[hider=Corporal Mordecai Tharn]
[b]Name:[/b] Corporal Mordecai Tharn, listed on transfer papers as “Corporal Tharn, Servan”

[b]Age:[/b] 21

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Approximate Height & Weight:[/b] 5’11” and 85kg

[B]Former Regiment:[/b] 232nd Cadian Mechanized Artillery, listed on transfer papers as “223rd Cadian Mechanized Infantry.”

[b]Speciality:[/b] Basilisk Artillery Tank Operator, listed on transfer papers as “Infantry Weapons Specialist.”

[b]Appearance:[/b] Time as a vehicle crewman far from the frontlines has left Mordecai a little lax in keeping up proper appearance as a guardsman. Beyond the physical standards expected of every single position no matter their role, he leaves much to be desired. His ruddy brown hair is often more disheveled than it should be, the outline of protective goggles is permanently formed around his face from countless hours of sun and residue, framing his striking violet eyes(a natural Cadian abnormality). His forearms are sharply more tanned and colored than the rest of his fair complexion and naturally paled color, detailing his penchant for rolling up his fatigue sleeves to combat the heat of the tank and its main cannon. Other than the occasional burn scar from freshly-ejected shells or hot machine parts from the tank, his body is free of cuts, bruises, scrapes and other unnatural blemishes. While not visibly noticeable, his time operating the vehicle carrying a massive Earthshaker cannon has left him both somewhat unphased by the loud sounds of war, as well as suffering from notable hearing loss, which can make casual conversation in quiet conditions more than a bit frustrating for both parties.

[B]Uniform:[/b] The standard Cadian fatigues, newly issued in the colors of the 87th Combined, paired with black combat boots, light vehicle crewman flak armor, a light flakweave field cap for head protection, knee pads, and thick operator gloves. A pair of protective goggles are generally kept wrapped around his head or headgear when not being worn over his eyes, and a personal micro-comm ear and mouth set dons the left side of his face. A secondary dress uniform is kept for parade and inspection, consisting of an olive drab single-breasted coat with a high collar and formal, tailored pants tucked into black jackboots. The coat features thin epaulets with a solid red stripe lining the edge, denoting the wearer as an artillery regiment member.

[B]Armament:[/b] As the vehicle commander of his original Basilisk crew, Mordecai was issued a standard Cadian M36 Kantrael lasgun, but with many of the redundant and non-load bearing aspects of the weapon removed to decrease the size and weight, while still maintaining a higher range and power than the standard lascarbine. However, this has since been replaced with a stock MG Kantrael "Short" pattern lasgun, which is a fair bit bulkier than he'd grown accustomed to. He also keeps the standard combat knife bayonet on hand, with it having commonly doubled as a screwdriver, hammer, or prybar during his time in the Basilisk. An autopistol with a single twenty round magazine is generally tucked into a small holster in his field uniform, serving as a quickly-reached sidearm in a dire situation.

[b]Personality/Demeanour:[/b] His time in the rear, and in a semi-isolated vehicle crew at that, has made Mordecai complacent, and it very much shows. Much more of a slacker and layabout than one would expect for someone raised Cadian, his casualness is bound to get him put at the wrong end of some disciplinary reports soon. He’s very amicable, having enjoyed the closeness and camaraderie once shared with his former crewmen, but can be a bit annoying in his constant attempts to break up the quiet with chatter and small talk. He also seems to lack the proper mindset for how to behave around superiors, having forgotten much of the proper etiquette for interacting with a senior officer face-to-face.

In combat, Mordecai cracks, and he cracks [i]hard[/i]. It’s been years since he had to properly make up part of a firing line, and even that was at simple training targets. He cowers, blubbers, panics, and prays more than he shoots his gun, and it’ll be a miracle if the commissar or an officer doesn’t use him for bolt pistol practice. His one saving grace is that he can shrug off the sounds of explosions, gunfire, cannons, and screaming, having grown accustomed to spending hours directly next to one of the loudest noises known to the Guard.

[B]Greatest Ambition:[/b] To survive long enough to be officially discharged and able to retire with a home, a family, and perhaps even a nice pension for service.

