The Touch of Destiny -Rogue Trader Recruitment

[Chiara]

'Captain! The shields are failing!' yelled an unidentifiable voice as her father looked down at her and picked her up. She recalled his bushy mustasche as he kissed her and she recalled word for word what he said to her: 'You will carry on my Empire. I love you.' Those were the last words her father spoke to her before she was torn away from him, thrust into the arms at the age of 7 into the first mate and being taken to the escape shuttle her father had prepared.

Her father died fighting a space battle against Eldar Corsairs that he had double crossed. She never learnt the truth until she was in her mid-twenties and her drunken mother had loosened her tongue about her father. It did not matter to her.

Rogue Trader Jassmine Recheel Lithensired had taken her father's mantle and worn it proudly.

RPG:

The Graceful Theif is a converted Imperial Escort ship that has been retrofitted to fit Jassmine's lavish tastes and combimed with the need for decent firepower. The vessel is home to just over a thousand odd people, most making up the actual workforce that tend to the engine maintanence, arming the massive weapons and servitors. However, some people aboard the Graceful Theif are the peronsal bodyguards, servants, savants, and others that are in the employ of the ship's Mistress. With a rare few actually taking passage aboard the ship to where ever they want to get off at. If their money is good, they stay till they can't pay and at that point they are ditched at the nearest port.

It is a relatively new Escort ship, bought fresh out of the orbital docks, having paid five Governor's ransoms for it and then twice as much for the retrofitts she had demanded. The Graceful Theif has served as her flagship for over two decades and has seen scraps with Orks, pirates, Tau and Eldar Corsairs, each time either with the ship fleeing with its hide intact or unleashing a devastating blow and looting the vessel they had rendered destroyed. For all its worth, the ship has served Rogue Trader Jassmine loyally in her travels.

Those that are apart of her immediate crew, like Navigators, the Astropath, personal comrades that were once hired mercenaries and hired mercanaries are treated to the private rooms where they eat and drink well and have a relatively easy life aboard the ship. There are target ranges, practise combat servitors and other activities available for the members she keeps close around her to keep them on their toes and not going insane with boredom. The Graceful Theif is her home eight years out of a decade and she had never left it any longer than a few months.

Plot Line:

You are a character from the immediate crew that I have indicated about in the last paragraph. For whatever reason you are apart of this group and even passengers that paid well would also be in this luxury area. You met the Captain somehow, or got brought on by the First Mate or even another recruit that could be dead, but somehow you were brought into the fold.

However, I ask that no one has been with the Captain for no longer than two years. This is will make sense once the storyline continues. If you want to be a prior aquaintance, please make sure our characters went seperate ways no later than twelve years. Essentially there is an entire decade of happenings I want the players and their characters to be ignorant of.

The plotline is pretty straight forward. We have left port with a contract to unload Imperial foodstuffs, fine clothing and various spirits and wines to sell and trade with Tau out in on the Eastern Fringes of Imperial space. They are going along as either bodyguard, hired guns, savants to assist with the money, a Navigator that is too tired of sitting cooped up, or other characters that you can choose to use and would be happy to come along. Now I did mention Xenos and even they could have signed up. A Kroot would really add into the fray and be welcomed.

We are to meet Tau on a third party world and make the trade with them and we'll get Tau weapons and other Tau products like their own foodstuffs, spirits and intoxicants. (Just because they are all about the Greater Good, does not mean the culture does not have a way of releasing their baser desires). Thats the plot.

Character Limitations:

0-1 Kroot
0-1 Kroot Shaper
0-1 Eldar Outcast (can be Eldar or Dark Eldar, if Dark please have developed reason. It would be very unusual (even more than an Eldar Outcast) for a Dark Eldar to work with humans)
0-2 Psykers (please keep the psykers to low powered psykers, like not killer machines, but not weak and pointless)
0-1 Navigator
0-2 Tech Adepts

1+ Ex-Guard, Mercs, Bounty Hunters, etc. The real characters of this RPG. Please keep in mind that sometimes its just best to be a human, with a lasgun and the self rightious notion you are better than the Xenos you just killed.

Weapons:

Being apart of the Rogue Trader's crew and being all sorts of characters, I will be a little lax on weapons. However, if everyone seems to just be taking bolt pistol or plasma pistol and power weapon and having this combo, I will be cracking down. Please do not really consider a weapon for your character just because you want a 'cool weapon'. Please reveiw the limitations on wargear when choosing as well:

0-1 Heavy Stubber
No Missile Launchers, Lascannons, Autocannon, Cyclone Missile Launchers, Plasma Cannons or Meltacannons
0-1 Meltagun
0-1 Flamer
0-2 Grenade Launcher (frag and krak)

Please once again, think of who your character is and what equipment they would have. Now I am about to appear a hypocrite because my character does have expensive wargear, however, she is a well off Rogue Trader....(for now)

Any Questions Please Ask.

GM Character:

Name: Rogue Trader Jassmine Recheel Lithensired
Age: 48 Standard Imperial Years
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8
Weight: 150lbs
Occupation: Rogue Trader

Appearance: Jassmine is a pretty attractive woman with long purple hair that is pulled into a segmented ponytail with each part going from purple to dark blue and ending in dark black. She has dark emerald eyes with succelent red lips and developed cheekbones with a soft and pleasant nose. To look at her first is to see a beautiful woman, to look again and see the person behind the eyes and she see the seriousness within her. The air of a Captain who demands respect and will not settle for less than absolute obediance. She has a developed bosom that can be used as persuasive tools if need be and finely attractive and atheletic body.

She wears what she wants to wear depending on the occasion. Most of the time she is wearing furlined boots made of Groxhide, black grox leather loose fiting pants and a blouse of the finest woodkilk silk with a vest underneath. She is prone to also wearing a fine jacket made of a now extinct bird that is suitable for both cold and warm weather enviroment. At her right side is her mother's family sword and on the left is her bolt pistol. She is always armed.

Personality: Jassmine is two people. She is relatively a young lady who is suitable for marriage and seeks to pleasure people in the high life as she sees it. She can be a very well adjusted young lady and use curtesy and everything that high life standards meet.

However, aboard the Graceful Theif she is a cursing and spitting rogue that is a dangerous lady to cross. Her temper is well known for people that have worked with her to just shut up once her eyes flash in rage and leave the subject alone. She commands them through yells and demands, but she is a fair Captain and most of the crew love and respect her as she cares about them.

Alone, she is a lonely person who ultimately misses her father and dearly wishes she could have gotten to known the dashing rogue her mother would describe to her. She seeks to one day surpass him and it is that burning desire that has led her to the progress she has made.

Wargear:

Family Heirloom: Power Saber: Her mother gave her the sword of their Great Grandfather than he apparently used to sever the head of some Chaos heretic during soem great space battle. Its a power sword shaped like into a saber.

Bolt Pistol: She regularly uses her bolt pistol and is quite accurate with the weapon.

Mastercrafted Plasma Pistol: Keeps the plasma pistol in a holster on her right side. Rarely used as it was a gift from a very happy client.

Other Equipment: Auspex, personal voxbead, carapace armor on chest and legs, flak jacket over carapace armor. She carries frag and krak grenades as well as other personal items a woman of her nature would carry (perfume, eye make-up, stuff you boys were once clueless about, can't tell these days).

