Candy Cane Elf
AdvancedJ3llyName: Virgil Allaway
Age: 20 (and a half)
Speciality: Scout and tracker - having been raised in a constantly shifting landscape by a father who was essentially a lone law-enforcer he has become proficient in all that that entails; able to ride like a man twice his age and with as much experience, to track a man or beast simply by the slight indentation in the earth or the breaking of a twig, and eyesight and a sense of smell as sharp as anything, it seems the perfect role.
Gender: 'Cowboy'
Height: 6' 0”
Weight: 180.6 lbs
Appearance: Much like almost everything about him – from his personality to alterations to his uniform – Liam stands out in that he is an outsider to the regiment (and the Texanis culture in general) and, while slowly but surely changing to fit into his new found regiment, he retains much of what he was taught as a younger man; this goes as much for how he looks as anything else.
Standing at six feet exactly, Virgil has the odd and not self-aware honour of being actually rather attractive!
Piercing blue eyes, a strong and perpetually clean-shaven jawline and slightly pointed nose set against skin of a milky white, framed by eyebrows and a crop light chestnut hair kept constantly cut short, and a pair of full but slightly down-turned lips all come together to form a face of perfectly symmetrical proportions.
When one travels south they will find a deceptively slender but broad-shouldered torso of corded musculature, those shoulders and slightly calloused hands well used to heavy weights and endurance in harsh environments where others might fail; likewise his legs, well proportioned as they are, keep him firm and steady whether riding in the saddle or chasing prey through a sand or snowy tundra.
Like all those of the regiment he has been given, but doesn’t necessarily wear, the standard-issue uniform: ankle-high leather combat boots, a tan shirt, wide brimmed brown leather ‘ten-gallon’ hat and light brown rucksack. Although he does wear the boots, shirt, and rucksack – all perfectly ironed and folded when in storage – he has altered it slightly by wearing upon his head a Campaign hat rather than the 'ten-gallon', a pair of midnight blue riding breeches with a vertical yellow stripe down the outside of each leg, and over his shirt he can sometimes be seen sporting his father's old militia tunic, commonly known as a 'red serge'. Although he also owns a pair of brown riding boots, he often finds them unwieldy and much prefers the Texan combat boots.
Other Appearance: Apart from a puckered scar just below the left half of his ribcage, caused by falling from a horse and onto sharp stones, he is fortunate enough not to have anything else marring his body...not yet, anyway.
Personality: On a scale of one-to-ten as to how Texan he is, well, Virgil would surely be pretty low down; where his comrades seem rash and gung-ho, he is collected and cautious. Where they are large fans of the liquor and hard booze, he is almost tea-total. Where they smoke and carouse as if every day were their last, he makes notes, trains with an iron discipline, keeps his weapons in perfect working order, and intends to remain alive.
In spite of all this he does have a certain innocence about him, his manner polite at all times, and with a natural gift for understatement; this has ensured that he has made friends and bonded with some of the Texans, if only out of a sense of protectiveness at his perceived naivete.
All-in-all he is a pleasant oddity to have around, an unusual mass of curiosities from a differing culture, willing to learn and ingratiate himself into the good graces of his comrades and smile while doing it.
History: Born on the colony world of Nova Drookia, the one and only frontier world colonised by the swamp-savages of Drook, Virgil underwent an upbringing and education not too dissimilar from those he now serves alongside; Nova Drookia is a planet of warm summer and cold winters, of forests teeming with good hunting, and mountain ranges spread across wild plains and hills all criss-crossed with lakes and valleys of lush grass in the summer and frozen tundras in the sub-zero winters – what he found when his family emigrated off-planet to Texanis and the Eastern Fringe was much of the same when it came to animal rearing, the riding of horses and inhabited by hardy colonists.
The only real difference – from what they could see at first... - was the heat.
Liam Allaway, a horse breeder and member of the Nova Drookian Militia – a small but well organised policing force on their home planet - and his wife Emma, a seamstress and loving mother of their teenage son, moved from their own planet to the north of Texanis with a small contingent of their own countrymen when they heard of the opportunities in the cultivation of herds and rearing of high-quality steeds.
Little did they realise that their only son would be half-recruited and half-conscripted into the Sixty Third Texanis, a newly founded regiment of relative youngsters looking for new flesh; due to his upbringing and the natural way he slipped into a military role, Virgil was considered a perfect candidate.
Sure, his hotchpotch uniform, including elements of his fathers old uniform that represent both where he came from an a proud tradition to boot, have marked him out as surely as his accent would have, but in service to the God-Emperor and with the thrill of adventure coursing through is veins it is something that the recently turned twenty 'man' can (and will have to) cope with.
Gear: A peacebreaker autopistol, a plainstrider autogun, and a cavalry sabre.
The only pieces of non-standard equipment he carries are a 'smithe and wezzon' pattern autopistol kept in a holster at his hip – a ten to fifteen round pistol with ambidextrous safety levers, a one-piece rear wraparound grip, and a rear sight fully adjustable for windage and elevation. This was also his fathers.
Alongside this is his favourite weapon for his role, a Nooslar Forty-Eight bolt-action rifle with a twenty-six inch barrel, and capable of fitting any Guard-issue sight to its top.
Lastly is a knife equally capable of skinning a catch or disembowelling a xenos aggressor, with it's twenty-four inch blade and curvature that would make a Catachan proud.
Gear Personalisation: None, except for labelling each item – although branding would be more appropriate a term – with his name and regiment. He doesn't like to deface Imperial property.
