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General:
Name: Alexander Atreides
Gender: Male
Age: 44


Origin
Homeworld: (Tracus Secondus) Hiveworld
Homeworld Superstition: Keep Nature at Bay: Base life should never intrude; pluck and toss stray weeds to gain luck.
Homeworld Memento: Chip from a Hive Wall. During Arbitrator Atreides' first raid, most of the combat was done in hand to hand. The Arbites agent's first kill dislodged chunks of material from the wall and, despite occassional commentary from his brothers in arms, has kept the chip as a memento.
Class Memento: Short Length of Chain. A mutant shattered his first pair of manacles and nearly killed him. He kept the remaining length of chain as a reminder of such an event.

Class: Adeptus Arbites

Background: Alexander was an orphaned child, with both his parents having been killed off in the most recent gang war in the lower recesses of the Hive Tracus, capitol of the hiveworld itself. With both parents dead members of two, at the time, allied gangs, the boy would have been nothing more than another ganger scum if the Arbites had not found him first. The boy was not even old enough to walk and talk properly when he was found, and the orphan was sent to be raised by a Judge.

In such an environment, one cannot be surprised that the young man, who inherited his adopted father's name instead of the gang name he had, was raised to join the ranks of the Adeptus Arbites upon the hiveworld and, as soon as he was deemed old enough, donned the Black Carapace of the Arbites and joined the ranks of the lawkeepers of the Imperium. He would gain valuable experience in the tight, close quarters conflict of a hive world, from the gang wars to breaking up riots he would gain valuable experience and learn a simple, vital rule. No one is innocent, some are merely less guilty than others.

With this grim rule in his heart, Arbitrator Atreides would spend most of his life within the Hive Tracus, earning the ire of the gangs and even beyond his planet as he severely made doing business on such a place, in a criminal or illicit manner, far more difficult if not impossible. From raiding gang controlled hab blocks and interrogating the captured, to holding riot lines and breaking attempts to grasp more control from the proper authorities, the man was uncompromising in the face of such violence and sometimes wanton cruelty. With these traits he was called upon by the Inquisition to aid as an Acolyte,

Stats:
Experience: 0/100
Level/Rank: 1

Wounds: 12
Armour: 9

Corruption Points:
Insanity Points:


Characteristics:
Weapon Skill: 31

Ballistic Skill: 29

Strength: 30

Toughness: 31

Agility: 36

Intelligence: 34

Perception: 43

Willpower: 22

Fellowship: 30

Influence: 33

Divination: "Know the mutant; Kill the mutant." Increase Perception by +2.

Class Bonus: The Face of the Law: An Arbitrator can re-roll any Intimidation or Interrogation check.

Homeworld Bonus: Teeming Masses in Metal Mountains: A hive world character can pass through crowds with ease and gains +20 bonus to Navigate checks below ground and a +10 bonus to Fellowship tests with other hivers.

Talents:
- Weapon Training (Shock) (+10 to Ballistic Skill or Weapon Skill when using a weapon of a certain type)
- Awareness (+15 to Perception checks when searching for hidden things, and passive perception.)
- Common Lore (Adeptus Arbites, Underworld) (+10 to Intelligence checks when recalling lore on the Adeptus Arbites or the Underworld)
- Interrogator (+10 to Strength or Fellowship tests to force information from people by breaking them with threats and violence)
- Intimidating (+15 to Strength or Toughness checks to intimidate people and project strength. For example, intimidating an enforcer step out of your way)
- Linguistics (Low Gothic)

Equipment:
Shock Maul - 1 handed - Melee - 1d10+3 impact damage - Shocking - Availability: Scarce - Cost: 150 Throne

Enforcer Light Carapace - 5 Armour - Agility restricted to 45 - Availability: Rare - Cost: 575 Thrones

Coscarla Pass Tokens: (One per Acolyte) These coded devices, each about the size of a small thick coin, will allow them legal clearance for the Coscarla Division and free passage on the transit rail around the midhive area.

Hand Vox: (One per Acolyte) These are cheap and battered looking personal communication devices that use a private encrypted channel, and are good for a range of a few kilometers in the hive. Sand will happily explain that thanks to signal interference in the areas of the hive where they are going, vox traffic is almost impossible over any real distance or between levels, except by wire station, but these hand vox will let them keep in touch with each other at least.

Low Hiver’s Overcoats: (One per Acolyte) These voluminous and somewhat tattered patchwork leather and canvas highcollared overcoats are common lowhiver garb in Sibellus and will easily fit over anything the Acolytes are wearing. They are also quite tough and will provide 1 extra Armour Point.

