Welcome to this role play, another attempt on my own part to see a Trader RP take off of the ground under my supervision- I'll admit it hasn't gone too well thus far, but I like to be optimistic about these things!
I have also decided to 'reformat' this version somewhat.
Rogue Trader Rudyard Falcon-Cook of Praetoria has recently received his families Warrant of Trade, an artefact from a bygone age said to have the text written using the God-Emperors own blood (allegedly), being the eldest son of the Falcon-Cook dynasty he is required to acquire both a vessel and a crew to accompany him on his voyages into the vast and unknown oceans of space.
This is where you come in!
What a character...
Your character possibly already knows Rudyard- in spite of his lack of experience as a fully fledged Trader he is not without connections, and far from some green space rookie, having previously travelled with his father, brother, and sister on expeditions of their own – or they may have been selected by him personally from an assortment of candidates, either way the Falcon-Cooks are a wealthy and well-known family and have wisely put before him a number of skilled prospects.
Meeting on the bridge of the Praetorian Steel, an altered Sword-class Frigate made decidedly more agreeable for commerce and deep-space travel, while still maintaining some ability to fight off adversaries, the selected few are to become the 'bridge crew' so-to-speak of the expedition.
Each character needs to contribute something to the team in terms of skills – a medicae, a record keeper, a tech-priest or biologis, a soldier etc – while still leaving room for development as the roleplay progresses.
It may be proper to think of this as a grim, dark, or even grimdark version of Star Trek in nature, mingled with real-world naval exploration and the like; I intend to be quite 'open' here, with scenarios ranging from simple trades, to spirit/daemon hunts, to possibly even deciding a war, the scales go up and down, I'm also happy to talk paths over with other writers if they think they've got a good idea.
The disclaimer...
Think of this part as a form of unwritten contract, I intend to do my utmost to keep things moving, and to provide what I wish to be an enjoyable experience for all; in order to do this I need writers I can trust to remain onboard and not abandon ship (no pun intended), or at least not without telling me – people have ghosted me and my roleplays in the past (as I have also made my own errors), and this has unfortunately made me quite cynical when it comes to to these things.
If you have questions, ask me. If you need a hiatus for whatever reason, please tell me. If you intend to leave outright for whatever reason, again please just tell me.
In order to make this a continuous, or at least long-term, endeavour and something worth spending a good deal of time on I need to know my fellow writers understand this.
As Hannibal Lecter might say, quid pro quo.
Creating life...
If you're interested, then please post your sheets in a hider in a comment in the OOC tab, NOT the Character tab.
[b]Name:[/b] Your character's name. A pretty obvious one, so enough said.
[b]Age:[/b] Unless you are not human, then please use common sense.
[b]Gender:[/b] Male, female or other.
[b]Race:[/b] Humanoid only, and try to keep them plausible.
[b]Appearance:[/b] A [i]written[/i] description of your character's appearance. No pictures. Please include here any [b]weapons[/b] they may have, and any [b]armour or clothing[/b] as well.
[b]Personality:[/b] What kind of person is your character, what are their motivations etc, and how do they interact with others?
[b]Relationship to the Dynasty:[/b] If any.
[b]History:[/b] A sketch of your character's life and history, preferably until their arrival at Praetoria. Give me three solid paragraphs, at least, please.
[b]Skills:[/b] What skills do they possess, how did they come by them, what have they used/been using them for?
[b]Equipment:[/b] What do they bring with them/carry on their person? Be sensible when deciding, as weight and wealth are both an issue.
[b]Miscellaneous:[/b] Anything you want to mention but haven't been able to cover yet.
And there it is.
So, there we are!
If you have any (all) questions then please do ask me, either here on through Discord, and I'll answer as soon as I can.
You were all in the last iteration of this RP and I failed you, if you would like to join - and give me a chance to redeem myself - then please feel free to do so. Use the same characters or no, I'll leave that to you. If you do not wish to join then I completely understand but thought I'd extend an invitation.
