Name: Ninke Ingran

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Height/weight: 5'4, 127 lb.

Speciality: Vox officer

Appearance: Ninke is a surprisinly petite young woman with her short height and lithe frame with a feminine figure. Her skin is light and ruddy, and she has a myriad of freckles on her face as well as a small mole at the corner of her left eye. Her eyes are hazel, but this campaign has left her scarred. HEr face has been left with a web of plasma burn scars from the final battle, the rough lines snakeing from her lips across the lower half of her face, stopping around her nose. Her right cheek was scarred more harshly than her left which is mostly alright. Her right arm up from her hand is similarly burned up to the elbow, but this is hidden with her fatigues. Her dirty blonde hair is kept somewhat strangely to some, but not strange for her regiment. The back of her head as well as the left side are completely shaved, with the hair remaining kept long and brushed to cover the shaved pats of her head. Her voice is bubbly and some would say obnoxious with her heavy accent(think swiss), but she is not as melancholic as many others.

Her left arm has been replaced with cybernetics, she was not given false skin but hides it beneath her long sleeved fatigues. Similarly, her left leg starting at the knee is cybernetic beneath her boot and fatigues.

Uniform: Ninke wears the cream colored uniform of the Hirisit 482nd, over which the similarly colored heavy flak armor of the new regiment is worn. She also has the ochre poncho that all of the Guardsman of the regiment have.(though it is not always worn)

Armament: Standard M36 Lasgun, Standard issue imperial Guard Combat Knife, 2 frag grenades

Gear: Vox caster, "The Imperial infantrymans uplifting Primer", Standard Imperial guard kit, holy symbol, Mess kit, Water canteen, 5 las packs, Microweave poncho

Personality/Demeanour: Ninke is a zealot by all accounts, and happy to be one. Being born and raised on a throne world to pilgrims leads to a life filled with praise for the God Emperor of mankind, and service in his name. Though she is a zealot, who has incredile love and reverance for the Emperor, she is far less furious about it, and believes that all men and women should love the emperor just as she does. To this end, she attempts to be as friendly as possible to others, wishing to sway them to strengthen their faith in the god Emperor. She is bubbly, and optimistic, often out of place in the Imperial guard due to her optimism. She truly believes that the Emperor loves mankind, and that all mankind should serve him. Because of this, she has no greater hate than that for Heretics and non-believers, she is singularly hateful of the unfaithful.

Greatest ambition: To serve the Emperor in the Imperial guard, eventually marry and have children(all for his glory)

Greatest hatred: Heretics, the unfaithful

Skills: Though only an average shot and melee fighter, Ninke is surprisingly adept with a vox(or other similar tech), and is a truly superb communications oficer able to calmly relay information under pressure(only tested artificial pressure, as she has seen no real combat like the rest of her regiment)

History: Ninke is the daughter of two pilgrims, who took the trip to Hirisit in order for their daughter to be born where the light of the emperor was at its brightest, Ninke was born on the shriine world, and her parents moved there to better serve the Emperor. She grew up surrounded by zealots, and in turn became one. Her parents instilled her with great fauth, but they also taught that more flies are caught with honey than vinegar, so she grew kind, friendly, and pious. She was taught of the patron saint of Hirisit Ariette, the Shining saint, a great Imperial general who is said to have liberated Hiristis as well as many other worlds, a woman of unparalelled Strategical skill. The shining Saint was an idol for the young Ninke, and she has a holy symbol that is an effigy of her that she is never without.

She was uncertain for quitze some time about how she would serve the Emperor best, until she leraned of the Imperial Guard recruitment on world, gearing to a holy crusade, and Ninke knew her purpose. She signed up, wishing to serve the Emperor on the field of battle, like many other young Zealots on Hirisit. She became popular among other training guardsman for her optimism and faith, even her superiors enjoyed her attitude(still bootcamp... so she didn't KNOW that until after). She displayed incredible talent for using a Vox caster, and was trained as a Vox officer.

Now, she and her green regiment have arrived at their first campaign, full of zeal and hate for the enemies of mankind. Ninke is prepared to bring the light of the Emperor to the Greenskin xenos... she has no idea how wrong she is...

Name: Angelika Carscallen

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Height and Weight: 170lbs, 5'11"

Speciality: Banner Bearer and Pyrotechnic Officer.

Appearance:
Angelika (Sometimes shortened to Angel) is a tall figure and quite muscled, as most Cadians are. She has dirty blonde hair pulled back into a messy and loose bob. She is of Caucasian origins, and a face that an old-Terran would call 'Mediterranean,' with a defined nose and oval face. Her one remaining eye is bright violet, a side affect of living so close to the Eye of Chaos that many Cadians suffer from, her other eye having been replaced by a bionic one at the age of 25.

Uniform:
Almost never seen without her mark XI rebreather either on her face or hanging on her neck and with an armour partly Carapace and partly Flak, Angel is quite a unique sight to see on the battlefield. Her armour is perpetually scorched from flamer runoff and and has an incredibly large amount of pockets sewn into it, holding everything from military-grade thermite capable of denting even terminator armour to standard krak and frag grenades. Her trousers and boots are also much bulkier than normal, with padding and a flame-retardant substance having been added to prevent drips setting fire to her. This flame-retardant substance extends to her hands, where she has a pair of thick gloves to wipe off the residual promethium during combat. When using her heavy flamer she uses a special case to hold the regimental banner, but otherwise holds it as normal.