Chem Lamps: (One per Acolyte) These small portable lamps use a chemical reaction to provide light and operate continuously while their shutters are open. Such lamps will illuminate an area of about a three metre radius around it or provide a six metre directed beam of whitish light.

Coded DataSlate: This worn-looking brass cased dataslate carries basic copies of the information found in their briefing, a series of maps and data about the Coscarla and (largely empty) files on the Arbasts, including pictures of them and addresses taken from the Administratum register. The slate also has basic short range audio and visual recording and playback functions. The slate features a five key input code which Sand tells the group, if it is accessed without this, its core memory will be wiped.

3 Stimm Doses: A dose of stimm is enough to energise the weary and mask pain with short-term vitality, often enough to finally bring a protracted combat to a successful conclusion. Each dose lasts for 3d10 rounds. During this time, a character ignores any negative effects to his characteristics from damage, Critical damage, and Fatigue, and cannot be Stunned. When the stimm wears off, the character suffers a –20 penalty to Strength, Toughness, and Agility tests for one hour and gains one level of Fatigue. Stimm is Addictive.

Manacles: No bounty hunter or Enforcer would be without several sets of these solid restraints, though they are often used to ensure sacrificial offerings do not stray from a cult’s altar or for other, darker purposes.

12 Iho Sticks: A mild narcotic, each stick contains dried and cured plant leaves that release a scented, stimulating smoke when ignited and inhaled through a cheap tube that burns away with the drug. As the leaves vary with the planet, lho-sticks can vary from world to world as well, often making them useful trade items.

Throne Gelt: 135

Money Spent On:
Shotgun - 2 handed - 30m range - 1d10+4 impact damage - Spread - Availability: Average - Cost: 60 Throne

Respirator/Gas mask - Cost: 50 Throne - A simple breathing mask that covers the nose and mouth or entire face, these offer much better protection than filtration plugs. A character wearing a respirator gains a +30 bonus to a Toughness test made to resist the effects of gas and can re-roll the test if failed. Good craftsmanship models add another +10 bonus, while Poor models must be replaced after 10 hours of usage as the filter becomes clogged and unusable.

Chrono - Cost: 25 Throne - Chronos are small timepieces, and are essential for Acolytes to properly time their actions. Basic versions simply indicate local time and require manual setting, but finer models can synch to external datastreams for the greatest possible accuracy.

Total Leftover: 0 Throne Gelt
Hah, most excellent. And fear not, I will not bring my good namesake into involvement, fear not!
Dark Heresy, I have not seen that quite some time, do you got room for another?
Niya silently heard the healer out as he spoke on doing just what he could do in the given situation. His rational that people always needed help and his thinking for not remaining idle in the war was respectable, if nothing else. The troubadour nodded briefly in agreement with the man, her own actions being driven by a similar idea, though her oath currently bound her to a single cause vice her manouverings around the world to aid any who were injured and left destitute from the oncoming storm. But the healer, Konrad as he introduced himself, requested her name and she nodded briefly, resting her staff across her lap as she remained sitting upright on the horse, which seemed to emulate the troubadour's own posture, head held high and formal. "Niya, of Regna Ferox. A pleasure, brother. We should not let the Champion get too far ahead of us." She turned her head briefly to the champion as he asked any of them willing to fight and stand with him to do so and she nodded briefly and made her support known, without mention of the oath over her head right now, however and would move the horse to follow, giving Konrad chance to keep up. "I will aid you, Champion. Lead the way."

