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[CHAR] Crime & Punishment - Adeptus Arbites RP [Warhammer 40,000]
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Hank Dionysian Mystery
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Seen
17 hrs ago
NAME: Zohair Sarrazin.
HOMEWORLD: Sarrazin hails from a desert world known as Al-Eshikram. It is populated by various low-tech nomadic tribes that specialize in herding huge desert-striders, an exotic and xenos species of cattle, but most of its inhabitants are housed in large cities of limestone and glass with a decent level of technological prowess. Food is grown inside greenhouses that stretch for miles and the people get their water from deep underground and the occasional heavy rainfall. The endless sand dunes of Al-Eshikram contain various rare minerals and heavy elements -- only a few particles per square mile, but still worth pursuing. The Mechanicus has huge harvesting machines that roam the deserts and sift through the sand, filtering out the useful specks. Al-Eshikram hosts a sizable PDF garrison to defend against occasional Greenskin incursions, though the hunting antics of a native species of massive snake, colloquially known as the Emperor's Cobra, keeps them busy in peacetime. Multiple regiments of the Imperial Guard have been founded there, known as the Desert Striders (named after the animal). The planet's Schola Progenium is located in the planet's capital, a towering construct called Elohymn that was built around the planet's biggest oasis in ancient times.
AGE: 62.
GENDER: Male.
APPEARANCE: In sharp contrast with the native population of Aphrodus Primaris, Sarrazin's skin is the same color as gold -- just not as shiny. His eyes are slightly slanted, almond-shaped and a startling shade of green, sporting remarkably small pupils even in dim lightning conditions. They glitter much like emeralds do. His face is thin and angular, featuring high cheekbones and tapering off into a sharp chin and to make the resemblance to a snake even stronger, like all people from Al-Eshikram, his incisors are unreasonably long and show at even the slightest smile. And last but not least, before we move on from his head, is Sarrazin's hair. It is the colour of dark copper and trimmed short in a Roman-esque style.
As is tradition on Al-Eshikram, much of Sarrazin's body (including his arms, torso and thighs) is covered in intricate tattoos that are made entirely out of curved lines. The tattoos resemble the scales of a reptile and weave around Sarrazin's limbs in a hypnotizing pattern. As for his physique, Sarrazin stands just under six feet and is even built like a snake, lean and supple, with corded muscles and smooth, mostly hairless skin. Juvenat treatments -- paid for by the Adeptus Terra, of course -- have kept him youthful and vital.
ROLE: Arbitrator-Sergeant.
UNIFORM: As befits his experience, Sarrazin's suit of carapace armor is scarred and weathered and currently in need of a new paint job (again). Blotches of the ceramite's natural gunmetal gray colour are showing through the black paint in various places, mostly on the chestplate, the shoulderpads and the boots. After decades of use the leather elements of his uniform formed to fit his body so well that Sarrazin barely makes a sound when he moves. As for decoration, Sarrazin has personalized the suit with the heraldry of his homeworld's Imperial Guard regiments (in honor of his late father), the Desert Striders, applied with white and green paint on the right shoulderpad. It resembles a pale Emperor's Cobra, rearing up and ready to strike, with emerald eyes. Other than that little touch his uniform is standard issue. Sarrazin's rank as Arbitrator-Sergeant is represented on his left shoulderpad with a single white chevron beneath an Imperial skull. Several purity seals are attached to the armor with wax seals stamped with the sigil of the Adeptus Arbites.
EXPERTISE: During Sarrazin's long tenure with the Arbites he has never shown any interest in, nor aptitude for, any of the Specialist skills. What he's good at is simple: asserting authority and laying down the law. Sarrazin's combat skills are widely respected throughout Precinct S-12 and his low tolerance for bullshit makes him an effective squad leader and discipline enforcer.
EQUIPMENT: As a hardline, dyed-in-the-wool Arbitrator, Sarrazin has a pretty standard loadout for this position. He sticks to what he knows best.
BIOGRAPHY: Decorated veteran Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin of Strike Team Omicron was once, like all humans, a baby. Sarrazin was born on the desert world of Al-Eshikram to loving parents. His father was initially a laborer who worked in the enormous greenhouses of Elohymn, the planet's capital, and his mother was a stay-at-home wife. Young Zohair had two older brothers and later a younger sister as well. They were not rich by any means but Al-Eshikram was, despite the harsh sunlight and high temperatures, a decent place to live and they did not want for anything. Even now, five decades later, Sarrazin longs for those days.
His father was conscripted by the Astra Militarum when a new Regiment of Desert Striders, the 13th, was founded. Sarrazin's father was a firm but temperate and fair man and it was not long until he was inducted into the officer cadre of the 13th. Back home, Sarrazin's mother cared for her children as best she could with the credits that Corporal Sarrazin sent home every month but it was obvious that the sudden lack of a parental figure made her job difficult. Zohair's older brothers were less affected but the boy was in his most formative years, not even eight years old, when his father left.
Two days before young Zohair's fourteenth birthday, word came back from some Emperor-forsaken corner of the galaxy that his father had honorably died in combat. Furious and sick with grief, Sarrazin spiraled out of control, skipping his lessons at the local Schola Laborium to roam the streets with other teens and rarely came home anymore. Not even his older brothers, already adults, could reach him now.
His mother committed suicide. Within hours, the clerics of the Schola Progenium were at their doorstep and swept Sarrazin and his younger sister away to be raised and trained to become the next generation's elite of the Imperium. The status of Sarrazin's father, who was posthumously promoted to Major, ensured the boy's place at the Schola Progenium. He and his sister were swiftly separated and he never saw her again after that either, though he learned later in life that she became an Adeptus Sororitas.
Sarrazin's tutors and mentors focused on harnessing the boy's anger and turning it into rigorous and unbreakable discipline and purpose. He resisted and they were cruel. Corporal punishment became a regular element of Sarrazin's life and it was not until two years after he was sent to the Schola that the boy, then sixteen years old, finally relented and allowed himself to be broken. It was then that the rebuilding could begin.
Building on the sense of fairness and justice that Sarrazin's father had instilled in him, the boy was groomed for the Adeptus Arbites training program. With nothing left to lose, Sarrazin devoted himself willingly and entirely to the regimen and excelled in all physical and martial metrics. He was not particularly creative or perceptive when it came to developing leads or handling persecution, nor was he any good with technology, so it was decided he would become an ordinary Arbitrator. That suited him just fine.
With the God-Emperor as his spiritual father and witness, Sarrazin finished his training at 21 years old and was immediately -- to his surprise and horror -- shipped off to a foul, polluted planet almost entirely devoid of sunlight: Aphrodus Primaris, Precinct S-12. This was the world he would police until his dying day. In his opinion, it could not have been a worse place. While too disciplined and devoted to his duty at that point to refuse or rebel, Sarrazin has never really come to terms with his deployment and internally resents the entire existence of Aphrodus Primaris to an unhealthy degree. This is partially responsible for his uncompromising and sometimes cruel enforcement of discipline and unwillingness to break. He will not give this planet the satisfaction.
Sarrazin was initially attached to a patrol squad of four other Arbitrators that would ride up and down the streets and highways of the middle levels of Rancunhive in a Suppressor Rhino, just to prove to its citizens that the Emperor was watching. One might argue that it was a mercifully safe and uneventful assignment but Sarrazin found it unbelievably dull and felt like he was slowly going mad, cooped up in that damn Rhino every day. He wanted to take out his frustrations on something or someone. He got his wish during the so-called Grain Riots, where huge swaths of the mining laborers took to the streets after a warp storm prevented shipments of bread and the like from a nearby agri-world. Sarrazin and his squad happened to be out on the streets when the riots began, on the Square of Saint Augistine, and were surrounded by the angry mob -- an unfortunate mistake of them. Sarrazin jumped out of the Rhino with his squadmates and laid into the crowd with his shield and power maul with relentless fury, inspiring the rest of his squad to similar acts of heroic brutality. Scores of unconscious and quite possibly dead citizens were left in Sarrazin's wake and the riot in their quadrant was broken up and dispersed within half an hour. The whole squad received a commendation and Sarrazin's commander made sure he received a special citation. When the young Arbitrator applied for a transfer to an Underhive patrol squad, nobody resisted. It was clear he had the guts and the tenacity for it.
Since then, Sarrazin has been a steadfast and unmistakable entity in the Precinct's raids into the Underhive to prevent the gang wars from spiraling out of control. What little enjoyment he experiences on this wretched planet is either derived from making love behind the walls of the Precinct-Fortress (he's not a bad looking man at all and it's a mixed gender detachment) or beating down thugs in the lawless depths of the Underhive. His total indifference to their suffering, his skills and his ability to project authority meant that he was elevated to the rank of Arbitrator-Sergeant roughly two decades ago. Sarrazin is a foundation you can build on, if that foundation was capable of putting a caseless round in your enemy's heart at two hundred paces. His selection for Strike Team Omicron was therefore obvious.
PERSONALITY: Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin is a tough and unforgiving man with the temperament of a viper. His total dissatisfaction with the sheer existence of Aphrodus Primaris and the wretched flesh-bags that call themselves citizens has soured and embittered him over the decades and he has lost almost every sense of sentimentality and compassion. Despite all that, he does try to remain at least somewhat fair to the Arbitrators he serves with and is not a man that can be rightfully accused of unwarranted cruelty. Unless it's against the miner-gangs or whatever -- he doesn't give a shit about them. Sarrazin understands the importance of the planet for the Imperial machine and has accepted that his place is to make sure it keeps running, but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it.
He still longs for the days of his early youth in the sunbathed planet of Al-Eshikram and, deep down, resents everything that happened to him since his father's death. Sarrazin never aspired to be a warrior or a peacekeeper and has extremely vivid dreams at night of working in the greenhouses, just like his father did, or similar desires. He does his job and he does it well because the Emperor expects it of him and, yes, it is a little satisfying to shoot a fucking piece of shit right in the fucking neck, but that's all.
MISCELLANEOUS: Prefers women of his own race, who are in decidedly short supply on Aphrodus Primaris.
HOMEWORLD: Sarrazin hails from a desert world known as Al-Eshikram. It is populated by various low-tech nomadic tribes that specialize in herding huge desert-striders, an exotic and xenos species of cattle, but most of its inhabitants are housed in large cities of limestone and glass with a decent level of technological prowess. Food is grown inside greenhouses that stretch for miles and the people get their water from deep underground and the occasional heavy rainfall. The endless sand dunes of Al-Eshikram contain various rare minerals and heavy elements -- only a few particles per square mile, but still worth pursuing. The Mechanicus has huge harvesting machines that roam the deserts and sift through the sand, filtering out the useful specks. Al-Eshikram hosts a sizable PDF garrison to defend against occasional Greenskin incursions, though the hunting antics of a native species of massive snake, colloquially known as the Emperor's Cobra, keeps them busy in peacetime. Multiple regiments of the Imperial Guard have been founded there, known as the Desert Striders (named after the animal). The planet's Schola Progenium is located in the planet's capital, a towering construct called Elohymn that was built around the planet's biggest oasis in ancient times.
AGE: 62.
GENDER: Male.
APPEARANCE: In sharp contrast with the native population of Aphrodus Primaris, Sarrazin's skin is the same color as gold -- just not as shiny. His eyes are slightly slanted, almond-shaped and a startling shade of green, sporting remarkably small pupils even in dim lightning conditions. They glitter much like emeralds do. His face is thin and angular, featuring high cheekbones and tapering off into a sharp chin and to make the resemblance to a snake even stronger, like all people from Al-Eshikram, his incisors are unreasonably long and show at even the slightest smile. And last but not least, before we move on from his head, is Sarrazin's hair. It is the colour of dark copper and trimmed short in a Roman-esque style.
As is tradition on Al-Eshikram, much of Sarrazin's body (including his arms, torso and thighs) is covered in intricate tattoos that are made entirely out of curved lines. The tattoos resemble the scales of a reptile and weave around Sarrazin's limbs in a hypnotizing pattern. As for his physique, Sarrazin stands just under six feet and is even built like a snake, lean and supple, with corded muscles and smooth, mostly hairless skin. Juvenat treatments -- paid for by the Adeptus Terra, of course -- have kept him youthful and vital.
ROLE: Arbitrator-Sergeant.
UNIFORM: As befits his experience, Sarrazin's suit of carapace armor is scarred and weathered and currently in need of a new paint job (again). Blotches of the ceramite's natural gunmetal gray colour are showing through the black paint in various places, mostly on the chestplate, the shoulderpads and the boots. After decades of use the leather elements of his uniform formed to fit his body so well that Sarrazin barely makes a sound when he moves. As for decoration, Sarrazin has personalized the suit with the heraldry of his homeworld's Imperial Guard regiments (in honor of his late father), the Desert Striders, applied with white and green paint on the right shoulderpad. It resembles a pale Emperor's Cobra, rearing up and ready to strike, with emerald eyes. Other than that little touch his uniform is standard issue. Sarrazin's rank as Arbitrator-Sergeant is represented on his left shoulderpad with a single white chevron beneath an Imperial skull. Several purity seals are attached to the armor with wax seals stamped with the sigil of the Adeptus Arbites.
EXPERTISE: During Sarrazin's long tenure with the Arbites he has never shown any interest in, nor aptitude for, any of the Specialist skills. What he's good at is simple: asserting authority and laying down the law. Sarrazin's combat skills are widely respected throughout Precinct S-12 and his low tolerance for bullshit makes him an effective squad leader and discipline enforcer.
- Steady Shooter: Sarrazin has trained with and used autoguns his whole life and is highly proficient in putting stable, accurate rounds downrange, both in semi- and fully-automatic firing modes. In fact, his specific style of engaging the enemy (using the Suppression Shield as a stable firing platform and mobile cover, firing two or three rounds before moving, putting down the shield again, firing, rinse and repeat) is known as the Sarrazin Special.
- Close-quarters Cobra: The people of Al-Eshikram have a natural aptitude for quickness and agility that lends itself well for melee combat. There are few Arbitrators in the Precinct that are as fast with a power maul as Sarrazin and his sudden, sweeping strikes and quick uppercuts have knocked out (or straight-up destroyed) many a felon before they could react over the years.
- Absolute Authoritarian: Sarrazin tolerates absolutely zero backtalk from his troops and won't hesitate to reinforce his authority with corporal punishment, if necessary. This makes him a highly effective and merciless taskmaster in the field and he can inspire Arbitrators to hold the line in even the most intimidating situations -- if there's something scary in the front, put something scarier in the back. Several riots have been shut down and firefights with hordes of hive-gangers won because Sarrazin refused to allow even the slightest hint of disobedience and cowardice.
- Respectable Regicidist: Last and, also, decidedly least, is Sarrazin's favorite pastime: regicide. Essentially the Imperium's version of chess, Sarrazin enjoys testing his wits and intelligence against the other capable regicide players of the Precinct. Sarrazin is certainly not the best as he's not particularly inventive with his strategies, preferring to stick with what he knows, but he's decent enough.
- Close-quarters Cobra: The people of Al-Eshikram have a natural aptitude for quickness and agility that lends itself well for melee combat. There are few Arbitrators in the Precinct that are as fast with a power maul as Sarrazin and his sudden, sweeping strikes and quick uppercuts have knocked out (or straight-up destroyed) many a felon before they could react over the years.
- Absolute Authoritarian: Sarrazin tolerates absolutely zero backtalk from his troops and won't hesitate to reinforce his authority with corporal punishment, if necessary. This makes him a highly effective and merciless taskmaster in the field and he can inspire Arbitrators to hold the line in even the most intimidating situations -- if there's something scary in the front, put something scarier in the back. Several riots have been shut down and firefights with hordes of hive-gangers won because Sarrazin refused to allow even the slightest hint of disobedience and cowardice.
- Respectable Regicidist: Last and, also, decidedly least, is Sarrazin's favorite pastime: regicide. Essentially the Imperium's version of chess, Sarrazin enjoys testing his wits and intelligence against the other capable regicide players of the Precinct. Sarrazin is certainly not the best as he's not particularly inventive with his strategies, preferring to stick with what he knows, but he's decent enough.
EQUIPMENT: As a hardline, dyed-in-the-wool Arbitrator, Sarrazin has a pretty standard loadout for this position. He sticks to what he knows best.
- Primary weapon: Armageddon-Pattern Autogun. A medium length, stocky rifle in a matte black paint job with a custom comfort grip and ergonomic hand guard, improved combat sights, laser pointer and flash suppressor. It can fire on semi-automatic, 5-round bursts, or on full-auto and holds 30 rounds in a double-stacked magazine. Sarrazin chambers it with caseless AP-rounds to improve the weapon's versatility against various types of targets and relies on his decades of experience and accuracy to put the rounds where they count against soft targets. A stylized Emperor's Cobra slithering towards its prey has been painted on the left side of the autogun's stock.
- Secondary weapon: Arbites-issue Bolt-pistol. Sarrazin doesn't unholster this weapon and actually put it to use very often, but its symbolic (and fire-) power has made it useful as a tool of intimidation and discipline enforcement in the past.
- Melee weapon: The ubiquitous power maul. What else? When it comes to law enforcement, accept no substitutes. Sarrazin lets opponents tire themselves out against the Suppression Shield in melee engagements before suddenly striking and aiming to incapacitate them with a single blow.
- Tertiary equipment: As an Arbitrator as opposed to a Specialist, Sarrazin carries the signature Suppression Shield into the field. It is normally slung around his back when not in use, the two lengths of fiber-strength strap coming together over his chest in a pressure-sensitive clasp. All Sarrazin has to do is beat his chest and the shield drops free, after which a pirouette movement practiced by all Arbitrators brings the shield to the fore on the Arbitrator's left arm.
- Mementos: An old black-and-white picture of Sarrazin and his father. The proud dad is garbed in full Desert Striders uniform. The picture was taken right before he was shipped off to war and Sarrazin never saw him again.
- Secondary weapon: Arbites-issue Bolt-pistol. Sarrazin doesn't unholster this weapon and actually put it to use very often, but its symbolic (and fire-) power has made it useful as a tool of intimidation and discipline enforcement in the past.
- Melee weapon: The ubiquitous power maul. What else? When it comes to law enforcement, accept no substitutes. Sarrazin lets opponents tire themselves out against the Suppression Shield in melee engagements before suddenly striking and aiming to incapacitate them with a single blow.
- Tertiary equipment: As an Arbitrator as opposed to a Specialist, Sarrazin carries the signature Suppression Shield into the field. It is normally slung around his back when not in use, the two lengths of fiber-strength strap coming together over his chest in a pressure-sensitive clasp. All Sarrazin has to do is beat his chest and the shield drops free, after which a pirouette movement practiced by all Arbitrators brings the shield to the fore on the Arbitrator's left arm.
- Mementos: An old black-and-white picture of Sarrazin and his father. The proud dad is garbed in full Desert Striders uniform. The picture was taken right before he was shipped off to war and Sarrazin never saw him again.
BIOGRAPHY: Decorated veteran Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin of Strike Team Omicron was once, like all humans, a baby. Sarrazin was born on the desert world of Al-Eshikram to loving parents. His father was initially a laborer who worked in the enormous greenhouses of Elohymn, the planet's capital, and his mother was a stay-at-home wife. Young Zohair had two older brothers and later a younger sister as well. They were not rich by any means but Al-Eshikram was, despite the harsh sunlight and high temperatures, a decent place to live and they did not want for anything. Even now, five decades later, Sarrazin longs for those days.
His father was conscripted by the Astra Militarum when a new Regiment of Desert Striders, the 13th, was founded. Sarrazin's father was a firm but temperate and fair man and it was not long until he was inducted into the officer cadre of the 13th. Back home, Sarrazin's mother cared for her children as best she could with the credits that Corporal Sarrazin sent home every month but it was obvious that the sudden lack of a parental figure made her job difficult. Zohair's older brothers were less affected but the boy was in his most formative years, not even eight years old, when his father left.