Armament:
When in a pyrotechnics role, a promethium heavy flamer, with a boltpistol as backup, which she also uses in official settings. The boltpistol was scavenged from a commissar killed in 'enemy actions.'

Personality/Demeanour:
Dealing with explosives and highly volatile chemicals is an occupation that requires concentration, deliberation, and steady hands, all of which Angel has in earnest. Cadian military upbringing and close to nine years of combat experience have taught her plenty about combat, and she hasn't survived for nothing.

Despite her business attitude to explosives and survival, using a Heavy Flamer takes more than just a clinical attitude, something which she flaunts with glee. A whirlwind of activity and efficiency, her bionic eye spotting targets and giving her vital information, she's a brutal soldier and friendly comrade, no matter the situation.

Greatest Ambition: Not really sure. She's a drifter.

Greatest Hatred: Chaos of any kind, especially Slaneesh. Voyastrans.

Skills:
Like all Cadians, she's a capable soldier with her lasgun, capable of dissasembling, cleaning, reloading and re-buildng her lasgun within two and a half minutes. She is also capable with her boltpistol, and can strip and clean the more complicated mechanism in under five minutes.

Having used her flamers for years, she's very capable with her heavy flamer, and has set the record for disassembling and cleaning out a heavy flamer. Her custom gear also allows her to keep her flamer running for much longer, and she is an expert in the finicky process of reloading.

Her demolitions skills as well have been earned through combat. She is capable of creating explosives with the right materials, and is very capable with fuses and controlled demolitions.
History:
Cadia. The bastion of the Imperium, the fortress against chaos, and a never-ending battleground of guardsmen and women flinging themselves against the forces of chaos in order to hold back daemons and heretics alike. A planet where the recruitment rate and the birth rate are virtually identical, and the children can use a lasgun before they can read.

It is also where the toughest and most respected soldiers in the Imperium short of the Adeptus Astartes themselves are born and bred, including Angel.

A member of the Cadian 132nd division, she left her homeworld at the age of eighteen along with almost fifteen thousand other soldiers who had been assembled at Cadia to counter a chaos uprising on a planet. Upon arriving at the planet, it was found to be a full-scale incursion by Slaneesh, who had corrupted the local Voyastran Firstborns stationed on the planet, and used latent Psykers to open up a number of portals. Despite huge loss of life, the portals were eventually closed almost six years later.

Whilst many were mindwiped by the Inquisition, the Cadian divisions (who are aware of chaos unlike many Imperial citizens,) were deemed safe to continue with the knowledge, with most of the Cadian forces receiving promotions and being distributed to other planets. For Angel, this meant being sent to Vernum with the remaining Cadian 132nd, their training in urban combat being deemed very useful for the ongoing battle.

It was during this battle for Vernum City that she lost her eye, an Ork ambush catching her company off guard. As she was taking off her helmet, a bullet punched through it, the drop in velocity just enough to prevent it from smashing through her skull and killing her outright. Despite this injury, she fought on, killing numerous Orks with her heavy flamer, and eventually leading to her promotion to Standard Bearer.

Miscellaneous:
- Unlike the standard khaki, the Cadian 132nd wear black and grey uniforms for urban camouflage, and are regarded as specialist urban combat troops. Unfortunately, the company has been gutted, and only five or six of the original troopers remain.
- As she left Cadia at the age of 18, she has a child back home, albeit one she has barely seen and will most likely never meet again.

Name: Meris Fixun

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Height and Weight: 5'8", weighing 155 lbs.

Speciality: Medic

Appearance: Upon first glances, Meris looks like your average human. She has short brown hair, gray eyes and a slightly brownish skin-tone, with a more athletic build with more muscle around her legs and arms. This is where the similarities end and her status as a abhuman are more open - her ears, are on the top of her head that are pointed and covered in a brown fur.

Her body is similar to an average human, albeit more covered in fur along the chest, arms and leg area. Her irises are instead slits although they are less visible than expected - only visible when they are stared into, with the addition of also possessing canines.

Her bones are hollow, compared to regular humans - making her more quicker on her feet yet also making her bones more weaker than that of a human. They also possess claws upon their hands and feet, albeit most of them hide it under boots and gloves - utilizing them only in case of being attacked in close-quarters.

Uniform: Meris wears the the Cadian Standard Flak Armor, painted over in a black pattern - signaling her belonging to an abhuman strain and an completely abhuman regiment - in addition to a Cadian Standard helmet, that has two slits upon the top for hearing. She also wears gloves most of the time as did most of her regiment.

Armament: Accatran Pattern Mark II Laspistol, Imperial Medi-Mercy Kit, Standard Guard Kit (laspack, cleaning equipment, Primer, food and meat-heavy food)

Personality/Demeanour: Meris is a rather down-to-earth woman, she isn't as fanatical or zealous as some other Regiments or IGs nor is she suicidal in the face of overwhelming odds. She does her job to the best of her abilities - while trying to keep herself and her team alive. She is rather open and friendly when asked - although she won't initiate contact herself, since her status as an abhuman has kept her mostly related to and in contact with only her own species - and the occasional Commisar or General who visits them.