I would be very keen to join this RP if there are spots available. A couple of questions though: You posted the discord link, is this taking place entirely on discord once things are set up here? Is this a freeform play-by-post or are we using rules from one of the WH40k RPGs? Yeah, that's a couple. All I've really got burning my mind for now
I would be very keen to join this RP if there are spots available. A couple of questions though: You posted the discord link, is this taking place entirely on discord once things are set up here? Is this a freeform play-by-post or are we using rules from one of the WH40k RPGs? Yeah, that's a couple. All I've really got burning my mind for now
The Discord group is for ease of communication, and as a central hub for writers to discuss, ask questions etc - the actual writing will be done here on RPG.
Not sure what you mean by your second question... we'll be going by a standard general ruleset I.E. no godmodding, whatever I say goes, if you write your character doing something stupid then they likely will die, and so on.
I would like participants to use their noggins in terms of what they write though, as after laying down a groundwork in a sort of 'update post' to set the scene, it's probable that posts between characters etc will be more free-flowing as long as they don't derail the plot.
Not sure that helps or answers your question though, so feel free to explain to stupid old me if it hasn't.
Yeah, that helps thank you. I was not entirely sure if we were just playing narratively, where we describe what our characters do like what I guess is more normal for this site (I honestly do not know, it has been a really long time since I was lost on here), or if we were going to be using a ruleset from the TTRPG games with dice and mechanics and all that. Your response answered me though so 'tis all good. I will get started on my character. Should I just post that here for approval before it goes onto the main character tab or send it to you in a DM or something?
Real-life responsibilities are hindering me from committing to any advanced roleplays as of the moment but I do wish you the best in your journey. Thank you for the invitation.
Right, sorry I missed the part where you explicitly said to put the character sheets up here. My bad :/ Here is my character sheet at the moment though. I have mostly gotten into WH40k through just playing the wargame, which I have only started quite recently, and some the TTRPGs. My knowledge of the lore mostly comes from friends vomiting it at me which never sunk in super well. So let me know if I made any egregious mistakes. The general arc I have for this character is him overcoming some lingering PTSD issues from the attack in his history.
Name: Lyvon Hamilton
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: 6'1 and well built, Lyvon has the physique of a trained solider. Due to his homeworld his complexion is very pale. He has closely cropped blond hair and keeps clean-shaven at all times possible. His face is unmarked by any scarring or distinguishing features beyond blue eyes. Mostly seen wearing his fatigues, which come in the form of a red jumpsuit, and combat boots. While off-duty in common areas he will leave the top half undone and tied around his waist with his white vest on to cover himself.
When the occasion calls he wears standard-issue Imperial Flak Armour, coloured a shade of pale blue. His Lasgun and laspistol share the same colour for their outer casing. The former is kept in his bunk while the latter is kept on him along with a knife bayonet. Also stored safely away are several frag grenades.
Personality: Lyvon is a mostly laid-back, surprisingly cheerful man who tends to avoid confrontation as much as possible. Something he tries to suppress is the fact that he is a coward. While trained too well to abandon almost any mundane fight, the sight of explicit warp manipulation triggers profound trauma making any sort of forward movement difficult. All that said when it comes to more 'organic' fights he maintains a level head and utilizes his lifetime of training effectively, even against most Xenos forces. For now, he is content to work his job onboard the Praetorian Steel as a mercenary and he takes his duty to protect the crew seriously. However, his primary goal is to keep a lookout for a weapon or lost piece of tech that could be used as some sort of ultimate weapon against psykers and with it, a fighting chance against The Thousand Sons.
Relationship to the Dynasty: Nothing significant here. A hired hand that has proven well worth the money over several years aboard the Praetorian Steel. Deeply respected the previous captain and familiar enough with Rudyard to give him the same courtesy although somewhat wary of his inexperience.
History: Millenia ago The Emporer's Executioner, Leman Russ and his Space Wolves, lead an assault on Prospero, burning it to almost nothing. Supporting them were several regiments of Cadian troops who battled the ground forces fiercely. While the heroic clashes happened among the Angels Of Death, one regiment found themselves pushing forces right back into the ritual chamber of Ahriman himself. Inside they found an ancient relic and, as Prospero burned, they and the relic were taken back to Fenris where they set up a base.
