[CHAR] Beyond Civilisations Grasp... - A Rogue Trader (WH40K) RP (ON HIATUS, closed for now.)

[Jb]

Patus Gaelor - Enginseer - Hank

Pratus Gaelor

Name: Pratus Gaelor.

Age: 42.

Gender: Male.

Race: Human.

Appearance: As an Enginseer of the Machine Cult, Gaelor looks less like a person and more like a machine. Gaelor's right eye is a bionic implant, a point of bright red light in the dark, metallic socket, while his left eye is still the biological original; a dark iris, almost black, like the eye of a shark. Gaelor, like many tech-priests, shaves his head to keep it bald. The lower half of his face has been replaced by a mechanical vox-unit and breathing apparatus, and all of his limbs are artificial bionics. A Mechadendrite sprouts from his right shoulderblade, curving up and over his shoulder to assist with physical tasks like construction, maintenance and combat. The bionic nature of his limbs acts as armor in-and-of itself, and to supplement this, Gaelor wears carapace armor into battle to cover his vulnerable and fleshy torso. Over all of this, Gaelor wears a long, hooded, white cloak with the skull-sigil of the Adeptus Mechanicus stitched onto the back. He always carries a Power blade (roughly 30cm in length) and a lascarbine with folding stock with him; you never know.

Personality: Like all of the members of the Machine Cult, Pratus Gaelor seems to have lost the knack of interacting with people normally. He has dropped all pretense of adhering to social norms and speaks his mind bluntly. Coupled with the flat tone generated by his vox-unit, Gaelor sounds permanently deadpan and often unintentionally sarcastic.

His greatest interest is, of course, machinery and technology. In fact, it's the main reason for his presence at Outpost 57, so far from the Forge Worlds of his cult. In order to prove his worth to the Adeptus Mechanicus and rise the ranks of the priesthood, Gaelor wants to obtain revolutionary (or ancient) technologies from beyond the fringes of the Imperium. Where the rest of the Imperium rejects the incorporation of alien technology (the Inquisition actively punishes such practices), the Adeptus Mechanicus has always been a law unto itself, and Gaelor doesn't see anything wrong with toying with xenos tech. Anything to expand their knowledge and power; the end justifies the means. As such, Gaelor's appreciation for human lives is a little spotty at best and he will not hesitate to sacrifice others to further his ambitions.

Whenever Gaelor's attention isn't occupied by machinery, he enjoys playing a match of regicide and arguing about the position of the Machine Cult within the Imperium.

History: Pratus Gaelor was born on the Forge World Incaladion, situated in the Imperium's Ultima Segmentum. As such, his destiny was pretty much sealed from birth, destined to either slave away in the Forge World's factories or join the Adeptus Mechanicus priesthood. Fortune (or the Omnissiah) favored Gaelor and he was selected for the priesthood.

From a young age, Gaelor's ambition was already apparent. His parents had both been lowly individuals and the newly-appointed adept Gaelor was determined to make a name for himself. Unfortunately, this was going to involve a lot of work. He knew that staying on the Forge World was never going to allow him to buy his way into the higher, ruling ranks of the priesthood by contributing to the Quest For Knowledge, so Gaelor elected to become an Enginseer. The practical knowledge of maintenance and construction that an Enginseer possesses means that he is a valuable asset to any Imperial institution, which, in turn, opens doors and creates opportunities.

For a solid two decades, Pratus Gaelor served the Imperial Navy, attached to the Retribution-class battleship Heresy's Bane during its campaigns and conquests. Gaelor saw action all over the galaxy and was required to perform emergency repairs (along with his many colleagues on the ship -- one Enginseer cannot possibly keep such a warship operational alone) during the heat of battle multiple times. Gaelor learned a lot about void-worthy ships during this time and subsequently specialized in their maintenance, but eventually Gaelor reluctantly admitted that being stuck on a warship wasn't going to advance his career.

After a particularly arduous battle, Heresy's Bane required significant repairs beyond the ability of the ship's Enginseers. The warship docked over the skies of Gudrun, a gamma-class Imperial world ruled by mostly corrupt noble houses. Gaelor abused this and deserted the ship and the Navy, allying himself with a noble house who wanted to learn the Adeptus Mechanicus' secrets for themselves. They hid Gaelor from the prying eyes of the Navy, who eventually left the world, leaving the Enginseer behind. Of course, Gaelor betrayed the noble house and fled, stowing away on board a ship leaving for a distant destination.

Over time, Gaelor has made his way to Outpost 57 after hearing rumors of the varied and exotic visitors to the facility. There, Gaelor is looking for new opportunities to finally fulfill his wish once and for all -- to discover something that will grant him all the prestige among the Adeptus Mechanicus he desires.

Skills: As an Enginseer, Gaelor is uniquely skilled at maintaining and repairing Imperial equipment and vehicles. This makes him an invaluable asset to anyone wishing to foray into foreign space, something Gaelor plans to utilize to the best of his abilities. He knows how to repair Imperial weapons and patch up most types of armor, including flak and carapace armor. Gaelor's true specialty is the day-to-day maintenance and emergency repairs of large, void-capable starships. He also knows how to operate an atmospheric lander or dropship (and, of course, how to keep them in shape). As is expected of any tech-priest, Gaelor is also skilled at operating and interpreting cogitators.