Like most Felinids, she is practical minded. Making use of what is available for maximum effect - be it scavenging on the field for better equipment, being more indepentant than your average guardsmen and bending the orders, in order to shorten loss of life and/or equipement.

Greatest Ambition: Able to serve and live, to the end of her service and retire back to her homeworld. Or an equally nice and/or more safe planet.

Greatest Hatred: Being called a mutant and compared to some mindless beasts or chaos spawn.

Skills: Meris has been trained as a regular Imperial Guard medic - what she can save, who she can save and when she can save anybody - in addition to the regular Imperial Guard training. As a Felinid, she is also able to walk quadrupedial or on all her four limbs - this enables her to easily move on the battlefield, often times hugging the ground yet moving at the average pace of a guardsman.

Her body is more flexible than an average guardsman, in addition as a Felinid her greatest asset is that, she is able to see more easily in low-light or in darkness.

History:

Meris Fixun had been born into the 'middle class' hiver household - they weren't poor nor were they very wealthy. Both of her parents had a degree in medicine, as such she was learning to be a doctor at a young age already. However, the yearly tithe came along - and consricpts were drawn for their ward, this year around. She was one of the 'lucky' ones, whom got pushed through IG training - scoring at an average, yet her skill in medicine was utilized and she was trained as a battlefield medic.

She and her unit had been the 33rd Nightstalker Regiment - as their name intended, they were specialized in fighting in nighttime operations. However against orks this skillset was severly crippled - there were too many orks to able do engage them, destroying ork supply lines didn't hurt their war-campaign much and ork bases were usually dangerous or more dangerous than fighting them on the battlefield.

Meris had been lucky to participate as a medic, since there were alot of wounded during the fighting - and against orks heavy casualties to all regiments was a distinct normality. As thus, most of her time was spent crawling in the dirt - and pulling wounded men and women, away from the fighting. Meris got separated from her unit during the fighting in the City - being stuck with a Guardsman from another Regiment, whom had sustained heavy injuries. Most of her shooting being done from the window against any orks trying to flank her way. She had ended up with around twelve wounded Guardsmen in her little station, most from other groups by the time, the order to assemble had been given.

Even before the charge on the Capitol, their regiment had been already at half-strength - due to their abhuman status, they were more than once on the receiving end of obstructive commanders whom refused to share supplies or support with their unit. It was into their half-year when their call for fire support was delayed intentionally - and when it finally came, the majority impacted their own position. While the Artillery Commander in-charge of their mis-fire had been executed by a Commisar, the damage had been done already and the 33rd was depleted heavily. After the Capitol charge only a few dozen remained of her unit.

Her Regiment and herself had hailed from the planet of Carlos McConnel or planet CMC, in some circles Their planet' original name had been lost during the Age of Strife - later having been found by a Rouge Trader and the Administratum simply naming the planet, after the man. In addition to their weird planet name, their homeworld itself was slightly different from the rest. It had a weaker magnetic field yet was able to sustain life in a complex cycle - most fauna and flora hid or shielded themselves during the day and foraged/grew during the night.

Most of the humans during that time, lived in a single large Hive City - with several super-large factories constructed during the colonization of the planet. However, when the Age of Strife happened, the planet itself collapsed into civil unrest and anarchy - since most of the resources were brought in, from the outside. The Hive City itself was destroyed and collapsed during that bloody war, alongside the planet' only spaceport - with the remaining survivors retreating into the wilderness. Mostly settling around or inside the mega-factories. Attempts to restart the facilities failed, due to the lack of fuel and resources - however the early-Felinids were able to scavenge blueprints and materials, to survive during the first years. The facilities themselves were built in such a way, that they could resist the bombardment of their sun without compromising their interior - enabling them to sustain life inside them.

Eventually, life settled into such a cycle - the survivors hunting/working during the night and resting during the day - this led to their ability to see in the darkness. They hunted mostly game on the planet, since the flora was too toxic to eat. They grew more fur on their bodies, to combat the coldness during the nights. Their ears migrated to their heads, later on - since despite their ability to construct armor and weaponry, some predators still remained dangerous even with modern weaponry. These beasts having evolved to be almost invisible to the human eye.

When the planet was rediscovered and brought back into the Imperium - there wasn't much hatred nor like. The human settlers had evolved into the Felinids of the current time - they remained human in morals and belief yet abhuman almost beast-like in body.

The Administratum recorded around three sub-species of Felinids during that time - those that appeared human with some beastlike characteristics, those that appeared like humanoid felins and those in the far mountains that had de-evolved into horrid beasts. The first two sub-species could be tolerated and put to use, while the third sub-species was mostly exterminated.

The Felinids during that time were organized into Nightstalker regiments - since they proved to be effective in nighttime operations or planets with a long night cycle. They were few regiments then, since their abhuman strain was only constricted to their planet.

The Felinids didn't have much conflict with the Imperium, since they were mostly divided and spread out into many groups. After the Imperium restored their destroyed Hive City did the settlements reconnect - the mega-facilities were restored and turned towards constructing arms for the new IG Regiment, a few being salvaged to repair others with old knowledge recovered by the Adeptus Mechanicus.