The Wolven Legion, as they came to be known, remained there while never losing touch with their Cadian routes. They did, however, colour their armour to be more like the Space Marine Chapter whose world they shared. When Cadia fell it devastated them no less than any of the other Cadians.
Wars came and went, Lyvon was born in the midst of the current Psychic Awakening and underwent the same training all Cadian soldiers go through from birth. He was just old enough to fully enlist when Ahriman bore down on the Fenrisian Colony. With their terrifying psychic might, they ripped through the opposing forces with a casual ease that chilled Lyvon to the bone. To his great shame, he froze as his fellows around him died. A commissar was moments from killing him, as he knew he deserved, before too being ripped apart by a Sorcerer. Maybe it was being covered in his would-be killer's gore that kept him from being noticed. Lyvon never knew but when the Thousand Sons eventually left it was all he could do to run but the terrible whispers of "All Is Dust" has never left his mind.
Lyvon stowed away on a ship carrying the Space Wolves to their next battle and left at the first planet they passed. He offered his services as a trained combatant for one crew then the next, facing all manner of enemies from Tyranids to Orks, before finally finding more permanent employ with the Falcon-Cooks.
Skills: Like any Cadian, Lyvon has a lifetime's worth of gruelling training with all manner of combat, most of which he has kept up. Physically he is close to peak human ability and can competently handle las-weapons, ballistics, close-quarters weapons, and even plasma weaponry. All that said his combat training left little time for other avenues of study. He is only fluent in Low-Gothic and unfamiliar with any of the technocratic disciplines of the Adeptus Mechanicus, only just able to maintain his personal weaponry.
Equipment: Unless explicitly asked by his captain, Lyvon will prefer to keep his lasgun, frag grenades, and Flak Armour stowed safely in his bunk. He knows all too well how quickly combat can arise though and ensures he keeps his laspistol fully charged and on him at all times as well as a combat knife that can attach to his lasgun as a bayonet. Also kept in his bunk, unless debarking, is a neatly stored backpack with the necessary equipment for weapon and armour repairs, a medkit, some rations, some spare fatigues, and other generally useful items like rudimentary survival gear.
Miscellaneous: Unsure as of right now, will wait for feedback though
Name: Laeveyla. No surname given, but when one must use something more formal she usually goes by 'the Wanderer.'
Age: 232 years. This makes her rather young by Eldar standards.
Gender: Female
Race: Craftworld Aeldari
Appearance: Laeveyla is a tall, proud figure no matter where she finds herself. Having spent several decades in human space, the elf has adopted the clothing of the mon'keighs she works beside; outside of comabt she wears a frilled blouse and waistcoat, a double-breasted jacket, tight-fitting trousers and flamboyantly buckled boots, wheras her combat dress features the far more practical mesh armour and Felarch helmet, the only real embellishment being its gold-streaked paintjob and the long bright scarlet scarf wrapped around her neck and hanging down just short of the jets of her jump pack.
Underneath all of her fanciful wear, she is fairly typical for an aeldari specimen. Six foot eleven tall, as thin as a whip, with piercing blue eyes and long, expertly tamed blonde hair, her appearance would cut a path through any dour craftworld's population, which is indeed exactly what she has designed it for. She is never seen without her curving, scimitar-like power sword and, as is common for felarchs, a fusion pistol rather than the normal shuriken. It is rare she takes her shuriken catapult into battle, preferring the more personal touch she can deliver with her other equipment, but, needs must when the dark prince drives.
Personality: Like most corsairs that hail from craftworlds, Laeveyla is what most eldar would call a 'wayward soul.' Driven by a desire to see the galaxy, slash throats and consort with all kinds of foreign races, the eldar delights in breaking taboos and trying new things, something that puts her uncomfortably close to toppling off the knife's edge that all unfallen members of her race must walk.
Relationship to the Dynasty: Laeveyla has journeyed with the Falcon-Cooks for some twenty years; a relatively insignificant time for her, but long enough for most members of the family to have met her at least once, espcially with her unusual status as a xenos working freely as an Imperial mercenary.