Two days before young Zohair's fourteenth birthday, word came back from some Emperor-forsaken corner of the galaxy that his father had honorably died in combat. Furious and sick with grief, Sarrazin spiraled out of control, skipping his lessons at the local Schola Laborium to roam the streets with other teens and rarely came home anymore. Not even his older brothers, already adults, could reach him now.
His mother committed suicide. Within hours, the clerics of the Schola Progenium were at their doorstep and swept Sarrazin and his younger sister away to be raised and trained to become the next generation's elite of the Imperium. The status of Sarrazin's father, who was posthumously promoted to Major, ensured the boy's place at the Schola Progenium. He and his sister were swiftly separated and he never saw her again after that either, though he learned later in life that she became an Adeptus Sororitas.
Sarrazin's tutors and mentors focused on harnessing the boy's anger and turning it into rigorous and unbreakable discipline and purpose. He resisted and they were cruel. Corporal punishment became a regular element of Sarrazin's life and it was not until two years after he was sent to the Schola that the boy, then sixteen years old, finally relented and allowed himself to be broken. It was then that the rebuilding could begin.
Building on the sense of fairness and justice that Sarrazin's father had instilled in him, the boy was groomed for the Adeptus Arbites training program. With nothing left to lose, Sarrazin devoted himself willingly and entirely to the regimen and excelled in all physical and martial metrics. He was not particularly creative or perceptive when it came to developing leads or handling persecution, nor was he any good with technology, so it was decided he would become an ordinary Arbitrator. That suited him just fine.
With the God-Emperor as his spiritual father and witness, Sarrazin finished his training at 21 years old and was immediately -- to his surprise and horror -- shipped off to a foul, polluted planet almost entirely devoid of sunlight: Aphrodus Primaris, Precinct S-12. This was the world he would police until his dying day. In his opinion, it could not have been a worse place. While too disciplined and devoted to his duty at that point to refuse or rebel, Sarrazin has never really come to terms with his deployment and internally resents the entire existence of Aphrodus Primaris to an unhealthy degree. This is partially responsible for his uncompromising and sometimes cruel enforcement of discipline and unwillingness to break. He will not give this planet the satisfaction.
Sarrazin was initially attached to a patrol squad of four other Arbitrators that would ride up and down the streets and highways of the middle levels of Rancunhive in a Suppressor Rhino, just to prove to its citizens that the Emperor was watching. One might argue that it was a mercifully safe and uneventful assignment but Sarrazin found it unbelievably dull and felt like he was slowly going mad, cooped up in that damn Rhino every day. He wanted to take out his frustrations on something or someone. He got his wish during the so-called Grain Riots, where huge swaths of the mining laborers took to the streets after a warp storm prevented shipments of bread and the like from a nearby agri-world. Sarrazin and his squad happened to be out on the streets when the riots began, on the Square of Saint Augistine, and were surrounded by the angry mob -- an unfortunate mistake of them. Sarrazin jumped out of the Rhino with his squadmates and laid into the crowd with his shield and power maul with relentless fury, inspiring the rest of his squad to similar acts of heroic brutality. Scores of unconscious and quite possibly dead citizens were left in Sarrazin's wake and the riot in their quadrant was broken up and dispersed within half an hour. The whole squad received a commendation and Sarrazin's commander made sure he received a special citation. When the young Arbitrator applied for a transfer to an Underhive patrol squad, nobody resisted. It was clear he had the guts and the tenacity for it.
Since then, Sarrazin has been a steadfast and unmistakable entity in the Precinct's raids into the Underhive to prevent the gang wars from spiraling out of control. What little enjoyment he experiences on this wretched planet is either derived from making love behind the walls of the Precinct-Fortress (he's not a bad looking man at all and it's a mixed gender detachment) or beating down thugs in the lawless depths of the Underhive. His total indifference to their suffering, his skills and his ability to project authority meant that he was elevated to the rank of Arbitrator-Sergeant roughly two decades ago. Sarrazin is a foundation you can build on, if that foundation was capable of putting a caseless round in your enemy's heart at two hundred paces. His selection for Strike Team Omicron was therefore obvious.
PERSONALITY: Arbitrator-Sergeant Zohair Sarrazin is a tough and unforgiving man with the temperament of a viper. His total dissatisfaction with the sheer existence of Aphrodus Primaris and the wretched flesh-bags that call themselves citizens has soured and embittered him over the decades and he has lost almost every sense of sentimentality and compassion. Despite all that, he does try to remain at least somewhat fair to the Arbitrators he serves with and is not a man that can be rightfully accused of unwarranted cruelty. Unless it's against the miner-gangs or whatever -- he doesn't give a shit about them. Sarrazin understands the importance of the planet for the Imperial machine and has accepted that his place is to make sure it keeps running, but that doesn't mean he has to be happy about it.
He still longs for the days of his early youth in the sunbathed planet of Al-Eshikram and, deep down, resents everything that happened to him since his father's death. Sarrazin never aspired to be a warrior or a peacekeeper and has extremely vivid dreams at night of working in the greenhouses, just like his father did, or similar desires. He does his job and he does it well because the Emperor expects it of him and, yes, it is a little satisfying to shoot a fucking piece of shit right in the fucking neck, but that's all.
MISCELLANEOUS: Prefers women of his own race, who are in decidedly short supply on Aphrodus Primaris.
Flagg Strange. This outcome I did not foresee.
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
NAME: Athanasius Love
HOMEWORLD: Almata III: Arid, Sandy, scattered with the hulks of Imperial and xenos warships where they crashed centuries ago, infested with orks that the PDF can never quite manage to eradicate.
AGE: 44
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: A short, somewhat thickset man of pale complexion with a gaunt, pockmarked face. His eyes are a bright green, and his black hair is graying at the temples. Is practically never found without an lho-stick.
ROLE: Mortiurge. A gunslinger and assassin.
UNIFORM: In combat, wears a stripped-down version of the standard-issue arbites carapace armor, usually with a black trench coat. When not in combat, he usually wears a black jacket and a white collared shirt with no signification of rank. On infiltration missions he either wears his black civilian clothes or an arbites-issued black body glove, depending on the mission.
EXPERTISE: Murder.
Love is a skilled infiltrator, marksman and hand to hand combatant and- at least as he tells it- he is the quickest draw in the sub-sector.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Dual Handcannons
- Secondary weapon: Sniper Rifle, needler variant (pending mission type. uses heavier sniper weaponry when situation requires)
- Melee weapon: Combat knife
- Tertiary equipment:
Grappling hook and adhesive gloves for scaling walls, microbead comms, personal rebreather, dual silenced stub guns, and most notably, a psyber-raven who serves as Love's familiar and spotter.
The raven's name is Friendly.
- Mementos: A thin volume of poetry called the Canticles of the Gun and Blade, composed by a half-mad Death Cultist Caractacus Borgin, a member of the infamous Inquisitor Lord Ravenstein's entourage.
Catulo,
Sorry to hear you're stuck on Aphrodus. A disgusting hive-sink, by all accounts. I don't envy you- keeping a lid on that cesspool of heresy and crime. May the Emperor lend you all his ruthlessness and cunning.
I am writing because I heard from Brother Vandin that you might need the services of a Mortiurge. Don't listen to any of the doubters, Catulo, or the old timers who frown on employing assassins. Emperor knows, the arbites on Aphrodus need every tool they can use.
As it happens, I am acquainted with a Mortiurge who may prove most useful to you- Athanasius Love. A reliable man, as assassins go, with a flair for the dramatic in his executions. I employed him for some time during my posting on Dolcine, and he took care of headaches quite efficiently.
I can tell you- the willful and heterodox Governor became much more compliant with my mandates after Love turned up in his bedroom and explained that his next visit would involve a knife in the gubernatorial ribs. Likewise, the successive and increasingly grizzly deaths of rival bosses in the orbital docks reduced smuggling measurably during the course of my Magistracy. One trafficker was found in the void, lashed to the prow of his ship.
I have attached Love's file below for your review. I am leaving Dolcine on pilgrimage to the Hall of Judgement, and my successor disdains the use of assassins, so you are well advised to take Love on before some other Judge snatches him up. May he wreak as much havoc on your enemies as he has on my own.
In His Name,
Marvolo Borkas
Magistrate
Adeptus Arbites
Subject 20,117: Love, Athanasius
Designation: Mortiurge
Parentage: Love, Augusta and Love, Zoros.
Killed by xenos raiders on Almata III [see appended for planetary details]
Scholam Assessment:
Subject 20,117 assessed high intelligence/high sociopathy/low piety/low obedience/high self-reliance/high addictive personality/high linguistic competence/high creativity
Slated for Inquisitorial/Arbites service or execution for signs of deviancy.
Training regimen: Xo School hand-to-hand combat training, infiltration training, sniper and hand gun mastery sessions.
Training Results: PASS in all areas. Execution indefinitely deferred.
Addtl: interest in literature and history cultivated to 'humanize' subject for increased infiltration effectiveness among aristocratic castes & educated heretics.
Service Record:
Ophidian IV, Arbites Service [5 yrs, 2 mos]
St. Odo's World, Arbites Service [3 yrs]
[redacted], Inquisitorial Service [redacted]
Dolcine, Arbites Service [3 yrs]
Target Summary [see appended for details of deceased]
Rylo Kul, Smuggler Deceased, Gunshot to Head
Verona von Krangslin, Aristocrat, Heretic Deceased, Incinerated
Gaxz the Unfounded, serial murder, Heretic Deceased, Gunshot to Chest and Head
Prince Adolphus Stiglitz, Rogue Trader Deceased, Hung by Neck from Stateroom Chandelier
Arno Fowle, Heretic Deceased, Gunshot to Chest and Head
Gimnour van Fesselvingen, Heretic Deacon Deceased, Gunshot to Chest
Ava Pallansour, Aristocrat, Racketeer Deceased, Strangled
Merv Shuldin, Unsanctioned Narco Manufacturer Deceased, Poisoned
Foorad Vorhees, Heretic Pamphleteer Deceased, Fed Foot-First into Printing Press
Richtoff von Muldior, Planetary Governor Deceased, Knife Wound to Neck
Name Redacted, Crime Redacted Deceased [redacted]
Gallela Munch, Crime Boss Deceased, Eaten by crocodilians
Orpheo Malyn, IG Commissar, public intoxication Deceased, Gunshot to Head
PERSONALITY: Chilly, unflappable, aloof, Love is a quiet man with a soft voice and the air someone perpetually amused by some joke no one else has quite understood.
HOMEWORLD: Almata III: Arid, Sandy, scattered with the hulks of Imperial and xenos warships where they crashed centuries ago, infested with orks that the PDF can never quite manage to eradicate.
AGE: 44
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: A short, somewhat thickset man of pale complexion with a gaunt, pockmarked face. His eyes are a bright green, and his black hair is graying at the temples. Is practically never found without an lho-stick.
ROLE: Mortiurge. A gunslinger and assassin.
UNIFORM: In combat, wears a stripped-down version of the standard-issue arbites carapace armor, usually with a black trench coat. When not in combat, he usually wears a black jacket and a white collared shirt with no signification of rank. On infiltration missions he either wears his black civilian clothes or an arbites-issued black body glove, depending on the mission.
EXPERTISE: Murder.
Love is a skilled infiltrator, marksman and hand to hand combatant and- at least as he tells it- he is the quickest draw in the sub-sector.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Dual Handcannons
- Secondary weapon: Sniper Rifle, needler variant (pending mission type. uses heavier sniper weaponry when situation requires)
- Melee weapon: Combat knife
- Tertiary equipment:
Grappling hook and adhesive gloves for scaling walls, microbead comms, personal rebreather, dual silenced stub guns, and most notably, a psyber-raven who serves as Love's familiar and spotter.
The raven's name is Friendly.
- Mementos: A thin volume of poetry called the Canticles of the Gun and Blade, composed by a half-mad Death Cultist Caractacus Borgin, a member of the infamous Inquisitor Lord Ravenstein's entourage.
ARBITES DATANET
CAUTION: CYAN GRADE CLEARANCE REQUIRED
[kindly note: the prescribed penance for proceeding without clearance is arco-flagellation]
PASSWORD: *** **** ** ****
ACCEPTED
GENE-SCAN INITIATING
GENE-SCAN COMPLETE
PSYCHIC PATTERN SCAN INITIATING
-Stand By-
PSYCHIC PATTERN SCAN COMPLETE
SECONDARY PASSWORD: ***** ** ********
ACCEPTED
-Welcome, Judge-
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Hatred guides our steps.
UNREAD MESSAGES: 2
MESSAGE 1
From: Borkas, Marvolo
CAUTION: CYAN GRADE CLEARANCE REQUIRED
[kindly note: the prescribed penance for proceeding without clearance is arco-flagellation]
PASSWORD: *** **** ** ****
ACCEPTED
GENE-SCAN INITIATING
GENE-SCAN COMPLETE
PSYCHIC PATTERN SCAN INITIATING
-Stand By-
PSYCHIC PATTERN SCAN COMPLETE
SECONDARY PASSWORD: ***** ** ********
ACCEPTED
-Welcome, Judge-
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Hatred guides our steps.
UNREAD MESSAGES: 2
MESSAGE 1
From: Borkas, Marvolo
Catulo,
Sorry to hear you're stuck on Aphrodus. A disgusting hive-sink, by all accounts. I don't envy you- keeping a lid on that cesspool of heresy and crime. May the Emperor lend you all his ruthlessness and cunning.
I am writing because I heard from Brother Vandin that you might need the services of a Mortiurge. Don't listen to any of the doubters, Catulo, or the old timers who frown on employing assassins. Emperor knows, the arbites on Aphrodus need every tool they can use.
As it happens, I am acquainted with a Mortiurge who may prove most useful to you- Athanasius Love. A reliable man, as assassins go, with a flair for the dramatic in his executions. I employed him for some time during my posting on Dolcine, and he took care of headaches quite efficiently.
I can tell you- the willful and heterodox Governor became much more compliant with my mandates after Love turned up in his bedroom and explained that his next visit would involve a knife in the gubernatorial ribs. Likewise, the successive and increasingly grizzly deaths of rival bosses in the orbital docks reduced smuggling measurably during the course of my Magistracy. One trafficker was found in the void, lashed to the prow of his ship.
I have attached Love's file below for your review. I am leaving Dolcine on pilgrimage to the Hall of Judgement, and my successor disdains the use of assassins, so you are well advised to take Love on before some other Judge snatches him up. May he wreak as much havoc on your enemies as he has on my own.
In His Name,
Marvolo Borkas
Magistrate
Adeptus Arbites
Subject 20,117: Love, Athanasius
Designation: Mortiurge
Parentage: Love, Augusta and Love, Zoros.
Killed by xenos raiders on Almata III [see appended for planetary details]
Scholam Assessment:
Subject 20,117 assessed high intelligence/high sociopathy/low piety/low obedience/high self-reliance/high addictive personality/high linguistic competence/high creativity
Slated for Inquisitorial/Arbites service or execution for signs of deviancy.
Training regimen: Xo School hand-to-hand combat training, infiltration training, sniper and hand gun mastery sessions.
Training Results: PASS in all areas. Execution indefinitely deferred.
Addtl: interest in literature and history cultivated to 'humanize' subject for increased infiltration effectiveness among aristocratic castes & educated heretics.
Service Record:
Ophidian IV, Arbites Service [5 yrs, 2 mos]
St. Odo's World, Arbites Service [3 yrs]
[redacted], Inquisitorial Service [redacted]
Dolcine, Arbites Service [3 yrs]
Target Summary [see appended for details of deceased]
Rylo Kul, Smuggler Deceased, Gunshot to Head
Verona von Krangslin, Aristocrat, Heretic Deceased, Incinerated
Gaxz the Unfounded, serial murder, Heretic Deceased, Gunshot to Chest and Head
Prince Adolphus Stiglitz, Rogue Trader Deceased, Hung by Neck from Stateroom Chandelier
Arno Fowle, Heretic Deceased, Gunshot to Chest and Head
Gimnour van Fesselvingen, Heretic Deacon Deceased, Gunshot to Chest
Ava Pallansour, Aristocrat, Racketeer Deceased, Strangled
Merv Shuldin, Unsanctioned Narco Manufacturer Deceased, Poisoned
Foorad Vorhees, Heretic Pamphleteer Deceased, Fed Foot-First into Printing Press
Richtoff von Muldior, Planetary Governor Deceased, Knife Wound to Neck
Name Redacted, Crime Redacted Deceased [redacted]
Gallela Munch, Crime Boss Deceased, Eaten by crocodilians
Orpheo Malyn, IG Commissar, public intoxication Deceased, Gunshot to Head
[CLICK FOR PAGE TWO OF DOCUMENT]
PERSONALITY: Chilly, unflappable, aloof, Love is a quiet man with a soft voice and the air someone perpetually amused by some joke no one else has quite understood.
"You must be Salazar," said the stranger, shutting the door to Father's study behind him. He had a low, soft voice that quivered slightly, as though he was very sad or very ill...but the stranger did not look like he was either of those things to Salazar.
He was a short man, pale, dressed in black suit and a silk green cravat that, Salazar noticed, matched his eyes.
Salazar clicked the safety back on the pistol. The stranger smiled.
"My dear boy," he said, "Never killed someone before, have you? But then, you're only twelve. This far up in the Hive, not many twelve years shed blood, I should think. Not like down in the underhives, in the darkness there."
"What have you done to Father?" asked Salazar. His voice shook but his grip on the gun was fairly steady. Barthol, the captain of Father's guard, had been taking him to level fourteen to practice shooting at the ranges for two years now.
Salazar wondered where Barthol was, or any of the other House Guards for that matter...didn't they patrol the halls during the nightcycle?
"Justice, Salazar, only justice," said the stranger in his odd, shaking voice. For someone with a gun pointed straight at him, he did not look in the least perturbed. He was still smiling faintly, and his head was cocked to one side as he looked at Salazar, who was reminded uncomfortably of the clawfoots that father kept in his menagerie, studying him through the bars of their cage, tongues running over their razor teeth.
"Justice?" said Salazar.
"Your father was...not a good man, Salazar," said the stranger, "and I expect you know that, which is why you haven't shot me. And why I think you will not."
"My father-"
"Is dead," said the stranger, taking a step towards Salazar, who stepped backwards, almost tripping over a chair. He steadied himself and kept the gun trained on the stranger, "I am not sorry for that, but I am sorry for your grief, and... for what comes next for you. You'll find it hard to believe while you're there, Salazar, but there are places in the galaxy worse than the Scholam. Far worse."
"Who are you?" whispered Salazar, as the stranger took another step closer.
"My name is Love," he said, "and I am who the Emperor sends when He wants to send a message."
The stranger's hand closed around Salazar's pistol and pulled it gently from his grasp.
"This is a beautiful gun," he said, studying the weapon.
"It- it's a family weapon. Father gave it to me when I turned ten."
The stranger squatted on his haunches, bringing his face level with Salazar's. The man's cheeks were hollow and pockmarked. Wrinkles nestled around his bright green eyes. He smelled of expensive tabac.
"Go to bed and sleep if you can. Tomorrow, they will take you into custody and the rest of your life will begin. Your father was a heretic, a worshiper of false spirits and a trader in illicit goods. When they ask you about him tomorrow, do not try and defend him, or your family."
Tears streamed silently down Salazar's cheeks.
"Cry now, my boy, but not tomorrow, and not ever again."
He was a short man, pale, dressed in black suit and a silk green cravat that, Salazar noticed, matched his eyes.