[B]Greatest Hatred:[/b] Quiet. When there’s too much...nothing in the air. No sounds, just the tension hanging, waiting to be broken...it drives him mad.

[b]Skills:[/b] Although he had served as the tank’s commander, during his time with his Basilisk, every member of the crew took equal turns driving the tank, sighting and firing the main gun, and loading it, so he has a quality level of experience in driving tracked vehicles, as well as in operating indirect fire weapons. He can also make a decent optics spotter and vox-operator in a pinch, as both were tools commonly used by him and his crew. Lastly, while nowhere near the levels of even a minor ordained member of the Machine Cult, he’s a decent handyman when it comes to keeping vehicles up and running in the field.

[b]History:[/b] Mordecai was born to a Cadian regiment on deployment, so while not raised on the homeworld, he received as close a facsimile as one could muster in the field, though it was far from par, given artillery regiments like the 232nd weren’t known for the quality of their infantry. Having been one of only three children born to the regiment, his training in proper Cadian marching and firing formations was...mediocre, to say the least. Had training conditions been more ideal, he likely would have been drummed out into a cannon fodder conscript regiment within the first few months. But, he managed to make it to his teen years, and was thus appointed a Whiteshield member of the 232nd. With this distinguished title came the honor, nay, the privilege of lugging about artillery shells and spare parts, standing firewatch over the barracks for eight hours straight, and even spending a month as the aide-de-camp of the regimental Major.

By the time he reached proper maturity to be regarded as an adult, someone somewhere must have thought him worth a damn, as they placed him in a new Basilisk as a crewman, alongside the other two former Whiteshields he had trained with as a youth. Being the best-performing of the three, which wasn’t saying much, he was given the position of the crew’s commander, and the rank of Corporal so that command would know he was at least slightly worth interacting with on the vox. Being the closest thing to classmates as one gets with Cadians, the three got on like a house on fire, quickly becoming steadfast comrades in the face of adversity both foreign and domestic. Although frowned upon by command, the three would commonly rotate between the driver, gunner, and loader positions of the tank, giving them all a familiarity with the vehicle few others had.

Shortly after his 20th birthday, the 232nd were attached as artillery support to the Cadian 223rd Mechanized Infantry, and thrown into the last big push against Ork Warboss Thrakta. Mordecai had never really seen any of the Imperium’s foes, xeno or otherwise, so his knowledge of Orks came solely from the information published in the Uplifting Primer. To Mordecai, the final victory consisted of chugging along in his tank, flinging heavy firepower at what he believed to be stumpy, pudgy blobs of green alien dimwits, and simply having a grand old time. If this is what war was, then Mordecai never wanted it to end.

But in the end, it did. Eventually the attack orders dwindled, before stopping entirely. The crew were ordered to the regimental HQ for debriefing, and Mordecai was blindsided by being taken directly to the Major’s office. Told to take a seat, Mordecai was even more taken aback at the Major seeming just as puzzled as he was. Apparently, he’d received orders to transfer a “Corporal Tharn” to a newly-formed composite infantry regiment. Despite this making no sense whatsoever, the Major had no ability to appeal or request clarification, the orders having come as part of a Departmento Munitorum debriefing pamphlet. With a pit in his stomach large enough to rival the Eye of Terror, Mordecai shipped out to report for initial formation and inspection.

Upon arrival, he would learn exactly what had happened, and why even the Major had been so bewildered. The courier had been meant to deliver the package to the 223rd Cadian Mechanized Infantry, with a Corporal [i]Servan[/i] Tharn being the intended recipient of the transfer orders. Upon learning this, Mordecai requested an immediate transfer back to his old regiment, and that this Servan Tharn properly take his place. However, the 223rd had already been folded in their entirety into another regiment, and all official records stated that a “Corporal Servan Tharn” had already been transferred here instead. With no official way out, Mordecai swallowed his fear, and took his place with the other new arrivals to the composite regiment, just in time for the victory parade.

[b]Miscellaneous:[/b] He keeps a heavily-modified Screamer proximity alarm rigged to hum at a much lower volume to use as a white noise machine for when he sleeps in quiet places, having gotten used to sleeping alongside an idling engine during his field deployments in the basilisk.
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