As far as combat goes, Gaelor is relatively inexperienced. During his service on board the Heresy's Bane, Gaelor was occasionally forced to engage in combat against enemy boarding parties, and he always kept his aim sharp on the ship's firing range, but that's about it. Compared to any veteran Guardsman, Gaelor is woefully untrained. However, his augmentations and bionics give him an edge in close-quarters combat (the Mechadendrite, especially, is very useful) and his bionic eye-assisted aim is naturally superior to a similarly-experienced human.

Equipment:
- Lascarbine with folding stock; three clips of ammunition
- Power blade (30cm long; basically an energized shortsword)
- Carapace armor (torso only)
- Various small tools to facilitate equipment and vehicle maintenance
- Mechadendrite, attached to his right shoulderblade, tipped with grasping claws and an arc welder
- Data slate, attached to his left wrist
- White, hooded Adeptus Mechanicus robe

Miscellaneous: I realize the history is a little bland, but how much can you do with an Enginseer, really?

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Safi Mora - Unhinged Guard Veteran - Peik

THESE WOUNDS, THEY WILL NOT HEAL

Name: Safi Mora

Age: 57

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Safi is a well-built, strong looking man for his age. Of average height, weight, and bearing shaven graying brown hair along with a well-trimmed five o’clock shadow, Safi frankly lacks anything that would make him stand out in a crowd except his eyes. As if wanting to vent out and flush the horrors this man has seen throughout his tenure in the Military, his eyes are wide open, his pupils shrunken to simple dots in the middle of his irises. The rest of his oval face is quite plain – his cheeks are sunken, his nose is slightly crooked to the left, courtesy of a rifle butt, and on his lip rests a very faint scar that healed long ago, but still left its mark.

Safi’s clothing is simple although well made, reminiscent of his time served in the Imperial Guard – when out of his armor, Safi simply wears a dull yellow coat, similar to those that are worn by the Armageddon Steel Legion troopers, adorned with medals, over his regular dark grey fatigues. Where there’s possibility of combat, Safi wears carapace armor over his regular clothing, blackened to absorb light, except the back plate, which is painted red, as it seems to let him outrun others when running away from Orks. Safi arms himself with a lasrifle using drum magazines, a laspistol and a power sword for battle.

Personality: Safi’s personality seems to be based around combat. He’s obedient, quiet, and ruthless when needed. The bad thing, however, is that he carries these traits in regular life as well. His time served in the Imperial Guard has broken his spirit to a point that he has shut down everything except his training. He rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s very short and objective. Having lost his sense of humor, and practically shut down all emotion, he’s not exactly good with people. In truth, Safi is scared shitless of everything he’s faced so far, and is still afraid. And thus, he’s shut down his fear. The rest of his personality has shut down alongside it.

History: Safi was born to middle-upper class citizens on the Hive World of Avellorn, on the relatively upper levels of the Hive. Perhaps thanks to his good physique or because of his parents’ desire to get a better foothold in the politics of the Hive, Safi was grown up quite martially and was prepared to become an officer in the Avellorn Planetary Defense Force. Throughout his childhood, he studied and idolized the Military. Be it the stubbornness of the Imperial Guard, or the wrath the Space Marines brought down upon the enemy, Safi had an almost childlike fascination with it. And when he finally was accepted into the Planetary Defense Force, Safi was incredibly happy.

Assigned as Sergeant to the Underhive Reclamation Units, a rather controversial branch started by one of the Ruling Houses of Avellorn, Safi spent his first few years quite uneventful, mostly pushing back gangs who had claimed the Underhives for more housing and new workers. During this time, he was kept information about events that were going on in the Upper Hive, perhaps thanks to the contempt of the other branches of the Planetary Defense Force against the entire Underhive Reclamation Unit concept. So when he came face to face with gangers armed with equipment of the Planetary Defense Force, he was quite confused. He got even more confused when, a week later, they started finding corpses mangled to make profane symbols, and pyramids of skulls. He had his group retreat to the Underhive Reclamation Unit Headquarters, as orders often seemed to contradict each other.

Twelve minutes after their retreat into the Headquarters, they started coming. Millions of Underhive residents, gangers, civilians, workers, and various sorts of scum, started pouring out of the tunnels, maintenance paths and station roads, rushing the walls of the Ground Level of the Hive, roaring their lungs out. While preparing himself for the incoming onslaught, Safi was suddenly called back to the Upper Hive, where his family resided. Safi, alongside the rest of the officers and children of important people, found himself in an elevator, quite cozy and well decorated compared to what he had been exposed to for the last few weeks. But then, the elevator stopped just a few hundred floors below their destination. To make matters worse, they started getting shot at almost immediately upon the opening of the doors.

Safi, somehow surviving, realized that the men shooting at them were PDF, only not of the Underhive Reclamation Unit. After finding out the hard way that it wasn’t friendly fire and that they were deemed enemies, Safi set his lasrifle to full auto, and decided to get to where he was called, or die trying. That, and he was probably going to die if he didn’t get there anyway – from what he had heard from PDF communication channels, the lower floors were getting filled to the brim with blood crazed Underhive residents. Safi knew two things – he wanted to live this through, and understand just what the fuck was going on. So, right after setting his gun to full auto, he stripped himself of his Underhive Reclamation Unit uniform, and donned the guise of a regular PDF guard to make his ascent easier. And it worked – nobody cared who really was in the middle of the shitstorm.