Salazar clicked the safety back on the pistol. The stranger smiled.
"My dear boy," he said, "Never killed someone before, have you? But then, you're only twelve. This far up in the Hive, not many twelve years shed blood, I should think. Not like down in the underhives, in the darkness there."
"What have you done to Father?" asked Salazar. His voice shook but his grip on the gun was fairly steady. Barthol, the captain of Father's guard, had been taking him to level fourteen to practice shooting at the ranges for two years now.
Salazar wondered where Barthol was, or any of the other House Guards for that matter...didn't they patrol the halls during the nightcycle?
"Justice, Salazar, only justice," said the stranger in his odd, shaking voice. For someone with a gun pointed straight at him, he did not look in the least perturbed. He was still smiling faintly, and his head was cocked to one side as he looked at Salazar, who was reminded uncomfortably of the clawfoots that father kept in his menagerie, studying him through the bars of their cage, tongues running over their razor teeth.
"Justice?" said Salazar.
"Your father was...not a good man, Salazar," said the stranger, "and I expect you know that, which is why you haven't shot me. And why I think you will not."
"My father-"
"Is dead," said the stranger, taking a step towards Salazar, who stepped backwards, almost tripping over a chair. He steadied himself and kept the gun trained on the stranger, "I am not sorry for that, but I am sorry for your grief, and... for what comes next for you. You'll find it hard to believe while you're there, Salazar, but there are places in the galaxy worse than the Scholam. Far worse."
"Who are you?" whispered Salazar, as the stranger took another step closer.
"My name is Love," he said, "and I am who the Emperor sends when He wants to send a message."
The stranger's hand closed around Salazar's pistol and pulled it gently from his grasp.
"This is a beautiful gun," he said, studying the weapon.
"It- it's a family weapon. Father gave it to me when I turned ten."
The stranger squatted on his haunches, bringing his face level with Salazar's. The man's cheeks were hollow and pockmarked. Wrinkles nestled around his bright green eyes. He smelled of expensive tabac.
"Go to bed and sleep if you can. Tomorrow, they will take you into custody and the rest of your life will begin. Your father was a heretic, a worshiper of false spirits and a trader in illicit goods. When they ask you about him tomorrow, do not try and defend him, or your family."
Tears streamed silently down Salazar's cheeks.
"Cry now, my boy, but not tomorrow, and not ever again."
Vor Customly Titled
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
NAME: Larus Zogin
HOMEWORLD: Solstice, a half-frozen feudal world on the verge of discovering gunpowder, most famous for being the site where the legendary missionary Uriah Jacobus purged a Genestealer infestation. Most of the planet is frozen year round, as a result the population centres are located primarily around the equator. Solstice is divided into a number of kingdoms, ruled by kings and queens, who govern their lands in the Emperor’s name and pay tithes to the planetary governor overseeing the planet from orbit. The locals are deeply religious and revere the Emperor, as well as his champion, Uriah Jacobus, whose shrines and statues dot the countryside. The planet’s harshness is mirrored in its society – one is expected to be hardy and self-reliant, weakness of any form is looked down upon and those who are deemed unproductive or impure are banished or outright killed. Nevertheless, life on Solstice is one of stability, one day is much like the other and everyone knows their place, from the lowliest serf to the mightiest of kings. The Ecclesiarchy keeps a token presence in each capital city to watch for potential heresy or other threats, but otherwise leaves the local clergy to preach their version of the Emperor’s faith, which emphasises utter obedience to the existing social order.
AGE: 22
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE:
Like most Arbites, Larus is not a pleasant-looking man. His expression is grim and emotionless, a stony facade devoid of compassion, much like the helmet he wears. He is of pale complexion, with fair skin and light brownish hair, which is kept close-cropped, almost to the point of baldness. As a result of his hard life his square face is gaunt and lined, making him appear at least half a decade older than he actually is. A pair of grey, steely eyes peek out from underneath his frowning brow, situated beneath a wide forehead; between them stands a slightly crooked nose, suggesting it was broken at some point in the past. Further down is his slanted mouth with its dry, cracked lips, which he has a tendency to lick. A patchy beard grows along his wide chin and pronounced jawline, but he usually shaves it.
Larus' body is lined with scars from the many beatings he received during his childhood and later on in the Schola Progenium; his back in particular is crisscrossed by layer upon layer of scar-tissue, likely from a whip or something along those lines. Due to a life of malnourishment he is not as big as most properly-fed soldiers, but every muscle in his body is well-defined and hard as stone. He is just under six feet tall and walks straight-backed, with a dignified step, as befits a servant of the Emperor.
ROLE: Arbitrator
UNIFORM: The armour worn by Larus is still relatively new, its deep black colour is marred by only a few scratches here and there. It is polished to a shine every time he leaves the precinct and cleaning it is usually the first thing he does after an assignment. A purity seal adorns the left shoulder pad, but apart from that his armour bears no further ornamentation, save for the customary Adeptus Arbites regalia. When not on duty, Larus wears simple clothes, usually whatever off-duty uniform he has been given.
EXPERTISE:
EQUIPMENT:
BIOGRAPHY: Larus was born on the feudal planet of Solstice in a noble’s household. His father was a knight, an elite warrior who fought the beasts and Feral Ork tribes roaming the frozen wilderness, and could claim descent from one of the brave souls that had accompanied Uriah Jacobus himself in his fight against the Genestealers in ages past. Larus has little memories of his mother, who passed away from some malady when he was still very young. Their estate was located in the borderlands, so his father was often away defending the family lands from one aggressor or the other. As befits a knight’s son, Larus started training in the martial ways almost as soon as he could walk, entrusted to his father’s most senior and uncompromising men-at-arms.
It made for a brutal childhood, but that was considered the norm on Solstice and, as a devout servant of the Emperor, Larus did not question it. His greatest joy as a child were the brief moments he spent with his father, who was neither a caring, nor a loving parent. Whenever he was home, he would mercilessly test his son in trials of strength, willpower and faith, which resulted in a beating if Larus was found lacking. These were particularly severe when his father was under the influence of the liquor his distilleries brewed, but despite this abhorrent act (of drinking, that is) none would dare to question, much less oppose a member of such an ancient bloodline.
Nevertheless, Larus loved his father and always looked up to him, wishing nothing more than to have his strength and skill at arms, which were renowned throughout the region. Of course, he was also rather infamous for his iron-fisted rule and was feared, rather than loved by his subjects. Thus, it should come as no surprise that he found his death during a peasant revolt when Larus was eleven years old. His next of kin were also lost in the resulting pogrom and the local priest sent for a member of the Ecclesiarchy so that the boy’s fate could be determined. The family had always been held in high esteem and were among the staunchest supporters of the Imperial Cult on the planet, so it was decided that Larus would be taken off-world to better serve the Emperor instead of wasting his life on the primitive backwater.
Larus was brought to the sector's Schola Progenium shortly after and immediately began his training. The tutors in charge of his basic education had their work cut out for them as it was hard to explain the working of the Galaxy to one who thought that an arquebus was the pinnacle of technological evolution. His Drill Abbot, on the other hand, was pleased - unlike many of the newly-recruited Progena, Larus was already thoroughly broken and ready to be reshaped into a useful servant of the Emperor.
Over the next ten years Larus proved himself to be an obedient, capable combatant, with a surprising understanding of the Lex Imperialis given his primitive upbringing. He got perfect scores on his aptitude tests for the Arbites program, however his lack of leadership skills and somewhat backwards way of thinking precluded him from any officer positions. Instead, he was assigned to Aphrodus Primaris to serve as an ordinary Arbitrator, albeit one with a glowing recommendation from his Schola.
His first assignments consisted of patrols in the lower levels of Sarcage's Hive where he faced rioters, psychopaths, drug lords and worse. Larus learned the ropes quickly and distinguished himself in little more than a year since his arrival. During what should have been a routine patrol his squad was ambushed and killed in the ensuing fight, leaving the greenhorn Larus as the only survivor. He was taken prisoner by a criminal gang and tortured for information regarding the Arbitrator's patrols. The ordeal lasted for a couple of days, but Larus didn't break and eventually managed to free himself, kill his guards and dismantle their base of operations from within. In a rare show of mercy, he spared the leader and brought him in cuffs to the precinct where he was revealed to be a high-ranking member of the local underworld. The information gleaned after the man was broken by the Chasteners allowed the Arbites to chase down a number of individuals that had eluded them for years.
The young Arbitrator was commended for his steadfastness and allowed to choose a precinct where his career would begin in earnest. As any true servant of the Emperor would do, Larus requested that he be assigned to the filthiest, most dangerous and unlawful Hive there was. His name was brought to the attention of Judge Catulo, who decided to give the young man a chance to prove his mettle and attached him to the newly-formed Strike Team Omicron.
PERSONALITY: Larus is the product of a violent and brutal society and this has left its mark on every aspect of his personality. He is austere and wants for little and he expects to see the same qualities in those around him. Despite the countless wonders of modern technology he has discovered since leaving Solstice, he still possess that inbred superstition and stubbornness present in simple folk. Such a rigid way of thinking gives him an unshakable faith in the Imperium and the Emperor, but it also means he is slow to accept or even consider new ideas. Even when faced with something new, he'll prefer to use existing mental models rather than trying to think outside the box. This makes him an obedient, dutiful follower, who carries out his orders to the letter and goes to great lengths to see them through, regardless of the cost in human lives.
Saying that Larus is a perfectionist would be something of an understatement. He is driven to excel, not because he wishes to prove he is better than others, but because he has been taught that the Emperor demands it. If he is not doing his best than he is not properly worshiping Him - that is his world view. Of course, this is rooted in deeper psychological causes and even a novice psychiatrist will notice that he exhibits signs common in obsessively compulsive disorders. Larus prays daily, sometimes for hours on end, while going through routine motions such as polishing his armour or cleaning his weapons. At other times, he'll scrub his hands until they bleed in order to purify himself or count the specks of dust in his room, an activity he sees as a ritual to divine the Emperor's will. Even his hobby, carving wooden figurines, is something he takes extremely seriously and he will never consider one as complete until it is "just right".
As already mentioned, Larus believes that everyone must hold themselves up to such high standards, regardless of their position on the social ladder. He despises cowardice, laziness and weakness of any sort. That is why he tends to view the seething masses as little more than subhumans whose base urges must be kept in check through force and intimidation. He regards his fellow Arbites with respect, knowing that they too share the burden of enforcing the Emperor's law. For such a dour man Larus is surprisingly talkative once he gets to know someone, although even those who've been with him for longer consider him as distant and eccentric.
MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.
HOMEWORLD: Solstice, a half-frozen feudal world on the verge of discovering gunpowder, most famous for being the site where the legendary missionary Uriah Jacobus purged a Genestealer infestation. Most of the planet is frozen year round, as a result the population centres are located primarily around the equator. Solstice is divided into a number of kingdoms, ruled by kings and queens, who govern their lands in the Emperor’s name and pay tithes to the planetary governor overseeing the planet from orbit. The locals are deeply religious and revere the Emperor, as well as his champion, Uriah Jacobus, whose shrines and statues dot the countryside. The planet’s harshness is mirrored in its society – one is expected to be hardy and self-reliant, weakness of any form is looked down upon and those who are deemed unproductive or impure are banished or outright killed. Nevertheless, life on Solstice is one of stability, one day is much like the other and everyone knows their place, from the lowliest serf to the mightiest of kings. The Ecclesiarchy keeps a token presence in each capital city to watch for potential heresy or other threats, but otherwise leaves the local clergy to preach their version of the Emperor’s faith, which emphasises utter obedience to the existing social order.
AGE: 22
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE:
Like most Arbites, Larus is not a pleasant-looking man. His expression is grim and emotionless, a stony facade devoid of compassion, much like the helmet he wears. He is of pale complexion, with fair skin and light brownish hair, which is kept close-cropped, almost to the point of baldness. As a result of his hard life his square face is gaunt and lined, making him appear at least half a decade older than he actually is. A pair of grey, steely eyes peek out from underneath his frowning brow, situated beneath a wide forehead; between them stands a slightly crooked nose, suggesting it was broken at some point in the past. Further down is his slanted mouth with its dry, cracked lips, which he has a tendency to lick. A patchy beard grows along his wide chin and pronounced jawline, but he usually shaves it.
Larus' body is lined with scars from the many beatings he received during his childhood and later on in the Schola Progenium; his back in particular is crisscrossed by layer upon layer of scar-tissue, likely from a whip or something along those lines. Due to a life of malnourishment he is not as big as most properly-fed soldiers, but every muscle in his body is well-defined and hard as stone. He is just under six feet tall and walks straight-backed, with a dignified step, as befits a servant of the Emperor.
ROLE: Arbitrator
UNIFORM: The armour worn by Larus is still relatively new, its deep black colour is marred by only a few scratches here and there. It is polished to a shine every time he leaves the precinct and cleaning it is usually the first thing he does after an assignment. A purity seal adorns the left shoulder pad, but apart from that his armour bears no further ornamentation, save for the customary Adeptus Arbites regalia. When not on duty, Larus wears simple clothes, usually whatever off-duty uniform he has been given.
EXPERTISE:
- Martial Upbringing: Growing up in a knight's castle means that Larus has been handling weapons long before he was sent to the Schola Progenium. He is proficient in using swords, maces, spears and a variety of other archaic weapons, as well as being a tough unarmed combatant. In particular, his natural skill with a mace lends itself well to handling a power maul and after additional honing in the Schola it has made him a dangerous foe up close despite his young age.
- Superior Endurance: Solstice is a primitive, cold world and its people are a hardy breed. Growing up, Larus not only had to endure the low temperatures, but also battled a variety of viruses and diseases without relying on modern medicine. Additionally, the frequent beatings he received from his father, along with the rigorous training in the Schola, have given have given him a very high pain tolerance.
- Enforcer: Larus is the type of man who can be trusted to put the fear of the Emperor into even the most violent criminal. Being groomed as a noble's heir meant that he was trained not only in combat, but how to behave before the masses and enforce his will upon them. These lessons have stuck and have been enhanced further by his Arbites training. His strong, harsh voice carries over crowds easily and commands respect from the rabble. Perfect for breaking up riots.
- Primitive skills: Larus is adept at doing various things without requiring much in the way of technology. He can light fires, craft simple items, track creatures, orient himself in the wild and even possesses some knowledge of the more common plants and herbs prevalent throughout humanity's colonies. Of course, this makes for a rather useless skillset on a Hive World, but at least it provides him with his favourite (and only) past-time: fashioning wooden figurines that depict saints and other religious figures.
- Superior Endurance: Solstice is a primitive, cold world and its people are a hardy breed. Growing up, Larus not only had to endure the low temperatures, but also battled a variety of viruses and diseases without relying on modern medicine. Additionally, the frequent beatings he received from his father, along with the rigorous training in the Schola, have given have given him a very high pain tolerance.
- Enforcer: Larus is the type of man who can be trusted to put the fear of the Emperor into even the most violent criminal. Being groomed as a noble's heir meant that he was trained not only in combat, but how to behave before the masses and enforce his will upon them. These lessons have stuck and have been enhanced further by his Arbites training. His strong, harsh voice carries over crowds easily and commands respect from the rabble. Perfect for breaking up riots.
- Primitive skills: Larus is adept at doing various things without requiring much in the way of technology. He can light fires, craft simple items, track creatures, orient himself in the wild and even possesses some knowledge of the more common plants and herbs prevalent throughout humanity's colonies. Of course, this makes for a rather useless skillset on a Hive World, but at least it provides him with his favourite (and only) past-time: fashioning wooden figurines that depict saints and other religious figures.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Combat Shotgun. Standard-issue Vox Legi-Pattern, capable of firing multiple types of shotgun shells, which he carries on his belt and bandolier. The shotgun is outfitted with a retractable bayonet for when he needs to get up close and personal.
- Secondary weapon: Stub gun. As standard as they come, this is perhaps the least used weapon in his arsenal. However, he still keeps it in a pristine condition.
- Melee weapon: Power Maul. By far his favourite weapon and the one he is most proficient in. Larus focuses on a flurry of lighter strikes, which are aimed to disorient and tire the opponent before moving in for the kill. Unless ordered otherwise, the weapon's power field is kept on high setting at all times.
- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield. As per regulations, it is carried on his back when not in use. A sigil has been engraved on the upper left corner of the shield, but it easy is to mistake it for a scratch unless one were to look closer. Larus is very confident on the defensive and is skilled in getting the maximum out of the shield, letting his opponents tire themselves out while conserving his strength for a sudden counter-attack.
- Mementos: A purity seal belonging to his family. It bears the words Lex orandi, lex credendi (The law of prayer is the law of faith) and was worn by his father when he was killed. The priest who brought Larus to the Shcola Progenium gave it to the boy when they parted ways, urging him to commit the words to heart and live his life by them. It is the only link to his past and a reminder of the distant, forgotten world he once called home.
- Secondary weapon: Stub gun. As standard as they come, this is perhaps the least used weapon in his arsenal. However, he still keeps it in a pristine condition.
- Melee weapon: Power Maul. By far his favourite weapon and the one he is most proficient in. Larus focuses on a flurry of lighter strikes, which are aimed to disorient and tire the opponent before moving in for the kill. Unless ordered otherwise, the weapon's power field is kept on high setting at all times.
- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield. As per regulations, it is carried on his back when not in use. A sigil has been engraved on the upper left corner of the shield, but it easy is to mistake it for a scratch unless one were to look closer. Larus is very confident on the defensive and is skilled in getting the maximum out of the shield, letting his opponents tire themselves out while conserving his strength for a sudden counter-attack.
- Mementos: A purity seal belonging to his family. It bears the words Lex orandi, lex credendi (The law of prayer is the law of faith) and was worn by his father when he was killed. The priest who brought Larus to the Shcola Progenium gave it to the boy when they parted ways, urging him to commit the words to heart and live his life by them. It is the only link to his past and a reminder of the distant, forgotten world he once called home.
BIOGRAPHY: Larus was born on the feudal planet of Solstice in a noble’s household. His father was a knight, an elite warrior who fought the beasts and Feral Ork tribes roaming the frozen wilderness, and could claim descent from one of the brave souls that had accompanied Uriah Jacobus himself in his fight against the Genestealers in ages past. Larus has little memories of his mother, who passed away from some malady when he was still very young. Their estate was located in the borderlands, so his father was often away defending the family lands from one aggressor or the other. As befits a knight’s son, Larus started training in the martial ways almost as soon as he could walk, entrusted to his father’s most senior and uncompromising men-at-arms.
It made for a brutal childhood, but that was considered the norm on Solstice and, as a devout servant of the Emperor, Larus did not question it. His greatest joy as a child were the brief moments he spent with his father, who was neither a caring, nor a loving parent. Whenever he was home, he would mercilessly test his son in trials of strength, willpower and faith, which resulted in a beating if Larus was found lacking. These were particularly severe when his father was under the influence of the liquor his distilleries brewed, but despite this abhorrent act (of drinking, that is) none would dare to question, much less oppose a member of such an ancient bloodline.
Nevertheless, Larus loved his father and always looked up to him, wishing nothing more than to have his strength and skill at arms, which were renowned throughout the region. Of course, he was also rather infamous for his iron-fisted rule and was feared, rather than loved by his subjects. Thus, it should come as no surprise that he found his death during a peasant revolt when Larus was eleven years old. His next of kin were also lost in the resulting pogrom and the local priest sent for a member of the Ecclesiarchy so that the boy’s fate could be determined. The family had always been held in high esteem and were among the staunchest supporters of the Imperial Cult on the planet, so it was decided that Larus would be taken off-world to better serve the Emperor instead of wasting his life on the primitive backwater.