With the rise of the Ecclesiarchy and decay of the Imperium - their Regiments shrank in size, with only the more human sub-species accepted into the Imperial Guard ranks. And even then, they are mostly used as simply soldiers due to their abhuman status.

Miscellaneous: In addition to being a medic, she has often times been sent to scavenge for equipment on the field - since she has a knack for being able to move silently and lowly.

Name: Marcus “Mudfish” Gruber
Age: 31
Gender: Male (sex is also male)
Height and weight: 6'0 and weighs 160 lbs

Appearance: A well-built, and slightly short man (both caused by carrying his gear and spare drum power packs) with crew-cut dark red hair. He has a thin red beard growing around his mouth which he cuts every now and then to keep it comfortable within his helmet.

Specialization: Close Quarter Combat (specifically Urban fighting and Trench warfare), breaching and clearing fortified structures.

Uniform: Imperial Flak Armor with the “Flashflooders” insignia on the left shoulder plate (A golden human skull within a patch of water shaped like a kite shield). Also wears a Krak Grenade bandolier on the front, along with harnesses to secure the backpack carrying his drum magazines in the back. When in combat, his face is usually concealed by his fully-covered helmet that comes with a rebreather for traversing through the filthiest environments.

Armament: Merovech Model 481 "Persuader" Lasgun with drum magazines. Krak Grenades (usually carries a bandolier of 4), Melta Bombs (only allowed to carry one at a time. Saved for hostile armor units and heavy troopers). 9-70 entrenching tool, and their standard-issue bayonet knife.

Personality/Demeanor: Marcus is a generally cheerful man with a morbid sense of humor. His time in the Imperial Guard has been filled with violence and despair, and has forced him to treat death, dismemberment, and agony as an occupational hazard. He’s known to make jokes at inappropriate times (such as scaring a squadmate by jumping around a corner with an Ork head as a mask, or asking someone if they wanted a souvenir as they toss a bloodied bone of unknown origins in their general direction.). His optimistic and joking attitude is mainly a coping mechanism for him; a way to channel the stress of battle so that he does not lose his mind. He, much like the other members of the Flashflooders, have no qualms with marching through the dirtiest and most repulsive areas to reach their objective. Unlike the other members however, Marcus is not as diligent in cleaning his armor after missions which often leaves him walking around their camp, covered in blood, mud, and guts, which got him the nickname “Mudfish”. Despite all this however, Marcus tries his best to protect his comrades. Though, he has also come to accept that in the course of battle, many will give their lives in the service of the God-Emperor, and that he should not waste tears nor time over them, as their deaths will have been in vain if the fight is not finished.

When it comes to non-human creatures, he does not necessarily share the same xenophobia of most humans. Having lived in a hive world with barely any natural ecosystem to speak of, Marcus has always been fascinated by both the flora and fauna of different worlds during his tour of duty, wanting to see how they function and poking them for reactions (with mixed results depending on the planet). He is wary of abhumans (especially those comparable to Chaos Daemons) but he does not invalidate their service or loyalty to the Imperium if it truly is there. The way he sees it, if they’re all fighting the same enemy, looks doesn’t matter, only skill, loyalty, and the will to emerge victorious as a unit does. What he will never forgive however are traitors, or those who abandon their duty to save themselves. He sees deserters as people who are willing to let others suffer.

Greatest Ambition: To survive his tour, finish his duty to the Imperium and God-Emperor, and retire somewhere he can observe a planet’s flora and fauna in relative peace.

Greatest Hatred: Traitors, Cowards, Heretics. Believes that anyone who abandons their duty to the Imperium is essentially condemning everyone to the threats and enemies of the Imperium, and thus are selfish and deserve no mercy (as they did not have the mercy to help the people they are supposed to defend).

Skills: Having spent time in the Flashflooders Regiment as a user of the “Persuader” Lasgun, he has become accustomed to travelling and fighting with the heavy backpack carrying all of his spare drum magazines making his endurance relatively high. All the fights he has been in within the confines of bunkers, cities, and trenches have made him highly alert and able to quickly perceive and react to both threats and new information. As a Lasgunner behind the lines of both bayonet walls and Flamer lines, he is adept at spotting targets in the chaos of battle, either calling attention to them or gunning them down depending on the situation. He has a general knowledge of human structures and fortifications, which allows him to know a good variety of structural weaknesses that can be exploited for the purposes of breaching. Though his armor isn’t always cleaned, he makes sure to always maintain his weapons and equipment to at least be reliable on a practical level, as he has seen from others how malfunctioning weapons cost lives.

History: Marcus was born into a lower middle-class family on the Hive World of Cyrothax where he and his brother and sister learned from an early age that they need to stand up for themselves if they want to survive. It was his mother that taught him “conformity to the Administratum keeps you in the God-Emperor’s good graces, but it will not keep you alive”. Both his mother and father were factory workers within the Hive and also doubled as trained civilian militia in the event of a crisis, which afforded them a few extra luxuries such as enough food to keep the family healthy.

As a child Marcus had read about other worlds and colonies from the few pieces of literature that he came across. He was fascinated by the ecosystems described on other planets which contrasted greatly with the polluted and industrialized Hive World which he lived on. He hoped to one day have a chance to see worlds apart from his own.