Background:

At the age of 7, she lost her father and her story started there. For the next ten years she was forced into a 'Young Lady's Academy' by her mother and she was taught to be a young Noble with her mom having intentions of marrying her off to further her own political standings, but at the age of 18 and fully reconized as an adult, she took to the stars without so much as telling her mom. For those ten nearly eleven years she was forced into the preparation school, she dreamt about fulfilling her father's dreams.

First Mate Nouma had been quick to teach her the ropes and she learnt from the trusted advisors and crews her father once employed and from Nouma she went on her way to learning the ways of a Rogue Trader. Seeking good deals and steady work, within two years she had three regularly routes and five vessels in her fleet already. She was expanding and even though she only gained one more ship, she was beginning to gain contracts for the valaubles her fleets would take back from Kroot, Tau and other Xenos empires along the Eastern Fringes. Her biggest score was the Spacehulk: MommaTerror as she had named it in the end.

At the age of 24, she finally owned the Graceful Theif and for however long she has been running deals with Kroot, Tau and even Eldar now and then. She has had running ins with the Inquisition and even once and thankfully temporarily in the service of a rather ticked off Xenos Inquisitor. It mattered not to her. She was making a ton of money and her mother and her were living the lives they both wanted. With her daughter out leading the fleets, her mother ran the accounts and both women were happy.

Jassmine is now 48 and has been working with the Tau for over two decades. The trade route she is doing is quite literally for the easy money to fuel the Graceful Theif on a longer expedition.

---Any takers?

[RampagingRavener]

I'm going to tentatively reserve the Eldar Outcast slot. Character may be Dark; I have a few ideas kicking around.

Currently, either a Craftworld Eldar who grew dissatisfied with the Paths and left to join an Eldar Pirate band, similar to Yriel's Raiders, but was forced to scavenge and adopt Imperial weapons and garments after said fleet was destroyed and thus her source of replacements and repairs dried up. Or a Dark Eldar warrior, forced to flee Commoragh after the weaker, failing Kabal she was attatched to was swallowed up by a more powerful one. If you've got a preference, let me know, though being a Dark Eldar fanboy I'm mulling over the second more strongly.

If I can't pull any of them together into a solid character/you don't like the sound of either, and no-one else has taken the slots beforehand, I'll drop a Techpriest in.

[Lt.Bradford]

Go ahead and put me down as some kind of average Joe. Need to think out a character soon.

[The Gothic Me]

Name: Loki Black
Age: 26
Sex: Male
Height: 5' 10"
Job: Mercenary/adventurer

Equipment:
Duel stub pistols
Duel splinter pistols
Duel pulse pistols

Physical: Loki is about average height and fairly average build, though he does have a sinuous strength to him. He has straight, jet black hair growing almost to his shoulders; it has a certain oily quality to it. Clothing wise, he favours black leather; including the obligatory black leather trench coat.

Personality: Loki carries himself like most ex-ganger's; a cocky stride contrasted by a definite edginess. He's not a cruel person, but he's certainly no Saint. Like most males of his age, he has a deep interest in members of the opposite sex.

Biography: Loki was raised by foster parents and never knew who his real parents were. This was not necessarily a bad thing; his adoptive parents came from an upper hive background and raised him as well as he could have asked. But like any child would, he became intensely curious as soon as he found out he was adopted. At first, his barrage of questions were bet by warnings not to ask questions by his parents. But he didn't stop asking, and eventually his father, a man called Shawn Solandos, told him that he would tell him what he could if he would stop asking. Loki agreed, and he found out that his mother had died when he was very young, and that his father had given him to Shawn, who had been an old friend, to raise instead. Shawn never said why exactly Loki's real father couldn't raise him himself, but he claimed that it had been a good reason. He also never said how he had known Loki's father, or indeed anything at all about his past. So, for the rest of his childhood, Loki's imagination was filled with his real father and his adopted father having fantastic adventures throughout the galaxy. These would, of course, fade as he entered adolescence.

It was in his teenage years that Loki would fall in with the underhive crowd. He quickly became completely submerged in the gang culture and became a fairly standard brat ganger. His mother, naturally, disapproved, but his father viewed his new lifestyle with a sort of resigned approval. Do his credit, Loki was a talented gangster; he developed formidable gunslinging skills, especially when it came to pistols. In his time, he would grow to have some prestige among the gangs, despite the stigma of being a brat.

But in the end, as Shawn had always assured his worried wife, Loki grew out of it. By the time he turned twenty one, he had all but withdrawn from the under hive life, growing weary of it. However, he still longed for adventure, and eventually he decided to leave home and see the universe. He packed up his stuff and set out.
At their final meeting at the space port, Shawn gave him a ornate pistol, claiming it had been the only thing his real father had left him besides his name.
On his first long space flight, Loki examined the weapon, and after he had done some research, he found it to be nothing less then an assassin Exidus pistol. Unfortunately, Loki has never been able to track down any more ammo for the weapon, which came with a five round clip that he would never dream of firing. On the other hand, the weapon did rekindle some of the child hood feelings of awe for his father.

Going out into the universe, it was no surprise that Loki took up the role of a mercenary. He started small, performing small errands and acting as a body guard for minor officials and inept rogue traders. But ultimately, as the years passed, and Loki completed successful job after successful job, never falling prey to a mercenaries low life expectancy, he grew to be one of the finest highest guns around. By his 30th birthday he would regularly run jobs for the imperial establishment, including the Inquisition.

In all this time, he only fired his fathers pistol once.

[Luthor's Shadow]

Time for Round 3??

Name: Rachel Lilia Reeves
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Height: 5'6
Weight: 115lbs
Class: Ex-Enforcer
Appearance: Lilia wears a tight fitting shirt that comes all the way up to her neck and has sleeves all the way down to her wrists. The tightness of the shirt reveals her relatively small chest and comes down to her waist and is tucked in just below her black jeans. The shirt also reveals her taunt muscles on her arms and abdomen. The black jeans are loose and practical with being a bit tight around the hips as with all female jeans. She also wears combat boots that are the only remnants of her enforcer gear she has.

Her hair is cut short and is a dark brown with auburn highlights around the tips and she has hazel eyes. Her eyes change to a blue when she is angry and brown when she is depressed. Here recently it is easy to mistake them for brown than hazel. On her left thigh she has a lizard climbing up her leg in black ink and a black rose just above her right butt cheek. However, with her choice of clothing, these are rarely seen. She also wears what is effectively a sports bra of a random color and a pair of bikini briefs suitable for her choice of life. (The underwear is practical instead of sexy )

Personality: Before Rachel turned fifteen, she was a kind-hearted girl that was naive and lived a sheltered life in the underhive. Her father and mother took care of her and she had no worries. That person is now gone. What is left is Lilia and her outlook on life. Currently she is moody with a pessimistic look on life and towards those around her. She is not argumentative however, but will speak her mind when she feels she wants to place in her input. She is also cold hearted and will not take to the advances of men easily and is usually not interested. Lilia is a woman with a lot of pain inside and she also sees herself as a fugitive and hates what she has become, but has accepted it and what she must do.

Weapons: Two autopistols, bolas launcher and a baton. Two extra clips(4 per clip) for the bolas launcher and 6 clips(20 per clip) for the autopistols.