Larus was brought to the sector's Schola Progenium shortly after and immediately began his training. The tutors in charge of his basic education had their work cut out for them as it was hard to explain the working of the Galaxy to one who thought that an arquebus was the pinnacle of technological evolution. His Drill Abbot, on the other hand, was pleased - unlike many of the newly-recruited Progena, Larus was already thoroughly broken and ready to be reshaped into a useful servant of the Emperor.
Over the next ten years Larus proved himself to be an obedient, capable combatant, with a surprising understanding of the Lex Imperialis given his primitive upbringing. He got perfect scores on his aptitude tests for the Arbites program, however his lack of leadership skills and somewhat backwards way of thinking precluded him from any officer positions. Instead, he was assigned to Aphrodus Primaris to serve as an ordinary Arbitrator, albeit one with a glowing recommendation from his Schola.
His first assignments consisted of patrols in the lower levels of Sarcage's Hive where he faced rioters, psychopaths, drug lords and worse. Larus learned the ropes quickly and distinguished himself in little more than a year since his arrival. During what should have been a routine patrol his squad was ambushed and killed in the ensuing fight, leaving the greenhorn Larus as the only survivor. He was taken prisoner by a criminal gang and tortured for information regarding the Arbitrator's patrols. The ordeal lasted for a couple of days, but Larus didn't break and eventually managed to free himself, kill his guards and dismantle their base of operations from within. In a rare show of mercy, he spared the leader and brought him in cuffs to the precinct where he was revealed to be a high-ranking member of the local underworld. The information gleaned after the man was broken by the Chasteners allowed the Arbites to chase down a number of individuals that had eluded them for years.
The young Arbitrator was commended for his steadfastness and allowed to choose a precinct where his career would begin in earnest. As any true servant of the Emperor would do, Larus requested that he be assigned to the filthiest, most dangerous and unlawful Hive there was. His name was brought to the attention of Judge Catulo, who decided to give the young man a chance to prove his mettle and attached him to the newly-formed Strike Team Omicron.
PERSONALITY: Larus is the product of a violent and brutal society and this has left its mark on every aspect of his personality. He is austere and wants for little and he expects to see the same qualities in those around him. Despite the countless wonders of modern technology he has discovered since leaving Solstice, he still possess that inbred superstition and stubbornness present in simple folk. Such a rigid way of thinking gives him an unshakable faith in the Imperium and the Emperor, but it also means he is slow to accept or even consider new ideas. Even when faced with something new, he'll prefer to use existing mental models rather than trying to think outside the box. This makes him an obedient, dutiful follower, who carries out his orders to the letter and goes to great lengths to see them through, regardless of the cost in human lives.
Saying that Larus is a perfectionist would be something of an understatement. He is driven to excel, not because he wishes to prove he is better than others, but because he has been taught that the Emperor demands it. If he is not doing his best than he is not properly worshiping Him - that is his world view. Of course, this is rooted in deeper psychological causes and even a novice psychiatrist will notice that he exhibits signs common in obsessively compulsive disorders. Larus prays daily, sometimes for hours on end, while going through routine motions such as polishing his armour or cleaning his weapons. At other times, he'll scrub his hands until they bleed in order to purify himself or count the specks of dust in his room, an activity he sees as a ritual to divine the Emperor's will. Even his hobby, carving wooden figurines, is something he takes extremely seriously and he will never consider one as complete until it is "just right".
As already mentioned, Larus believes that everyone must hold themselves up to such high standards, regardless of their position on the social ladder. He despises cowardice, laziness and weakness of any sort. That is why he tends to view the seething masses as little more than subhumans whose base urges must be kept in check through force and intimidation. He regards his fellow Arbites with respect, knowing that they too share the burden of enforcing the Emperor's law. For such a dour man Larus is surprisingly talkative once he gets to know someone, although even those who've been with him for longer consider him as distant and eccentric.
MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.
NAME: Marcus Adarc
HOMEWORLD: Carroan Primus, A high gravity world rich in minerals and nothing else the surface atmosphere was useless to begin with and became choked with toxic gasses from mineral processing. The higher gravity makes constructing vast hive cities difficult. 90% of the population lives in the vast tunnel network under the surface the rest live as administrators and government personnel in the relatively diminutive hive city capital that is encapsulated is a pressurized dome. Occasionally imperial tithes found imperial guard regiments, but they are very rare mostly being satisfied by the mineral exports. The Imperial cult has evolved strangely on Carroan, it has become somewhat of a hybrid between the Imperial cult and Machine cult incorporating belief systems of both. This hybrid religion is viewed as strange and with dubious regard by inquisitors but since both religions are sanctioned they largely ignore it as a queer oddity.
AGE: 46
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: Marcus is somewhat tall and very broad, resembling Catachan natives. Hailing from a high gravity planet has made him very strong ensuring that he can carry or drag other Arbites out of danger while both are in full carapace armor. Despite his build he has very nimble fingers that have the stability of a surgeon while operating. His skin is extremely pale from his years on Carroan living under ground.
Marcus also seems to have a drop of Cadian in his blood giving him the purple hue to his eyes but it is his only obvious Cadian resemblance. He is unsure as to the origin of his Cadian ancestor as they must be a somewhat distant relative. His eye color could be some kind of unrelated mutation giving him the same trait.
ROLE: Combat Medic
UNIFORM: Marcus wears standard issue Arbites carapace armor with only minor modifications to easily carry more medical equipment such as more vials for his injector gun and bandages, along with a thick pad of triage cards on a chain. He has however painted medicae symbols on the shoulder pads of his armor to denote his rank as medic. Lastly he has a small pouch crudely, but securely, attached to his belt where he carries identification tags of deceased arbites, PDF, or citizens. One of his Bracers has been replaced with a medical injector gun loaded with various drugs and a retractable blade used to cut away clothing and armor.
EXPERTISE: Marcus has specialized in medicine even beyond his role as a combat medic. While he is not officially endorsed as a surgeon his skill at battlefield and emergency medicine is unquestioned. He is no miracle worker but many an Arbites or PDF would have died if under the care of a most other medics.
Not necessarily a skill, but Marcus is also quite calming to the wounded. It may be the cadence in his voice or the purple of his eyes, regardless of why all but the most grievously injured stop screaming in agony when Marcus begins to treat them. Even severe burn victims will quiet down after an opiate injection and some calming words from Marcus.
Marcus carries with him a copy of the Imperial Guard Uplifting Primer bartered for a vial of pain killers. After this he carries a couple decks of cards where he knows several group and solo games.
EQUIPMENT: Please list your character's gear here and please do so in the following format. Feel free to customize your gear with attachments and cosmetic personalizations, but remember that the base paint job of any piece of equipment and weaponry is black. We're a grim sort.
- Primary weapon: Las-Rifle
- Secondary weapon: Stub Gun
- Melee weapon: Shock Baton (Stained with blood from being used as medical equipment and as a weapon)
- Tertiary equipment: Distributed between a backpack and easy access satchel.
Gauze Oxygen
Bandages Medical Tape
Scalpels Splint
Suture kit Water
Stimpak Alcohol (for sterilization)
Painkillers Pen Light
Bonesaw IV kit
Injector Gun (gauntlet) x2 bags of IV fluid
Anti-biotic foam BVM (bag and mask for force air into the lungs)
Tourniquet Blessed Powder of Healing (quick-clot)
- Mementos:
BIOGRAPHY: On Carron Primus Marcus was born to a pair of low level administrators living in the underground portion of the hive. Marcus’ parents where loving and well educated compared to most imperial citizens and they gave him a pleasant childhood, as their only child his parents strove and used every favor and spare credit to push Marcus up the social ladder. Their endeavors paid off well managing to place him into an Officio Medicae school as a child; their dream was to have him grow up into a Medicae Temple administrator or a surgeon. In this school Marcus excelled outstripping most other students in his classes the Medicae Temple was a prime fit for him, given time he would rise very high in the ranks of the Administratum through the Officio Medicae.
Marcus heard little of what was happening throughout the planet as he was devoutly focused on his studies. His parents where oddly altruistic when it came to the average miner, they would use what little influence they had to try and improve their living conditions. On several occasions they succeeded in acquiring toxin scrubbers for the ventilation shafts or increasing rations due to the hard labor and high gravity. Some of this mentality managed to rub off on their son, by the age of 14 Medicae teachers would write displeased letters to his parents concerning his ‘caring’ about patients and how he would fail and would be a poor doctor if he spent too much time on a terminal patient while letting patients who could be saved die. Triage was a difficult lesson for Marcus, but it was also one he would not learn at the Medicae School.
Shortly after these reports on their son an emergency in the tunnels called both of his parents away. There was a riot among the miners that his parents administrated. They both had high standing with the miners themselves as they were the only administrators who would try and help. Marcus’ parents where at the riot trying to de-escalate the situation before the Arbites forcibly intervened, however the rioters began throwing things at the Arbites and started chanting disrespectful slurs until the Arbites had had enough. They began to open fire, cutting the riot apart with shotgun blasts and Las-fire. Both of Marcus’ parents were caught in the crossfire, his father was killed outright but his mother was seriously wounded but ignored for several hours while the Arbites worked to arrest those who incited the riot. By the time any medical personnel arrived his mothers wounds had grown so serious that she was declared to be an Imminent patient, or doomed.
Within hours of his mother’s eventual death the Schola Progenium came to shuttle young Marcus away. He was placed into the Arbites program and broken down rapidly. Marcus did not have the iron clad resolve that many of his peers did, and was broken within the first few months. Superior teachers at the school reveled in this and pushed Marcus down even farther digging into the core of his personality. After several years of the brutal treatment something deep snapped. Their torments no longer had much of any effect on him and the teachers quickly became bored with the broken child. When he was 17 he was being tested for certain aptitudes before his placement in an arbites precinct and he scored remarkably high on the various medical knowledge tests so the school retained him and pushed him through the medic training program. After several months training he was assigned to assist a medic on Aphrodus Primaris.
Shadowing medic Alerak for some months was very educational for marcus, finally being able to apply his knowledge in the field. More often than not he was treating fractured bones or stab wounds suffered by Arbites officers during routine actions, but his skill and demeanor where quickly take note of by his superiors.
It took several years after his full time assignment to precinct 47 for any major disturbances to happen. however, at one point there was an accident where a transport ship carrying several hundred tons of food to the district crashed destroying the vast majority of the food. The miners and underhive gangs where extremely upset at this and began causing problems because of it. Normally this would have been rectified quite easily by bringing in a new shipment of food without too much delay. however the Arbites judge in the precinct was a harsh and cruel man who enjoyed causing pain. He began halting all shipment of food due to the unrest causing a full scale riot with both the miners and gangs revolting at their harsh punishment. several hundred thousand imperial citizens where marching the street armed with mining lasers and black market weapons. The Judge of the precinct assumed the angry mob would be assaulting the space port where the transport ships where being held up. He dispatched the vast majority of his Arbites to the space port nearby to protect the valuable structure. Marcus was not among them. He was part of the token force left at the Precinct headquarters. The angry mob knew of who their oppressor was and who was leaning these cruel punishments on them and they stormed the Arbites fortress.
For over an hour Marcus was sprinting through the fortress patching up Arbites. Through the confusion Marcus managed to convince his commanders to establish a medical channel where he, and other medics could easily hear the locations of the wounded, Marcus even began talking regular Arbites through the medical procedures to save their comrades because there where too few medics to reach each call as it happened. The rioters eventually managed to break through the gates using mining charges and lasers, the Arbites force came together in a huge shield wall and tried desperately to hold them back while they awaited reinforcements from the units dispatched at the space port. Marcus was at the rear of the shield wall treating the wounded who where dragged away from the front. Marcus had his own triage area set up and other medics who came to help him began deffering to his judgement even those with more experience began to follow Marcus. After over two hours of combat reinforcments finally arrived and dispersed the rioters, and the Arbites restored order along with allowing shipments of food to prevent more violence.
Marcus was specifically given several honors after the ordeal, and earning him consideration for a place on the strike team.
PERSONALITY: Marcus is a very calm man, even in the heat of combat he is very capable of thinking clearly. This extends to when he is conducting an interview or interrogation. He never raises his voice or lashes out at the subject in rage especially when they are being disrespectful or argumentative.
He is also on a certain level caring about the average imperial citizen; while the idea of torture or brutal riot control is not abhorrent to him he does still feel a pang of emotion if such tactics are required. He will also try to save imperial citizens caught in the crossfire of a riot or battle, but he would still prioritize Arites or PDF forces.
MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.
HOMEWORLD: Carroan Primus, A high gravity world rich in minerals and nothing else the surface atmosphere was useless to begin with and became choked with toxic gasses from mineral processing. The higher gravity makes constructing vast hive cities difficult. 90% of the population lives in the vast tunnel network under the surface the rest live as administrators and government personnel in the relatively diminutive hive city capital that is encapsulated is a pressurized dome. Occasionally imperial tithes found imperial guard regiments, but they are very rare mostly being satisfied by the mineral exports. The Imperial cult has evolved strangely on Carroan, it has become somewhat of a hybrid between the Imperial cult and Machine cult incorporating belief systems of both. This hybrid religion is viewed as strange and with dubious regard by inquisitors but since both religions are sanctioned they largely ignore it as a queer oddity.
AGE: 46
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: Marcus is somewhat tall and very broad, resembling Catachan natives. Hailing from a high gravity planet has made him very strong ensuring that he can carry or drag other Arbites out of danger while both are in full carapace armor. Despite his build he has very nimble fingers that have the stability of a surgeon while operating. His skin is extremely pale from his years on Carroan living under ground.
Marcus also seems to have a drop of Cadian in his blood giving him the purple hue to his eyes but it is his only obvious Cadian resemblance. He is unsure as to the origin of his Cadian ancestor as they must be a somewhat distant relative. His eye color could be some kind of unrelated mutation giving him the same trait.
ROLE: Combat Medic
UNIFORM: Marcus wears standard issue Arbites carapace armor with only minor modifications to easily carry more medical equipment such as more vials for his injector gun and bandages, along with a thick pad of triage cards on a chain. He has however painted medicae symbols on the shoulder pads of his armor to denote his rank as medic. Lastly he has a small pouch crudely, but securely, attached to his belt where he carries identification tags of deceased arbites, PDF, or citizens. One of his Bracers has been replaced with a medical injector gun loaded with various drugs and a retractable blade used to cut away clothing and armor.
EXPERTISE: Marcus has specialized in medicine even beyond his role as a combat medic. While he is not officially endorsed as a surgeon his skill at battlefield and emergency medicine is unquestioned. He is no miracle worker but many an Arbites or PDF would have died if under the care of a most other medics.
Not necessarily a skill, but Marcus is also quite calming to the wounded. It may be the cadence in his voice or the purple of his eyes, regardless of why all but the most grievously injured stop screaming in agony when Marcus begins to treat them. Even severe burn victims will quiet down after an opiate injection and some calming words from Marcus.
Marcus carries with him a copy of the Imperial Guard Uplifting Primer bartered for a vial of pain killers. After this he carries a couple decks of cards where he knows several group and solo games.
EQUIPMENT: Please list your character's gear here and please do so in the following format. Feel free to customize your gear with attachments and cosmetic personalizations, but remember that the base paint job of any piece of equipment and weaponry is black. We're a grim sort.
- Primary weapon: Las-Rifle
- Secondary weapon: Stub Gun
- Melee weapon: Shock Baton (Stained with blood from being used as medical equipment and as a weapon)
- Tertiary equipment: Distributed between a backpack and easy access satchel.
Gauze Oxygen
Bandages Medical Tape
Scalpels Splint
Suture kit Water
Stimpak Alcohol (for sterilization)
Painkillers Pen Light
Bonesaw IV kit
Injector Gun (gauntlet) x2 bags of IV fluid
Anti-biotic foam BVM (bag and mask for force air into the lungs)
Tourniquet Blessed Powder of Healing (quick-clot)
- Mementos:
BIOGRAPHY: On Carron Primus Marcus was born to a pair of low level administrators living in the underground portion of the hive. Marcus’ parents where loving and well educated compared to most imperial citizens and they gave him a pleasant childhood, as their only child his parents strove and used every favor and spare credit to push Marcus up the social ladder. Their endeavors paid off well managing to place him into an Officio Medicae school as a child; their dream was to have him grow up into a Medicae Temple administrator or a surgeon. In this school Marcus excelled outstripping most other students in his classes the Medicae Temple was a prime fit for him, given time he would rise very high in the ranks of the Administratum through the Officio Medicae.
Marcus heard little of what was happening throughout the planet as he was devoutly focused on his studies. His parents where oddly altruistic when it came to the average miner, they would use what little influence they had to try and improve their living conditions. On several occasions they succeeded in acquiring toxin scrubbers for the ventilation shafts or increasing rations due to the hard labor and high gravity. Some of this mentality managed to rub off on their son, by the age of 14 Medicae teachers would write displeased letters to his parents concerning his ‘caring’ about patients and how he would fail and would be a poor doctor if he spent too much time on a terminal patient while letting patients who could be saved die. Triage was a difficult lesson for Marcus, but it was also one he would not learn at the Medicae School.
Shortly after these reports on their son an emergency in the tunnels called both of his parents away. There was a riot among the miners that his parents administrated. They both had high standing with the miners themselves as they were the only administrators who would try and help. Marcus’ parents where at the riot trying to de-escalate the situation before the Arbites forcibly intervened, however the rioters began throwing things at the Arbites and started chanting disrespectful slurs until the Arbites had had enough. They began to open fire, cutting the riot apart with shotgun blasts and Las-fire. Both of Marcus’ parents were caught in the crossfire, his father was killed outright but his mother was seriously wounded but ignored for several hours while the Arbites worked to arrest those who incited the riot. By the time any medical personnel arrived his mothers wounds had grown so serious that she was declared to be an Imminent patient, or doomed.
Within hours of his mother’s eventual death the Schola Progenium came to shuttle young Marcus away. He was placed into the Arbites program and broken down rapidly. Marcus did not have the iron clad resolve that many of his peers did, and was broken within the first few months. Superior teachers at the school reveled in this and pushed Marcus down even farther digging into the core of his personality. After several years of the brutal treatment something deep snapped. Their torments no longer had much of any effect on him and the teachers quickly became bored with the broken child. When he was 17 he was being tested for certain aptitudes before his placement in an arbites precinct and he scored remarkably high on the various medical knowledge tests so the school retained him and pushed him through the medic training program. After several months training he was assigned to assist a medic on Aphrodus Primaris.
Shadowing medic Alerak for some months was very educational for marcus, finally being able to apply his knowledge in the field. More often than not he was treating fractured bones or stab wounds suffered by Arbites officers during routine actions, but his skill and demeanor where quickly take note of by his superiors.
It took several years after his full time assignment to precinct 47 for any major disturbances to happen. however, at one point there was an accident where a transport ship carrying several hundred tons of food to the district crashed destroying the vast majority of the food. The miners and underhive gangs where extremely upset at this and began causing problems because of it. Normally this would have been rectified quite easily by bringing in a new shipment of food without too much delay. however the Arbites judge in the precinct was a harsh and cruel man who enjoyed causing pain. He began halting all shipment of food due to the unrest causing a full scale riot with both the miners and gangs revolting at their harsh punishment. several hundred thousand imperial citizens where marching the street armed with mining lasers and black market weapons. The Judge of the precinct assumed the angry mob would be assaulting the space port where the transport ships where being held up. He dispatched the vast majority of his Arbites to the space port nearby to protect the valuable structure. Marcus was not among them. He was part of the token force left at the Precinct headquarters. The angry mob knew of who their oppressor was and who was leaning these cruel punishments on them and they stormed the Arbites fortress.