Jerod didn't pay his rather cold companion any mind while she was conversing with the unmounted healer. The champion's blanket offer to take them on got a shrug and nod out of the mercenary, having gotten his attention further for now. "Ah wouldn' 'ave gutted all yer enemies 'ere already if ah wasn' intendin' on 'elpin ye lad. Ye got my blade, fer it's worth." Jerod was looking over the wyvern rider and her mount, Pearly, as they responded as well. The approving roar didn't shake the mercenary as one might expect, implying he had seen such beasts before, or was good at bluffing. Jerod wasn't a fan of mounted combat period, but he could never argue their effectiveness upon the field of battle, whether on horseback such as his Feroxian ally Niya, or a pegasus rider or this lady and her wyvern Pearly. Her comment on loving to be the center of attention got an amused snort out of the mercenary as the woman finished with a boastful jest. "Ach, 'owever ye see fit lass, kickin' arse an' takin' names is all part o' the job. And ye'll be gettin' plenty o' attention in parts 'round 'ere, savvy? Call m' Jerod, mercenary fer 'ire, at yer service."
The moment the doors to the gallery were open by the Inquisitor's power sword, the armsman was through them with his shotgun ready and sweeping the immediate room he had just gained access to. No immediate sight of traitors, daemons, curators, or even any security to prevent theft or show guests around. That didn't sit well with Stukov, one would think someone would be here to protect or look over such rare relics and pieces of lore and history at all times of the day. But no, there were no alarms, no one trying to find out why an armed band had just forced the lock on the door, with a power weapon no less, but his instincts were screaming bloody murder right now. There was something wrong, in a familiar sense, with this place. He was no psyker, but past exposure was leaving him more sensitive to the apparent corruption in this place. He could not put a finger on it, not formally, but he could feel something wrong with this gallery. Smiles confirmed it with her blunt statement on corruption, and the quiet click as he unloaded the regular buckshot from his shotgun and grabbed a handful of shells with blessings inscribed upon them and loaded those instead.

"I would bet money that whatever the hell is in here knows we are here now, if it didn't know we were coming before. Cultists or Daemons. I'm not sure about this anomaly within a nest of corruption, to be frank, but burn that bridge once we get there...." The armsman was wary and on edge, even more so than one would typically be when told of lurking daemons and heretics. He had been in this situation before, close quarters with traitors, heretics, and any other amalgamation of warp spawned horrors. Changing over to blessed buckshot was a small preventative measure, and about all Stukov had on him that might do more damage than standard ammunition load outs. He never trusted unchecked warp, in essence any non friendly Psyker, in its attempts to pervert and corrupt any and all within its boundaries and reach. An apparently uncorrupted anomaly within the den of evil, was it possible? Yes, Stukov supposed, it was possible. Did he think it likely, absolutely not. But he would err on the side of caution until proven otherwise. Until then, he was not so much looking at the artwork and relics as art and history, but scanning for anything wrong and a potential threat to their small party.
Name: Sonoda Hattori

Age: 19

Race: Human



Equipment: The only weapon that Sonoda carries is his personally forged blade, the last remaining piece of the Hattori legacy that is currently still in the hands of their rightful bloodline, not even having time to reclaim his or his father's armor. The blade bears no name or honorifics, but is a masterpiece forged by the retained forgemaster of the Hattori clan, many moons of effort and time put into making the finest blade possible for the young man. Since he could not reclaim any armor, he is wearing the same robes he was forced to fight in, lacking a sleeve to cover his possessed arm and shackles and offering practically no defense against any sort of aggression or weather, for that matter.

The only other notable piece of equipment are the two large shackles attached to his sickly white arm. These are blessed by a monk to prevent the spread of the Oni that was cursed into the arm of Sonoda, which are equal parts spirit blessed and special forgework. They help prevent the influence of the Oni upon Sonoda, however, they are only as strong as the will of their wearer, and Sonoda can always simply choose to release the Oni, although, for now, there is certainly no reason why he would dare lose himself over to such a beast of questionable loyalty.

Skills: Daimyo Hattori saw fit to see his son trained in the arts of war first, due to the perceived danger he saw from the Southern part of the province, over political manoeuvrings to ensure his protection should the worst happen. Constant wargames with his father and senior advisers in tactics honed the young man's tactical thinking while resident blademasters trained him in the art of Kenjutsu (Method of the Sword), specifically focusing on Battōjutsu (The craft of drawing out the Sword).

Beyond this, he has cursory training in most traditional weapons, enough to be able to safely handle them but not enough to be overly effective in combat. The one exception would be his introduction to the Tanegashima (Matchlock), a weapon his family and most their retainers did not approve of but Sonoda found an odd fascination with, part of him convinced they would change the face of warfare forever, and has studied the weapon construction when able.

Sonoda is fairly reliant on his surviving retainers and guards for most other things beyond rudimentary survival and dealings with others in a formal sense, his training in the wider arts cut tragically short with the attack upon Hattori Castle and the death of his family.

History: When Sonoda Hattori was born, his father and mother prayed that he would be able to see a diplomatic solution to the increasing tension between North and South. However, while his mother was optimistic, Daimyo Hattori was realistic and knew that he would have to raise a warrior as much as a son to survive the coming times. He spoke of his concerns to no one except his own son, in the rare moments of privacy they were able to have, of the Southern Daimyo Shimazuma Sadayu and his cruelties and increasingly clear determination to take the Hattori land by force. With no allies outside the province willing to aid them openly, out of fear of the newly christened Oni Daiymyo Sadayu, the two quietly knew they were almost completely alone.