Equipment: Lilia also carries a flak jacket and carries a visored helmet that is all black. She has flak fatigues, but rarely uses them and carries them along with other personal artifacts in an old non-designated PDF kitbag.

Background: Rachel was born on the planet Yerta Nagalos, a rotten Hive world where her parents were hardworking sump plant drones and worked and lived a fairly good life. Rachel was happy and found herself having no worries and no fear as their part of the Underhive had thankfully been under the care of a relative peaceful gang leader. However, that was to change when she was around fifteen years old. A rival gang came in force and killed the Gang Leader and its closest gang members, thus destroying the Gang and leaving her home and its territory under the control of the hateful Gang calling itself the Black Iguanas.

The gangers regularly harassed and took advantage of the people and being so far from the Hive itself they were left to do as instructed in the lawless Underhive. Having watched atrocities, Rachel was to fall victim to them herself. One day as she was returning home, she watched as a ganger shot her father's head off as her dad tried to attack the man. The next shot went into her mother's chest and then the other two gangers opened fire upon her mother killing her. Rachel cried out and the three men smiled.

That night was forever burned into Rachel's mind as the men committed acts to her body and mind as they used her till they had desecrated her female body and left her to cry in pain and terror as they left. Having seen her family killed and her body raped, the girl known as Rachel died. However, she was still Rachel at the time, but her personality began to alter.

The next-door neighbors took her in and they took care of her. They fled to the Hive with all the money they could scrounge, Rachel's parents having actually saved over a thousand credits over the years and combined with the further 20,000 they had made selling Rachel's and their old hab domes to the Merchant Guild and the money was spent on a new dome and transportation to reach the Hive. The wife died in transit, but Rachel and her adopted Father, Mark, made it to their new home. It was then she found herself pregnant with one of the ganger's baby.

Deciding to keep the child, Rachel began to study to be an Enforcer. Having witnessed and been a victim of mindless gangers, she vowed to bring Justice to those that deserved it. At the age of eighteen and with baby Nicolas reaching the age of three, she was admitted to the Academy and became an Enforcer. While she was the academy, her adopted father and his new wife took care of Nicolas until she graduated and became a green cadet on the force.

For the next seven years, Rachel became a full Enforcer and worked on many cases, but never achieved anything really special. She was efficient at tracking and hunting convicts and proved reliable with both a bolas launcher and an autopistol. The bolas launcher became her staple weapon as her role was to capture and take the convicts in alive. However, during one case she and her squad took out a major drug lord who had contacts to one of the most powerful gangs in the Hive. Not knowing that her head was marked, her squad and herself were treated as heroes.

It was just a day like any other as Rachel and her son, now ten, were out shopping for groceries when the hit came. In a sudden flash of a ganger's truck came roaring past and as Rachel tried to dive to the ground she was too late as three stray bullets blew Nicolas' head clean off of his neck and covered her in blood, gore and brain matter. Shock struck Rachel as she clutched her dead son's body and then a deep dark rage was lit inside her as she took off back to her house, leaving her dead son behind, revenge consuming her completely.

Returning home, she grabbed two autopistols and a bolas launcher she had bought for herself and took to the streets and began a bloody job of shaking down contacts and beating up squealers to track down the thugs that killed her son. After only three hours, she had tracked them down to an apartment where loud industrial music could be heard coming from it. She quickly went up the stairs, wearing only a loose blouse covered in blood and a pair of black knee length shorts. Knocking on the door, she just asked for one name and as soon as the man turned to call that name she blew his head off.

Before the other three men could react, she fired her second autopistol and clipped the one directly in front of her in the chest knocking him backwards. Firing with the right one again, this time the men were moving out of the way she caught another in the right leg. It should have became a shoot out but the gangers had left their weapons in their truck not thinking they would be attacked by a pissed off enforcer. It was to be their foolish mistake. She took her time killing the last three, shooting them in places and beating them roughly. When they were finally dead she came to and realized what she had done.

She fled towards the spaceport after stopping at home and stowing things away into a kit bag of a personal nature and knowing she had become a fugitive, took the quickest flight off the planet. The ship took her to Ruat, an asteroid colony that she lived on and worked as a bounty hunter on. She would make short hops towards the planet of Ixia and seek out her bounty before returning back to Ruat where she had a regular rented room. However, when word came of a Rogue Trader looking for capable hands, Lilia quickly signed up and hoped that through the Rogue Trader she would have been taken off the planet and travel the stars where she could remain hidden and never be caught for the illegal judgment she had brought upon those men.

She ultimately believes she did the right thing in killing those four gangers, but knows she did it the wrong way. She had not done the lawful thing and instead had been a slave to her emotions instead of allowing the courts and the Emperor's Law pass sentence. She had committed a wrong that was right. It was still a crime and she had accepted that and accepted the life she now leads. She is distant and keeps people at arm's length as she rejects physical touching and hates to be hugged or touched by anyone.

Hope Lilia works out.

*Shamelessly ripped her from RR's old Conflict RPG and polymphus' In pursuit of an end. I just love her

-Hey The Gothic Me, do you think Lilia and Loki know each other by now?

May Insanity Grace your Evening

Luthor's Shadow

[RampagingRavener]

Just to show you were I'm going, and properly stake my claim, I'll drop in what I've got so far to make sure it's alright.

Name: Sicoh’varvi Lazokas
Age: 133
Height: 6’ 2”
Gender: Female
Species: Eldar

Appearance: Sicoh’varvi is, like all Eldar, inhumanly tall and elegant with a tight, rangy frame and long limbs. Her skin is pale to the point of very slight translucency and her pupils often widely dilated; normally they appear green. Her hair is dark brown and frequently twisted into decorative braids. By human standards she appears dangerously thin. Sicoh’varvi’s face is, like her body, hard and cold; high, sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and a narrow chin giving her alien appearance a positively bladelike quality. A row of neural uplink sockets run down the length of her spine.

When expecting danger (which is most of the time), Sicoh’varvi wears her full armour; a black skintight bodysuit that covers her entire body other than the head, and a suit of sleek, beetle-like black and green armour (including helmet) inlaid with runic script. She also possesses a set of robes to wear in privacy.

Personality: Forced to live among humanity, Sicoh’varvi has had to curb the worst excesses of the chaotic Eldar psyche - ironically, similarly to the Craftworld path system she so derides. As such, she appears cold and aloof, distancing herself from others to limit the risk of violent passions being stirred up and blood being shed. When they are aired, in anything from creating art to wanton slaughter, she appears utterly manic and frenzied, be it utter elation, all-consuming terror or howling rage. Though Sicoh’varvi has little respect for those who lack the cold-hearted, callous natures she is used to, she has a fascination with art and a desire for an equally sharp, intelligent mind to converse with. Though few would ever know it, there is a deep undercurrent of terror to her; like most Dark Eldar she is horrified by the idea of dying, either in battle or being consumed by the Thirst, and will commit almost any act to stave off death.