For over an hour Marcus was sprinting through the fortress patching up Arbites. Through the confusion Marcus managed to convince his commanders to establish a medical channel where he, and other medics could easily hear the locations of the wounded, Marcus even began talking regular Arbites through the medical procedures to save their comrades because there where too few medics to reach each call as it happened. The rioters eventually managed to break through the gates using mining charges and lasers, the Arbites force came together in a huge shield wall and tried desperately to hold them back while they awaited reinforcements from the units dispatched at the space port. Marcus was at the rear of the shield wall treating the wounded who where dragged away from the front. Marcus had his own triage area set up and other medics who came to help him began deffering to his judgement even those with more experience began to follow Marcus. After over two hours of combat reinforcments finally arrived and dispersed the rioters, and the Arbites restored order along with allowing shipments of food to prevent more violence.
Marcus was specifically given several honors after the ordeal, and earning him consideration for a place on the strike team.
PERSONALITY: Marcus is a very calm man, even in the heat of combat he is very capable of thinking clearly. This extends to when he is conducting an interview or interrogation. He never raises his voice or lashes out at the subject in rage especially when they are being disrespectful or argumentative.
He is also on a certain level caring about the average imperial citizen; while the idea of torture or brutal riot control is not abhorrent to him he does still feel a pang of emotion if such tactics are required. He will also try to save imperial citizens caught in the crossfire of a riot or battle, but he would still prioritize Arites or PDF forces.
MISCELLANEOUS: Just in case I forgot anything.
Dannyrulx Don't. Call. Me. A. Goat.
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
NAME:
Julius Centain
HOMEWORLD:
A rather odd case, Julius comes from a world similar to that of Holy Terra in the 2nd millenium. Whilst mostly industrialised, the planet is near the edge of the 'goldilocks' zone, and as such is covered in cold tundra, the average temperature at the equator never reaching above 10 degrees celcius. Its main export is soldiers for the Imperial Guard, but is otherwise a self-contained world near the edges of Imperial space, rarley having many issues. Growing up in one of the more industrialised areas, Julius' father and mother were both white collar workers, and he had a rather comfortable early life until they died in a genestealer cult uprsing.
AGE:
80 years. Has had his first juevenant treatment, so looks closer to thirty.
GENDER:
Male.
APPEARANCE:
Julius is a tall man, his height closing in on 6'2", and he weighs a fairly hefty 140kg, most of which is made up of toned muscle. Despite his age, the jeuvenant treatments have worked well, and he looks a good fourty to fifty years younger than he actually is. When he removes his armour, it reveals a rather compact form, which belies a rather strong man when he needs to be. His voice is quite soft and quie, although he has no qualms about raising it. When interrogating, the vox caster imbedded in his armour turns it into a harsh, grating sound deliberatly tuned to invoke fear in the person he is speaking to.
ROLE:
Specialist (Chastener)
UNIFORM:
His armour has been modified, although not extensively. An external vox caster can be extended over the mouthpeice, allowing for the voice change, and he has attached numerous boxes and cases to his hip, as well as a number of guardsman-issue ammunition pockets and holders to carry grenades and spare ammunition.
As well as this, he wears a set of flowing red robes from his days in the inquisition, which has white synth-fur around the hood and collar of it and coveres most of his armour. The robes have many bullet holes in it, and there is some obvious differences with the fabrics, where it's been repaired after a particularily nasty set of damage. Lastly, there are numerous purity seals attached to his armour, ranging from standard litagies praising the Emperor to detailed litanies on torture and a vast variety in between.
EXPERTISE:
Intimidation
Interrogation
Heretic/Witch/Daemon knowledge
Xenobiology, particularly Genestealer knowledge
Emergency Medic
Chemical usage
Psychic knowledge
Excellent Regicide player
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Autogun. Uses his own version painted black when he joined the Arbitres. Uses straight magazines in order to reload faster, and to reduce jam chance. Some of them have yellow marks in order to dictate that they are AP, others red to indicate incendiary. Unmarked simply means that it is regular, hollow-point ammunition. Does not use a firing pin, instead uses a pulse of plasma similar to the ones used in heavy bolters, further lowering jam chance. Lastly, his autogun also has a purity seal attached to the stock of it, on which is detailed a prayer to the machine god to prevent it from being angered at the changes it has undergone.
- Secondary weapon: Handcannon. Arbitres standard.
- Melee weapon: Doesn't have the space for it.
- Having worked with the inquisition for some 30 years, including training, he is well versed in the steps required for an Inquisitorial torturer. (Steps as followed)
Due to the unique circumstances surrounding them, he has never been able to properly execute step 9, 7 or drag in the victim's family for 3, however his vast variety of eqipment, detailed below, allows him enough flexibility to break almost everyone.
- Numerous drugs in syringes and auto-injectors, including neural pain simulators, psychic overclockers, aural, oral, nasal and optical dampeners and overclockers, 'truth' stimulants, various illegal stims, muscle relaxants and more. All syringes are carried in a small white bag, similar to that of a medic bag, which is clipped to his waist. Empty auto-injectors are attached to specialised holders next to the syringe case, with the chemicals injected through them held inside the bag as well. As well as these, he also has numerous pieces of 'traditional' torture, including numerous knives, an extendable baton (although this is minimally effective in combat, it is surprisingly effective at inflicting pain on those he interrogates,) a neural whip similar to that used by the Sisters Repentia, a set of pliers, a cordless power drill, and even a set of thumbscrews, as well as numerous more pieces of equipment contained within his specialised carrying case.
This case also has three extremely rare pieces of equipment rarely seen out of the hands of xenos or astartes. These pieces of equipment are as follows:
- A small, very smooth and polished ball the size of a fist covered in xenos markings, and with no obvious way of using it. This ball takes in all psychic energy within a small radius, and reflects it back at the psyker equal to his or her abilites. Because of this, the more powerful the psyker the more dangerous the device is, although it has very little subtelty. To a normal human, this will not cause pain, despite the fact that all humans have a small amount of psychic energy, however it's effects work on anything else. The device can also be used to detect blanks, as well as any species with an unusually small influence on the warp, such as Tau. It is especially effective against psy-sensitive cultists and Eldar.
- He also has a device that can be broken down into a set of parts for ease of carrying. When fully assembled, the entire device looks like a back and neck brace, however with two long spikes coming out of it. These spikes are inserted so that the top one touches the brain stem of the subject, and the lower one goes into spinal grey matter, this not only causes the subject to dance and writhe in pain as their very pain nerves are stimulated, but also allows him to 'read the minds' of those the device is jacked into, by examining brain activities which are interpereted through a small screen attached to the device.
- Lastly, he also has another device which he has never had cause to use whilst in the arbitres, and it us unknown what the full capabilities of the device is. What is known however is that it is contained within a box no bigger than 13" across, which is kept at the very bottom of his carrying case.
- Memento: Mother's regicide set, travellers edition. Snaps shut with all of the peices contained inside.
- Memento: Badge from his inquisition days. Has the inquisition's 'I' on it.
BIOGRAPHY:
As mentioned, Julius' formative years were quite peaceful, and he had a well-rounded basic education, although this was brought to an end when a genestealer cult started an uprising. Although PDF and IG forces fought against them and succeeded for some time, they were eventually called back and the planet deemed to be lost, especially in the face of an incoming hive fleet splinter. The Schola Progenium descended on the planet shortly before exterminatus was called, and Julius was swept up amongst many other youths.
It was quickly found that despite being a normal child in most respects, Julius had a unique mental condition that desensitised him to the suffering of others, and this quickly lead to him being fast-tracked to the chastener program, where he was taught the tools of the trade. This training took many shapes, from being taught various chemical mixtures and their effects on the human body, to the proper usages of various psychic equiptment, and even how to use reclaimed xenos items. He was also taught on the true nature of many xenos, and also given detailed training on xenobiology.
Whilst normally the training that chasteners undergo takes numerous years simply to desensitise the to-be chasteners to the horrors they will be inflicting whilst on the field, Julius' unique condition accelerated him through the processes, and he ended up becoming a fully Abritres far before his peers managed to be, and with flying colours to boot. This record lead a newly-promoted inquisitor to recruit him for his retinue, along with a small group that he would serve with for the next thirty years.
The other members in the retinue taught him a lot of what to expect during his lifetime, and it was here in which he not only learned the highly classified 9 steps of interrogation, but also many more practical skills that he hadn't been taught in the Schola. These included the proper identification of daemonic rituals and daemonhosts, the true nature of the warp, and many other peices of information that would lead to the average citizen simply being executed. These skills proved highly effective against multiple witches and mutants, and he showed particular brutality when dealing with any mutants, especially those thought to have been touched by genestealers, although this was rarely a group that he came into contact with, as his inquisitor was with the Ordo Hereticus, rather than xenos.
Unfortunatly, his time with the inquisition was cut short when his party was attacked by a large group of cultists, including two daemonhosts. Despite fending them off, they quickly found that a large-scale daemon summoning was taking place on the planet. Whilst summoning the Grey Knights, the Inquisitor they were attached to was slain, and after they were finally evacuated off of the planet after the threat had been largley dealt with, they were informed that the inquisiton would have no more use for them, unless such time as if another inquisitor would recruit them. After this, he was returned to the fold of the Arbitres, where he has continued to serve.
It was also during his time in the inquisiton where he met Sorotias Acolyte Cassiel, with whom he ended up in a relationship with during his time with her in the retinue. Cassiel later became a Sorotias Cleric, and the two often see each othe both in the field and whenever their down times happen to coincide. Despite this, the relationship between the two has cooled greatly, although the the two still have some amount of loyalty to one another, and Julius has remained faithful to her during the years they have been together.
Upon his return to the Arbitres, Julius found himself swamped, his skills and reputation leading to numerous Judges wanting him on their teams. Judge Caluto finally took notice of him, however, during an investigation on a hive world suspected of being infested by genestealers. Upon his squad capturing a member of the cult, and subsequently discovering they had taken the magnus prisoner, Julius became one of the few interrogators to ever psychically break a high-mastery psyker, although it took multiple weeks of near-constant pressure to do so. Upon returning to the Precint-Fortress, he was informed that he would be transferring to Strike Team Omicron, and was only given a short amount of time in which to get ready.
PERSONALITY:
Julius' condition leaves him in an odd state with response to personality. Whilst he can abstractly care for both his squad and civilians, he often has difficulty in fully caring about losses. Because of this, many he has served with consider him cold. Despite this, he has no issue with displaying other emotions, and is a fairly placid man, although he is stern and uncompromising when on the field.
MISCELLANEOUS:
Although this may be obvious, Julius has a burning hatred of anything related to those that were resposible for the destruction of his home planet, and many of those who have seen him dealing with them have reported that he often seems more interested in causing harm to them rather than extracting information.
Julius Centain
HOMEWORLD:
A rather odd case, Julius comes from a world similar to that of Holy Terra in the 2nd millenium. Whilst mostly industrialised, the planet is near the edge of the 'goldilocks' zone, and as such is covered in cold tundra, the average temperature at the equator never reaching above 10 degrees celcius. Its main export is soldiers for the Imperial Guard, but is otherwise a self-contained world near the edges of Imperial space, rarley having many issues. Growing up in one of the more industrialised areas, Julius' father and mother were both white collar workers, and he had a rather comfortable early life until they died in a genestealer cult uprsing.
AGE:
80 years. Has had his first juevenant treatment, so looks closer to thirty.
GENDER:
Male.
APPEARANCE:
Julius is a tall man, his height closing in on 6'2", and he weighs a fairly hefty 140kg, most of which is made up of toned muscle. Despite his age, the jeuvenant treatments have worked well, and he looks a good fourty to fifty years younger than he actually is. When he removes his armour, it reveals a rather compact form, which belies a rather strong man when he needs to be. His voice is quite soft and quie, although he has no qualms about raising it. When interrogating, the vox caster imbedded in his armour turns it into a harsh, grating sound deliberatly tuned to invoke fear in the person he is speaking to.
ROLE:
Specialist (Chastener)
UNIFORM:
His armour has been modified, although not extensively. An external vox caster can be extended over the mouthpeice, allowing for the voice change, and he has attached numerous boxes and cases to his hip, as well as a number of guardsman-issue ammunition pockets and holders to carry grenades and spare ammunition.
As well as this, he wears a set of flowing red robes from his days in the inquisition, which has white synth-fur around the hood and collar of it and coveres most of his armour. The robes have many bullet holes in it, and there is some obvious differences with the fabrics, where it's been repaired after a particularily nasty set of damage. Lastly, there are numerous purity seals attached to his armour, ranging from standard litagies praising the Emperor to detailed litanies on torture and a vast variety in between.
EXPERTISE:
Intimidation
Interrogation
Heretic/Witch/Daemon knowledge
Xenobiology, particularly Genestealer knowledge
Emergency Medic
Chemical usage
Psychic knowledge
Excellent Regicide player
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Autogun. Uses his own version painted black when he joined the Arbitres. Uses straight magazines in order to reload faster, and to reduce jam chance. Some of them have yellow marks in order to dictate that they are AP, others red to indicate incendiary. Unmarked simply means that it is regular, hollow-point ammunition. Does not use a firing pin, instead uses a pulse of plasma similar to the ones used in heavy bolters, further lowering jam chance. Lastly, his autogun also has a purity seal attached to the stock of it, on which is detailed a prayer to the machine god to prevent it from being angered at the changes it has undergone.
- Secondary weapon: Handcannon. Arbitres standard.
- Melee weapon: Doesn't have the space for it.
- Having worked with the inquisition for some 30 years, including training, he is well versed in the steps required for an Inquisitorial torturer. (Steps as followed)
Level ONE: Verbal. Light questioning to full blown, red faced, vein popping screams as spittle flies over the face of the heretic in (being put to) the question. No actual physical contact (spittle not included).
Level TWO: A polite verbal warning of further actions to come. Something along the lines of "TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW YOU FILTHY CHAOS FUCKING HERETIC OR I'LL BITE YOU WITH YOUR OWN INCISORS."
Level THREE: Minor physical torture (In the same way that a cigarette is a snack), followed by verbal interrogation. Usually carrying out the previous threat, and repeating level ONE.
Level FOUR: Light physical torture (In the same way that a small sandwich and a cup of coffee is a light lunch) and psychological manipulation (Preferably a repeat of level three on the loved ones of the torturee, as well as religious torment).
Level FIVE: Psychic interrogation (Now we're talking!) with light torture similar to the previous level (Maybe toss in some scarring, thumbscrews, a little minor mutilation and maiming). Yet boring verbal interrogation. The psychic interrogation is typically less than gentle, but no more severe than a moderate beating with an iron bar.
Level SIX: This is the fun part, taking psyhcological manipulation up a notch: Sensory deprivation! Except they don't toss you in a dark room if they can avoid it. Instead, they just use drugs, psychic techniques or Holy Technology to sever all your senses and leave you floating alone in the void. But don't worry, they continue to tie your body into pretzel-like shapes so you've got a healthy dose of holy pain to come back to. Sometimes they'll just toss you in a room with no food or water for a few days, or no food but filthy water for weeks instead.
Level SEVEN: Intensive psychic interrogation! This is the part where they go and find one of those unpleasant psykers, the ones who generally are viewed with disgust (and checked for possibly heresy, given that one hand is buried in their robes while they 'interrogate' you) by honest, Emperor fearing men. This is the one that leaves your mind in tatters, a ragged garment flapping in the wind. You may need a little time away from the pressures of work, study, heresy, dressing and feeding yourself after this one.
Level EIGHT: Use of drugs. Not regular drugs, or truth serums, or stuff that today would be labelled 'russian psychiatric medicine/industrial torture chemicals'. The psychic stuff that attunes your mind to a particular psychic frequency and sucks in all the pain on a planet to break you. The kind that make you think you're locked in an oubliette. The kind that put you back into sensory deprivation.. except for pain, which you feel to the maximum of your nerves ability to carry it.
Level NINE: Unrelenting torture! Usually only used if an Inquisitor has a birthday party planned, since it's easier to shoot the heretic. Torturers have endurance competitions with this one: How long can you keep them alive and sane? How long can you keep wielding the intestinal clamps before you cramp up?
Level TWO: A polite verbal warning of further actions to come. Something along the lines of "TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW YOU FILTHY CHAOS FUCKING HERETIC OR I'LL BITE YOU WITH YOUR OWN INCISORS."
Level THREE: Minor physical torture (In the same way that a cigarette is a snack), followed by verbal interrogation. Usually carrying out the previous threat, and repeating level ONE.
Level FOUR: Light physical torture (In the same way that a small sandwich and a cup of coffee is a light lunch) and psychological manipulation (Preferably a repeat of level three on the loved ones of the torturee, as well as religious torment).
Level FIVE: Psychic interrogation (Now we're talking!) with light torture similar to the previous level (Maybe toss in some scarring, thumbscrews, a little minor mutilation and maiming). Yet boring verbal interrogation. The psychic interrogation is typically less than gentle, but no more severe than a moderate beating with an iron bar.
Level SIX: This is the fun part, taking psyhcological manipulation up a notch: Sensory deprivation! Except they don't toss you in a dark room if they can avoid it. Instead, they just use drugs, psychic techniques or Holy Technology to sever all your senses and leave you floating alone in the void. But don't worry, they continue to tie your body into pretzel-like shapes so you've got a healthy dose of holy pain to come back to. Sometimes they'll just toss you in a room with no food or water for a few days, or no food but filthy water for weeks instead.
Level SEVEN: Intensive psychic interrogation! This is the part where they go and find one of those unpleasant psykers, the ones who generally are viewed with disgust (and checked for possibly heresy, given that one hand is buried in their robes while they 'interrogate' you) by honest, Emperor fearing men. This is the one that leaves your mind in tatters, a ragged garment flapping in the wind. You may need a little time away from the pressures of work, study, heresy, dressing and feeding yourself after this one.
Level EIGHT: Use of drugs. Not regular drugs, or truth serums, or stuff that today would be labelled 'russian psychiatric medicine/industrial torture chemicals'. The psychic stuff that attunes your mind to a particular psychic frequency and sucks in all the pain on a planet to break you. The kind that make you think you're locked in an oubliette. The kind that put you back into sensory deprivation.. except for pain, which you feel to the maximum of your nerves ability to carry it.
Level NINE: Unrelenting torture! Usually only used if an Inquisitor has a birthday party planned, since it's easier to shoot the heretic. Torturers have endurance competitions with this one: How long can you keep them alive and sane? How long can you keep wielding the intestinal clamps before you cramp up?
Due to the unique circumstances surrounding them, he has never been able to properly execute step 9, 7 or drag in the victim's family for 3, however his vast variety of eqipment, detailed below, allows him enough flexibility to break almost everyone.
- Numerous drugs in syringes and auto-injectors, including neural pain simulators, psychic overclockers, aural, oral, nasal and optical dampeners and overclockers, 'truth' stimulants, various illegal stims, muscle relaxants and more. All syringes are carried in a small white bag, similar to that of a medic bag, which is clipped to his waist. Empty auto-injectors are attached to specialised holders next to the syringe case, with the chemicals injected through them held inside the bag as well. As well as these, he also has numerous pieces of 'traditional' torture, including numerous knives, an extendable baton (although this is minimally effective in combat, it is surprisingly effective at inflicting pain on those he interrogates,) a neural whip similar to that used by the Sisters Repentia, a set of pliers, a cordless power drill, and even a set of thumbscrews, as well as numerous more pieces of equipment contained within his specialised carrying case.