History: Laeveyla never knew the true glory of her craftworld; her parents fought as guardians to protect their home of Biel-Tan, and by the time she had grown into anything resembling an adult Aeldar her craftworld was shattered and her peoples were splintered into a fleet, rather than a singular, great craft. As a child she grew up being told of the winter her people were enduring, but through how force and dedication, their spring could come again.
Laeveyla never really believed that. Although she walked the paths of her people; studying the ways of the dreamer and the mariner, and then under the warrior as a howling banshee. It was this last role that suited her best, but still something was missing, and rather than persue it further and risk losing herself and becoming an Exarch, she instead took a very different route; her and several other young Aeldari collectively took a single vessel from Biel-Tan's great fleet and departed, joining with a corsair band that had stopped with their people for resupply and to return soul stones.
It was here that she found her true home. The freedom of the life of a corsair; the ability to indulge in violence or temper it, to let herself laugh and dance and kill and take seemed much more natural to her than the rigid paths she had strode before, where she had had to temper herself to make sure she never went too far; felt too many emotions. She knew that she had to temper herself, and so far has walked the knife-edge successfully, never toppling over into the abyss of the dark prince. Yet still here, something was amiss, and she finally realised what it was when their corsair band communicated with a powerful mon'keigh fleet lead by a 'Rogue Trader.' He offered vast riches and a rich share of loot to any that would work for him, but the Corsair Prince of her fleet instructed that none join.
She, viewing this as a pointless imposition to be shed, took a different route. As her felarch slept she pressed his soul stone into his chest and slit his throat, making sure her brethren would find his soul and keep it safe even as she took his helmet and weaponry, leaving their craft in a lifeboat that docked with the mon'keigh ship soon after. The 'Rogue Trader' was dlighted, and she has now worked with their family for close to thirty years, enjoying more privaliges than she ever did with her own kind, albeit with far more suspicion.
Skills:
Swashbuckling Fighter: A dab hand with a sword and a fusion pistol and more than happy to use them against any foolish enough to oppose her, Laeveyla has probably killed more men than you've had hot dinners. Or, so she claims, anyway.
Aeldarin Grace: Like all of her race, Laeveyla is, to humans at least, superhumanly fast and agile, capable of weaving between bullets and cutting down a man from ten paces away before he can blink.
Psychically Attuned: Laeveyla is particularly sensitive to the winds of the Warp. Although no Warlock, her innate capabilities are useful in other ways; a split second's foresight, a tighter bond with her mesh armour and a healthy respect for the things that don't come from this side of the galaxy can all let a lone xenos survive for longer. Trust her; you don't want to see what happens when a corsair warlock loses control of their powers.
Scrappy Survivor: A corsair is already expected to have a general skillset that makes them useful on spacefaring craft, but corsairs that hire themselves out as mercenaries must have all of this and the ability to survive without any of their fellows in Imperial space for decades at a time. Any that survives their first dozen or so years usually has a good variety of mechanical and medical skills to keep themselves alive and in good condition.
Equipment:
Fusion pistol
Shuriken catapult
Power sword
Mesh armour
Miscellaneous: Anything you want to mention but haven't been able to cover yet.
Appearance : Short length brown hair,(does have wigs for pony tail or curls for formal occasions), blue eyes and lighter caucasian skin, does use powder to make his skin seem more like porcelain. No mechanical implants. Rather skinny, and shorter (110-130 lbs) (5'2 ft) His shape is about average, or leaner compared to most. No scarring through most of his body, he would seem to be a track runner without thighs.
Typically found wearing white pants, and Imperial Naval Jacket (blue torso with white arms) with midshipman insignia and a small pin on his collar signifying his house. (Grey and black pendant in a checkered pattern) Most of the time wearing white gloves. While on his belt is an issued laspistol, chainsword, glow-globe and data-slate. Can usually also be found with a Data-slate. Will also wear a cloak if he is on a long watch.