Wargear:
--Splinter Rifle. Splinter Rifles are truely fearful weapons; magno-electric impulses shatter a crystaline ammo cell into thousands of razor-sharp fragments and propel them from the barrel at incredible speed. Sicoh'varvi impregnates her ammo crystals with wide variety of necrotic poisons, causing even glancing wounds to quickly fester and rot. The tip of the rifle sports a bayonet, deceptively slender but no less deadly for it.
--Combat Knife. 12" long Eldar combat blade.
--Mesh Armour. Rarely taken off, Sicoh'varvi's armour gives decent protection against shrapnel, blunt impacts, and glancing shots. The forearms are fitted with rows of blades, as much for decoration as for fighting, and the boots end in three-toed mechanical claws. Her helmet includes a built-in translator module, so she doesn't have to sully her tongue with low Gothic while wearing it.
--Scourge Wings. Rather than the bulky jump-packs used by the Imperium, the Dark Eldar favour a lighter dark matter engine. Maneuvering is accomplished by a pair of mechanical wings which interface with the users nervous system, allowing them to operate the wings as if they were conventional limbs.
--Miscellaneous Equipment. Scalping and skinning knives, three vials of poison, four doses of combat drugs, twelve crystal bottles used to store extracted souls, genestealer-tooth necklace.

History: Born and raised in the Scourge Eyries of Commoragh, despite her young age, Sicoh'varvi quickly developed a reputation for her feats of reckless brutality. Just as fond of descending into the enemy ranks and lashing out with the lethal mechanical claws built into the boots of her armour as of reaping them with hails of Splinters, many of the Sybarites took her to be a relatively simple-minded killer with few aspirations of attaining higher rank. In truth, they were mistaken. While Sicoh'varvi's penchant for violence was in part genuine, mostly it was a carefully cultivated ruse to ensure she would be overlooked next to the more openly ambitious Scourges seeking to unseat one of the Sybarites and take their place. As such, while the other feuded and squabbled, Sicoh'varvi left them to their petty politiking and quietly built up her own power base among the other rank-and-file Scourges, earning their grudging respect and admiration through battlefield feats that, at times, bordered on the hellishly risky. On Malathrax, she and her flock crippled a squadron of Imperial Guard Chimeras by descending upon them from above, disabling them with a rain of Haywire grenades before cutting through the hatches and butchering the passengers. On Killdakka, they enacted a three-week campaign of raiding Ork Mek Camps that left the Speed Freek greenskins stranded and, without their bikes, trukks, and wagons, demoralised; easy pickings for the Kabal the Scourges had sold their services to at the time. It wasn't shortly after she was awarded the title of Sybarite, her predecessor finding his Wings malfunctioning at the worst possible time and sending him plunging, helplessly, into a pack of Termagants.

However, as with so many things in Commoragh, Sicoh'varvi was betrayed. One of those Scourges unimpressed with her bravado, and wary of the growing mass of support she was gathering, confided what was going on to the higher Dracons. Their response was swift and subtle; outright attempting to kill Sicoh'varvi could trigger a full-scale schism within the Eyrie as her supporters struck back. Instead, she and her closest allies were dispatched to aid a weaker Kabal slowly being swallowed up by a larger one. Meanwhile, the Dracons pooled their resources and bribed several sects of Mandrakes and Wyches into supporting the larger Kabal, along with throwing their own private forces behind it. This proved enough to finally tip the scales. Sicoh'varvi and her Scourges were caught in an ambush as the weaker Kabal finally collapsed and was absorbed by its foe. As her allies were either slaughtered or turned against her, Sicoh'varvi realised what had happened and fled. Knowing there would be a price on her head, she left Commoragh entirely, remaining only long enough to commit one last act of spite against those who betrayed her; a potent dark matter bomb, dropped in the upper spires of the Eyrie as she left the Dark City.

Carving out an existence severed from Commoragh proved to be far more difficult than Sicoh'varvi ever expected. Despite her young age, outside the webway the Thirst had a far greater hold on her, forcing her to consume the soul-essences of other creatures far more regularly simply to survive. This was further compounded by other, simpler needs; food, shelter, etc. After emerging from the Webway, Sicoh'varvi stowed away on an Imperial bulk transport ship, snatching galley-slave and Naval ratings to sate the Thirst. During this time she was forced to learn a degree of restraint and self-control that had been entirely unnecessary within Commoragh. For a few years, she scraped by like this, occasionally moving from ship to ship whenever her current vessel docked at port if she suspected the crew were beginning to realise they had a stowaway. Until, one day, she was discovered. Aboard a pirate vessel, where the crew were always armed and wary, pickings grew slim and as the Thirst took hold, Sicoh'varvi took greater and greater risks to procure her victims. Which, eventually, lead to a ship-wide search that flushed her from her lair, herded her into a dead-end, and saw her knocked unconscious and chained up in the brig. The shame and irony of being enslaved by humans, it must be said, stung far worse than the physical beatings she would later receive.

Sicoh'varvi learned during her captivity she was to be sold into slavery on one of the outer-rim worlds, beyond the borders of the Imperium, where all manner of aliens and their technology were bought and sold. By the time the pirates arrived and set up their grisly wears, Sicoh'varvi was nearly crippled and half-mad from the Thirst - something which may have worked to her advantage, as few traders had any interest in the frail, wizened specimen they found, rather than the lithe, deadly killer advertised. Her escape was more a matter of co-incidence than anything else. A Eldar outcast, searching for looted Wraithstones, came across her cage. Unwilling to get involved with Commoragh's dregs, yet equally unsettled by seeing another Eldar suffering at humanity's hands, he slipped her a knife and the key to her cage while her jailers slept before leaving her to her fate. Fuelled by desperation and indignant rage, Sicoh'varvi slew her captors and feasted upon their souls, before hunting down every merchant who had purchased a piece of her equipment and consuming their essence as well. In the brief lucid periods of her captivity, Sicoh'varvi had come to the conclusion that she could not survive alone. As much as the idea repelled her, she would be forced to work alongside humans to stand any chance at prospering with her ties to Commoragh severed. To this end, she once again stowed away on a ship. This time, it was the Graceful Thief. Instead of simply restarting her parasitic existence, Sicoh'varvi tracked down the Captain and, swallowing her pride, presented herself to her with an offer of service in exchange for shelter.

Truthfully, Sicoh'varvi doesn't know why Jassmine agreed. Perhaps it was pragmatism - the desire to have another lethal operative working for her. Or the prestige of being allied with an Eldar as more than a trade partner. Or, perhaps, she liked the idea of ruling over the same species of Xenos that had killed her father. Sicoh'varvi doesn't much care why. The situation of being subservient to a human offends her to this day, even after 8 months of working for Jassmine. But it's preferable to the alternative; she has her lair in the bowels of the ship, a supply of slaves either taken in combat, purchased, or members of the crew who failed or betrayed Jassmine in some spectacular way to feed the Thirst, and far more opportunities to sate her riotous passions than she would have had otherwise.

---

I apologise for the somewhat...stripperific nature of the picture, but it's bloody impossible to find any female Dark Eldar pictures that don't look like she should be hanging off a pole somewhere. Just imagine her wearing Scourge armour or something - I very much doubt she'll ever show anywhere near this much skin in the RP itself.

EDIT: Got another picture of her.

[SandQueen]

Name: Lawrence "Larry" Van der Mir
Age: 40
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 170lbs.
Position: Mechanic and Repairman

Appearance:

Lawrence is of barelly above average height and is moderatly well built. He doesnt have the hardened edge that he once did but the important things are still there. He keeps his tightly curled black hair pulled back by a bandana which happens to match the circles under his eyes when he usually wakes up (sans patterning of course). He has a slightly noticeable scar under his right eye and an elaborate tattoo on the inside of his right forearm from his old Imperial Guard unit.