This case also has three extremely rare pieces of equipment rarely seen out of the hands of xenos or astartes. These pieces of equipment are as follows:
- A small, very smooth and polished ball the size of a fist covered in xenos markings, and with no obvious way of using it. This ball takes in all psychic energy within a small radius, and reflects it back at the psyker equal to his or her abilites. Because of this, the more powerful the psyker the more dangerous the device is, although it has very little subtelty. To a normal human, this will not cause pain, despite the fact that all humans have a small amount of psychic energy, however it's effects work on anything else. The device can also be used to detect blanks, as well as any species with an unusually small influence on the warp, such as Tau. It is especially effective against psy-sensitive cultists and Eldar.
- He also has a device that can be broken down into a set of parts for ease of carrying. When fully assembled, the entire device looks like a back and neck brace, however with two long spikes coming out of it. These spikes are inserted so that the top one touches the brain stem of the subject, and the lower one goes into spinal grey matter, this not only causes the subject to dance and writhe in pain as their very pain nerves are stimulated, but also allows him to 'read the minds' of those the device is jacked into, by examining brain activities which are interpereted through a small screen attached to the device.
- Lastly, he also has another device which he has never had cause to use whilst in the arbitres, and it us unknown what the full capabilities of the device is. What is known however is that it is contained within a box no bigger than 13" across, which is kept at the very bottom of his carrying case.
- Memento: Mother's regicide set, travellers edition. Snaps shut with all of the peices contained inside.
- Memento: Badge from his inquisition days. Has the inquisition's 'I' on it.
BIOGRAPHY:
As mentioned, Julius' formative years were quite peaceful, and he had a well-rounded basic education, although this was brought to an end when a genestealer cult started an uprising. Although PDF and IG forces fought against them and succeeded for some time, they were eventually called back and the planet deemed to be lost, especially in the face of an incoming hive fleet splinter. The Schola Progenium descended on the planet shortly before exterminatus was called, and Julius was swept up amongst many other youths.
It was quickly found that despite being a normal child in most respects, Julius had a unique mental condition that desensitised him to the suffering of others, and this quickly lead to him being fast-tracked to the chastener program, where he was taught the tools of the trade. This training took many shapes, from being taught various chemical mixtures and their effects on the human body, to the proper usages of various psychic equiptment, and even how to use reclaimed xenos items. He was also taught on the true nature of many xenos, and also given detailed training on xenobiology.
Whilst normally the training that chasteners undergo takes numerous years simply to desensitise the to-be chasteners to the horrors they will be inflicting whilst on the field, Julius' unique condition accelerated him through the processes, and he ended up becoming a fully Abritres far before his peers managed to be, and with flying colours to boot. This record lead a newly-promoted inquisitor to recruit him for his retinue, along with a small group that he would serve with for the next thirty years.
The other members in the retinue taught him a lot of what to expect during his lifetime, and it was here in which he not only learned the highly classified 9 steps of interrogation, but also many more practical skills that he hadn't been taught in the Schola. These included the proper identification of daemonic rituals and daemonhosts, the true nature of the warp, and many other peices of information that would lead to the average citizen simply being executed. These skills proved highly effective against multiple witches and mutants, and he showed particular brutality when dealing with any mutants, especially those thought to have been touched by genestealers, although this was rarely a group that he came into contact with, as his inquisitor was with the Ordo Hereticus, rather than xenos.
Unfortunatly, his time with the inquisition was cut short when his party was attacked by a large group of cultists, including two daemonhosts. Despite fending them off, they quickly found that a large-scale daemon summoning was taking place on the planet. Whilst summoning the Grey Knights, the Inquisitor they were attached to was slain, and after they were finally evacuated off of the planet after the threat had been largley dealt with, they were informed that the inquisiton would have no more use for them, unless such time as if another inquisitor would recruit them. After this, he was returned to the fold of the Arbitres, where he has continued to serve.
It was also during his time in the inquisiton where he met Sorotias Acolyte Cassiel, with whom he ended up in a relationship with during his time with her in the retinue. Cassiel later became a Sorotias Cleric, and the two often see each othe both in the field and whenever their down times happen to coincide. Despite this, the relationship between the two has cooled greatly, although the the two still have some amount of loyalty to one another, and Julius has remained faithful to her during the years they have been together.
Upon his return to the Arbitres, Julius found himself swamped, his skills and reputation leading to numerous Judges wanting him on their teams. Judge Caluto finally took notice of him, however, during an investigation on a hive world suspected of being infested by genestealers. Upon his squad capturing a member of the cult, and subsequently discovering they had taken the magnus prisoner, Julius became one of the few interrogators to ever psychically break a high-mastery psyker, although it took multiple weeks of near-constant pressure to do so. Upon returning to the Precint-Fortress, he was informed that he would be transferring to Strike Team Omicron, and was only given a short amount of time in which to get ready.
PERSONALITY:
Julius' condition leaves him in an odd state with response to personality. Whilst he can abstractly care for both his squad and civilians, he often has difficulty in fully caring about losses. Because of this, many he has served with consider him cold. Despite this, he has no issue with displaying other emotions, and is a fairly placid man, although he is stern and uncompromising when on the field.
MISCELLANEOUS:
Although this may be obvious, Julius has a burning hatred of anything related to those that were resposible for the destruction of his home planet, and many of those who have seen him dealing with them have reported that he often seems more interested in causing harm to them rather than extracting information.
Themerlinhawk Aegis Kai Doru
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
NAME: Uriah Balis
HOMEWORLD: Castobel.
When the dark closes in around you the only thing you can do is shine brighter. The Hive world of Castobel stood against the dark from the day the Imperium of Man lost contact with the Jericho Reach till the day the Crusade found it again. In the cold darkness of what would become the Orpheus Salient this predominant Hive world withstood the invasion of chaos and Xenos. In 789.M41 the world of Castobel was returned to the Imperial Fold with the coming of the Achilus Crusade.
Uriah was born on Castobel as the child of an Imperial Guard Captain who had been stationed on the Hive world after it was reclaimed by the Imperium of Man. Never having to live in a world without the guiding light of the Emperor meant that the young Uriah was raised knowing one day he would serve the Emperor. Castobel’s placement in the Jericho Reach also meant that the Xenos Horrors and the threat of the Chaos Gods were never far from the minds of the people of Castobel and Uriah was not spared the constant fear. The resilience and conviction of Castobel rubbed off on the young Uriah, in the end. When the day came that Uriah’s father's unit was wiped from the face of the universe that same resilience shown forth from Uriah as he went to face the Schola Progenium.
AGE: 65.
GENDER: Male.
APPEARANCE:
No one could accuse Uriah Balis of being easy on the eyes. The older Arbitrator was never an attractive man. Uriah’s face is largely common with a heavy, wide brow and a face left pocked marked from a nearly lethal rash when he was in his early teens; the man’s facial features are rounded out by a broken nose from his first posting on Nariel. According to Uriah’s father he inherited his mother's eyes which are a blue green with steel flecks; they are the eyes of someone who has laughed, screamed and frowned often. Crowned with locks of slightly longer hair Uriah keeps his light brown hair cut so that it can be confined with a band at the base of his neck. Short enough to fit under his carapace armor helmet and give little purchase for seeking hands. Uriah has aged well having his form bolstered by juviant treatments which have allowed him to keep his thick sticky muscles and large frame even at his current age.
To complement the pockmarks from his youth Uriah has fade burn scars on the left side of his neck from a homemade incendiary weapon he took to the face during his second posting on the Pleasure world of Carmyn where he had been sent to help bring a local leader to justice who had been implicated in the creation of a Cult of Slaanesh. In addition to the burn scarring which spreads down his left shoulder; Uriah possess a number of bullet wound scars, knife puckering and other scars from his fifteen year tour as an Arbitrator across four different Worlds before his posting on Aphrodus Primaris.
Standing at an above average height of 1.8 meters Uriah carries very little excess weight on his frame as his build is largely hard muscles from his time serving in the very front of riot suppression, warrant serving and open combat with dissenters.
Uriah has a penchant for wearing a pair of dark black gloves. The Arbitrator claims the color hides any blood he may get on them but many speculate that it is due to a distaste he harbors for the missing digits on his left hand. The pinky and ring finger on his left hand were removed by a group of gang members who captured him on Nariel. The digits have since been replaced by mechanical prosthetics which serve him just as well if not better than the original fingers.
ROLE: Strike Commander
UNIFORM:
Uriah’s black carapace armor shines with a dull fervor. A reflection of the man who walks within it. While the surface of Uriah’s armor may have a well maintained luster to it; the armor also bares the pockmarks and weld marks of scores of battles long past. On the left shoulder of the Black armor in the tradition of the Astartes who protected his home is a crest. The depiction on the shoulder is that of a Scorpion clutching a sword marked in green. The crest itself is a last gift from his father and a silent prayer to the God-Emperor for sending his Angels to protect his home in the Jericho Reach. When Uriah makes use of the armor’s helmet it also sports the snapping claws of the scorpion over its face plate and its curled tail across the helmets rebreather.
Over the armor Uriah wears an armless duster that ends at his calves. The duster is a shade of dark grey and features his scorpion heraldry on his left breast and on the opposite side of the duster is featured the iconography of the Adeptus Arbites. The scorpion is depicted in the same green as its counterparts on his other pieces of equipment. The symbol of the Adeptus Arbites is depicted in silver on his right breast. In addition to the overcoat Uriah wears about a dozen Purity Seals spread out across his armor.
EXPERTISE: Given a lack of specific expertise like the specialists of Strike Team Omicron Uriah is mildly familiar with the functioning of all his specialists. This is due to a compelling need to be able to integrate the enforcers and the investigators of his team to the best of his abilities.
Gunslinger- Uriah’s Carnodon pattern Hand Cannon’s have allowed the stockier Commander to become quite excellent at making use of both guns. At short to medium range Uriah is a fantastic shot. While it is rare for Uriah to make use of the duelist worn guns which sit in a right drawn holster in front of his hips and the second one sits in a reverse draw holster on his right hip. This set of holsters allows Uriah to quickly draw with either hand for single fire use or for a crossover draw allowing Uriah to make use of both guns at once in either hand. Part of Uriah’s insistence in his ability to fight in such a manner comes from the effects this has on those who oppose him. More than a few confrontations have been diffused through a single fantastic display of the Commander's use of the hand cannons.
Duelist-While most Arbitrators make use of the power mace Uriah has always preferred the shock baton. Early in his career it was not uncommon for him to make use of a pair of shock batons over the heavy devastating power maces. With his rise to a position of authority Uriah took up use of the power sword in place of his shock baton. During the time he had to grow into the new position Uriah spent time mastering the use of his power sword both in a double grip and in a single grip in combination with his suppression shield.
Scorpion- Uriah believes in those who work with him. Without fail he would but his life and reputation into the hands of any of his Arbitrators or Specialists. While his weapons may distinguish him from those around him Uriah purposefully relies on those around him to do their job. Like his chosen crest Uriah waits patiently and strikes when all else is in place. To many it appears as though Uriah rarely leads but the reality is that Uriah only uses his authority when it is completely necessary as it allows those around him to do what they do best.
Lead by Example- In his time serving Uriah has learned that the best leaders are those who speak rarely and act often. Uriah can be found on the front of a riot line, with his shock troopers going into a building or in the middle of a crime scene observing his specialists work. In these instances Uriah is there to exemplify proper action and baring but he always makes sure that those around him shine more simply through having an example to exceed.
Well Read- When Uriah is not in the field he can be found reading anything he can get his hands on. While Uriah is a rather spartan individual his quarters are home to a small library of historical and religious texts which he is happy to lend out to the other members of Strike Team Omicron.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Vox Legi-Pattern Combat Shotgun
The epitome of standardized weapon Uriah carries the signature shotgun pattern of the Adeptus Arbites. Unlike Uriah's other weapons this Shotgun’s only modification is a side rail for additional variation of of ammunition. THe chambered shells can easily be swapped out for the shells on the side railing through quickly ejecting the unwanted shells and loading the new shells from the rail which sits on the side of the shot gun.
- Secondary weapon: Westingkrup Carnodon Pattern Precision Hand Cannon
Uriah’s hand cannons features his distinctive bright green scorpion along the length of it curling its claws around the black finish of the barrels. The guns particular pattern makes it generally more reliable than some of its counter parts which circulate in the general populace. The hand cannons also features a red dot sight modification, top barrel venting to counteract the kick of the gun making it more accurate. The hand cannon pair also feature revolving six chambers which make for a nasty piece of hardware that Uriah takes great care in maintaining and training with.
- Melee weapon: Power-Sword
After becoming the Strike Commander of Omicron Uriah was granted use of a Power-Sword. Since coming into his possession Uriah has made two significant modifications to the blade. The first addition was a hand and a half grip which allows easy switching between a single handed grip and a double handed grip depending on the circumstance. Uriah is fully capable of using his sword in conjunction with both his suppression shield and his hand cannon giving him great versatility. The second modification is a dipole mag-lock for the blade. The true secret behind Uriah’s gloves lies in the trigger electrodes in the gloves which when placed over the mag-lock on the sword causes the polarity to reverse and propel the blade into his open hand.
- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield
As standard as they come Uriah’s Shield is no different than any other suppression shield carried by the members of his squad. This is intentional as it does not mark him as different or a leader in the face of opposition when Uriah is part of an advancing line. Uriah carries the shield on his back similar to his Sergeant if the Strike Commander suspects he may need it in the field.
- Mementos: A picture of his mother and father on Castelbel before the disease killed his mother. Uriah also carries the scorpion patch from his father's uniform; the only thing returned to him after his father was killed.
BIOGRAPHY:
Planets stationed:
Uriah grew up believing in the truth of the Imperium of Man without question. Castobel was the perfect example of the staunch ideals of the Imperium. When the Age of Strife came regardless of what happened to the hive world they had held strong. Uriah was born shortly after the reclamation of the planet by the Achilus Crusade. Born to a Captain of the Imperial Guard who was stationed on Castobel and a Gubernatorial aid to the new Planet Governor of the Hive world Uriah was raised in relative comfort.
The difference in Uriah’s life came from the precarious nature of Castobel and its place in the Jericho Reach. Much of Uriah early life was shrouded in the knowledge that on the leading edge of the Crusade was the encroaching menace of Hive Fleet Dagon, The Tau and the Legions of Chaos. For many worlds the terrors beyond the stars were just that. Bad dreams and quite fears; for Uriah those fears were a fact of life and their constant presence was drilled into him from birth. Naturally, indoctrination came quickly for the young boy and he took to it with ease quickly understanding that it was the Emperor who had rescued his home world from the night right before he was born.
When Uriah was eight tragedy struck. Liana Balis was taken by a pox which infected a large portion of the hive in which the two were living while Uriah’s Father, Kettin, was off world. Against all odds the young Uriah pulled through in the face of certain death; however his mother was not so lucky. When his father returned Uriah was left scarred by the pox but no less for it. If anything the young boy was stronger for the experience even though he mourned the loss of his mother. The next tragedy struck a year later with the death of his Father. Kettin Balis died defending the last of a series of ships fleeing a frontier planet on the leading edge of Hive Fleet Dagon. Kettin Balis was returned to his home on Castobel on board a Deathwatch Thunderhawk. In death Kettin had secured the last of the fleeing transports against the Tyranid swarm and had given his life helping the Deathwatch Astartes as they secured the doom of the swarm in the face of the Ordo Xenos command of Exterminatus. To this day Uriah carried the memory of being given the scorpion patch by one of the God-Emperor's Astartes. In the eyes of the young Uriah the titanic warrior was nothing short of a grim Angel of Death returning his father to him one last time. Since then Uriah has strived to uphold the ideals of the Imperium as an attempt at repaying the God-Emperor for sending his Angels to bring Uriah’s father home.
Schola Progenium.
For Uriah this was the day he had hoped for his whole life. After the death of his Father Uriah was sent to Minolan in the Iron Collar of the Achilus Crusade. From the moment his feet hit the ground with grey robes on he was run ragged. The reality of the Jericho Reach was far different than that of the rest of the Imperium. This region of space was far harsher and much more deadly. A posting with the crusade meant death was a reality far more salient. Becoming a Soritas meant that you would stand against the Chaos, Acolytes of the Inquisition would be beset on all sides by Xenos, Heretics and the forces of Chaos. No matter where you turned there was only death to be seen and as such the Progenium of the Jericho Reach were trained on the rugged edge in preparation for the realities of this tract of space.
Very quickly it was determined that Uriah would be slated for the Adeptus Arbites. The young man was uncompromising in upholding the rules and his martial power was in the top ten percent of his peers. Regardless of this Uriah continued to progress within the Schola Progenium before at the age of eighteen he was sent to begin his training with the Arbites. From the word go Uriah took to the training mastering use of the Shotgun, Powermace, Suppression Shield and so forth. After two years of intensive training Uriah went boots down on Nariel.
Uriah’s first two decades were spent on Nariel. The world was a mess and sat at the heart of the Crusade. As a result of the placement of the Hive World it was immediately necessary for there to be a massive Arbites presence on the world. After many years on Nariel Uriah had become a hardened veteran of the planets Arbites force. This all came to an abrupt end when purely by chance an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus came looking for veteran Arbites.
Quickly thereafter he was transferred to Caymn to continue assisting in the investigation of the Inquisitor who was following the trail of some sort of deviant Cult. What Uriah uncovered on the pleasure world of Caymn was a full blown cult of Slaanesh. The members of the Inquisitor's band and the Abrites on the world were quickly drawn into a protracted engagement with the agents of Chaos. After forty-eight hours of drawn on combat and hurried hunting across Carymn the Arbitrator-Seargent at the time Uriah brought the armored fist of his team down on the back of the Cult while the Inquisitor gutted the cult on another front. Following the Cults deathroes its leader, an imperial officer fled the plant.
Upon request Uriah was assigned to the Arbitrator team which was sent to track down the remains of the Cult. Over the course of the next ten years Uriah would be assigned to two more worlds, Levarus Minor and Mercurion Prime, before he and a smile force of Arbitrators with the assistance of a group of Inquisition Acolytes caught up with the leader.
In the final showdown Uriah and his Arbitrators killed the Cult leader and a handful of Psychers before they could summon a daemon of Slaanesh into the lower hives of Mercurion Prime. With the chase finally finished Uriah put in a request to be transferred to a world beyond the Jericho Reach. With his transfer to Aphrodus Prime Uriah received an audience with Judge Catulo after a few years on Aphrodus Prime. Given his lengthy track record in the wild edge of the Jericho Reach Judge Catulo wanted him to head up Task Force Omicron. Uriah immediately accepted seeing it as the will of the Emperor that he be transferred here and asked to head Task Force Omicron.
After his first few years on Aphrodus, Uriah sired a daughter with a middle management member of the Adeptus Administratum. Until a transfer comes through Uriah has refused to marry the mother of his daughter but in his time off he can occasionally be found spending time with the beginnings of his small family.
PERSONALITY:
In the dark light shines the brightest. Uriah views the world as a dark place where the light of the Emperor burns bright and his laws maintain it. Many see Uriah as an idealist and they should as regardless of the things he has viewed it has merely reinforced his belief in the Emperor and the Imperium. While there are many who break the laws of the Imperium; to Uriah these are merely individuals who have lost their way. No matter how many people he kills in the name of the Law he believes that in so doing he is giving them the ability to confront the Emperor directly and atone. Regardless Uriah does not view the people who must stop as animals or less human, they have simply lost the way and it is his job to stop them for leading other astray.
At the end of the day Uriah is tired and longs for the vastness of the Jericho Reach again. Regardless of the nightmares the Jericho Reach is still home. Regardless of this he soldiers on in service to his Emperor. Of late he has become more and more fatherly in his treatment of his Strike Team making sure they excel in everything they do. Gone are the days of Uriah’s angry tirades and harsh words; in its wake are stern talks and disciplinary actions meant to instill a sense of pride in the recipient in what they do. Many point to the appearance of a daughter in Uriah’s life and those who have noticed this change are right.