Because of the dangerous nature of the Hive levels on which they lived, Marcus and his siblings became adept at how to fight with both hands and weapons in their adolescent phase. Marcus found this useful on many occasions whenever gangs would try to bully his siblings for money (and other times, sexual favors, which greatly angered Marcus). However, the three siblings were more than a match for petty gangs, and were smart enough to stay out of the way of the bigger and more organized ones.

It was during his young adult years that calamity struck as their world became the victim of an Ork WAAAGH! That passed into their system, destroying outposts on a nearby planet and prompted their local government to prepare everyone for imminent invasion, mobilizing both the Planetary Defense Force and civilian militia. The WAAGH decimated at least 2 hives and were in the process of besieging Marcus’ home Hive by the time the Astra Militarum and a nearby chapter of the Adeptus Astartes arrived to relieve the local forces. Marcus and his siblings were evacuated to a sheltered area of their Hive, but their mother was killed in the fighting as the militia held the Orks off as the people escaped, and the loss of local life was staggering. Life was not the same for the family afterwards, with their father becoming distant and almost robotic after witnessing their mother’s death. Their home was destroyed and they had to make do in the slums of their hive level (as all the local resources were being pooled into reconstructing vital facilities in the wake of the WAAGH). His brother became resentful and rebellious while his sister had to act as their caretaker in their mother’s absence.

Witnessing this struggle firsthand, Marcus realized how fragile their way of life was, and survival was not just about protecting your own from the dangers of the planet. He signed on for the Imperial Guard so that he can offer his blood and sweat for the Imperium in the hopes that his efforts can help stop countless others from experiencing their tragedy.

His training years were grueling, but Marcus’ ability to handle high stress managed to land him in the 344th Cyrothaxians Regiment, nicknamed the “Flashflooders”. They were a regiment that specialized in urban combat and fighting in close quarter environments in order to “flood” the enemy and flush them out. Chimeras and Valkyrie transports were used mainly as a means to insert their forces into hot-zones and past exterior defenses. They have very little armor and air support, but what little they do have is geared to be most effective in confined spaces, and their training drills reflect that doctrine. Marcus specialized as a close-quarters Lasgunner, usually staying behind the ones who fought with the Flamers and Bayonets to cover them from enemies. The Lasgun firing line would shoot down anything out of range of those on the frontline, or at least soften them up.

The Flashflooders were sent off-world as part of the Imperial tithe, and were sent to both other hive worlds and places where environments made traditional armor columns were less effective than infantry (such as heavily forested planets or places with rocky cliffs and mountains). Marcus made use of his free time on other planets by trying to learn about what exotic life lived there, and it helped keep his mind off the difficulty of both travel and battle. While they fought their fair share of the Emperor’s enemies, they never fought in a full-blown war like the fight for the Vernum system

The 344th was deployed alongside other Cyrothaxian regiments there to aid in the crusade due to their specialization in close quarter fighting. Throughout the 20-year war, the Cyrothaxians aided the Imperial force by pushing into fortified Ork zones and occupied cities (some softened up by the efforts of the Astartes) in order to flush out those hiding in buildings, bunkers, and trenches to leave them at the mercy of the endless armor columns and Artillery barrages of the Imperial Guard. Orks were never one to retreat however, and it took extremely high amounts of firepower and Imperial lives to push them out of their holes. Entire Regiments were wiped out throughout the campaign, and by the time the Imperial Guard began the siege of the capital city, the 344th was one of the 3 Cyrothaxian regiments still standing.

Their role in the fight against the capital was to secure and expand the trench line outside the city as a staging area for the assault. Afterwards, they would push into vital facilities in the outer areas of the city and secure them. One of the Cyrothaxian regiments were wiped out in clearing the trenches, falling to both the Ork cannons and Dakkas protecting the city and the endless amount of Greenskins that held the trenches.

The 344th and the 298th Cyrothaxians suffered heavy losses, but continued to push into the urban centers. They assisted the Imperial Guard in taking weapon factories to cut off the Ork supply of weapons. These areas were fiercely defended by the Orks and the Flamer/bayonet lines on the front had to be constantly replaced, and there were times where they could not replace the frontline fast enough, and this took a toll on the heavy gunners and infantry in the rear. While they managed to emerge victorious in securing the munitions buildings, the 298th was completely decimated, and the 344th Flashflooders were reduced to mere squads.

Marcus’ hands went numb from how long he had to sustain fire against the Orks in the fight for the trenches and the city. Many times he thought his moment of death was coming, be it from the Orks or the harsh environment of war itself, yet he was among the survivors. But the victory was bittersweet, as thousands of his comrades were lost in the fighting. Now he gathers with the few remaining members and vehicles of the Flashflooders outside Vernum Primas for their “victory” parade.

“I guess a victory for The Imperium isn’t always a victory for us fightin’ on the soil. But hey, that’s what we signed up for. We take on the horrors so that others won’t have to”

Miscellaneous: If the area stinks, Marcus probably lives nearby.

