BCTheEntity — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Lucius. Aliases include Thorn, Dagon, Arkos, Svartalf, and Nibiru, amongst others.

Gender: Male

Age: Uncountable, though technically more than ten thousand years old by Realspace time.

Faction/Race/Species: Adeptus Astartes

Sub-Faction: The Dark Angels, Ist Legion in the 31st Millenium. Allied with Luther in the final battle of Caliban. Presently unaffiliated beyond a forcible connection to Chaos.

Rank/Position: Likely a standard Tactical Marine, but unknown and presently irrelevant.

Mental and Physical Traits: Lucius' sheer physical ability is, of course, beyond question: he is extremely strong and fast, more than capable of slaying almost any mere human in close combat in a matter of seconds given the chance, and exceptionally durable on top of this, with a huge variety of gene-seed implants that boost his physicals in a variety of ways, as follows:
Secondary Heart: Enhances performance by increasing the bloodflow through Lucius' body;
Ossmodula and Biscopea: Massively boosts musculature and bone strength during physical development, inclusing a fused ribcage protecting his hearts and other vital organs;
Haemastamen: Increases the ability of Lucius' blood to carry oxygen and nutrients, and to some extent regulates the Ossmodula and Biscopea;
Larraman's Organ: Causes wound clotting to occur extremely rapidly, making Lucius incredibly difficult to kill through blood loss or infection;
Catalepsean Node: Allows Lucius to consciously "switch off" individual sections of his brain at a time, and so spend prolonged, though not indefinite periods of time without rest, and also assists with hypnotherapy during development;
Preomnor: Analyses ingested materials, and neutralises most toxic substances, at worst isolating the digestive tract to allow extremely toxic substances to be vomited up later;
Omophagea: Allows Lucius to gain some memory from ingested flesh, thus letting him "learn by eating";
Multi-lung: Allows Lucius to breath relatively normally in poorly-oxygenated or poisonous environments, cutting off airflow to his normal lungs in the latter case;
Occulobe: Has allowed his vision to be modified by Apothecaries to superhuman levels during development;
Lyman's Ear: Makes Lucius immune to dizziness and motion sickness, and lets him consciously filter out or enhance sound beyond human hearing;
Sus-an Membrane: Allows Lucius to enter a state of suspended animation, consciously or as an automatic response to a "worst case" injury, though only appropriate chemical therapy or hypnotic auto-suggestion applied by an external force can revive him from this state;
Melanochrome: Allows Lucius' skin to darken in response to high sunlight, and provides some protection from electromagnetic waves in general;
Oolitic Kidney: Further improves and maintains Lucius' circulatory system, and combined with the Secondary Heart can purge Lucius' system of toxins that are beyond what he could normally cope with, rendering him unconscious throughout this process;
Neuroglottis: Allows Lucius to "taste" whether or not a substance is poisoned or not, as well as granting general detection of subtle odours that let him track targets by taste alone;
Mucranoid: Allows Lucius to survive in extreme temperatures, and to some extent the vacuum of space;
Betcher's Gland: Transforms Lucius' saliva into a corrosive, blinding acid when consciously activated, letting him spit the substance or digest unusually tough substances like cellulose;
Progenoid Glands: Provides the gene-seed for up to two future Space Marines, though likely useless in Lucius' case;
Black Carapace: Allows Lucius to directly interface with any Power Armour he wears, maximising its efficiency and capabilities.

However, his skill set is markedly different from what one would expect of a Space Marine: far from fighting like a Dark Angel of his time (or perhaps not so far after all; he can't say for certain), he tends to go for the most efficient method of disabling or executing any given opponent, often either a knife to the neck or a particular neck twist that severs the nerves of the spinal cord without breaking it, unless he is making a point about something or someone, and he has taught himself many skills of a rogueish nature, up to blending into a crowd and becoming the least obvious individual in a smaller group despite his size.
Indeed, his entire persona comes across as clipped and practical, exceptionally dour even by Dark Angel standards, some might even say as emotionless as any Blank but for his bad attitude. This follows on from a rather pessimistic and self-destructive worldview: having been conditioned to serve the Emperor, only to be misled into the hands of Chaos apparently against his will, he considers himself effectively without purpose, doomed to the whims of whatever Dark God he gets the attention of no matter how he resists, and in resisting as best he can is distinctly unwilling to trust anybody at all, much less without reserve, assuming by default that everyone has a motive, such that even genuinely good people could handily be twisted toward bad ends.