HOMEWORLD: Castobel.
When the dark closes in around you the only thing you can do is shine brighter. The Hive world of Castobel stood against the dark from the day the Imperium of Man lost contact with the Jericho Reach till the day the Crusade found it again. In the cold darkness of what would become the Orpheus Salient this predominant Hive world withstood the invasion of chaos and Xenos. In 789.M41 the world of Castobel was returned to the Imperial Fold with the coming of the Achilus Crusade.
Uriah was born on Castobel as the child of an Imperial Guard Captain who had been stationed on the Hive world after it was reclaimed by the Imperium of Man. Never having to live in a world without the guiding light of the Emperor meant that the young Uriah was raised knowing one day he would serve the Emperor. Castobel’s placement in the Jericho Reach also meant that the Xenos Horrors and the threat of the Chaos Gods were never far from the minds of the people of Castobel and Uriah was not spared the constant fear. The resilience and conviction of Castobel rubbed off on the young Uriah, in the end. When the day came that Uriah’s father's unit was wiped from the face of the universe that same resilience shown forth from Uriah as he went to face the Schola Progenium.
AGE: 65.
GENDER: Male.
APPEARANCE:
No one could accuse Uriah Balis of being easy on the eyes. The older Arbitrator was never an attractive man. Uriah’s face is largely common with a heavy, wide brow and a face left pocked marked from a nearly lethal rash when he was in his early teens; the man’s facial features are rounded out by a broken nose from his first posting on Nariel. According to Uriah’s father he inherited his mother's eyes which are a blue green with steel flecks; they are the eyes of someone who has laughed, screamed and frowned often. Crowned with locks of slightly longer hair Uriah keeps his light brown hair cut so that it can be confined with a band at the base of his neck. Short enough to fit under his carapace armor helmet and give little purchase for seeking hands. Uriah has aged well having his form bolstered by juviant treatments which have allowed him to keep his thick sticky muscles and large frame even at his current age.
To complement the pockmarks from his youth Uriah has fade burn scars on the left side of his neck from a homemade incendiary weapon he took to the face during his second posting on the Pleasure world of Carmyn where he had been sent to help bring a local leader to justice who had been implicated in the creation of a Cult of Slaanesh. In addition to the burn scarring which spreads down his left shoulder; Uriah possess a number of bullet wound scars, knife puckering and other scars from his fifteen year tour as an Arbitrator across four different Worlds before his posting on Aphrodus Primaris.
Standing at an above average height of 1.8 meters Uriah carries very little excess weight on his frame as his build is largely hard muscles from his time serving in the very front of riot suppression, warrant serving and open combat with dissenters.
Uriah has a penchant for wearing a pair of dark black gloves. The Arbitrator claims the color hides any blood he may get on them but many speculate that it is due to a distaste he harbors for the missing digits on his left hand. The pinky and ring finger on his left hand were removed by a group of gang members who captured him on Nariel. The digits have since been replaced by mechanical prosthetics which serve him just as well if not better than the original fingers.
ROLE: Strike Commander
UNIFORM:
Uriah’s black carapace armor shines with a dull fervor. A reflection of the man who walks within it. While the surface of Uriah’s armor may have a well maintained luster to it; the armor also bares the pockmarks and weld marks of scores of battles long past. On the left shoulder of the Black armor in the tradition of the Astartes who protected his home is a crest. The depiction on the shoulder is that of a Scorpion clutching a sword marked in green. The crest itself is a last gift from his father and a silent prayer to the God-Emperor for sending his Angels to protect his home in the Jericho Reach. When Uriah makes use of the armor’s helmet it also sports the snapping claws of the scorpion over its face plate and its curled tail across the helmets rebreather.
Over the armor Uriah wears an armless duster that ends at his calves. The duster is a shade of dark grey and features his scorpion heraldry on his left breast and on the opposite side of the duster is featured the iconography of the Adeptus Arbites. The scorpion is depicted in the same green as its counterparts on his other pieces of equipment. The symbol of the Adeptus Arbites is depicted in silver on his right breast. In addition to the overcoat Uriah wears about a dozen Purity Seals spread out across his armor.
EXPERTISE: Given a lack of specific expertise like the specialists of Strike Team Omicron Uriah is mildly familiar with the functioning of all his specialists. This is due to a compelling need to be able to integrate the enforcers and the investigators of his team to the best of his abilities.
Gunslinger- Uriah’s Carnodon pattern Hand Cannon’s have allowed the stockier Commander to become quite excellent at making use of both guns. At short to medium range Uriah is a fantastic shot. While it is rare for Uriah to make use of the duelist worn guns which sit in a right drawn holster in front of his hips and the second one sits in a reverse draw holster on his right hip. This set of holsters allows Uriah to quickly draw with either hand for single fire use or for a crossover draw allowing Uriah to make use of both guns at once in either hand. Part of Uriah’s insistence in his ability to fight in such a manner comes from the effects this has on those who oppose him. More than a few confrontations have been diffused through a single fantastic display of the Commander's use of the hand cannons.
Duelist-While most Arbitrators make use of the power mace Uriah has always preferred the shock baton. Early in his career it was not uncommon for him to make use of a pair of shock batons over the heavy devastating power maces. With his rise to a position of authority Uriah took up use of the power sword in place of his shock baton. During the time he had to grow into the new position Uriah spent time mastering the use of his power sword both in a double grip and in a single grip in combination with his suppression shield.
Scorpion- Uriah believes in those who work with him. Without fail he would but his life and reputation into the hands of any of his Arbitrators or Specialists. While his weapons may distinguish him from those around him Uriah purposefully relies on those around him to do their job. Like his chosen crest Uriah waits patiently and strikes when all else is in place. To many it appears as though Uriah rarely leads but the reality is that Uriah only uses his authority when it is completely necessary as it allows those around him to do what they do best.
Lead by Example- In his time serving Uriah has learned that the best leaders are those who speak rarely and act often. Uriah can be found on the front of a riot line, with his shock troopers going into a building or in the middle of a crime scene observing his specialists work. In these instances Uriah is there to exemplify proper action and baring but he always makes sure that those around him shine more simply through having an example to exceed.
Well Read- When Uriah is not in the field he can be found reading anything he can get his hands on. While Uriah is a rather spartan individual his quarters are home to a small library of historical and religious texts which he is happy to lend out to the other members of Strike Team Omicron.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: Vox Legi-Pattern Combat Shotgun
The epitome of standardized weapon Uriah carries the signature shotgun pattern of the Adeptus Arbites. Unlike Uriah's other weapons this Shotgun’s only modification is a side rail for additional variation of of ammunition. THe chambered shells can easily be swapped out for the shells on the side railing through quickly ejecting the unwanted shells and loading the new shells from the rail which sits on the side of the shot gun.
- Secondary weapon: Westingkrup Carnodon Pattern Precision Hand Cannon
Uriah’s hand cannons features his distinctive bright green scorpion along the length of it curling its claws around the black finish of the barrels. The guns particular pattern makes it generally more reliable than some of its counter parts which circulate in the general populace. The hand cannons also features a red dot sight modification, top barrel venting to counteract the kick of the gun making it more accurate. The hand cannon pair also feature revolving six chambers which make for a nasty piece of hardware that Uriah takes great care in maintaining and training with.
- Melee weapon: Power-Sword
After becoming the Strike Commander of Omicron Uriah was granted use of a Power-Sword. Since coming into his possession Uriah has made two significant modifications to the blade. The first addition was a hand and a half grip which allows easy switching between a single handed grip and a double handed grip depending on the circumstance. Uriah is fully capable of using his sword in conjunction with both his suppression shield and his hand cannon giving him great versatility. The second modification is a dipole mag-lock for the blade. The true secret behind Uriah’s gloves lies in the trigger electrodes in the gloves which when placed over the mag-lock on the sword causes the polarity to reverse and propel the blade into his open hand.
- Tertiary equipment: Suppression Shield
As standard as they come Uriah’s Shield is no different than any other suppression shield carried by the members of his squad. This is intentional as it does not mark him as different or a leader in the face of opposition when Uriah is part of an advancing line. Uriah carries the shield on his back similar to his Sergeant if the Strike Commander suspects he may need it in the field.
- Mementos: A picture of his mother and father on Castelbel before the disease killed his mother. Uriah also carries the scorpion patch from his father's uniform; the only thing returned to him after his father was killed.
BIOGRAPHY:
Planets stationed:
Uriah grew up believing in the truth of the Imperium of Man without question. Castobel was the perfect example of the staunch ideals of the Imperium. When the Age of Strife came regardless of what happened to the hive world they had held strong. Uriah was born shortly after the reclamation of the planet by the Achilus Crusade. Born to a Captain of the Imperial Guard who was stationed on Castobel and a Gubernatorial aid to the new Planet Governor of the Hive world Uriah was raised in relative comfort.
The difference in Uriah’s life came from the precarious nature of Castobel and its place in the Jericho Reach. Much of Uriah early life was shrouded in the knowledge that on the leading edge of the Crusade was the encroaching menace of Hive Fleet Dagon, The Tau and the Legions of Chaos. For many worlds the terrors beyond the stars were just that. Bad dreams and quite fears; for Uriah those fears were a fact of life and their constant presence was drilled into him from birth. Naturally, indoctrination came quickly for the young boy and he took to it with ease quickly understanding that it was the Emperor who had rescued his home world from the night right before he was born.
When Uriah was eight tragedy struck. Liana Balis was taken by a pox which infected a large portion of the hive in which the two were living while Uriah’s Father, Kettin, was off world. Against all odds the young Uriah pulled through in the face of certain death; however his mother was not so lucky. When his father returned Uriah was left scarred by the pox but no less for it. If anything the young boy was stronger for the experience even though he mourned the loss of his mother. The next tragedy struck a year later with the death of his Father. Kettin Balis died defending the last of a series of ships fleeing a frontier planet on the leading edge of Hive Fleet Dagon. Kettin Balis was returned to his home on Castobel on board a Deathwatch Thunderhawk. In death Kettin had secured the last of the fleeing transports against the Tyranid swarm and had given his life helping the Deathwatch Astartes as they secured the doom of the swarm in the face of the Ordo Xenos command of Exterminatus. To this day Uriah carried the memory of being given the scorpion patch by one of the God-Emperor's Astartes. In the eyes of the young Uriah the titanic warrior was nothing short of a grim Angel of Death returning his father to him one last time. Since then Uriah has strived to uphold the ideals of the Imperium as an attempt at repaying the God-Emperor for sending his Angels to bring Uriah’s father home.
Schola Progenium.
For Uriah this was the day he had hoped for his whole life. After the death of his Father Uriah was sent to Minolan in the Iron Collar of the Achilus Crusade. From the moment his feet hit the ground with grey robes on he was run ragged. The reality of the Jericho Reach was far different than that of the rest of the Imperium. This region of space was far harsher and much more deadly. A posting with the crusade meant death was a reality far more salient. Becoming a Soritas meant that you would stand against the Chaos, Acolytes of the Inquisition would be beset on all sides by Xenos, Heretics and the forces of Chaos. No matter where you turned there was only death to be seen and as such the Progenium of the Jericho Reach were trained on the rugged edge in preparation for the realities of this tract of space.
Very quickly it was determined that Uriah would be slated for the Adeptus Arbites. The young man was uncompromising in upholding the rules and his martial power was in the top ten percent of his peers. Regardless of this Uriah continued to progress within the Schola Progenium before at the age of eighteen he was sent to begin his training with the Arbites. From the word go Uriah took to the training mastering use of the Shotgun, Powermace, Suppression Shield and so forth. After two years of intensive training Uriah went boots down on Nariel.
Uriah’s first two decades were spent on Nariel. The world was a mess and sat at the heart of the Crusade. As a result of the placement of the Hive World it was immediately necessary for there to be a massive Arbites presence on the world. After many years on Nariel Uriah had become a hardened veteran of the planets Arbites force. This all came to an abrupt end when purely by chance an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus came looking for veteran Arbites.
Quickly thereafter he was transferred to Caymn to continue assisting in the investigation of the Inquisitor who was following the trail of some sort of deviant Cult. What Uriah uncovered on the pleasure world of Caymn was a full blown cult of Slaanesh. The members of the Inquisitor's band and the Abrites on the world were quickly drawn into a protracted engagement with the agents of Chaos. After forty-eight hours of drawn on combat and hurried hunting across Carymn the Arbitrator-Seargent at the time Uriah brought the armored fist of his team down on the back of the Cult while the Inquisitor gutted the cult on another front. Following the Cults deathroes its leader, an imperial officer fled the plant.
Upon request Uriah was assigned to the Arbitrator team which was sent to track down the remains of the Cult. Over the course of the next ten years Uriah would be assigned to two more worlds, Levarus Minor and Mercurion Prime, before he and a smile force of Arbitrators with the assistance of a group of Inquisition Acolytes caught up with the leader.
In the final showdown Uriah and his Arbitrators killed the Cult leader and a handful of Psychers before they could summon a daemon of Slaanesh into the lower hives of Mercurion Prime. With the chase finally finished Uriah put in a request to be transferred to a world beyond the Jericho Reach. With his transfer to Aphrodus Prime Uriah received an audience with Judge Catulo after a few years on Aphrodus Prime. Given his lengthy track record in the wild edge of the Jericho Reach Judge Catulo wanted him to head up Task Force Omicron. Uriah immediately accepted seeing it as the will of the Emperor that he be transferred here and asked to head Task Force Omicron.
After his first few years on Aphrodus, Uriah sired a daughter with a middle management member of the Adeptus Administratum. Until a transfer comes through Uriah has refused to marry the mother of his daughter but in his time off he can occasionally be found spending time with the beginnings of his small family.
PERSONALITY:
In the dark light shines the brightest. Uriah views the world as a dark place where the light of the Emperor burns bright and his laws maintain it. Many see Uriah as an idealist and they should as regardless of the things he has viewed it has merely reinforced his belief in the Emperor and the Imperium. While there are many who break the laws of the Imperium; to Uriah these are merely individuals who have lost their way. No matter how many people he kills in the name of the Law he believes that in so doing he is giving them the ability to confront the Emperor directly and atone. Regardless Uriah does not view the people who must stop as animals or less human, they have simply lost the way and it is his job to stop them for leading other astray.
At the end of the day Uriah is tired and longs for the vastness of the Jericho Reach again. Regardless of the nightmares the Jericho Reach is still home. Regardless of this he soldiers on in service to his Emperor. Of late he has become more and more fatherly in his treatment of his Strike Team making sure they excel in everything they do. Gone are the days of Uriah’s angry tirades and harsh words; in its wake are stern talks and disciplinary actions meant to instill a sense of pride in the recipient in what they do. Many point to the appearance of a daughter in Uriah’s life and those who have noticed this change are right.
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NAME: Daragh O' Shornassey
HOMEWORLD: The planet of Oileán na Tost - Island of Silence in the local vernacular - is a rather insignificant 'Garden World' placed smack in the middle of the Segmentum Tempestus, a planet covered in large islands which in turn are themselves covered in plains of the greenest grass, hillocks and soaring mountain peaks, and little else. The only habitation on the islands are hamlets and villages of thatched cottages, the inhabitants friendly to the point of eccentricity (even more so when they've got some of the local fire water in their bellies) and these are at a level of technology barely above that of a blackpowder era. For the most part the Oileáners are herders, shepherds and pastoral experts, their only larger group of houses that could be given the name of 'town' being used as leisure retreats for high-ranking off-worlders.
What makes the planet interesting to the Imperium, outside of the opportunity to relax on a world nigh untouched by the wars and strife that ravage the rest of the galaxy, is the unique monastic traditions and more natural worship of the God-Emperor that the population take part in. For the most part this involves living in a mountain cave on nothing put bread and water, or dunking oneself into an ice-cold river or lake several times a day, reciting prayers and adorations to the Emperor in between said activities, the joys of flagellation also espoused by the planets priesthood for better or worse. More of note is the constant recitation and imbibing of knowledge from the local incarnation of the Lectitio Divinitatus, a furious belief in the Emperor and an almost word-for-word recall of the words being part of the recruitment process for any young man or woman wishing to enter the priesthood.
Although known for its peace and tranquility, an almost reverent atmosphere pervading the whole planet, Oileán na Tost has managed to raise no less than seven regiments for the Imperial Guard, each one devoted and unwavering in their duty to the One True God-Emperor. It has been noted that each regiment takes with it an over-large cadre of priests and robed monks, but that even they fight side-by-side with their brethren, the 6th Oileán Fusliers earning great renown during the purging of Eenoth when an attack spearheaded by one such holy formation drove a Chaotic force from the Cathedral of St Justine Maxillia there, and in the process saving the relics of the blessed saint.
AGE: 120, looks to be in his mid-fifties.
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: Most things about Daragh are diametrically opposed in one way or another, and this extends even to his outward appearance.
To begin with, kept relatively youthful by rejuvent treatments over the decades due to his position and profession, his fiery red hair, usually peaking atop his head in jutting spiked tufts, has kept the volume and lush look it began with in his younger years with the difference being that both it and the goatee-style beard about his mouth and chin are peppered with streaks and a dotting of grey follicles where he is undoubtedly aging albeit at a slower rate than others. His blue eyes on the other hand seem those of someone far older, set deep into the sockets of his oval-shaped face beneath low-set bushy brows, constrasting extremely with his feckled but pallid skin tone, they look out at believers and the damned alike with an intensity of gaze and purpose that would make a member of the Sororitas proud. Thin of lip, his mouth is mostly set in a neutral slit within his beards edges, able to flicker into an animated smile or twist into a furious snarl whenever required - he is very rarely anything less than pleasant though, so any down turning of the lips is not a good sign overall.
In terms of the rest of his body he is just as different, his broad frame and almost ape-like arms looking somewhat out of place when one notices the state he has kept himself in; while not 'fat' by any length of the word, he is nevertheless on the wrong side of physical fitness with his stomach being somewhat of a beer gut, his musculature slightly drooping, and generally not seeming to have kept himself in decent shape - were it not for the fact that he was over six-and-a-half feet tall it might even be comical! This in itself is an illusion...
It has astounded and stupified more than one rookie to see the jovial and unkempt Chaplain sprinting, yes, sprinting after a suspected felon, to watch as he scaled a wall or fence with as much ease as any of the younger Arbites, and especially to have themselves placed on their backs during close-quarter training sessions.
While he may look very much like a serene and comforting figure - which he undoubtedly is, being part of his remit after all - it would be foolish for anyone, friend or foe, to underestimate this fighting Chaplains physical prowess.
ROLE: (Combat) Chaplain of Strike-Team Omnicron, also known as Padre, Father or any of the titles usually used by those from varying backgrounds.
UNIFORM: Daragh wears the standard suit of black carapace armour as any other Arbitrator, although commonly eschewing the use of his helmet for his own reasons, the only other non-issue flourishes being the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy both embedded in the centre of his chest plate in gold - contained within it the conversion field of his rosarius, capable of stopping most incoming fire if his faith alone does not - and the similar white symbol painted on his shoulder pad. Over the armour he wears a patched and hooded robe of a monkish style, coarse and brown in colour, signifying his position as a Chaplain within the Arbites force and as a servant of the Ecclesiarchy at the same time.
EXPERTISE: Being that he is a Chaplain and servant of the God-Emperor first and foremost, his expertise direct themselves toward the holy, spiritual and divine for the most part, encompassing religious texts and verse, inspiring oratory skills and generally being a living beacon of the Emperor's grace and will in a dark and dank hole of the universe. In particular to Daragh is the little-known fact that he had an eidetic memory, capable of recalling scents, sounds, smells and images from many years ago all without the assistance of a mental cogitator unit. It was this very thing that helped him so much during his time at the Schola Progenia, and that sees him able to quote straight from the pages of holy books, to bond with others over shared interests they never knew he knew and to keep an expert eye on the flock of Arbites to which he has been assigned.