A young man, with an aged left eye, nearly white porcelain skin, and long white hair, that is either seen in a pompous wing and ponytail or just as a long single ponytail. His left eye is missing, but it does have a replacement false eye that is similar to his old one for show, but also a large cybernetic piece that he can wear. He does have a large vein-like bulge that goes down the side of his neck under his skin, it is somewhat flush, and looks like a buff guy broke a nerve.
He is taller than what he once was, at now six three. His knees having been replaced some short time ago, as well as his left shoulder blade. The synthetic skin hiding most if not all of the metallic bits. His form is still thin, but this hides the somewhat metallic strength of his somewhat rebuilt again body. His right arm though is buff compared to his other appendages.
He wears either one of two suits, one which is completely white similar to that worn in a ball room. The other is a dark blue, that of the navy with the ranking of captain plastered on it along with various badges and metals that he may or may not have deserved. With his white suit, he does have a laspistol of some kind inside the chest. But his naval uniform, he wears it all, his sword on his side and laspistol on the other. His belt lined with his data-slate, his power packs, and his light.
Personality : Young and extremely timid, Isaiah has yet to experience the world. Those above him he treats with utmost respect, and those below him and beside him he has no idea what to do with. Can be considered a coward in some situations, but when supported he can be valuable. He is not really adventurous, but he is someone to be in awe at some new things he finds as 'beautiful' mainly galactic bodies (suns that aren't the color of his, brightly colored gas clouds, etc) He does try to do his job the best he can, and if he doesn't know how to do something in his line of work, then he figures it out. Can be reluctant to give information out if something is wrong, i.e. someone missing from the shift or cargo missing. (kid really needs a person commissar with a fake gun)
After almost forty years of being in service to several Rogue Traders, he has gain a lot of knowledge. He has seen many stars, fought demonic incursions, xenos, traitors, and many other things. He walked the void of space after venting out his cargo bay to rid it of a fungal infection. He has aged like spoiled milk, becoming a frequent alcoholic, and an overall grumpy and angry man. He is not at home with a family, sitting in some mansion. He is out in the wilds of space, being angry as all hell as looks over the stars.
He has lived his life of adventure, his life in the Navy roster of a Rogue Trader, he has become a captain of nothing but cargo bays and galleys on several ships of varying levels of Imperial heresy. But, in general, he is a reliable old man. If you can bear his yelling, and complaining, you can see that most of his words have some sense and truth to them. He is a bountiful source of information and wisdom to those who can translate insane and angry drunkard.
Relationship to the Dynasty : His family is of a bunch of nobles, but he really has no ties to the rogue trader or his family.
History : Isaiah grew up in a kind and gentle world in his estate, he traveled the planet some. And lived in almost complete luxury due to his status. In his early years he was taught that the human body was perfect the way it was, but to preserve the family at later ages once proven a decent heir or of some importance. They would be given allowances for minor life preservation treatments. Minor due to the world being somewhat out of the way of most imperial trade routes, so not that high on the economic level. But the planet was a Feudal world, living the ways of nobles, and his family being one lower on the totem pole in the planet.
In his education, he was found to be an extremely good pencil pusher, and therefor was to be inducted as one of the planets bureaucrats. But his father decided he should take a different route, and enlisted his son in the Grand Imperial Navy. It was due to other political reasons as well, such as they wanted honor and prestige from the son, as well as a chance to get him out there to other nobles who may have been enlisted into the Navy, or Astra Militarum.
Once given his rank of Midshipman due to his noble status, he was quickly to be found as an Officer of the Watch while most ranking officers were off duty, and quartermaster, due to his good skills with pushing paper. Due to this, and his abilities with other people, he was found to be somewhat of an underdog. His previous Captain, deciding that it would be better for him to put his skills in paper pushing, moved his station to an actual station rather then a ship. There for he, and the pencil pushers of various creed within the Imperium at the station were to inspect ships, their contents, the crew, and the ship itself while in port and dry dock. To rot away as pencil pusher, lest a crew of adventures were to save him, or he was to be kidnapped while inspecting a ship. Because who cares about some lowly midshipman?