He finally got his answers from a PDF commander. It seemed that, while Safi was down in the Underhives, kicking out unwilling residents and shooting at gang members, tension between the Ruling Houses had grown into an all out civil war in the Upper Hives. And to make matters worse, one of the Houses had fallen to heresy, and had called upon Ruinous Powers brewing underneath the Underhive to help them take over. And the Underhive Reclamation Unit was caught in the crossfire, not belonging to the Ruling House that administered to the PDF Land Branch itself, but not a part of the Heretic Forces either.

Carving himself a path through the few Heretic PDF forces he had come upon and Mercenaries hired against the PDF during his ascent to the Upper Hive, Safi finally managed to find his parents. He learned that the Imperial Guard was sending forces to curb out the Civil War and end the Heresy. His parents were able to get themselves a ticket off the planet in the meanwhile, and Safi was also expected to come with them. Although conflicted, Safi eventually accepted – though they would learn that it was in vain, as the Artillery was shooting down everything on the sky, and their ship was also amongst the casualties. Safi decided to lead his family to the High Spire of the Hive – it had only one entrance, and it was the furthest they could get away from the flames of war.

Leading a ragtag force from the people in the Docking Station higher, Safi, his family, and a bunch of survivors were able to reach the High Spire. Blowing up the elevator and barricading anything that led downstairs, Safi and the survivors started waiting for the Imperial Guard. And after two days of waiting, the Imperial Guard arrived. However, during these two days, the Heretics had wiped out nearly everyone in the Hive, and some were on their way to take the High Spire. Safi and the survivors led a stand against the Heretics who had crawled up the elevator shaft, though it was in vain and eventually, they were overrun, save Safi and a Mercenary, who had managed to survive by locking themselves in the Imperial Governor’s Quarters. Realizing all too well that the Heretics were probably going to barge in eventually, the Mercenary and Safi decided to commit suicide, believing it’d be far more painless than the treatment they’d receive from the Heretics. The Mercenary shot himself, and Safi chickened out.

Finding himself completely burnt out and exhausted, too scared to commit suicide but too scared to get killed by the heretics as well, Safi sat down on the stairs leading to the Throne and waited for the Heretics to finally barge through and do what he couldn’t do. A day later, the doors were blown open, and the Imperial Guard found Safi, lying unconscious on the stairs. Following the end of the affair, Safi was taken into the Imperial Guard, as there was pretty much nothing left on the planet. Safi hoped that it’d be over. It was not.

For the following 20-something years, Safi found himself taken from battle to battle, infestation to infestation, experiences that would make his first real challenge look like a walk in the park. Safi himself had no idea how he managed to drag himself through all of it. He just knew he did. Sometime in the past, he did not remember when – he had managed to finally end his fear. He wasn’t sure whether it was in the Avellorn Civil War, or in his battles against the Orks, or in the Purge of a Slaaneshi cult in Hermetica.

He eventually got discharged, with a chest full of medals, and a meager sum of money. Safi finally had the time to move on with his life. Only, he realized, he had been in combat for far too long to remember anything else. He drifted from planet to planet, in hopes of putting it all behind him – he did nearly everything he had once deemed despicable to forget. But Safi couldn’t. So he decided to accept it – he had lived in combat, and he was going to die in combat. He got hired as a mercenary, and started accompanying whoever paid into battle. Perhaps thanks to experiences in his past, he built up quite a reputation. Eventually, fate led him to Outpost 57, where he’d get hired once more.

Skills: Safi, having led a life of combat, knows one thing, and that is combat. He really doesn’t know much about anything else. He can handle nearly all kinds of guns with ease, and is someone to be reckoned with, be it in melee or ranged battle. A decorated Imperial Guard veteran, he’s gathered much experience in anything related to infantry combat, and has a gaze that would make a thousand-yard look like the gaze of a cherub. Anything else, however, is nil.

Equipment:
-Lasrifle with a folding stock – often equipped with drum magazines
-Las-lock pistol
-Power Saber
-Laminar Carapace armor – covers entire body except lower legs

Miscellaneous: Lacks a single rib. I usually don’t like edgy/traumatized characters, but it is WH40K after all – I just couldn’t think of anything else. He's not a super duper killing machine - just a really experienced and traumatised guy, who's, in the end, only human.

[Jb]

Solasier Ra - Homesick Eldar Death Machine - Dead Cruiser

Solasier Ra

Name: Solasier Ra

Age: 568

Gender: Male

Race: Eldar

Appearance: As one of the mortal sons of Asuryan, Solasier's appearance is vaguely similar to that of a human, but distinct so many ways that he could not be mistaken for one. Tall and thin in build, his body is mostly comprised of densely-corded muscle, giving him strength and speed far beyond that which his lithe form suggests. The sharp, angular lines to his face and his elfin features give Solasier both otherworldly beauty and unnerving, inhuman androgyny. Though the typical Mon-keigh would not notice such subtleties, Solasier's age and experience are beginning to show on his face; creases brought on by the weariness that only battle can bring marr his face, and silver has begun to creep into his long, raven-black hair. Solasier's skin is the color of natural silk (a swarthy color for an Eldar, but an unnatural hue to a human), and his eyes resemble cut topaz, possessing a dangerous glint and a predatory gaze.