Sonoda was raised with warfare in mind, the usual times that would be spent in relaxation, jest, and peaceful pursuits were put to use in training and preperation. Daimyo Hattori secretly confided in his personal guards his shame in forging his own son into a vengeance weapon, a last fail safe to protect the Hattori lineage against the oncoming storm should their walls fail. For most his life Sonoda would know very little of the peaceful world, and grew to see a fatalistic outlook of the world, that it was far darker than it really was. Upon his 18th birthday, an Oni was summoned upon the unsuspecting young man during his coming of age celebration, and shortly after being gifted his sword, blood red flames sprouted from his left hand and left inhuman white flesh behind as they traveled up his arm. Only the fast actions of the retained monk were able to save him, but he was condemned to bear heavy shackles to prevent the Oni's influence spreading further. This was the tipping point that would eventually bring ruin to the Hattori clan.

When the siege upon Hattori castle came, starting upon the young man's 19th birthday, he defied his father's wishes and stood upon the castle ramparts, rallying loyal men and women to the defense of the walls. The sight of the young lord was inspiring, and between Sonoda's on the fly tactics and the carefully planned contingencies, the castle held for far longer than anticipated. But as the assassin's blade claimed his father's life, ranks upon ranks of archers let fly from hidden screens, arrows of flame igniting much of the castle and the gate was forced as it was confirmed Daimyo Hattori was dead. Last stands were made against the Oni and soldiers of Daimyo Sadayu, buying the last heir of the Hattori line, Sonoda, time to flee into the castle.

Sonoda found his father dead, and barely was able to survive the attempt on his life by the very same assassin who fled rather than die to the enraged young man. His mother was missing and his father, dying in his arms. Daimyo Hattori's last breath was charging his son with avenging their clan and stopping the mad reign of the Oni Daimyo, and forced him away into the escape tunnels prepared for this occassion. Mustering the last of his strength, Daimyo Hattori fell protecting his son's retreat, dying in combat as the life blood poured from an assassin made wound. This left the 19 year old Sonoda Hattori apparently alone, but unaware was he of the few retainers and guards, loyal to his cause, pursuing him to aid and protect the orphaned and sole survivor of the lineage.
<Snipped quote by Rithy>

A very long time

Don't underestimate the steps


Respect the steps, fear the steps.
Jerod wiped the blood casually off his blade as the fighting ended with the archer apparently fleeing and everyone consolidated their positions around the Champion and immediate fighting ground. The lad approached him and personally thanked him for his intervention, which got a good natured shrug out of the mercenary and an amused snort when he was told to thank the horseback healer for her intervention since he had to aid the others. Well, wasn't that just dandy? He nodded towards the lad as he turned to do the rounds and help out and turned to Niya, who fixed him with a rather icy glare and spoke before he could get a word in edgewise. "I do this not for thanks, but for my oath. So save your breath, mercenary." And Niya angled her horse over to the other healer who had thankfully intervened and took care of the soldiers while she had focused most of her efforts upon the Champion and spoke briefly to him from her perch on horseback, though her gaze was not nearly as cold as it was towards Jerod, a much more analytical and calm look vice icy disdain, as if she was analyzing his response. "Your intervention was timed well, brother."

Jerod heard the champion doing his rounds, and watched as he took in the situation. Another healer, without a horse, some mounted cavalry had arrived too late to do any real good, and some dark mage that just was outright strange, but hell, long as there was no hexing going on, all the better. The out loud thinking prompted Jerod to rest a hand on his sword hilt as he looked skyward, spotting the sight of a Wyvern. Not a good sign, probably, but he didn't just produce arms and attack as soon as it came into range. When the rider and her comrade, the Wyvern itself, dropped the body off and directed her attention right onto the now no doubt flustered champion, he stood silent for a moment before bursting out into a healthy, loud laugh, before bringing it down with an easy grin appearing as he left his arms at his sides. "Ach, talk about makin' an entrance, eh lass? Ah 'avent seen a Wyvern and 'er rider in quite a few years, rare sight these days."
Ahh, good old Marianne back to her usual, completely friendly and in no way, shape, or form unstable ways of becoming friends with one and all.
Alright, besides the Son I am creating, I am talking with one other person who is planning to make a character, so with that we would have five. So it shouldn't be much longer before we get this started.
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