Appearance: Lucius' most obvious feature is his sheer size, being nearly seven and a half feet, or 230cm tall, and more than twice as broad as the average human. His hair, a rather unkempt neck-length cut, is black and quite flat, oddly complementing eyes of a grey-green colour, though they typically appear rather dull and flat, though not unobservant, reflecting Lucius' personality. His skin tone varies depending on the degree of ultraviolet radiation he is exposed to, as well as other forms of radiation on the electromagnetic spectrum to a lesser extent, though it defaults to a somewhat pale shade under normal conditions. His standard clothing is a set of simple clothes formed of reasonably sturdy materials, but has been patched over and over again in many locations simply for the sake of changing its look somewhat; it includes a shirt and trousers made of roughspun wool, and patched with materials ranging from leather to silk, and a pair of leather shoes repaired time and again until the original material has all but vanished.

Wargear: The vast majority of Lucius' equipment as a Legionary has been destroyed or otherwise rendered irreparable, either during or immediately after his shift through time, or as a result of systematic failure on all levels at some later date which he then lacks the resources to reverse. At this point, the only items in his possession from that time period which are still functional are his two monomolecular blades and the sheaths they came in, for want of moving parts - a combat blade of a style specific to the Dark Angels Legion, akin to a longsword in his hand yet requiring both hands for most normal humans to wield, and a Sol Pattern Astartes combat knife, an older version of the modern Astartes combat knife that is still the size of a normal short sword - and even then, he expects the weapons to snap in half or suddenly lose their edge any time soon. In a normal fight, he favours the combat knife for reasons stated above, but will utilise the combat blade in a pitched melee battle, as well as any functional guns he is handed should he be able to use them. Should his oversized hands not be able to fire such a weapon, he also carries a couple of screwdrivers around to make field modifications, usually just removing the trigger guard, plus wallets containing a few thousand Thrones for when he needs to spend money on necessary goods.

History: Lucius' memories of his time in, and indeed before entry to the Ist Legion are lost to him. This extends so far as to the Great Betrayal and the Battle of Caliban itself, when the Dark Angels were pitted against one another by Luther and the Lion; his earliest memory, in fact, is of observing the last few moments of their fight, when El'Jonson failed to slay Luther, and was struck down in his turn, before losing composure and falling to his knees, failing to respond in spite of Lucius' call for him to finish the Lion off.

His memories after that point are less than brilliant, to say the least. The planet was ultimately engulfed by a sudden Warp storm, flinging Lucius into the Empyrean. His power armour seemed to disintegrate despite its endurance, and his entire being was subjected to pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced, amplifying over and over until his every atom, his very soul seemed to be on fire, before the pain was relinquished for a half-second, just long enough to torment him further when the agony was started all over again. He lasted, as far as he was aware (and the passage of time seemed etched into his brain for this period), three years before he finally began to beg for death; the torture lasted for another seven beyond that, by which time he was numb to just about all else. Even then, he was subjected to yet worse: with a lash of power and tearing pain far beyond any degree of torture he had yet experienced, his very memories were stolen from him, and a litany of foul voices explained his new thralldom: Do as we demand, and your memories of combat shall be returned to you as reward; deny us, and your suffering shall be eternal.