While in casual company Solasier wears light garments typical of a corsair, ubiquitously dark in coloration. His mesh armor, however, is quite distinctive to those familiar with Eldar technology. Rather than the standard-issue armor issued to guardians, his is the heavily-modified suit unique to corsairs, beetle-black in color and outfitted with a corsair jump-pack. His lasblaster, splinter pistol and balelight gauntlet are similar in coloration and construction, and are adorned with the various runes custom to his Craftworld and corsair band.

Personality: Solasier is an unusually relaxed sort of Eldar, far more sociable and accommodating than many of his kind. Granted, by human standards he is still unpleasantly uptight and standoffish, but he is not impossible to get along with. He strikes some as a sort of hedonist, seeking out new adventures and experiences. While this is a dangerous path for an Eldar to tread, his centuries of learned discipline guide him in seeking wisdom and knowledge, rather than purely pleasure and sensation. Sharply observant and dangerously cunning, Solasier possesses at once a cold pragmatism that would strike most races as cold and heartless, and a flair for the dramatic that sways between frivolity and needless cruelty. Despite his humanlike shape, his Mon-keigh allies must keep wary of his still distinctly inhuman thought processes, at once capricious and subject to succumbing to obsession.

History: "Solasier Ra" is not the true name of the Eldar agent known by his human allies. Rather it is a pseudonym taken some decades ago on the outset of his departure on the Path of the Outcast. That aside, Solasier was born as most Eldar are in this dark age: in the deep void aboard a Craftworld. Kaelor was his home; a remote, backwater world unnotable for much beyond nearly colliding with Saim-Hann, and a series of internecine house wars. Solasier took up the Path of Awakening upon reaching adulthood, and quickly moved onto the Path of the Artisan, choosing to manufacture weapons with which his people could defend themselves. However, as the rivalries between the Great Houses escalated, they demanded weapons from the gunsmiths of Kaelor. Solasier considered contributing to further violence between his people to be distasteful, and so changed over to the Path of the Warrior, as the Aspect Warriors had declared neutrality in the strife.

Solasier chose the aspect of the Swooping Hawk, an airborne warrior. In his many years spent as an Aspect Warrior, Solasier came to relish the freedom brought by sailing through the skies over a battlefield. He felt untouchable, unconstrained by the petty rivalries that embroiled his Craftworld. In time, he came to be a highly-respected warrior, considered to be among the most agile flyers and the keenest marksmen in Kaelor. Even so, Solasier kept on for the freedom that battle brought him, not for the recognition of his people or even really to defend his world. However, after so many years in his Aspect Armor, he could feel a psychic tug binding him to it. This horrified Solasier, as he realized that he was very close to becoming an Exarch of the Swooping Hawks. He was shocked and almost disgusted by the idea, as such lifelong commitment was at severe odds with his hate of bindings and restraints.

At once, Solasier left his Craftworld, taking on the Path of the Outcast. He considered no other option to be sufficient to distance himself from what he had nearly become. He wandered the Calixis Sector for some time, eventually drifting out into the Koronus Expanse. It was there that he became involved with the Children of Thorns, a particularly ruthless band of Eldar Corsairs. Mostly consisting of Druuchi, the dark brothers of the Craftworld Eldar, the Children of Thorns were cruel and merciless pirates, raiding many ships and worlds throughout the sector for slaves and treasure. Solasier once again achieved notoriety among the corsairs for his skill in battle, particularly in his mastery of the customary jump-packs of the corsairs. For years he reveled in the pure liberty that piracy and lawlessness brought him, having never realized how constricting life aboard a Craftworld truly was.

After spending many years as a pirate, Solasier's thoughts have begun to return home. He wondered if he could in some way help Kaelor, and make it less of a suffocating and dour place for future generations. These thoughts brought the realization that Solasier was for the first time naturally reaching the end of his chosen path, and yearning for the next. With this in mind, he has departed the Children of Thorns, and seeks to close out the Path of the Outcast, perhaps with another few decades of high adventure, before returning to his Craftworld.

Skills: Solasier is a fierce and unrelenting warrior, as many Eldar who walk the warrior's Path are. Already physically and mentally superior to a human, his training gives him frightening lethality on the battlefield; as he moves faster than a human eye can track, and is stronger than a natural human could ever be. His intuition is supernaturally sharp, a boon of his natural psychic sensitivity. His accuracy with a lasgun is uncanny, and he is an undisputed master of airborn battle and tactics. Skilled as well in boarding tactics and melee combat, he truly lives up to his reputation as a terrifying pirate of the Koronus expanse. His previous Paths have brought him keen skills of observation; there is little that escapes his eagle-eyed notices. As well, he has a fair deal of knowledge in the art of crafting Eldar weapons, allowing him to adequately repair and maintain his own weapons, or even craft makeshift ammunition in emergencies. Solasier has explored much of the Halo Worlds, and has considerable knowledge of the Koronus Expanse and the various worlds and regions beneficial to pirates and other such outlaws.