Equipment:
+ Personalized Longlas: Lawrence's rifle is not the standard issue of the Imperial guard. It is fitted with a digitized scope with a cerebral uplink as well as a flash suppressor to mask its thermal signature and gas report.

+Griffon Pattern Autopistol, .30 caliber, extended magazines.

+Tool belt with magazines for pistol, wrenches, calipers, small containers of lubricants and ungents, etc.

+Bionic arm. Lawrence's left arm is entirely artificial, all the way up to his shoulder. It has been fitted with outer plating to make it look less mechanical and more like an arm but the color is a dead give away. It contains a small datapad concealed behind one of the panels, scanning tools, and the finger tips contain small tools such as a sodering iron, screw driver, and fine pincers.

+Plain blue jumpsuit, left arm ripped away, name embroidered above the left breast pocket.

+Purple bandana with teal paisley patterning.

+Carapace armor vest, rarelly worn. Patterned in black, white, and grey checks.

Background:
Lawrence was a rare sort of Imperial Guard soldier. The sort that was not an office but acheived enough and survived enough to merit retirement. As a guardsman he was attached to a Special Operations unit as a marksman. His squad was tasked with infiltration and covert operations behind enemy lines. They assassinated enemy commanders, compromized supply lines, and weakened morale. After serving in this unit for ten years and being in the imperial guard for a decade before that he, and the rest of his squad were allowed to retire as a reward for a particularly high risk operation which claimed half the squad.

One left to become a teacher and found a place with his extensive knowledge of both human and Alien anatomy. Another became the trainer for a planetary governor's personal staff. All found work in various fields. Lawrence became a mechanic. He was too old to start full Adeptus Mechanicus training but he found a place maintaining vehicles, both civilians and military. He then spent some time working on a solar station collecting energy for plasma reactors on a small rock near a star. Two years ago he was recruited into the crew of the Rogue Trader Jassmein Lithensired. He jumped at the opportunity because she was fine with him keeping his rifle and other personal effects (unlike the solar station which had issues with firearms in the workplace).

[SylverClaw]

Name: Psiarceon Thanlorn
Age: 62
Gender: Male
Height: 6'5
Weight: 160lbs
Occupation: Navigator

Appearance: Even without noting the obvious Third Eye in the centre of his forehead, Psiarceon's appearance usually causes him to be the subject of warding gestures and fearful glances from ordinary humans. He is tall and thin, his arms seeming over long and his delicate fingers longer still. His flesh is pallid, mottled grey and sickly white, and his body is completely without hair. His features are sharp, hawk-like, and his perfectly black eyes are ever piercing as if gazing through whoever they regard. If all that were not enough to unsettle; Psiarceon has also filed his teeth to sharp points.

His whole body is covered with intricate tattoos, hundreds of thousands of names written in tiny scripted hand. It is what he calls The Legacy; the names of his glorious line recorded back through time, to before the birth of the Imperium itself.

On ship Psiarceon wears grand formal robes; pitch black but stitched with gleaming gold thread, the cuffs glittering with micro-implanted diamond dust. Dazzling rings of precious metals, studded with priceless stones, decorate his long fingers. Sometimes, usually whenever he desires to upset Imperial officials, he also wears a strange xeno-make cloak that shifts in colour and pattern, madly swirling in often-sickening to behold ways.

Off ship Psiarceon paints himself as an adventurer. He wears a suit of gold-plated carapace armour which is engraved with the Litanies of Hate.

Regardless of his dress Psiarceon usually wears a strip of golden cloth around his head, covering his Warp Eye. But this is not always the case; it often amuses Psiarceon to force people to humble themselves by looking at the ground when he is present or face a terrible death by accidentally looking into that grim eye.

Personality: Psiarceon is possessed of titanic arrogance. He cares nothing for the Imperium, for humanity or for any cause which he does not choose to make his own. His only loyalty, and it is an absolute loyalty, is to his Navigator family – and it is this family which he places above all other beings in existence save for the God Emperor.

To Psiarceon, ordinary humans are like blind apes stumbling through a universe they cannot even truly see. He has seen the Immaterium in all its horror and beauty, he has seen the Holy Light of the Astronomican in all its glory. The physical world pales in comparison, serving as little more than an amusing distraction while he is not looking into the real world.

All of Psiarceon's dealings with people are based on these two factors.

It entertains him to see people groping fearfully through life, it amuses him to see xeno strutting around arrogantly as if they know something. They are as nothing in the Warp; they see nothing and all they struggle to achieve is consumed by the uncaring Void.

It is witnessing this, time and again, that Psiarceon loves – it fuels his massive ego. So Psiarceon removes himself from his Navigator-sanctum whenever possible, so that he might continue to revel in his superiority.

Wargear:
Archotech Laspistol – Supposedly made during the Dark Age of Technology, this ancient relic has been passed through his family line since the beginning. Gold plated and studded with rubies it looks impressive enough; and certainly packs more of a punch than might be expected of such a compact weapon. Most impressively the power cell is self-recharging, meaning that it never runs out of ammunition.

Stun Staff – Psiarceon carries an ornate staff of office, silver with etched gold details. Functional as well as ornamental, both of the staff's blunt tips are charged with stun fields capable of incapacitating an adult male grox.

Background:
Psiarceon is a Navigator. His entire life has been one of labour and privilege, working to train his skills and see the Warp so that he might guide vessels through it. This has consumed him virtually since birth; at age five he was expected to be able to recite at least four millennia of his family's line. By ten he was apprenticed to a senior Navigator. By fourteen he was given his own post as Navigator, running safe routes on his family's own vessels, and by eighteen was placed in his first true position aboard an Imperial warship.

The regimented life did not suit him, his attitude rubbing too many people the wrong way. His family moved him to a trade vessel; and this is where Psiarceon found his place.

Finding new routes, pushing boundaries, testing the limits of the ship he guided. An upsetting experience for a captain seeking only safe routes for his cargo, no doubt, but exciting for Psiarceon an important early training for his next career move – Rogue Traders.

Psiarceon has served on a number of ships, never holding to any one for very long. Often this is because he is bored; other times it is because he terrifies the Rogue Trader in command a little too much. Psiarceon takes risk, loves to challenge the dangers of the Warp. A bold captain, one who fears no risk, can use this of course – but most are not so brash.

As for the vessels he has served on Psiarceon barely recalls; he barely even bothers to remember the names of the crew he served with once he moves on. Such physical details seem unimportant and his references are managed by his family's agents anyway.

The ship, the crew, the mission – none have ever been important to Psiarceon so long as there is a new route to forge, a new sight to see, a new thing to amuse.

[Soulless Enigma]

Name: Keruuh Vhek
Species: Kroot
Gender: Male
Age: 43 Terran standard.
Height: 7’6”
Weight: 197 lbs.
Occupation: Mercenary, bounty hunter, former shaper.

Appearance: Keruuh possesses the extra height and muscle mass that normally denotes a shaper among his race. His skin is a dull brown-green, lighter on his chest, belly and the undersides of his limbs. His head quills are matt black, sparsely banded in a dull yellow at irregular intervals. His eyes are a glistening green.

