Hank — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Naamah.

Age: 156.

Faction/Race/Species: Dark Eldar.

Sub-Faction: Cult of the Blade Denied.

Rank/Position: Wych.

Mental and Physical Traits: Like all of her kind, Naamah is a cold, self-centered creature that sustains herself through the suffering of others. Extremely vain, it is necessary for her to carve and slice artful death often and sometimes indiscriminately to maintain her youthful appearance. That said, Naamah is not quite as sadistic as many other Dark Eldar, especially the Haemonculi, and is satisfied with inflicting enough pain to keep herself vital. Other than that, she has few cares in the world. She has recently discovered the entertainment value of tagging along with other races and engaging in their respective societies. She derives great amusement from watching their antics, fighting alongside a select few of them and seducing them with her otherworldly looks -- despite the Fall of the Eldar, the Eladrith Ynneas learned precious little and Naamah is dangerously hedonistic in all aspects. Despite the generally mercurial and supremely untrustworthy nature of the Dark Eldar race, she is unlikely to adhere to the ancient Dark Eldar custom of assassinating her betters to advance her position... for the time being, at least. Besides, why would she? She hasn't had this much fun in decades. 

The Dark Eldar value perfection in all things, including physical and martial prowess, and Naamah is no exception. She is a highly skilled swordswoman and acrobat, capable of moving in and out of combat with blistering speed and striking faster than the untrained human eye can follow. She relies on her superior speed and training to deflect and evade blows that would otherwise strike her mostly unarmored form, and should she be overwhelmed or outclassed, Naamah is a big fan of disengaging to live to fight another day. In case the enemy is out of reach of her blades she carries a backup splinter rifle, slung across her back, that she can use to take down her foes at surprising distances, though she is loath to do so. There is no art in a killshot, according to her.

Appearance: Naamah has trained herself to peak physical perfection. The Eldar physique is such that this is not immediately evident from merely seeing her lithe and curvaceous form -- which is all too easy, considering the highly revealing armor and garments she likes to wear. Her Wychsuit, consisting of layered plates of exotic metal, is form-fitting and only covers a few places, most notably the entirety of her left arm and leg (typical of the Wych cults; they only feel the need to protect the side of their body that faces the enemy) and her upper torso, including her ample bosom -- that said, she couldn't resist some prodigious cleavage. On the right side of her body, only her lower arm and leg are protected, leaving her upper arm and thigh exposed. On top of that, her abdomen and lower back are also entirely bare, displaying flawless, pale skin skin that used to be as white as snow. However, she has recently gained the slightest hint of a tan after her extended foray out of Commorragh and into realspace. 

Her face is angular and striking, sporting the high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, slanted eyes and long, tapered ears that are so typical of the Eldar species. Despite the fact that she towers over most humans, Naamah would be considered fiercely attractive by even the most hardened of womanizers; courtesy of her sultry expression, athletic build and outstanding curves in all the right places. It is something that amuses her greatly and she emphasizes it even further with smokey eye shadow and blood-red lipstick. Her black hair is very long and usually worn in a typically Eldar topknot that falls all the way down to her midriff, though a few locks are artfully tucked behind her ears or busy framing her face. 

Wargear: Unusually heavily-armed for a Wych, Naamah decided that it would be better to be prepared for everything when venturing out into realspace by herself. She carries two curved rhyming swords, sheathed diagonally across her back so that she may reach the handles easily over her shoulders, that are her primary close-combat weapons. The edges are a single molecule thin, beyond all the craftsmanship of the other races, and capable of cutting through even the armor of an Astartes. Over the swords, using a magnetic grip, she carries a splinter rifle for use against enemies that stay out of range of her swords. The traditional dagger of the Wych cults is kept in the trademark self-sharpening sheath at her waist and functions as her backup melee weapon. As for armor, Naamah's only protection against physical harm is her asymmetrical Wychsuit, as described above. Also attached to her belt is a small injector that Naamah uses to flood her body with exotic and potent combat drugs to increase her speed, strength and ferocity; another relic from her time among the Wych cults.

History: Like most of her kind, Naamah was created in Commorragh. She is not one of the Trueborn, but instead one of many shaped in the amniotic gestation tubes within the deepest levels of the Dark City. Her youth was an unpleasant one, fraught with dangers, and she barely remembers it now. Naamah's life did not really begin until she was selected from among a massing throng of other wretches and aspiring gladiators to become trained by the Cult of the Blade Denied, one of many such cults in Comorragh that provide the bloodletting the Dark City so badly needs to keep its sadistic denizens in check. 

It was there that Naamah received her training, displaying a healthy amount of aptitude for it. Unlike many Wyches, Naamah survived her first taste of combat in the gladiatorial arena, and continued to develop her skills and refine her palette of death-dealing strokes and thrusts. Despite the cheers and howls of the spectators and the rush of slaying her opponents, Naamah never felt quite satisfied, and it wasn't until she was selected to raid into realspace, accompanying the Kabal of an allied Archon, that she realized where she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. Other Dark Eldar bored her, being predictably malicious and scheming deviants, and the enemies she faced in the galaxy proper were far more interesting. 

That said, many decades passed before Naamah finally dared to let go of the only life she had ever known. She gathered her weapons and her other meager belongings and left Commorragh aboard another raiding party destined for realspace. Upon arriving at their destination and swooping down from a Webway portal and onto a mon'keigh-inhabited world, Naamah vanished into the wilderness in the midst of the chaos. From there, she made her way to another spaceport and, under the cover of darkness, stowed away upon one of their spaceships. 

She has been roaming through realspace ever since and now her travels bring her to a new adventure...

Sitting in the back of the booth, her legs pulled close together in a valiant effort to create as much available space for her dear children companions as possible, was Tik-Tik. The giant spider's arachnid face was unreadable to any of her more humanoid companions, and she wagered that even the hive of bees didn't have the necessary experience to read her alien expressions. Not to worry, though -- she was perfectly content. 

"Eat up, eat up!" she said, or hissed, or... how does one describe the sound? It sounded like a little breathless and a little layered, like someone slowly and gently dragging the bow of a violin across a stand of silk. "Nobody is allowed to leave the table before you finish your meals." One of her many eyes glanced at the bees with the captain hats and she quickly added: "Except for the Captain, of course. They can do as they please." It was important not to forget her place.

The nanobot robot, named Toony, asked the crew to say something about themselves. "Nice to meet you, my dear. My name is --" the sounds that followed were completely incomprehensible, more reminiscent of the death rattles of a dying Protoceratops than anything else -- "But you can call me Tik-Tik. All my friends do." The spider attempted a polite curtsy, dipping her head and thorax, with the limited space she had. 

"And I am doing great, Vonny! Did you get enough sleep?" Tik-Tik asked, turning to the Space Dwarven quartermaster, another unreadable expression on her many-eyed face; experts in arachnid communication would describe it as 'stern, but kind'.

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Dionysian Mystery

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