Equipment: The equipment and weapons Solasier carries are mostly accumulated from his various Paths walked throughout his life. His corsair mesh armor his specially modified to allow him to survive in the void of space for hours at a time, as well as advanced optics to aid his already superb marksmanship. Attached to his armor is a corsair jump-pack, which gives him extreme mobility both in-atmosphere and in zero-gravity. His primary weapon is an Eldar lasblaster, the ritual weapon of the Swooping Hawks; similar to a human lasgun, but with far greater power, accuracy and efficiency. He carries a variety of sidearms, such as a splinter pistol gifted to him by one of his Dark Eldar comrades, a balelight laser gauntlet carried as an emergency weapon, and a void sabre, earned by many years of fruitful piracy. Strapped Solasier's leg is a piece of equipment normally unique to Swooping Hawks, which he managed to keep as he departed on his current Path: a grenade pack. A slight misnomer, as it is actually a form of grenade launcher, it offers tactical advantage to warriors by carrying and firing a variety of explosives, including frag, plasma, krak and haywire grenades. The pack can also be easily opened to retrieve and throw grenades normally. Lastly, his soulstone (which outs him as a Craftworld Eldar, as opposed to a Dark Eldar) is typically worn over his heart on his armor.

Miscellaneous: !!

[Jb]

Aryon Lex - Gentleman Psyker - Flagg

Aryon Lex, Gentleman of Fortune

Name: Aryon Lex
Age: 80, looks 40 thanks to juvenat work

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: A handsome, well-groomed man of average height and build, with sharp green eyes and black hair starting to grey at the temples, with a trim goatee. Wears expensive, well-cut suits in the Gudrun style, usually crimson or dark blue, with a matching ascot. Lex can usually be seen with a drink in hand and/or smoking a lho-stick.

Personality: Elegant and affected, Lex is a man of culture and learning, with a quick wit and slightly blasphemous sense of humor. His somewhat over-the-top politesse masks a calculating mind.

History:

A Little History

Born on the obscure Imperial frontier world of Rylo II, to a wealthy family of Grox-ranchers, Lex's youth was one of restless boredom with his provincial setting and fascination with broader Imperial culture and learning. In this he was somewhat discouraged by his parents, who resented Imperial taxes and the depredations of a Guard base near several of their grox-ranches. Aryon Lex discovered his latent psychic talents early, when he caused a charging grox to not only back down, but turn and defend him against several of the other cantankerous lizards in the pen he had accidentally fallen into. Lex's family knew enough to hide him from the Imperial and ecclesiarchy authorities as best they could, which on a rural frontier world turned out to be not incredibly difficult.

Lex's life changed irrevocably on his thirteenth year, when Rylo II came under attack from the sky. Giant rocks fell burning from heaven, and hulking xenos monsters flooded the world. Aryon Lex barely escaped in a grox-shipping lifter and a mass-hauling conveyance that fled the crude xenos fleet.

His life since has been one on the margins of Imperial society, plying his psychic gifts as a private investigator, augur, and fixer in the service of crimelords, the rich and mighty (including several prelates of the Church), smugglers and pirates, and the occasional petty cultist. Mentored by other unsanctioned psykers operating in the shadows of the Imperium, Lex makes up for in street-smarts and cunning what he lacks in formal training, and has so far managed to stay one step ahead of the agents of the Holy Ordos.

Why Lex came to Outpost 57 is a bit of a mystery- it has something to do with a botched job on Gudrun. Whatever happened there, the psyker wishes to disappear off the Imperial grid, and has come to Outpost 57 looking to take up with a Rogue Trader.

Skills: Lex is a psyker of considerable power, of Delta designation at least. In particular, he is a skilled telepath and telekine. link

Equipment: Custom hellpistol, and a valise containing various specialized psyker equipment, including a tome on hexagrammic warding, and a psyocculum in the form of a signet ring.

[Jb]

Nisvillia Blissponis - Big Mama's House - Kingfisher

Nisvillia Blissponis

Name: Nisvillia Blissponis

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Race: Human

Appearance: Nisvillia is a huge, heavy young woman, who carries most of her weight in her enormous stomach. Her neck is thick with fat, and her plump face bares a double-chin. She has soft arms, decked with pillowy flab, and her muscular legs have become built like tree trunks from supporting her immense weight. She has dark lips which conceal glistening white teeth, and emerald green eyes shimmer on either side of her stout nose. An explosion of fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders, falling in loose tangles, and a mishmash of bright freckles are splattered across her pale face. Her cheeks are rosy and puffy, and she is reasonably large-breasted. She has a relaxed and casual stance, with slopped shoulders and a slightly curved spine.

Nisvillia dresses in a fairly stylish manner, garbing herself in a loose shirt of black metal-like fabric, worn under a dark red jacket. Sleek black leggings are clad around her legs, and sturdy yet elegant combat boots garb her feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Becoming further intertwined with the black market, Nisvillia started to draw cautious eyes from the station’s most vicious gangsters, which she took as leave to seek out her fortune elsewhere. Fleeing to Outpost 57, the young woman has established a niche for herself offering mercenary work to aspiring guns for hire, working as a gateway for crime bosses to hand out contracts to the faceless drivels of hoodlums and renegades who flock to the once military facility.

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

Equipment: -Monomolecular knife
-Scoped Laspistol


Miscellaneous: N/A

[Jb]

Mycandra Castell - One Badass Nun! - Durandal

Mycandra Castell

Name: Mycandra Castell

Age: 37

Gender: Female

Race: Human

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Equipment:

-Adepta Sororitas power armor
-Bolt Pistol
-Litanies of Faith
-Simulacrum Imperialis
-Hand Flamer
-Medicus Ministorum

Miscellaneous: I fight in His name. Do you?