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Name: Persephone “Brimstone” Ignatz

Age: 27

Gender: Agender

Height and Weight: 5’8 ft / 55.3 kg (122 lbs)

Speciality: Sniper

Appearance:
Persephone is a female born Mediterranean (olive skinned) with gunmetal grey eyes, thick straight eyebrows, and wavy strawberry colored hair that had been shaved on the back and sides. What is left would reach their chin and habitually placed on the right side of their face. Their figure and features do not strongly resemble any feminine features (obvious breasts, wide hips) but it does not appear too masculine either (accentuated pectoral or abdominal muscles). This makes them androgynous enough that it is hard for most to determine their sex through physical observation.
Their body is littered with various scars and cuts that vary in depth and length. A few of their notable traits that they had acquired from the battle in the Vernum Sector would be a deep scar that runs horizontally just under their right eye to their chin, and their bionic right arm that starts from their shoulder.
Generally, their exceptional hygiene and their need for order make them appear very well-kept and sharp despite constantly appearing bored.

Uniform: Worn out flak armor with her regiment’s insignia on it. The right shoulder pad is missing and there is also an indentation on her helmet aligned with the scar on the right side of her face that goes down until the upper right portion of her chest plate.

Armament: A long-las sniper rifle, their Hija (\i-hᴧ\), two frag grenades, one set of guard-issue medical supplies, 9-70 Entrenching tool, gas mask, and the ever present Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer.

Personality/Demeanor:
Persephone’s actions appear lax: from the courteous nod, to the attentive stare. Though, her staring tends to go a little awry when people realize that they had been staring at them for far too long. Usually it is because they were staring at them, on other times it would usually mean that they are simply reminiscing the lessons that life taught to them through blood and loss. While they do not usually start conversations, they would sometimes approach people that interest them (through various ways). They would also respond in kind if spoken to. Persephone tends to be quite frank as it is a custom in their planet to refrain from keeping opinions, comments, or praises because a person’s life can end in any day. Persephone also prefers conformity over individuality because they believe that excessive individuality is narcissism at its worst, especially if conformity is required to save the lives of the many. As a death world native, they had also learned to separate emotions with work, lest they die from an error or emotional trauma. However, this does not mean that they are an isolationist. They find comfort within groups but prefers to stay out of the limelight.

Greatest Ambition: At the moment, survive long enough to maybe have a family that they can take to a forge world.

Greatest Hatred: Others faltering in battle when standing one’s ground is necessary.

Skills:
Has moderately good medical skills learned as a necessity on her homeworld (“Settler’s Bane”). They have impressive skills with using both Laser and Ballistic sniper rifles, hitting her targets 87% of the time (also a necessity of their homeworld). They do not falter as easily as most humans due to the harsh environment they grew up in, where calm behavior was needed in order to survive. They are also a generally organized and hygienic person, to the point of it being a mild obsession

History:




Miscellaneous:

• They sometimes speak in third person and refer to themselves as they. This is because their planet does not have distinct gender roles.
• Unless they are going to be deployed, Persephone usually walks around camp with a bracelet with a bell as a sentiment and good luck. Otherwise it stays in one of her pockets for safekeeping.
• Persephone tends to talk to themselves.
• Their nickname “Brimstone” comes from the fact that they tend to smell strongly sterile (think hospital) because they usually have “brandy baths” if they believe that they are very dirty. This is achieved by a moonshine recipe that came from their father.

Name: Ismael Castor, once known as the Silence.

Age: 57.

Gender: Male.

Height and Weight: 6'2", 220lbs.

Speciality: Commissar.

Appearance: Castor looks exactly like what you'd expect a Commissar to look like. Gruff and severe, with deep-set eyes, trimmed black-and-silver hair and a rough face that looks like it was hewn from stone, sporting five o'clock shadow at all times of day. Decades of war have made him strong with not the slightest bit of fat on him, sculpting Castor into a broad-shouldered, forceful presence. Even so, Castor's appearance has a warmer side to it, as his eyes can twinkle with merriment and his lopsided grin can inspire humor in even the most grim of circumstances.

He is perpetually dressed in the traditional Commissar's garb, his face cast in shade by the Commissar's cap, though he has personalized his appearance with an enormous, high-collared greatcoat of black fabric, now full of bullet holes, that has the Imperial Aquila resplendent behind a skull embroidered on the back of the cape in gold stitching. Commissar Castor himself will tell anyone he firmly believes it makes him look regal while your average Guardsman will tell you it looks awfully pompous, but -- as is typical of the Commissar -- he's in on the joke.

Uniform: The aforementioned Commissar's garb (black and red with gold trimmings, like all such uniforms) and splendid greatcoat. Castor wears a thin, form-fitting version of flak armor beneath his vest to provide a modicum of protection but he is otherwise unarmored, like most Commissars.

Armament: Castor doesn't really believe in standing behind his soldiers and waiting for one to run away so he can shoot them in the head and goes into battle with unusually heavy armament as far as Commissars go.

- 1x Lascarbine with folding stock and iron sights. Can be folded up and strapped to Castor's torso for easy storage.
- 1x Plasma pistol strapped to his left thigh. This is his CQB backup and his executioner's weapon -- a little more elegant than a bolt pistol.
- 1x Chainsword sheathed diagonally over his back, the grip protruding from beneath his greatcoat, so that his right hand can easily reach for it. Can be dual-wielded with the plasma pistol or with both hands if the situation gets especially messy.
- 6x ammunition for his weapons carried in pouches hooked to his belt; 4x lascarbine power-packs and 2x plasma charges for the pistol.

