest of his days. His father set about donating what he could to the faith, greasing palms with the local preacher until the portly man decided to take young Corpus on as an altar boy. So began his career within the Ecclesiarchy.

Little more than an errand boy within the temple, Corpus none the less enjoyed his work there. It became a second home to him, a place of relative splendor away from the crowded hab blocks. Between cleaning the grounds and helping the head preacher in his duties, the clever Corpus immersed himself in the library of tomes, scripts and litanys that filled the newly fabricated shelves. Stories of grandiose saints, heroic chants of war and lengthy epics of faith became his companions, moulding him from youth. 

Quickly becoming stalwart in his faith, Corpus worked his way through the ranks of the Ecclesiarchy with newly lit determination. As he grew in age, so too did his responsibilities at the church. As his responsibilities grew, so too did the notice of his superiors. Corpus was a pious lad, one with a good head on his shoulders and a knack for spicing up the more mundane scripture, bringing in ears as if he were spinning one of his beloved sagas of Saint Something-or-Other. His passion served him well. 

From his small local temple, he bounced through larger and better bulwarks of the Ecclesiarchy's holdings, occasionally preaching, until he found himself in the employ of the head Confessor of Iotov II. He spent a few years within the splendid halls of Iotov's largest center of faith, administering sermons under the watchful eye of the Confessor. Corpus had a gift for spreading the Creed, the man knew. In times as dark as the 42nd millennium, those gifts were needed, not upon backwater world complacent in their faith like Iotov, but in the frontiers, where some might have long since lost faith provided they had any at all to begin.

So it was decided that Corpus would not remain upon his homeworld. Instead, he would become a traveling beacon of the God-Emperor's light not unlike his beloved Saints. He would become a missionary, sent to the contested stretches of space to win over the masses. In conjunction with other worlds in the system, the Ecclesiarchy was putting together vessels and supplies to launch a campaign of settlement within the Kronus Expanse. Corpus found himself upon the vessel that held the contributions of Iotov in short order. Gathering a small, but worthy fleet of the faithful, this procession turned towards the unknown and jumped from the real world to the immaterium.

For how long they were within the twisted realms before it happened has long since been forgotten by Corpus himself. Days, weeks, it did not matter. Not after the geller field on the ship he was stationed in failed. No starship mechanic, the finer details of what followed were lost upon him, but the horrors were not. No longer protected as they traversed the warp, all manner of horrific beast flooded the vessel, incorporeal wraiths who sought to turn flesh inside out, balking hellhounds who gorged themselves on the terrified crewmen and God-Emperor knew what else.

Corpus had been lucky, in a way. He had been administering a sermon to a small group of pilgrims in one of the leisure racks when it happened. As the lights flickered and blood curdling laughter filled the halls of the ship, he did all he could do as the fear set in among himself and his flock; he kept preaching. Whatever was happening, whatever unholy manner of chaos was consuming the other compartments, He would protect His faithful and Corpus would be the mouthpiece to espouse that faith and lead the lost into His light. 

He called out loud and strong, reciting litany after litany, verse after verse. He did not stop, not when the pilgrims finally calmed, not when the horrible shrieks from outside the rack grew to nearly drown him out, not when bloodied claws began shredding through the steel door to the cabin and pried it apart like so many knives through butter. Even as that horror with its gleaming red eyes and gnashing, unclean jaws snapped and snarled at him through the hole it created did he cease. 

His voice on carried louder, his words so righteous and grounded in true belief that the beast howled in agony, smoking and bubbling before the heat of Corpus' zeal until it beat a hasty retreat back into the corridors. His throat stung, his lips cracked and bleeding by the time anything else reached them. Luckily, what returned was not the Archenemy, but men clad in red jumpsuits and black, foreboding armor. The vessel had mader it back to realspace. They were safe... In a way. 

For, those touched by the taint of the immaterium were forfeit to the most Holy Inquisition. Stormtroopers of the Ordo Malleus rooted out those within the vessel, executing those too gibbering to be of use, and dragging those who were still of sound mind to the presiding Interrogator. It was there that Corpus first met the Holy Ordos, and it was there that his gifts were deemed necessary to the Imperium, not as a simple missionary, but as a tool of the Inquisition. A tool to fight the Neverborn.

[b]Equipment and Armament:[/b] 
[list]
[*][i]The Word of Saint Eugenios the Incandescent[/i]
[*]Truename Staff
[*]Hand Flamer (Holy Promethium)
[*]Stub Revolver (Sanctified Rounds)
[*]Servo-Skull (Laud Hailer)
[*]Holy Incense
[*]Sacred Ungulates
[*]Purity Seals
[*]Other things he should obviously have, but I've likely overlooked.
[/list]

[b]Miscellaneous:[/b] Corpus is a great fan of Imperial literature, specifically Ecclesiarchial scripture and the lore surrounding Sainthood. He has a weakness for fine amasec. [/indent]
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