Due to his upbringing, his homeworld, and the character of its people he has become an 'expert' in being able to read others and anticipate - a useful skill when you are part of a wider policing force - able to pick out lier's, frauds and the unfaithful with almost supernatural accuracy, whether in a line-up or a busy crowd of civilians.
Two other things he specialises in are alcohol and women, being a purveyor of both, having been the master of his Chapter Houses brewery on his planet and overseeing the production of fine ale. The ale would usually lead to the women, holy orders on Oileán na Tost being mixed in terms of genders and their being no sin in more...social...interactions between individuals, as long as one continued to worship and serve. In fact Daragh is almost constantly drunk, in a state or haze of intoxication near constantly, but with a shocking ability to become much more sober in the blink of an eye - whether this is simply a side-effect of becoming dulled to so much drink, or whether he truly can control his blood-alocohol level, no one really knows.
Lastly is his surprising expertise with close-quarter fighting, although this may not be when one considers the almost recreational violence that went on between Chapter Houses. At county fayres, farmers markets and more, there could always be seen 'holy' men and women from the abbeys, monasteries and so forth drawing their sticks and cudgels in anticipation of the friendly cracking of a few heads! It got even worse when they were in the drink, something all too common on a peaceful world such as Oileán na Tost, drunken brawls and street fights teaching Daragh more than a few tricks of the trade and turning him into not only a holy warrior of the Emperor but also a damn dirty fighter when the need arises.
EQUIPMENT:
BIOGRAPHY: Daragh Berach Fiachna Lorcan O' Shornassey was born over a century ago on the Garden World of Oileán na Tost, the eldest son in a family of three, his mother a weaver in one of the many small villages dotting the landscape, while his father had been selected from the planets small PDF contingent to help lead one of the very first Fusilier regiments raised from that green and fertile land.
The young man had a rather stable upbringing, until he reached the age of seven, the transport his father's regiment was on having been ambushed and annihilated by Chaos forces and his mother leaving for the Emperor's side not long after due to a wasting disease that blighted both crop and person indiscriminately.
Along with his younger siblings he was sent to one of the many monasteries on the plant, their lives already ones of devotion to the Emperor and the Saints of the Eccelsiarchy, the brothers and sisters there teaching them things that would serve them well in later life - letters and numbers, how to make ones own clothing, how to feed oneself, and that the God-Emperor protects.
Once Daragh reached adolescence a man came for him, separating him from his weeping brother and sister - never for him to see them again - and taking him to the planets Schola Progenia. It was here the he was disciplined, moulded into the man he would one day become, whipped and thrashed and scarred for life in his endeavour to be of service to the one true God of Mankind.
It would also be here that he would take an especial interest in law, even highlighting a natural aptitude for it to the Drill-Abbots, his black-and-white world view something that they found particularly endearing about the pale teenager.
One thing they did not know was that during those years, over a decade to be exact, he would also feel the touch...and more...of several female orphans of the Progenia, something that would have a profound affect upon his later life.
Although not immediately selected for the Arbites, serving instead as a Missionary for many years, traveling to far off locations and bringing the fiery words of the God-Emperor to unenlightened heathens across the Imperium and beyond, there was one event that would draw their attention toward him.
On the Hive World of Ignathium Tertras, as part of an Ecclesiarchy entourage going to bless one of the worlds plentiful cathedrals, he and the Arbites escort that they had been provided with were set upon by cultists bearing the mark of Tzeentch and wielding Guard-grade weapons. A firefight ensued, the members of the Imperial Church becoming the prime targets of the assault, and many of the Arbites falling - wounded or otherwise - as the assault progressed.
It was when the dust seemed to have settled, silence reigning, that the record seems to travel into the realms of the impossible...
One of the last remaining cultists stepped forward, faced only by a single brave Arbitrator - a man who would come to head his very own precinct in the future - his body twisting and warping, changed by the foul magics of his patron into the gods very own image. Death it was certain would have followed if the middle-aged Missionary had not intervened; his rosary held before him as divine protection, and verses of exorcism spilling without pause from his lips, Daragh stood between the pair and, so it is said, banished the Greater Daemon back to the warp.
Like all such tales, especially those that go unrecorded in official dispatches such as this did, it is open to questioning whether it even really happened!
Whether it did or whether it did not happen, when Daragh was a man in his fiftieth year he received a message from a Judge Catulo summoning him to the planet of Aphrodus Primaris, apparently he had been recommended to the post by an unknown Judge who 'owed him a life'. This began a seventy-year program of training in the Adeptus Arbites, and more particularly on Aphrodus Primaris.
It is only within the last year that he has been assigned to Strike Team Omnicron, well-versed in what needs to be done, and has taken up the post of Chaplain to those Arbites and specialists of Precinct S-12 with as much relish as any other task he has ever faced.
PERSONALITY: This servant of the Emperor is as varied in his personality as he is in most other things, a kind and warm follower of the Imperial Creed on the outside, but more than willing to take pot-shots at what he sees as discrepancies or simply blatant untruths within that very same creed.
While he is warm and friendly to those that he knows, his comrades-in-arms, and generally any followers of the faith, his attitude to the xenos, the mutant and the heretic is severe to the extreme - to say nothing of those odd few that have been found dead in custody when he was in the vicinity.
For example, he is happy to hand out aid to mutants, but he still views them as inferior and warped creatures to be shunned by pure-blooded humans. Another example of his own hypocrisy, which he acknowledges, is his knowledge of things that he really should not know; being a scholar-cleric and a warrior-monk he has learnt letters and even words of the insipid Eldar tongue, viewed and used fighting methods of the mutant underclasses of differing hive cities, and it is even whispered that he has looked upon tomes of Chaos and come away with his sanity intact.
Overall he has no extreme swings of personality - that he would publicly show - being a worshipper of the God-Emperor and follower of his laws to his very core, it just so happens that he has some foibles the same as everybody else.
MISCELLANEOUS: None.
HOMEWORLD: The planet of Oileán na Tost - Island of Silence in the local vernacular - is a rather insignificant 'Garden World' placed smack in the middle of the Segmentum Tempestus, a planet covered in large islands which in turn are themselves covered in plains of the greenest grass, hillocks and soaring mountain peaks, and little else. The only habitation on the islands are hamlets and villages of thatched cottages, the inhabitants friendly to the point of eccentricity (even more so when they've got some of the local fire water in their bellies) and these are at a level of technology barely above that of a blackpowder era. For the most part the Oileáners are herders, shepherds and pastoral experts, their only larger group of houses that could be given the name of 'town' being used as leisure retreats for high-ranking off-worlders.
What makes the planet interesting to the Imperium, outside of the opportunity to relax on a world nigh untouched by the wars and strife that ravage the rest of the galaxy, is the unique monastic traditions and more natural worship of the God-Emperor that the population take part in. For the most part this involves living in a mountain cave on nothing put bread and water, or dunking oneself into an ice-cold river or lake several times a day, reciting prayers and adorations to the Emperor in between said activities, the joys of flagellation also espoused by the planets priesthood for better or worse. More of note is the constant recitation and imbibing of knowledge from the local incarnation of the Lectitio Divinitatus, a furious belief in the Emperor and an almost word-for-word recall of the words being part of the recruitment process for any young man or woman wishing to enter the priesthood.
Although known for its peace and tranquility, an almost reverent atmosphere pervading the whole planet, Oileán na Tost has managed to raise no less than seven regiments for the Imperial Guard, each one devoted and unwavering in their duty to the One True God-Emperor. It has been noted that each regiment takes with it an over-large cadre of priests and robed monks, but that even they fight side-by-side with their brethren, the 6th Oileán Fusliers earning great renown during the purging of Eenoth when an attack spearheaded by one such holy formation drove a Chaotic force from the Cathedral of St Justine Maxillia there, and in the process saving the relics of the blessed saint.
AGE: 120, looks to be in his mid-fifties.
GENDER: Male
APPEARANCE: Most things about Daragh are diametrically opposed in one way or another, and this extends even to his outward appearance.
To begin with, kept relatively youthful by rejuvent treatments over the decades due to his position and profession, his fiery red hair, usually peaking atop his head in jutting spiked tufts, has kept the volume and lush look it began with in his younger years with the difference being that both it and the goatee-style beard about his mouth and chin are peppered with streaks and a dotting of grey follicles where he is undoubtedly aging albeit at a slower rate than others. His blue eyes on the other hand seem those of someone far older, set deep into the sockets of his oval-shaped face beneath low-set bushy brows, constrasting extremely with his feckled but pallid skin tone, they look out at believers and the damned alike with an intensity of gaze and purpose that would make a member of the Sororitas proud. Thin of lip, his mouth is mostly set in a neutral slit within his beards edges, able to flicker into an animated smile or twist into a furious snarl whenever required - he is very rarely anything less than pleasant though, so any down turning of the lips is not a good sign overall.
In terms of the rest of his body he is just as different, his broad frame and almost ape-like arms looking somewhat out of place when one notices the state he has kept himself in; while not 'fat' by any length of the word, he is nevertheless on the wrong side of physical fitness with his stomach being somewhat of a beer gut, his musculature slightly drooping, and generally not seeming to have kept himself in decent shape - were it not for the fact that he was over six-and-a-half feet tall it might even be comical! This in itself is an illusion...
It has astounded and stupified more than one rookie to see the jovial and unkempt Chaplain sprinting, yes, sprinting after a suspected felon, to watch as he scaled a wall or fence with as much ease as any of the younger Arbites, and especially to have themselves placed on their backs during close-quarter training sessions.
While he may look very much like a serene and comforting figure - which he undoubtedly is, being part of his remit after all - it would be foolish for anyone, friend or foe, to underestimate this fighting Chaplains physical prowess.
ROLE: (Combat) Chaplain of Strike-Team Omnicron, also known as Padre, Father or any of the titles usually used by those from varying backgrounds.
UNIFORM: Daragh wears the standard suit of black carapace armour as any other Arbitrator, although commonly eschewing the use of his helmet for his own reasons, the only other non-issue flourishes being the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy both embedded in the centre of his chest plate in gold - contained within it the conversion field of his rosarius, capable of stopping most incoming fire if his faith alone does not - and the similar white symbol painted on his shoulder pad. Over the armour he wears a patched and hooded robe of a monkish style, coarse and brown in colour, signifying his position as a Chaplain within the Arbites force and as a servant of the Ecclesiarchy at the same time.
EXPERTISE: Being that he is a Chaplain and servant of the God-Emperor first and foremost, his expertise direct themselves toward the holy, spiritual and divine for the most part, encompassing religious texts and verse, inspiring oratory skills and generally being a living beacon of the Emperor's grace and will in a dark and dank hole of the universe. In particular to Daragh is the little-known fact that he had an eidetic memory, capable of recalling scents, sounds, smells and images from many years ago all without the assistance of a mental cogitator unit. It was this very thing that helped him so much during his time at the Schola Progenia, and that sees him able to quote straight from the pages of holy books, to bond with others over shared interests they never knew he knew and to keep an expert eye on the flock of Arbites to which he has been assigned.
Due to his upbringing, his homeworld, and the character of its people he has become an 'expert' in being able to read others and anticipate - a useful skill when you are part of a wider policing force - able to pick out lier's, frauds and the unfaithful with almost supernatural accuracy, whether in a line-up or a busy crowd of civilians.
Two other things he specialises in are alcohol and women, being a purveyor of both, having been the master of his Chapter Houses brewery on his planet and overseeing the production of fine ale. The ale would usually lead to the women, holy orders on Oileán na Tost being mixed in terms of genders and their being no sin in more...social...interactions between individuals, as long as one continued to worship and serve. In fact Daragh is almost constantly drunk, in a state or haze of intoxication near constantly, but with a shocking ability to become much more sober in the blink of an eye - whether this is simply a side-effect of becoming dulled to so much drink, or whether he truly can control his blood-alocohol level, no one really knows.
Lastly is his surprising expertise with close-quarter fighting, although this may not be when one considers the almost recreational violence that went on between Chapter Houses. At county fayres, farmers markets and more, there could always be seen 'holy' men and women from the abbeys, monasteries and so forth drawing their sticks and cudgels in anticipation of the friendly cracking of a few heads! It got even worse when they were in the drink, something all too common on a peaceful world such as Oileán na Tost, drunken brawls and street fights teaching Daragh more than a few tricks of the trade and turning him into not only a holy warrior of the Emperor but also a damn dirty fighter when the need arises.
EQUIPMENT:
- Primary weapon: His primary weapon is also his melee weapon, see below.
- Secondary weapon: A simple and humble laspistol serves as the Chaplain's back-up; rugged, reliable and produced on Cadia, it is rarely used but is reasonably effective and has never jammed in a century of use.
- Melee weapon: It's a shock maul, Jim, but not as we know it!
Based on the traditional brawling weapon of his homeworld, the much maligned but very effective Síol Éalaigh or 'fighting stick', this shock maul has the solid metal shaft and head encased in solid and smooth Ghelrar wood and is about the length of an arm from the elbow to the tip of the fingers. The weapon has three settings, one for each level of damage intending to be inflicted on the adversary, ranging from the lowest where it is pretty much just a metal-reinforced cudgel, to a shock enough to floor a man, and up into a blast powerful enough to blow a hole through a chest or crush a skull. A simple loop of leather cord keeps it secure around his wrist during combat.
- Tertiary equipment: Holy oil for last rites, exorcisms and the like, basic medical equipment - nowhere near the level of an actual doctor or medic, bandages and so forth - and a simple rosary and beads without a refractor field.
- Mementos: He carries little from his 'past life', those precious items he does retain being the very robes he wears over his armour, a portfolio folder of past cases and personnel information on his parishioners, and a small leather-bound copy of An leabhar sainordú Dhiaga an Impire - The book of Silence and the Emperor's Divine Mandate - the teachings of his own monastic order and their own form of Emperor worship.
- Secondary weapon: A simple and humble laspistol serves as the Chaplain's back-up; rugged, reliable and produced on Cadia, it is rarely used but is reasonably effective and has never jammed in a century of use.
- Melee weapon: It's a shock maul, Jim, but not as we know it!
Based on the traditional brawling weapon of his homeworld, the much maligned but very effective Síol Éalaigh or 'fighting stick', this shock maul has the solid metal shaft and head encased in solid and smooth Ghelrar wood and is about the length of an arm from the elbow to the tip of the fingers. The weapon has three settings, one for each level of damage intending to be inflicted on the adversary, ranging from the lowest where it is pretty much just a metal-reinforced cudgel, to a shock enough to floor a man, and up into a blast powerful enough to blow a hole through a chest or crush a skull. A simple loop of leather cord keeps it secure around his wrist during combat.
- Tertiary equipment: Holy oil for last rites, exorcisms and the like, basic medical equipment - nowhere near the level of an actual doctor or medic, bandages and so forth - and a simple rosary and beads without a refractor field.
- Mementos: He carries little from his 'past life', those precious items he does retain being the very robes he wears over his armour, a portfolio folder of past cases and personnel information on his parishioners, and a small leather-bound copy of An leabhar sainordú Dhiaga an Impire - The book of Silence and the Emperor's Divine Mandate - the teachings of his own monastic order and their own form of Emperor worship.
BIOGRAPHY: Daragh Berach Fiachna Lorcan O' Shornassey was born over a century ago on the Garden World of Oileán na Tost, the eldest son in a family of three, his mother a weaver in one of the many small villages dotting the landscape, while his father had been selected from the planets small PDF contingent to help lead one of the very first Fusilier regiments raised from that green and fertile land.
The young man had a rather stable upbringing, until he reached the age of seven, the transport his father's regiment was on having been ambushed and annihilated by Chaos forces and his mother leaving for the Emperor's side not long after due to a wasting disease that blighted both crop and person indiscriminately.
Along with his younger siblings he was sent to one of the many monasteries on the plant, their lives already ones of devotion to the Emperor and the Saints of the Eccelsiarchy, the brothers and sisters there teaching them things that would serve them well in later life - letters and numbers, how to make ones own clothing, how to feed oneself, and that the God-Emperor protects.
Once Daragh reached adolescence a man came for him, separating him from his weeping brother and sister - never for him to see them again - and taking him to the planets Schola Progenia. It was here the he was disciplined, moulded into the man he would one day become, whipped and thrashed and scarred for life in his endeavour to be of service to the one true God of Mankind.
It would also be here that he would take an especial interest in law, even highlighting a natural aptitude for it to the Drill-Abbots, his black-and-white world view something that they found particularly endearing about the pale teenager.
One thing they did not know was that during those years, over a decade to be exact, he would also feel the touch...and more...of several female orphans of the Progenia, something that would have a profound affect upon his later life.
Although not immediately selected for the Arbites, serving instead as a Missionary for many years, traveling to far off locations and bringing the fiery words of the God-Emperor to unenlightened heathens across the Imperium and beyond, there was one event that would draw their attention toward him.
On the Hive World of Ignathium Tertras, as part of an Ecclesiarchy entourage going to bless one of the worlds plentiful cathedrals, he and the Arbites escort that they had been provided with were set upon by cultists bearing the mark of Tzeentch and wielding Guard-grade weapons. A firefight ensued, the members of the Imperial Church becoming the prime targets of the assault, and many of the Arbites falling - wounded or otherwise - as the assault progressed.
It was when the dust seemed to have settled, silence reigning, that the record seems to travel into the realms of the impossible...
One of the last remaining cultists stepped forward, faced only by a single brave Arbitrator - a man who would come to head his very own precinct in the future - his body twisting and warping, changed by the foul magics of his patron into the gods very own image. Death it was certain would have followed if the middle-aged Missionary had not intervened; his rosary held before him as divine protection, and verses of exorcism spilling without pause from his lips, Daragh stood between the pair and, so it is said, banished the Greater Daemon back to the warp.
Like all such tales, especially those that go unrecorded in official dispatches such as this did, it is open to questioning whether it even really happened!
Whether it did or whether it did not happen, when Daragh was a man in his fiftieth year he received a message from a Judge Catulo summoning him to the planet of Aphrodus Primaris, apparently he had been recommended to the post by an unknown Judge who 'owed him a life'. This began a seventy-year program of training in the Adeptus Arbites, and more particularly on Aphrodus Primaris.
It is only within the last year that he has been assigned to Strike Team Omnicron, well-versed in what needs to be done, and has taken up the post of Chaplain to those Arbites and specialists of Precinct S-12 with as much relish as any other task he has ever faced.
PERSONALITY: This servant of the Emperor is as varied in his personality as he is in most other things, a kind and warm follower of the Imperial Creed on the outside, but more than willing to take pot-shots at what he sees as discrepancies or simply blatant untruths within that very same creed.
While he is warm and friendly to those that he knows, his comrades-in-arms, and generally any followers of the faith, his attitude to the xenos, the mutant and the heretic is severe to the extreme - to say nothing of those odd few that have been found dead in custody when he was in the vicinity.
For example, he is happy to hand out aid to mutants, but he still views them as inferior and warped creatures to be shunned by pure-blooded humans. Another example of his own hypocrisy, which he acknowledges, is his knowledge of things that he really should not know; being a scholar-cleric and a warrior-monk he has learnt letters and even words of the insipid Eldar tongue, viewed and used fighting methods of the mutant underclasses of differing hive cities, and it is even whispered that he has looked upon tomes of Chaos and come away with his sanity intact.
Overall he has no extreme swings of personality - that he would publicly show - being a worshipper of the God-Emperor and follower of his laws to his very core, it just so happens that he has some foibles the same as everybody else.
MISCELLANEOUS: None.
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