Personality/Demeanour: Commissar Castor is... well, a Commissar. His job description requires him to be stern and merciless with the troops if the line threatens to break and uplifting and empowering when pressing the advantage. While Castor is very good at both, his long tenure in the Imperial Guard has softened him up a bit. He's seen the horrors and the random, indifferent nature of war and understands a soldier's fear all too well. Castor tries instead to be the Guardsman's best friend, singing songs, cracking jokes and sharing brazen words of encouragement while he leads by example, diving into the fray elbow-to-elbow with the men, his own fear of death long ago put to rest. Castor knows it's important to strike a balance between stern and kind, however, as the troops can't be allowed to see him as too soft, but Castor will avoid severe punishment unless absolutely necessary. He no longer wishes to be feared; fear eventually turns into hatred and he knows that can be bad for his health.

Castor has seen plenty of war and death and isn't fazed by its horrors anymore. He went through a dark period of doubt and cynicism, wondering what the hell all of it was for, but came out of it a stronger man with iron resolve. Castor knows what they're fighting for and that, even though they are only one cog in an enormous machine, they cannot fail. Castor does not allow it in himself and he does not allow it in his men and he will go to great length to keep up their spirits so that they may succeed in their objective, whatever that may be at the time.

Greatest Ambition: To gain command over a Regiment as a Colonel-Commissar.

Greatest Hatred: Incorrigible cowardice, unnecessary cruelty, goddamn Orks, perfume.

Skills: As a Commissar, Castor's most important skills are projecting an inspiring presence, lifting morale, enforcing authority and, if necessary, rendering fatal judgement. He achieves most of this with words -- especially gallows humor and unbreakable optimism -- and will only resort to his plasma pistol when all else fails.

When it comes to combat, decades of experience have turned Castor into a dangerous warrior. His skills with the rifle, the pistol and the chainsword are all respectable and he knows how to tactically direct squads or platoons whenever gaps in the chain of command need to be filled in the cacophony of war. Castor has no other specialist skills and leaves the use of flamers, bombs, vox-casters and other technology to the lads and lasses who like to tinker with that kind of stuff.

Castor is a reasonably good regicide player and boasts a remarkable tolerance for alcohol.

History: The man who was to become Commissar Ismael Castor was born on the Civilized world of Gudrun. His father was a newly-recruited Guardsman who had been sent off to war mere weeks before baby Ismael's birth as part of the 133th Gudrunite Rifles regiment. Castor's father rose through the ranks and became an officer before he was killed in action somewhere on the fringes of Imperial space, changing Castor's destiny entirely. He was taken by the Schola Progenium, away from his mother, and thereafter diligently trained to be a steadfast and loyal servant of the Imperium.

A recruiter from the Commissariat took interest and Castor was once again ripped from his life and into a brutal training program designed to mold him into a Cadet. The young man Ismael seized the opportunity to give his life purpose and took to the training well, despite its harsh nature and deliberate attempts of his drill-sergeants to see if they could break him. Castor staunchly refused to show any weakness and he completed his training with honors.

Castor was sent to join a Cadet unit of seven other aspiring Commissars attached to the Greygorian 14th under the leadership of Commissar-Captain Hieronymus Bierthar, a horribly rigid and sour man who taught all of his Cadets the same rule -- kill at the first sign of weakness. Castor took to these teachings enthusiastically and performed his first battlefield execution (overseen and sanctioned by Bierthar, of course) within three weeks. Bierthar's teachings were designed for the Cadets under his care to dehumanize the Guardsmen that they were supposed to discipline in order to make it easier to render lethal punishment.

Even after graduating to full Commissar status, Castor stuck to that mentality for more than two decades. Castor was, by far, the most feared Commissar in all of the Byzanthian regiments after he was attached to the Byzanthian 156th. Castor was with them for 24 years and it was during this time that he earned his dark moniker, the Silence, for it was said that the hushed silence of death descended around him whenever Castor unholstered his bolt pistol.

Eventually, Castor went one step too far. The Silence brought his bolt pistol to bear against an overwhelmingly popular officer of the Byzanthian 156th during an extremely fierce battle against Chaos insurgency forces on the Hive World of Aphrodus IV after the officer ordered a retreat, attempting to save the lives of his men. The whole regiment finally turned against the Commissar and Castor was forced to stand down or lose his own life. He relented. Initially furious with the Byzanthians and deeply disappointed with himself, Castor applied for a regimental transfer which was swiftly granted after several death threats against the Commissar were nearly carried out.

On his way to join his new regiment, Castor slowly came to realize the compassion of the officer's decision and the absurdity of his own attempt to sentence thousands of soldiers to die in the name of discipline. Later analysis of the battle determined that no possible action of the Byzanthian 156th could have turned the tide against the Chaos forces. Castor had just been stubborn and blind. From that moment on, Castor swore he would never be so strict and uncompromising ever again.

The last fifteen years of Castor's life were spent with the Cadian 143rd, a fiercely capable and loyal regiment that required an entirely different Commissarial approach than the previous regiments Castor had served with. It was the perfect opportunity to change his ways and Castor treated the Cadians as friends and comrades instead, drawing on their natural determination and resilience to inspire and encourage instead of playing on their fears. For the first time, Castor saw the Guardsmen as people and the blood-soaked Silence was no more.