And with an apparent twisting of space itself into what seemed like a titanic, all-consuming maw, Lucius was flung back into Realspace, landing naked with his weaponry in an oddly rural area of a hive world of little repute. Knowing he was snared by Chaos haunted him- "damned if he did, damned if he didn't", as the phrase goes, for whether or not he worked for them, he was certain his soul was beyond recovery. For a time, he contemplated starving himself to death; then, he was approached by the tender of that small portion of the planet, an old woman who it turned out had "retired" from working in the nearest city, hiding herself out there so as to ensure the best possible end of life for herself. She took Lucius in, allowing him to rest whilst she created a new set of hardy clothes for his frame, and feeding him to ensure he regained his strength.

He had known from the start that she could not continue to live very long for knowing of his existence. Thus, the very night of his final recovery, he shattered the poor lady's neck in her sleep, and stalked toward the nearest hive, vowing that he'd cut off all ties with Chaos once the final thread of twine that was his memories had been restored to him, and knowing full-well that such a vow would surely be broken without a care long before he ever got his full memory restored to him, or else that the Emperor himself would be watching over the miracle in progress.

Over the next ten years, he learned to ply himself as best he could, exerting his raw power when needed and his intellect otherwise, building up a small, ever-shifting web of contacts within the depths of the hive, and slowly adapting to the loss of his equipment: the power armour from the get-go, and then the gradual use of his consumable items and malfunction of his ranged weapons. In that time, he has found little truck with Chaos, and the few situations where it seems efforts have been made to tempt him have been avoided as best as possible, though miniscule flashes of memory have found their way back into his mind after seemingly-innocuous actions from time to time, most notably a gradual lengthening of those final moments of the Battle of Caliban. If a way out of his predicament exists, he has yet to find it, and in fact he is halfway convinced that any such "escape" will simply doom him further.

Alexa wasn't nervous, at all. Not in the least. Sure, she was far and away the tallest individual in the Aquila, and knew she stuck out like a sore thumb, especially with a helmet on her head that many of her fellows did not yet bear, the one which still hadn't had that glitch fixed with the vox modulator which made her voice seem deeper than it was, almost manly in tone, and not in the good way... but of course she wasn't nervous. That'd be silly. After all, it was only an Inquisitor of all people she had been sanctioned with meeting, somebody who could declare death sentences against worlds if he or she so pleased...

But she wasn't nervous at all. Which was of course why she had been sitting with hands in lap and staring dead ahead across the Aquila's width for the flight, just over the head of the Battle-Sister opposite her, herself an exceptional example of physicality even amongst the Adepta Sororitas. Though she did seem a tad familiar... had they been involved in a mission together before? She didn't recall precisely. Perhaps just deja vu. But no, she wasn't nervous. That was an emotion one of the Emperor's Daughter's couldn't risk feeling, lest they risk their collected nature, or worse their faith. And naturally, it didn't bear mentioning twice that Alexa was beyond devoted to the God-Emperor of Mankind, above all other things, including and beyond her life and even her soul if the need presented itself.

So obviously, she wasn't nervous throughout the flight, or the landing, or the half-hour walk after Sister-Celestian Victorine through the Preceptory's hallways, past the extravagant dedications and idols laid out in His name. And she certainly wasn't nervous in any way when they finally reached the hall in which stood both Canoness-Preceptor Aubrie and the man the squadron would be guarding, introduced as Inquisitor Kliment, who in turn asked for the names of the women (and singular Ecclesiarchal Confessor, complete with ostentatious facial hair) who would be guarding him. Even so, Alexa took a moment to breath, slowly and calmly, as two others introduced themselves first, Lisbeth Dominica, and the Battle-Sister she'd sat opposite from before, Vitruvia Procyon. Finally, she stepped forward herself, just a short step, and introduced herself slowly and clearly:

'Sister Alexandra Christina, Hospitaller Advance, of the Order of the Transfixed Saint.'

Which, of course, came out as far more booming than she intended. Damn that vox. 'The honour is mine, Inquisitor,' she concluded, stepping back into line as soon as able. There. Perfectly calm. Not nervous in any way.

...she supposed the glitched modulator was good for hiding any stray emotion in her voice, at least.

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