[Jb]

Dagmar Rygh - You call that a knife?! - Pripovednik

The Dagger

Name:
Dagmar Rygh
The Dagger

Age:
26

Gender:
Male

Race:
Human

Appearance:
A thick, strong and dark leather armoured jacket sits comfortably on the wide shoulders of this man, beneath it hides a flak vest. The jackets high necked collar hugs his muscular neck close and teases the bottom of his pierced ears, rumpling and hanging slightly forward at his bearded chin. Said collar is, on occasion, pulled up to cover this mans mouth and nose completely.

This mans mouth is narrow and its lips dark, the white teeth behind them stand straight and to attention, just as his hair is – infinitely dark hairs atop his head in a short Mohawk. His thin nose slices through his masculine features in the centre of his face, small nostrils and slightly pointed tip, the only hint of fairness about him. Scars adorned his tanned skins, writhing from his crown, meandering around his Mohawk in thick streams to end at his forehead in sharp points.

If you were to free your attention from his ensnaring and piercing stare, ripping free from his pale blue eyes and furious eyebrows, you will see that the afore mentioned jacket has sleeves down to this mans hands, which take refugee in black fingerless gloves. The knuckles of the gloves exhibit sharp but short metal blades.

Looking past his upper body and its praiseworthy physique you will see that, like his jacket, his legs are covered in a strong and dark leather. Both knees are bolstered by an extra thick layered plate, at his ankle the trousers end, tied tightly and narrowed. This mans boots are black and the laces pulled back until his feet have no chance of escape, a metal plate stretches around the toes.

On the outside of each athletic leg are two dagger sheaths, making four in total. In each a straight blade sits snugly, the handles a pale grey. Over this mans shoulder is a sword handle leading to a long sharp blade in a holster. With a slight curve at its central ridge and a sharp cross guard, the blade is impressive.

On his wide shoulders are two other slightly larger sheaths, these are curved completely as the blades inside are, medium sized blades with crimson pummels and interchangeable grips.

Among all these blades a crossbow sits sideways on the back of his belt, three metal bolts strapped to its barrel, all of them with a distinct blade tip and trailing rope.

This man is sharp, this man is deadly, this man is Dagmar Rygh – The Dagger.

Personality:
Dagmar is not one that respects weakness, far from it in fact. He dislikes, or perhaps hates is the right word, anyone who brings harm to the innocent and undeserving - no more so than chaos. After the death and loss of all that he knows, Dagmar plays his past close to his chest, instead choosing to live his life as if it started on the Governors company above his home planet. With very little motivation other than to live to continue ripping evil from the universe, Dagmar tries to grow on himself in this way.

When interacting with others Dagmar listens silently and replies thoughtfully, saving the recipient from any lashing or impulsive reactions most feral worlders would give - sometimes he reads too deep into things.

History:
Dagmar was born on a feral world, where he grew up among the other male warriors, exposed to blood and grit, he could hunt by the age of seven. As it was on his world, his parents died young to illness, he replaced his fathers position in the raiding party at age fourteen. When he came of age Dagmar tied with a female named Tulie, they had five children, four of which died before they could talk.

The fifth was named Luj'ra after his father and was a strong young boy.

On the Day of the Dark, a solar eclipse, chaos' taint corrupted the warriors of the tribe and turned them on their own. Out hunting with the hunting elites on this exceptional Day of Dark, the small group returned to a horrific scene of death and fire. The warriors had slaughtered the tribe and their bodies decorated the floors and walls, a few still fought among each other, an indescribable evil surrounded them as they sparred in front of the flaming buildings.

Charging enraged into battle with his hunter brothers, Dagmar sliced his way through two of the corrupted to his hut, shifting through the embers and dying flames. Quickly he burst into the central room to find his son, blade in hand, stood over the cold body of his mother.

Slowly he approached the scene, and as he reached out to take the blade from the boy, he spun and struck out. Blocking blow after blow from his son, tears ebbed at his eyes and his hands ached at every parry. After what seemed like hours of this torture, having to look into his murderous sons eyes, one parry sent the small blade flying away.

Quickly he grabbed his son, bear hugging him close telling to calm himself, but the boy broke free and grabbed at a splintered wooden beam. Scarping the tip along his fathers scalp, Dagmar's blood mixed with his tears as he struggled with his son, falling down he held him above him, his arms flailing to strike his face.

Unknown to him, one of his hunting party had walked in on this situation, and not knowing who fought with his leader, stabbed out with his spear. Dagmar held his son above him as he had when he was an infant, their blood stained his shirt, and he watched as the life dripped forth from the wound.

Walking with Luj'ra in his arms, Dagmars feet dragged out into the village centre as a small shuttle burst through the clouds. The imperial soldiers watched on as he buried his son in the dirt, they burnt everything that they could and broke with they couldn't. Only he and a few others had survived, the gaurds demanded they be interrogated and tested for any lingering chaos.

After interrogation the planetary governor took a liking to Dagmar and empathised to his story, hiring him as a middle man for negotiations between him and the world below, and later as a personal body guard. After 5 loyal years protecting Mathias from those who would see him dead, one particular woman came closer than all the others. What Dagmar had thought to be a veteran hand help, was infarct the incredibly long and intricate camouflage of an assassin.