Clothing-wise, Keruuh wears an ‘acquired’ combat rig, used to hold back-up weapons and other odds and ends with supplemental hides done to mirror the styles of specific death world tribe he did a job for. When forced to operate within and around Imperial authority, he keeps his head covered – the cured hide over the head typically associated with shapers, accentuated with a thick pair of military-issue goggles and a custom-fit rebreather mask that covers the vast majority of his beak from the outside world. Dirty, baggy trousers and a jacket help to cover his slender frame. If anyone asks, he’s hired mutant muscle.

Personality: Keruuh is somewhat world-weary, but also intuitive and attentive. He always seeks to suggest the least obvious course of action, as well as point out hard to notice flaws with plans. He is by nature an advisor, but almost equally a warrior. The former shaper is pragmatic in a fight, using whatever he can to get an edge over the opposition and finish them with the minimal possible loss.

Biography: Keruuh Vhek’s early life was nothing particularly exceptional for a member of his race, though he eventually ended up as the Shaper of his kindred and serving as a member of a kroot mercenary force operating in the borders of Imperial Space on the Eastern Fringe. He led his Carnivore kindred competently, slowly guiding them down the evolutionary path towards becoming a Stalker kindred. The Master shaper had led them to an area of the galaxy rich in Imperial worlds under Tyranid attack. The pay was good, and the kroot were almost assured to have access to only the fittest remaining examples of the native species that had managed to avoid being utterly consumed by the Tyranid assaults.

On Sacer, Keruuh made a fatal mistake. Upon bringing low a great sacerian smoke-cat and directing his kindred to begin consuming their kill, the shaper failed to notice the lictors lurking nearby.

Keruuh lost his entire kindred that day, and he only survived by shaming himself and running. For his failure in protecting his kindred and attempting to secure their genetic data, Keruuh would normally have been stripped of his position and executed, but he shamed himself yet further and ran again, escaping his bonds in the dead of night and going into self-imposed exile.

After a somewhat messy negotiation with his kindred’s current employers, Keruuh was able to barter passage off Sacer, acquire a degree of clothing, and from there slowly make his way toward the less reputable planets on the Eastern Fringe. He’s spent the past seven years planet hopping and finding work as a mercenary and bounty hunter. He’s since found he enjoys it somewhat. He hooked up with Jassmine’s crew just over a year ago, after hearing rumours on the underground circuit of a Rogue Trader willing to deal with both kroot and tau. He’s yet to get to know the crew very well yet – he sees them as something of a kindred, but is afraid to make that distinction for fear of failing the crew as he did his old kindred.

Weapons/Equipment: Kroot hunting rifle with a surefoot charm, customised rebreather, goggles with built-in motion sensor auspex, combat rig with multiple knives, laspistol. Keruuh makes use of the blood of the stalker totem if given the time and opportunity to do so.
Armour: None.

[Dakkagor]

Name: Zachary Dupont
Age: 28 Standard Imperial Years
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1
Weight: 170lbs
Occupation: assassin

Appearance: Zachary claims to be of noble stock, and most of the time carries himself as such, his pale skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair tied back into a neat pony tail, fine clothes, sharp features and nimble, thin hands combine with his athletic build to make him seem like a hellrake. When he is working, he strips down to work clothes and has an almost supernatural ability to seem like any other underhive scummer, that is until he starts killing.

Personality: When not working, or in polite company, Zachary is well mannered, charming and polite. Claiming to come from the hive world nobility of Mordax Prime, he seems confident and at ease dealing with anyone from Tau diplomats to Imperial envoys, from hive scum to ork bosses.

However, the truth is that Zachary is a borderline psychotic. He views everyone around him as a tool to further his own personal agenda, which changes startlingly frequently. He would gladly maim, torture or murder any person he came across if such a course of action was more likely to get him what he wanted. He would not necessarily enjoy such actions, but he would not flinch or hesitate from doing them. He simply does not care for people at all. The only exception, it seems, would be the rogue trader Jassmine Recheel Lithensired. He has stated a few times that anyone harming her would be better to cast themselves out an airlock than wait for him to find them, because their death would be horrific, agonising and slow.

When alone, he appreciates fine music, imperial reading material, and the occasional company of buxom wenches. Appreciating the finest things in life may be atleast one reason he is loyal to his employer, who provides these things for him.

Wargear:

Needle pistol: this silent weapon gravitically accelaretes poisoned crystal shards into a target, killing them silently and quickly. He claims to have never missed a target with this deadly weapon.

Mono-sword: a short, double sided blade that is easily concealed and made of an alien ceramic, it is difficult to detect on auspex or with body searches. Designed to punch through even tough armour and into vulnerable flesh, Zachary often coats the blade in nerve toxins or other deadly agents.

Mastercrafted sniper rifle: a personalised long las, Zachary has had very little need for this weapon, after using it for a job on Hecaton Delta. He keeps it around and in excellent condition incase he needs it.

Chainsword and naval revolver: ornate and decorative, these are Zachary's 'dress' weapons' to wear when on the ship or dealing with others in polite company. He can kill with them just as easily as with his more subtle weapons.

Other Equipment: blind grenades, formal clothes, bodyglove, chameoline cloak, low profile carapace armour, dress flak armour, many drugs, poisons and means to deliver them. Zachary has a habit of procuring just about anything he might need.

Background:
Zachary rarely talks about his background to anyone, apart from Lady Jassmine, whom he will answer any question for. The truth is he is a noble bastard from an Imperial house on Mordax Prime, a vast cluster of hive world moons in the Venemus sector, bordering the Perdus rift. He was channelled into his houses cadre of assassins and trained from a young age to be not only a 'gentlemens gentlemen' but also a ruthless killer with no morals. He was, for 18 years, a living weapon.

However, he soon grew tired of this existence, and longed to escape his houses ridiculous resraints on his time and creativity (as he saw it) on his last job for them he elaboratly faked his death (by detonating the targets house with a 50 kilotonne antiship warhead) and disapeared. He got first passage on a ship heading out sector, paying his way as a glorified man-servant. Soon he was recruited by First Mate Nouma, and soon after that introduced to lady Jassmine as her new manservant. Something about the young Rogue trader that he struggles to explain cause him to explain himself and his 'full range of services' to the young woman. Ever since then, he has been Jassmines servant in all things, and seems quite happy with his new life as a pampered, kept, killer.

[Asi the Red]

Throwing my hat in as being interested. Since it's a Rogue Trader RP I'd like to reuse Wolfsbane from "A Conflict of Interests"... but I see that two others have already brought back characters that made an appearance there...

If you don't mind another reused quasi-person, I'll post Wolfsbane up. Otherwise I'd like to reserve a psyker; possibly a pyromancer or a force-mage.

[T_55]

Hope this is fine.

Name: Lieutenant Thomas Jake
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 92kgs
Occupation: Ex-Navy Guard

Appearance:
Thomas is square jawed, tall, built and slightly tanned. The perfect average man. Good looking with sharp clean features, Thomas maintains a short and simple haircut for his dark brown hair. He possesses fair green eyes and a robustly built physique as evident from his broad shoulders.

Off duty, Thomas prefers to wear his old navy uniform. A decorated navy blue tunic with black trousers and white trimmings. Alongside this attire he usually keeps his saber close by as well, sheathed by his right hand side whilst his las pistol is holstered on his left. In addition to the saber he also wears black polished boots.