Age: 20 (and a half)
Speciality: Scout and tracker - having been raised in a constantly shifting landscape by a father who was essentially a lone law-enforcer he has become proficient in all that that entails; able to ride like a man twice his age and with as much experience, to track a man or beast simply by the slight indentation in the earth or the breaking of a twig, and eyesight and a sense of smell as sharp as anything, it seems the perfect role.
Gender: 'Cowboy'
Height: 6' 0”
Weight: 180.6 lbs
Appearance: Much like almost everything about him – from his personality to alterations to his uniform – Liam stands out in that he is an outsider to the regiment (and the Texanis culture in general) and, while slowly but surely changing to fit into his new found regiment, he retains much of what he was taught as a younger man; this goes as much for how he looks as anything else.
Standing at six feet exactly, Virgil has the odd and not self-aware honour of being actually rather attractive!
Piercing blue eyes, a strong and perpetually clean-shaven jawline and slightly pointed nose set against skin of a milky white, framed by eyebrows and a crop light chestnut hair kept constantly cut short, and a pair of full but slightly down-turned lips all come together to form a face of perfectly symmetrical proportions.
When one travels south they will find a deceptively slender but broad-shouldered torso of corded musculature, those shoulders and slightly calloused hands well used to heavy weights and endurance in harsh environments where others might fail; likewise his legs, well proportioned as they are, keep him firm and steady whether riding in the saddle or chasing prey through a sand or snowy tundra.
Like all those of the regiment he has been given, but doesn’t necessarily wear, the standard-issue uniform: ankle-high leather combat boots, a tan shirt, wide brimmed brown leather ‘ten-gallon’ hat and light brown rucksack. Although he does wear the boots, shirt, and rucksack – all perfectly ironed and folded when in storage – he has altered it slightly by wearing upon his head a Campaign hat rather than the 'ten-gallon', a pair of midnight blue riding breeches with a vertical yellow stripe down the outside of each leg, and over his shirt he can sometimes be seen sporting his father's old militia tunic, commonly known as a 'red serge'. Although he also owns a pair of brown riding boots, he often finds them unwieldy and much prefers the Texan combat boots.
Other Appearance: Apart from a puckered scar just below the left half of his ribcage, caused by falling from a horse and onto sharp stones, he is fortunate enough not to have anything else marring his body...not yet, anyway.
Personality: On a scale of one-to-ten as to how Texan he is, well, Virgil would surely be pretty low down; where his comrades seem rash and gung-ho, he is collected and cautious. Where they are large fans of the liquor and hard booze, he is almost tea-total. Where they smoke and carouse as if every day were their last, he makes notes, trains with an iron discipline, keeps his weapons in perfect working order, and intends to remain alive.
In spite of all this he does have a certain innocence about him, his manner polite at all times, and with a natural gift for understatement; this has ensured that he has made friends and bonded with some of the Texans, if only out of a sense of protectiveness at his perceived naivete.
All-in-all he is a pleasant oddity to have around, an unusual mass of curiosities from a differing culture, willing to learn and ingratiate himself into the good graces of his comrades and smile while doing it.
History: Born on the colony world of Nova Drookia, the one and only frontier world colonised by the swamp-savages of Drook, Virgil underwent an upbringing and education not too dissimilar from those he now serves alongside; Nova Drookia is a planet of warm summer and cold winters, of forests teeming with good hunting, and mountain ranges spread across wild plains and hills all criss-crossed with lakes and valleys of lush grass in the summer and frozen tundras in the sub-zero winters – what he found when his family emigrated off-planet to Texanis and the Eastern Fringe was much of the same when it came to animal rearing, the riding of horses and inhabited by hardy colonists.
The only real difference – from what they could see at first... - was the heat.
Liam Allaway, a horse breeder and member of the Nova Drookian Militia – a small but well organised policing force on their home planet - and his wife Emma, a seamstress and loving mother of their teenage son, moved from their own planet to the north of Texanis with a small contingent of their own countrymen when they heard of the opportunities in the cultivation of herds and rearing of high-quality steeds.
Little did they realise that their only son would be half-recruited and half-conscripted into the Sixty Third Texanis, a newly founded regiment of relative youngsters looking for new flesh; due to his upbringing and the natural way he slipped into a military role, Virgil was considered a perfect candidate.
Sure, his hotchpotch uniform, including elements of his fathers old uniform that represent both where he came from an a proud tradition to boot, have marked him out as surely as his accent would have, but in service to the God-Emperor and with the thrill of adventure coursing through is veins it is something that the recently turned twenty 'man' can (and will have to) cope with.
Gear: A peacebreaker autopistol, a plainstrider autogun, and a cavalry sabre.
The only pieces of non-standard equipment he carries are a 'smithe and wezzon' pattern autopistol kept in a holster at his hip – a ten to fifteen round pistol with ambidextrous safety levers, a one-piece rear wraparound grip, and a rear sight fully adjustable for windage and elevation. This was also his fathers.
Alongside this is his favourite weapon for his role, a Nooslar Forty-Eight bolt-action rifle with a twenty-six inch barrel, and capable of fitting any Guard-issue sight to its top.
Lastly is a knife equally capable of skinning a catch or disembowelling a xenos aggressor, with it's twenty-four inch blade and curvature that would make a Catachan proud.
Gear Personalisation: None, except for labelling each item – although branding would be more appropriate a term – with his name and regiment. He doesn't like to deface Imperial property.