Dagmar had his suspicion when she derailed a celebratory meal for her own menu of food, when she returned to the kitchen after setting out the first course, Dagmar took a mouthful before Mathias did. At first the taste was pleasant and of sweet berries, he savoured it momentarily with pleasure. Very suddenly it burnt and singed and before he knew it the insides of his mouth were on fire.

Spitting the contents out, his teeth were all but corroded and his tongue and gums ripped and raw, moaning in pain he chased the would be killer into the storage room where he found them readying a side arm, he subdued her and brought her to Mathias.

Having saved his life, Mathias gave Dagmar his freedom and wealth as well as surgery to fix his mouth and his scars upon his head. Dagmar accepted the repairing of his mouth but chose to keep his scars as a reminder of his past. Dagmar refused much of the privileges, he would rather it was spent on those below him, those that knew of the loss he had been stricken with.

Dagmar sought to rid his soul of this overwhelming rage and sorrow, and so found comfort in mercenary work. His latest contract was successful and he now rests at Outpost 57, inspecting him spoils.

Skills:
Dagmar is a master with a blade, throwing, stabbing or slashing – you name it. A side from that he is above average at acrobatics, very athletic and lean as well as a proficient tracker. All of these skills he acquired while on his home world, hunting, fighting and running.

Skills learnt while off planet include spot assisting, rogue-like activity such as spying and sneaking and a proficiency with poisons.

Poison proficiency: Basic and some alternative ingredients are used to make poisons, delayed poisons and narcotics.

Equipment:
Auspex/Scanner (left eye adjustable)
3 satchels of assorted concoction and poison (2 vials each pouch, metal containers non-labelled)
Micro-bead communications system
Distortion Field – Grants a crude invisibility at long ranges and a confusing mirage up close

Miscellaneous:
Do not touch Dagmar's blades without his permission, he dislikes this profusely.

[Jb]

Gravius Pemelton - Navigator on the run - agentmanatee

Gravius Pemelton

Name- Gravius of house Pemelton

Age: 328 Terran years

Gender: Male

Race: Human (Navigator mutant)

Appearance: Gravius is a Navigator of increasing age, his hair has grayed and wrinkles have formed on his face, though he stands straight and tall. Long years spent on star ships have given him pale gray skin.

His eyes are all blue, though his warp eye has begun darkening as he has grown in age and power. His face is clean shaven, his eyebrows are thin and well trimmed. The hair on his head is curiously cut, the sides are largely shaved but the hair on top has been kept thick, his long bangs are brushed to the left side of his face. His teeth are white and similarly well cleaned.

Gravius is around 5'10, being just below average height. His body is healthy, and he cuts a more imposing figure than most Navigators. He wears a thick robe with sleeves and hood the color of gold with a silver border, and whose body is black. These are the colors of the Navis Nobilite House Pemelton. He carries a Navigator staff at all times, and beneath the folds of his robes he carries an ornate auto-pistol in a Red leather holster that hangs at his waste. The sleeves also both have a row of imperial skulls just above the edge of the sleeves.

His face is most often either serious or scowling, the closes to a smile is a look of smug certainty. The man is rarely seen smiling, his job being what it is.

Personality: Gravius is an intensely proud and bombastic man, raised up from birth and taught of his innate superiority to the common man. Utterly infatuated with his own abilities, Gravius takes little criticism of his work often flying off the handle if someone doubts his skill or mental fortitude. He is so completely absorbed in his own inflated sense of self importance that he often overlooks the work of others, and ignores any part of a ships running but his own personal task. He sees his job as Navigator as a sort of ultimate or holy work, which lends him to take it extremely seriously, some would say a bit to seriously. He often considers ordinary crew to be little more than annoying necessities, who are utterly beneath his notice so long as they don't get in his way.

History: Gravius was not born like most men in the Imperium. He was no hive worker's son, nor was he a planetary noble or Imperial guard officer's son. Gravius was born a Navigator forever set apart from his fellow man, a fact he has been reminded of everyday of his life. From the day he was born on Terra Gravius's path in life was determined, his role in the Imperium decided because of the eye in the center of his forehead. As soon as he could talk Gravius was taught that he was different from regular humans, different and superior. A Navigator's holy mission is to guide the ships of the Imperium through the immaterium, using the brilliant beacon of the Astronomicon to safely steer a ship through the warp.

Gravius was a talented student, and mastered the basic skills a Navigator must have at age 27, and at the age of 38 he embarked on his first ship. House Pemelton has many connections amongst imperial trade, and Gravius guided many prestigious merchants and their cargo through the warp. Though his temper got the best of him often, and he looked down on all who were not Navigators, he was an exceptional Navigator. And so it went for about a century, and could have remained that way... had Gravius not stumbled on to something terrible.

Near the beginning of his second century of distinguished service Gravius stumbled upon a mysterious string of payments between house Pemelton and several more unscrupulous and suspicious individuals. For the better part of a century Gravius followed the paper trail, quietly gathering information and investigating connections to his house. As he delved further and further into the rabbit hole the terrible truth began to dawn on him, house Pemelton was quietly and secretly supporting the agents of Chaos! Gravius no longer knew who he could trust, so he doubled back, following the intricate trail of illicit secret meetings and less than upstanding deals, until he found who he believed to be the center of it all.