He has been transferred around a bit by rogue traders for his ability to keep the cargo bay somewhat clean and orderly. And as a gift to a new fledgling rogue trader, his services were offered as long as the pay was similar and the title was somewhat better. He has been with rogue traders for a long period of time, mainly as a quartermaster and cargo bay controller. But he has slowly been working with command staff and even in small engagements in the bridge. Once he was even given command of the ship when a rogue trader decided he wanted a vacation. For that he was given a few days down on planet and regenerative treatment to make him look younger and to give him a new liver. In his travels he has also been trained in maybe service skills such as cooking, cleaning, being a servant, and some in the commander role of parts of the ship and as a pseudo-armsman.
He is still serving in the Imperial Navy, and they have deemed him to become a Captain now, does he get his own command, no because they have no idea where he is, but they do pay him as he does check in with the Administrautum at some stops.
Skills : Extremely good with numbers, organizing shifts, ordering and stocking goods, ammo, and other needed things. Knows how to use basic Imperial Weapons, chainsword, and his power sword Knows how to cook, and how to get higher quality goods for cooking. Has officer clearance Is extremely perceptive of things in stock, and can find contraband, as well as knows basic layout of most Imperial ships. Servant skills Luxury cooking Being a fledgling commander
Equipment : Laspistol power sword Basic Naval Officer Garbs Naval Captain insignia Data-slate Glow-globe recorder a powerpacks for the laspistol
-in quarters shotgun standard naval cloak Flak Weave shells for the shotgun
@TheMagician Can't see anything egregiously wrong, but there are a couple of things that could streamline it.
Firstly his history - we're in a period where the only living Cadians would be those found on Cadian colony worlds, those that saw Cadia burn either being vastly old or dead. Also, why the connection with Fenris? Why not just have him fight alongside the Wolves against the Sons on another battlefield?
Secondly, while Cadians are excellent infantrymen and specialists, things such as Basilisks and tanks take particular training - so unless Hamilton trained as an artilleyman or tank operative, that's a bit much to shove in his skill; being good with various forms of hand-held weapons, that's fine.
These things excluded, all seems pretty good! Has what I've pointed out make sense to you?
Thanks for the feedback. It makes sense and I will make a few tweaks. For his history, I just like the idea of a Cadian colony of Fenris. The Space Wolves recruit from there so humans are at least able to survive and I feel like it would be feasible for a colony to be established there, even if the population is minimal after Magnus' attack. Also, it's in the Great Rift right now and, iirc, there are roaming bands of Chaos Spawn so I like that Lyvon would have exposure to, and reason to fear, the forces of chaos as well as psykers. I just feel like overall it brings a lot of pieces together. It's just neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Would it be more acceptable then to just phrase things so that Ahriman's discrete attack on their colony was partly due to Psychic Awakening? Like it disturbed the relic in a way he could sense and he came to reclaim as part of his efforts to reverse the Rubric. There doesn't have to be a significant link to The Fall Of Cadia.
For the second part that is fine too. I will tweak that to make it more appropriate.
@TheMagician Would make sense, as the native population was liquidated after Magnus' invasion. Honestly, I'm still not sure why you need to have them attacked on Fenris - if you like that's fine - but it seems simpler to just have him fight alongside the Wolves or some such in a more general setting.
Overall the choice is yours!
Any chance you could pop onto the Discord server? Don't have to, of course.
@Jb As long as it makes sense. I am not against changing if you feel it is too jarring for the setting. The link seems to have expired though, could you post a new one and I'll join?
Appearance: Tecca Nina is quite an imposing figure, and through her value to the Imperium and consequent rejuvenat treatment seems much younger than her true years. Tall and slender, she is pale-skinned and in possession of dark hair down to her shoulders, a combination of traits that many men would find highly attractive - were it not for her eye sockets, empty and permanently seared black by the scorching light of the God-Emperor's soul that once coursed through her. For politeness' sake, she tends to cover the hollows with a black blindfold bearing the symbol of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica on its front in pale blue, a neat and tidy covering for a gruesome disfigurement. Additionally, she wears long black robes that cover her body, themselves bearing both the symbol of her Adepta in pale blue on the front, the Imperial Aquila in white on her back, and the Aquila again in white on the hood. Privately, these items of apparent cloth in fact double as protection from harm. Woven into them is a mesh of thermoplas cells that stiffen when subjected to kinetic energy and heat, dissipating that energy and keeping her safe from harm whilst remaining quite lightweight. Additionally, to those who might somehow think she is easy prey and are not deterred simply for being an astropath, she carries on her person both a hellpistol and a mono-edge sword, evidence of her importance as the master of Edmund Livingstone's Astropathic Choir and indicators of her own lethality if provoked.