Thomas' combat fatigues also originate from his previous career, with a few simple necessary modifications he's had to add over recent years. Thomas prefers to wear a matte black flak jacket with added shoulder paddings over a gray long-sleeved t-shirt as well as a pair of black trousers with knee pads. Thomas also wears a pair of silver ceramite moulded wrist guards and black fingerless gloves. The same as his previous uniform, Thomas wears his saber on his right and his las pistol on his left. His combat uniform also has the added benefit of an added boot knife and ammo pouches.

Personality:
Thomas is the highly indispensable aid and a warm an welcoming personality in contrast to what one may come to expect in such a hazardous environment. Unable to hold a grudge, Thomas is meticulously organised and a cunning tactician, and as a result of this, a great improviser. Behind the warm facade however is a fleeting sense of naivety, probably brought on by his lack of experience in real combat. This attribute can make him appear like a liability at times, or seem amazingly courageous at others as his lack of experience sees him throwing himself at dangers others would have already hesitated against. Despite all of this, Thomas remains a calm and composed individual.

As a part of his meticulous personality, Thomas prefers to keep his appearance and surroundings neat. He also practices his skills furiously at times, improving his weaknesses with a keen dedication brought on by deliberate practice and past habits. Thomas remains slightly nervous around xenoes and has had very few prior dealings to do with them, though he holds no particularly malicious or bad feelings towards them. More often than not, his feelings of ambiguity are derived from the simple knowledge that he can never quite understand them like he does a human being.

Thomas can be regarded as a man of principle at times, which certainly makes his presence onboard a rogue trader ship seem especially odd given the train of work, but he's wise enough not to stick his neck out too far and prefers to keep to himself in that regard.

Wargear:
Power Saber: A 28" long, gleaming, single edged silver blade with a finely decorated hilt. The words 'evermore' are inscribed neatly into both sides of the blade. A heirloom of his family's, Thomas' hope is to one day pass it down to a child of his own. For now he uses it as a priceless weapon of death. The blade is surrounded with a cackling field of blue energy when activated and can cut through armor and flesh with ferocious ease. It was mysteriously sent to him via a messenger a few years after Thomas deserted the navy.

Las pistol: Thomas' laspistol is a standard issue cadian variant that even maintains its predecessors olive green coloring.

Shotgun: A lithe, mars pattern pump action shotgun, modified to include a supressor and a target sight. Entirely black with a leather sling, Thomas prefers to keep it handy for close engagements.

Boot Knife: A simple all purpose combat 8" boot knife with a leather black hilt.

Other Essentials: Lasgun power packs, Shotgun Cartridges, Auspex, Comm-Bead.

Background:
Inscribed into Thomas’ mind is over a decade of dedicated training. Starting at the age of 4 Thomas’ father began teaching Thomas the essentials of war such as the tried and tested tactics and strategies of past generals, whilst at the age of 6, he began honing his experience with real weapons. While this might at first seem abusive of a fathers’ role, the planet Thomas’ family lived on was a major recruitment centre for the Imperial Guard and great prestige was to be won by being inducted into the local tithes. And so, for 14 years, guided by his father, Thomas only knew the art of war. His training involved a rigorous study of the use of arms as well as exercises to enhance his stamina and strength. His experience in combat was well cultivated by local competitions whilst his growing knowledge became his ultimate weapon, as he was able to control his abilities to greater and greater lengths.

All of this was then considered a waste when Thomas applied for a role in the navy. His father, having now reached the age of 75 could do nothing but rage at his sons’ decision at first whilst his mother looked away darkly having always had no opinion in any matters at all regarding Thomas’ life. Of course, due to his high borne status, Thomas was a natural candidate for the Navy, and was expected to make it to the rank of Lieutenant on no other premise besides his upbringing. However, many aquatinted with the family quietly agreed and considered Thomas’ trained and honed combat abilities a waste in the role of the Navy. So instead of supporting his son, Thomas’ father disowned him, and with no recognized family name backing him, Thomas remained back down on the lowest rank for recruits.

The Gardenian Regiments where famous amongst the local star systems for their discipline and association with aristocratic families. So when Thomas had joined, he’d been well supported, but now, without a family backing him, Thomas had to re-rise through the ranks on nothing other than pure merit and dedication. Thomas served with the Navy for a further 10 years before finally escaping in a fierce engagement with rebel forces. Caught off planet when the battle began, Thomas took it as a sign of leave and immediately set off alone. In order to make a living in recent years, Thomas has found his skills are most in demand amongst the crewmen of a rogue trader, and, finding some small joy at the thought of adventure, he found the prospect almost irresistible. Having only been a recent addition to the ship, brought on by crew mate and friend Dale Foster a mere year ago, Thomas is still very much adjusting to the drastic change in lifestyle.

Though his combat skills have declined slightly over the past decade due to his role in the navy despite his best efforts to practice, Thomas has recently begun to pick up and re-hone his past innate abilities.

[Chiara]

I sleep, don't check the forum and then come back from College only to find a ton of characters. Wow.....I'm touched.

I will be confirming asap.

Rampaging Ravener, the Eldar slot is fine for Dark Eldar, once your background is up and I've read it through, we should be able to go from there. I wonder if Jassmine would be able to keep a Dark Eldar 'happy' and entertained.......

Asri the Red, if you liked this Wolfsbane character, why not use him? I want players to have what they are happy with.

I believe Eldar and Kroot Shaper are taken.

Now I nap. (i Hope, Souless Engima posted in Changeling.....wait this is spamming now...)

[Slazton]

Hey Chiara, I'm thinking of a Stormtrooper and a meltagun. I will have the character up tonight.

[bryne3]

may post a character soon, probably a stow away hehehehe, Or an angry medic

[RampagingRavener]

Sicoh'varvi's been finished. Awaiting your judgement now.

[Slazton]

Old name, Latin for fire. Decided to try for the psyker slot actually.

Name: Incendium
Birth Name: Adamio Porrt
Role: Psyker
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Appearance: Incendium wears a black tunic and loosefitting black combat fatigues with thick black gloves on both hands and combat boots. He wears a pale white mask that covers his face, fully encompassing it and allowing no visible sight of his neck or even his ears and around the base of the mask is a thick leatherhide collar with a few broken chain links hanging from it. His long straggly black hair is kept in a ponytail that rests down his back. His hair is the only visible part of his actual body. All of it being hidden beneath clothing.

Personality: Incendium is introspective and has a constant watch on everyone. When he meets some one new, he sizes the person up and makes mental notes on them. No one he meets will go amiss. He focuses on detail and things that are out of place. He is socially akward in how he speaks and what he talks about, lacking social graces and does not seem to care or want to learn. Can be found keeping to himself, either reading or writing feverishly in a well worn journal or staring off into space at various viewing points. He is constantly paranoid, to an extent at times he makes nothing out of something and can prove to be annoying at times.

However, Incendium is an honest and blunt person. He is not an advisor nor does he actually listen, he sticks to himself and keeps people at length. He is loyal, but does not trust anyone. Nor does he expect anyone to trust him. He offers nothing but loyalty. He does not expect people to care for him, thus he will not care for them. People are people. They hate him.

Weapons: Two serrated blades and a combat knife.

Equipment:
-Lighter fluid, a few packs of lho-sticks, personal journal and a few packs of toothpicks.

