Name: Sylladrion, goes by Sammael.

Species: Veroxian

age: 30

Vocation: Mercenary/Bouncer

Caste: Draskoi

History: Born on their native world and passing into the ranks of the Lunarii Sylladrion had a similar childhood to most other male Veroxian. When he was 20 as was customary he went voyaging with a merchant vessel as a guard, this is where things took a slightly different turn. Coming into contact with pirates, their ship did not fare well in combat, but was not destroyed, instead they were disabled and boarded. Among the 12 person crew were 4 lunarii, including Sylladrion, being the youngest he was also the lowest ranking and was meant to guard the Savalii aboard. However, he disobeyed his orders, instead when he heard cries of pain from his lunarii brothers he rushed to aid them, he succeeded. When he arrived he burst into the hallway flanking the pirates, his shotgun roared, the massive weapon blowing the closest pirate off his feet, a cloud of pink mist following in his wake and blood spraying from the back, the weapon was known as a ripper for a reason, whatever body armor the pirates had been issued was of little use. As the others turned to fire on him, he was already moving, his semi automatic ripper shotgun scoring a bloody path through the small squad in the confined quarters, quickly he rushed to his fallen brothers. Seeing him the eldest lunarii, Mormesk, crawled to him, his wounds mortal, nevertheless he grabbed Sylladrion and roared his final order, to protect the Savalii, and suddenly it was clear, it was a diversion, nothing in this wing of the ship was valuable, at least not as valuable as slaves.

He rushed through the corridors trying to make it back and the last of the Savalii were being cuffed and prepared to be taken aboard as he arrived. Opening up on the first enemy with his ripper the hail of return fire caught him off guard, he was hit in the shoulder, the round going completely through in a painful, but not debilitating injury, but he was pinned behind what cover he could find. One of the Savalii, begged for him to kill them, they couldn't allow themselves to be taken, to be a slave was worse than death, so he did as was asked, pulling a grenade off his chest rig, he hurled the explosive into the closing boarding shuttle, and just after it launched a bright flash told him of its fall. For six months he sat aboard the ship, with no idea how to pilot it and rationing its supplies, eventually another of their merchant vessels found it and he relayed the story. They took him back to the matriarch of his tribe and his judgment was handed down. He had disobeyed an order, as such he had two options, death or become a Draskoi, he chose the second, much to the horror of his family. All watched as he was stripped of his name and caste, and they branded two lines under each of his eyes. the burning metal searing his skin and the fur that grew back there was black as night.

For many years he wandered from ship to ship, acting as a mercenary for various corporations and gangs. At one point he found himself serving the UWG against the nomad's forces on the ground, he fought in extremely close quarters to the enemy, always favoring his ripper shotgun, but each time he came out better than the last, his instincts and physiology helping him. Finally he found himself on the backwater that was RX3248 bouncing at a small and insignificant bar for free booze and a roof over his head.

Gear: Ripper shotgun and basic clothing, baggy beige cargo pants and white shirt, generally worn under a leather combat harness.