Personality: To say Tecca Nina is a severe woman is not exactly incorrect. The life experiences of a psyker once their powers awaken, and especially an astropath, are rarely positive in nature; hers have shaped her into a woman who will not tolerate being made light of by anybody, as in her mind she has gone through too much and come too far in spite of the odds stacked against her to allow such a thing. Consequently, those of higher rank than herself who disrespect her are generally treated with coolness, the bare minimum of civility required and no more, whilst those outright beneath her who do the same will receive naught but passive-aggressive insults, or indeed outright warnings if they go too far - never threats, though, because a threat is uncivil, and implies the possibility that you won't follow through when push comes to shove. To everyone else, though, she does her best to be helpful, understanding, and occasionally even kind. The God-Emperor's mercy works in strange ways - those who are most harmed are often most belittled, a circumstance she is personally well-aware of, and whilst she does not look back on her past with fondness or indeed grace, it has informed her quite a bit. Thus, she tries to show empathy to those in need, even the rare alien that the Imperium has seen fit to welcome into its fold, albeit tinged with pity and stern recommendations for the many. It is but rarely that this folds to naught but empathy, almost always for her fellow sanctioned psykers such as the small choir she now leads, and to them she truly does act graciously, for it is a crushing sort of kindred that they share. Her relationship with the God-Emperor is... complex. Every psyker soul-bound to Him experiences the process in different ways if they do not die outright, from indescribable sensations to an enlightening discussion with Him. Some even expand their faith as a result, becoming the self-proclaimed Transubstantial Initiates that irk the Ecclesiarchy so. Nina falls into the somewhat broader category of astropaths who merely experience agony, though the sensation was certainly indescribable, and as a consequence she is of two minds. Was it necessary? Certainly; even her particular strategies would not have worked forever. Did it help her? Arguably; having a shard of the Emperor's soul tied to hers has certainly kept it safe from harm. Is she less enthused with Him as a result? Entirely - but then, she can hardly blame the God-Emperor directly. His agents are far more culpable as sinners, after all. To that end, when she does talk about her faith in Him, she tends to keep her statements modest, largely espousing kindness to others as she herself displays, if only to offset but slightly the cruelties both necessary and needless of the Imperium's more questionable servants. That being said, to the heathen, the heretic, and especially the witch, she of course has nothing but contempt. Even now, coming to terms with a traumatic past has been a cripplingly hard task that often keeps her up until the late hours, but she at least accepts that the sanctioning process and the Soul-Binding that blinded her was a necessity to keep her safe from worse things. They who would avoid either or both, and ultimately they who would act against the God-Emperor Himself, are unworthy of His grace; at best to be directed to the Black Ships, at worst to be eliminated and forgotten, for that is the greatest kindness one can do them. Most xenos also fall into this category, but she is at least able to acknowledge that if her employer has taken them on board, there is likely a good reason for it.
Relationship to the Dynasty: Tecca Nina has spent the last few years working in the astropathic choir of one of the ships of the Falcon-Cook family; it is fair to suggest that time has been an interesting one. It transpires that her power as a psyker is yet to be fully realised, or so it seems to her; aside from anything else, her skill in astrotelepathy has been tested time and again, pushing her to the forefront of the choir, and ultimately into the position of leading a fresh choir under Rudyard once the Warrant of Trade passed to him. They are large shoes to fill, but Rudyard has been highly accommodating thus far, helping to make them feel much smaller in a way that is steadily earning her gratitude and respect. This has done wonders for her confidence in a fairly short timeframe, but to say she is not still haunted would be entirely incorrect. In many aspects of her being, she still has a very long way to go.