Psychic Powers:

Pyromancy:
-Fireball: Incendium is able to conjour blue warp fire and is able to launch it at the enemy. (Counts as a lasgun for strength and fluff reasons)

-Flamethrower: Incendium is able to shoot forth a wave of fire from his hands holding palms outwards. This move takes focus and concentration and depending on how much focus he places, it will variate from a barely heated wind to a raging inferno.

-Firestorm: Being able to confour a massive storm of fire that is unleashed upon the foe like a raging tornado takes a considerable amount of power and willpower to exert this power. Incendium has only been able to achieve a true firestorm once in his existence. Since then, he has not attempted it but has retained the knowledge and recorded his memories of the experience in his journal.

Background:

Incendium is not his given name. It was a label given to him by his first Master and has not dropped it. There was a time he was the youngest son to a hive sump worker and a dedicated housemaid for a wealthy Merchant that paid cheaply and he was just like any child in the lowly parts of the Hive, full of wonder, exploring and having adventures. Nothing of importance or even physical features marked young Adamio Porrt out from the other youths of his age and he was just one of the younglings that caused trouble around the town.

However, at the age of fourteen Adamio was to stand out from the crowd and it was to happen in such a way that his family could do nothing to hide him away or attempt to kill him themselves as a mercy kill, but it was not to be. On an afternoon, with Adamio beginning to work his way into the local gangs to find a seat of power had seen him making enemies and these other youths set out to jump him. He was unware of the attack from behind and after continiously being beaten the pulp into it, something snapped deep within him. He felt his rage rise to the surface and grabbing the faces of both youths, he completely set their heads on fire. Not knowing what he had done he pulled away but it was already seen by others.

Cries of witch plagued his ears and he ran. He kept running, the sounds of people chasing him only adding to his confusion. He could not understand what happened and he was lost deep into the underhive, only to become like vermin, living off of scraps. Adamio no longer existed, his mind going feral with him seeking food like a rat and killing. He learnt how to summon fire from his hands and this was to be his tool in killing and cooking his kill and defending himself from the horrors of the underhive itself. He was later found when he was skimming near the surface looking for fresh water he was discovered by gangers and was rendered incapictated after they witnessed him throwing blue fireballs at them.

He became a slave. He was told his name was Incendium. He was brainwashed. Taught to eat food with utensils and slept on a bed. He began to respect who he would call Master and found that he was loyal to him provided he had fresh food and a bed. It was what he desired. However, the underhive still lived within him and he was proven to be skittish, jumping at shadows and even nearly ripping people's heads off when felt threatened, but he was to be tamed slowly, his mind being brought to what would have been social and he was taught obediance through lack of bed and food. He understood his master.

After being cleaned up, he was a tall and lithe young man with a hardened face and with peircing black eyes, the look of a predator hanging thickly around him and he was to serve his master for another two years making him biologically, 24, until he attempted the firestorm that killed everyone but him. It was his first and last mistake before he escaped and found purchase and then employment with the Rogue Trader he now serves, it was the event his master was killed.

It happened because he was experimenting with his powers. Since he was taught to read and write, he began to write down his powers and experiences on how they happened, learning to improve them and develop them while continueing to remain hidden. He learnt how to create flamethrower like flames from this book and his memories and now he was attempting something marvelous. It was meant to be small and controlled. It was not meant to get out of hand. It blew up the entire complex and left him hidiously scarred beyond recognition. Upon awakening, he fled the gang territory and using all the money he had, he bought the clothes and mask to cover his injuries.

Not pausing to seek medical attention, he fled to the starport and paid a handsome fee to fly upon a ship called the Graceful Theif. After a month of flying with them, he ran out of credits and it was not until he displayed his talents with the warp that he was recruited. He quickly accepted and has taken to keeping to himself mostly. Sometimes being seen, but rarely heard as he floats about the ship taking to his fancy. He rarely uses his powers and can mostly be found training with his swords.

Any questions please let me know Chiara!

[kardar233]

Reserving a slot for hired muscle. Possibly made up of mods to Lyei from LS' fizzled Post-Apoc RP. My usual standbys (a Necron-tainted Commissar, Croneworld Eldar, Inquisitorial Navigator) really don't fit here, so I'm modifying her to work. Specializes in demolition and CQB.

[Asi the Red]

Actually Chiara I'm leaning more towards the psyker. I think I'll wait a bit to see what Slaz puts up for Incendium before I delve too deeply into fleshing mine out though.

[kardar233]

Name: Lyei Heild
Age: 32 Imperial Standards
Gender: Female
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 134lbs
Occupation: Hired muscle, former gang-hammer

Appearance: Lyei stands taller than average for her age, but quite short for her usual occupation. She's obviously strong, but apart from muscle fibers she is skin and bones, due to the state of near-starvation she has been in recently. She generally wears a black skinsuit adorned with some trophies and many small pieces of Arbites carapace armour.

Personality: Lyei is wary and distrustful, but prone to mood swings brought on by her addiction. Generally, she still retains the mindset of the gang-hammer she used to be, complete with language and accent. She's rough-edged, hard to get along with, and sometimes frustrating, but keep her happy and high and you'll get along fine.

Wargear:

Her most prized possession is her weapon. It still resembles a standard-pattern Arbites shotgun, but this is a high-ranking commander's weapon and is made to very close tolerances. The rifled barrel allows for excellent accuracy with solid slugs and sabot rounds. It works on a pump-action mechanism with a seven-round detachable box magazine complete with a round ejection system in case she needs a different one than is chambered. This weapon takes up the majority of her free time, as she cleans and polishes it near-obsessively. She carries only the basic rudiments of ammunition, slug and shot, and uses 3-1 mixed magazines of each.

As a sidearm, she carries a high-caliber stub pistol, a gift from her brother before he left. He taught her the intricate workings of handgun etiquette and she often repeats his sayings back to herself when working with it. It now consists of almost none of its original parts, except the skull-and-glass engraved dark wooden grip. She has replaced most of the pieces with custom-tooled pieces and changed many of the specifications, but it still remains a powerful and deadly weapon.

(To be more specific, it is a large-calibre 1911-pattern semi-auto single-action pistol, carried with a full magazine and a round in the chamber in order to be ready to fire only by cocking the hammer.)

A small amount of explosive material is scattered around her belongings for demolition work.

Otherwise, she carries a promethium welding torch attached to a tank on her left hip and an extremely sharp knife made from the claw of something that came from the sump.

Other Equipment: Several doses of Reflex and Satrophine; Lyei is an addict, and doesn't want to wait for her fix.

Background: Lyei grew up in the under-hive of Colmar without parents or family apart from one older brother. Struggling to have enough food for the pair, her brother got sucked in to one of the larger sump-gangs, which, within two years, chewed him up and spat him out. Having the same troubles, she took the same road, but survived due to her rough edges and her status as the gang-leader's right-hand woman and consort. She was very successful for quite a while, until the Arbites got word of the leader's kalma-smuggling operation. A crack kill-team was sent to deal with the gang, and while Lyei and the rest of the crew managed to bring them down, the Executioner shells they were carrying bagged and tagged the leader. Without his unifying influence, the gang fell apart, feuding with each other, and as no one wanted the stigma of the old leader, she was relegated to working alone. Hungry and low on her supply, she moved up-hive, and got a temporary job working as muscle for a rogue trader. Better than nothing.

S'okay?