The Navigator who Gravius believed was in charge of the operation was a well known and highly respected man. Gravius decided to confront him personally and in private for fear of bringing the house under investigation by outside forces. When confronted the other Navigator denied Gravius's accusations vehemently, and even assaulted Gravius's own merit as a Navigator, claiming that the warp had softened his mind. Gravius flew into a rage, and what had begun as a quiet affair turned into a deadly Navigator duel. Gravius slew the other man, utterly convinced that he was in the right. Gravius was apprehended by other Navigators of house Pemelton and brought before the Novator for trial.

It was decided that Gravius was to skilled a Navigator for him to simply be killed, so it was decided that in order for the name of House Pemelton to remain unblemished Gravius was exiled. He was sent to the Kronos expanse, for no one believed his tale of heretics, for how could such a man as the one Gravius had killed fallen to chaos? He was seno off, considered a mad man by his own house.

Since then, Gravius has joined the crew of the Rouge trader Horatio Drake. Only recently has he joined the man's crew, and now they move for the Kronus expanse to aquire more men and women for Drake's crew.

Skills: Gravius's main skills are his extensive Navigator powers

Baleful watcher- Allows a Navigator to guide through thick warp storms, as well as peer into ones very soul

A cloud in the warp- Allows Navigators to obscure their craft from those who would prey on it in the warp

Eye of Oblivion- A Navigator snaps open his third eye, amd attacks a creatures very essence

Immolate the soul- The Navigator channels the raw power of the immaterium, causing flesh to blister and combust

Inward view- Induces a psychic state of meditation

Precognition- Allows Navigators to interpret portents of the Emperor's tarot


Void watcher- Allows Navigators to see threats to their ship nearby

A link to these powers
http://warhammer40k.wikia.com/wiki/Navigator

Equipment: Emperor's tarot deck, auto-pistol, Navigators staff, prayer beads

[Jb]

Armadeus Crotwell - Master of Coin - Lone Wanderer

>Imperial Records, File found: Armadeus Crotwell<br>>PROCESSING

(I would just like to point out, that while I've been working on this CS, I have not had a look at other CS's and any similarities are just circumstance rather than anything else. It is now, that I've just spotted that there is another gentlemen, rather than changing my own characters personality however I think it might be interesting to keep it. But I can should it be wished.)

Name: Armadeus Crotwell

Age: 48

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Clad in a fine green coat adorned with thick red cuffs and linings and topped with a high collar that when parted reveals a breastplate of Carapace. A white sash crosses across his right shoulder and around his left hip where it meets a leather belt, the wings of an Aquilla don the buckle as a Maul, held firmly by leather straps hangs at it's side. His is an appearance that screams nobility. That is of-course until on closer inspection, when one notices the light muck and grime marking said cuffs and brown boots. The slight charred patches that can only be caused by the close shave of a lasgun, the slight bulge within his coat against his chest hiding a bolt pistol, and the slight whirring of his left bionic arm as it moves. One can only assume this man has seen action. However, the man carries himself more like a scholar, back straight and dignified rather than any veteran of any war.
Armadeus's face is that of a weathered man, featuring a strong jaw as a scar runs along his right cheek bone, framed with white, receding hair that meets a rough stubble covering the lower portion of his face. Bright green eyes that reveal an intelligence, combine for a generally "no shit" look that is belied only by his grin and when he speaks, which bleeds of a higher education.

Personality: A gentleman through and through. Well learned despite his rugged appearance and a politeness not often found in this grim verse of ours. One can always expect Armadeus to maintain his own sense of bendable etiquette and likable charisma. Ever the Consummate Gentleman, he can be found consorting with a variety of company, from the rich aristocracy to the lowest hiver. However, bubbling below the surface is a torrent of emotion which changes like a storm. This underside is just kept in check, rarely though do these emotions manage to break the masquerade of someone better than himself, which he wears like a mask.

History:

Skills:
The right hand man of his last ship's captain, otherwise known as the Seneschal. It was his charge to be the one that oversaw the finance and overall running of the ship, to ensure throne gelt went where it was needed without anomalies whilst also dealing most often with any business transactions that might occur. However, it was also his to keep his fellow crew's less desirable information from becoming known as well as searching for information that might be used against his enemies. As Seneschal, Armadeus knows his trade, knowing just how to squeeze that last throne gelt from someone whilst uncovering their darkest secrets. As those skilled in war protect the crew and ship physically, he ensures the coins are efficiently spent and protects it's reputation, that is not to say that Armadeus can not fight himself. Having taken part in several boarding engagements in his time, he can handle himself in a fight. Almost competent even...

Equipment:
- Bolt Pistol (Something smaller perhaps?)
- Maul
- Carapace Breastplate
- Dataslate
- Quill
- Several pieces of paper
- Chrono - Small timepiece.
- Glow-globe - Roughly the size of a clenched fist, the globe acts as a light, illuminating a small area of up to a dozen or so meters around it. Lasts roughly 5 hours of use before the powerpack requires recharging or replacing.
- Micro-bead - Also known as a Bead-comm, these small devices are worn discreetly in the ear and allow for short-range communications out to roughly 1 kilometer with anyone using the same frequency.

Miscellaneous:
Armadeus's Bionic arm was not implanted by a... Let's say legal Doc, and so can be problematic at times.