Vernum Primas was a shitshow. Commissar Castor brazenly and optimistically urged the Cadians on, and on, and on, once more unto the breach, and once more, until the fight was won. These incredibly loyal soldiers of the Emperor had willingly stormed into the very fires of hell against the Greenskins, the most savage and dangerous opponent Castor had faced so far, and died by the thousands. In the end, there were only a few dozen left, Castor included -- how he had survived, he was not sure. Now Castor awaits his reassignment, quietly lamenting the demise of his beloved regiment.

Miscellaneous: Nothing.

Name: Kata Sigrun

Age: 28

Gender: Female

Height and Weight: 5' 10 1/2” and 178lbs

Speciality: Junior-Commissar

Appearance: If there was one phrase that describes how Kata both looks and acts it would have to be 'Nordic ice queen', a fine descriptor for both her bodily appearance and mental state.

From head to toe, we begin with a full head of moderately long hair that is usually tied and twisted into a bun, flaxen blonde in colour and always arranged neatly beneath a peaked cap or out of the way in readiness for combat. Her face, as far as things go, carries the looks of one that most men might find desirable – piercing blue eyes beneath thin arching brows and set against unmarked skin of milky white, a slender nose tipped with something of a point, and a strong jawline and chin with sharp cheekbones, a pair of full lips, and an upside-down triangular shape to it. This would be all good and well if she ever smiled, her lips set almost permanently into a half-grimace except in battle, when they are usually pulled back to reveal her teeth.

At just shy of six feet, and from years of intense training in both the Schola Progenium and in the clutches of the Commissariat, she has developed an oddly mixed build and figure of the masculine and the feminine; her body remaining narrow and lithe, but well-developed muscular tissue clearly visible if and when she decides to expose bare flesh on or off the field, including arms with muscles like twisted cables, and the hint of a stomach that most men would envy. Even her generous chest size could perhaps be found alluring (if one wished to die), although it'd be hard to tell beneath her jacket and tunic anyway.

All-in-all she would not look out of place in the upper crust of a Hive world, nor in the ranks of the Vostroyans or Valhallans, but instead she has become a symbol of fear and weapon of war...just how she likes it.

Uniform: An interpretation of the standard-issue Commissars uniform is what she can be seen in, most guessing incorrectly that she never actually takes it off.

A black great-coat with silver and red epaulettes placed over a form-fitting tunic of the usual black with red linings on the collar and cuff and silver thread about the torso, the peaked Commissar's cap with a silver skull adorning the centre, as well as the regulation black combat trousers (her own including a blood stripe down the outer leg) and a pair of black combat boots reaching to just below the knee.

A pair of black glove, although not standard issue, are worn by her as one of her few personal fancies - the only piece of armour she wears, for she is a combat Commissar after all, is a perfectly polished and kept cuirass, covering both her front and back, which is usually only worn when battle calls.

Armament: A standard-issue bolt pistol and chainsword, although she is not adverse to picking up a las-gun if the situation calls for it either.

Personality/Demeanour: Kata is what most Commissars begin as, even if they mellow over the years, only recently leaving the Commissariat for combat duties and still holding the rank of Junior-Commissar. As such she is a stickler for the details, whether that be how a weapon should be kept, how one should act in front of the troops, or a thousand other lessons that have been hammered into her since she began.

It may also come as little of a surprise that she has no real love for the male gender (nor much more for her own), having gone through a process that churns out male candidates by the hundreds, counting herself both lucky and ashamed to have not been chosen to join the Adepta Sororitas along with other female classmates at the Schola Progenium; she had had to fight hard, claw her way to where she is, and if she has to execute a few perceived cowards to retain her position then so be it!

Although outwardly enchanting, at least in terms of appearance, she is often standoffish and cold to those under her supervision – just as much with those of her peers or superiors that she perceives to lack in one or more of what she believes is necessary to serve the God-Emperor. For this reason she can be, and is, seen as aloof and unapproachable, this being only true up to a certain point.

No-one has ever managed to crack the façade yet, but who knows what the future may hold?

Lastly, though a firm believer in the Imperial Creed, she is not overtly xenophobic toward those that are different than herself – at least in the case of Abhuman servants of the Emperor – saving her hatred for those that deserve it. If you serve the Imperium, fight in their ranks, and die for Him on Terra, then there is no problem.

Greatest Ambition: To serve the God-Emperor in all things, to bring about a 'new dawn' for the Imperium, and to follow 'the book' to the letter while doing it.

Greatest Hatred: The enemies of the Imperium in all their myriad forms, cowards, and those that shirk their duty in one way or another.

Skills: Oddly for one of her cool demeanour, Kata is considered to be an exceptional orator - more than capable of whipping up mobs to fanatical levels and restoring the morale of those around her with her fiery words alone – saving the chapter and verse for the battlefield but not afraid to spout the Imperial Creed whenever it is required. Like all those of her position she also has training in military exercises, weapons proficiency, hand-to-hand combat, and religious studies, having fought on over a dozen words as part of a Cadet squad and gained valuable first-hand experience from this. She is not particularly efficient in any one area, as of yet, excelling as a jack-of-all-trades but only really excelling in speeches and addresses to the warriors under her management. All the same, it would be a madman or an idiot that would seek to challenge her.

History: WIP

Miscellaneous: None