Born on the civilised world of Arteus III, Tecca Nina's early life was not precisely remarkable. Her family was middle class, they worked middle-class jobs for the Imperium, she went to a middle-class school, and under most other circumstances, Tecca Nina would have found herself a similarly middle-class job to work in until her old age. It was therefore unfortunate that one day, in her early- to mid-teens, she began to hear and see things at the edges of her senses - never coherent, but always distressing, and somehow goading in the process. What they goaded toward eventually became clear, as one day whilst being confronted by a bully, she lashed out with her mind, a blunt fist of psychic power knocking the girl unconscious against a locker in full view of a lot of terrified students and teachers. Not three days after that incident, she was taken into custody by squads of black-armoured individuals who would cuff her round the mouth if she so much as whimpered. The next thirty years of her life could be accurately described as "Hell". Seven or so years were spent in what could more or less be described as the worst jail in existence. The relative freedom of expression her planet supported was a myth in that grey bunker, as were any other rights the people supposedly had; instead, Nina was kept in a bland grey outfit, in a bland prison cell, utterly isolated from others like her, those who were kept in this place for the sole crime of possessing psychic powers. The guards, at least, had no interest in the prisoners save when they tried to use their powers, promptly being beaten into submission, or in too many cases shot dead and incinerated, but at the same time, they refused to account for the prisoners' needs beyond food and water, a state of affairs that was especially gruelling for a pubescent young girl for reasons that need not be elaborated on. Socially, therefore, most people in there were not well-adjusted, if she even had any idea about their personalities at all. Nina had only a couple of friends throughout that time, the first a forty year old in a nearby cell who had developed in secret a form of telepathic communication. That friendship lasted all of three months before he was discovered and killed - arguably for the best, considering that every time she used her own abilities, the whispering in her mind grew stronger. She learned the cause of this a couple of years after that, when she grew daring enough to develop her own form of telepathic connection with the thirty two year old two cells over from hers. Their communication lasted a week before he admitted that he'd felt something probing at his mind lately, attempted to convey an image of what it was, and suddenly had his psyche ripped asunder by a monstrosity that Nina herself barely avoided being targeted by too. After seeing what it had twisted the man's body into as the guards carried away the evidence, she no longer attempted to train her abilities. She was, of course, lucky. She could have spent much longer in there. Instead, the Black Ship arrived not too long after she turned twenty- or was it twenty one?- and took her and every surviving psyker in for transport to Holy Terra. This took ten years in total, and somehow, inexplicably, wound up being an even worse prison than the last - one made of black metal lit by red lamps, a hellish combination that played havoc with her vision; one where the silver-armoured guards standing at every juncture seemed to physically crush her whenever they passed by, even though she knew she was lucky enough to never be subjected to their wrath personally; and yet they and others didn't ignore her, but rather dragged her and others away time and again for the sake of unspeakable testing, probing, and punishing of both mind and body, processes that would have left any sane person traumatised, let alone the psychological wreck she became as the whispering and imagery grew ever more pronounced when the silver guards weren't present. She was, of course, lucky. Luckier than most, anyway, for her wardmates never degraded into monsters, nor was her section of the ship ever forcibly cleansed with fire to erase a single threat. So, too, could her journey to Terra have taken far longer, and left her truly shattered rather than simply cracked, good only as fuel for the Emperor's dying soul. As it was, however, she remained on the cusp of sanity by tracking her time in there, precise mental markers that anchored her enough to let her keep some sense of self. A worse fate lay in store for her. Not minutes after she first saw something resembling sunlight for the first time in nearly two decades, she and many others were marched back into an obsidian fortress by men clad in the same sort of black armour she'd first come to know as terrifying, and told that they were to be used for the Imperium's greater benefit, and that they would be trained to use their powers in the name of the God-Emperor, a process that would take a full five years before they were deemed ready. These five years were, thankfully, nothing like as awful as her time on the Black Ship, but to say they were easy was fallacious - her teachers were unreasonably cruel, even having been through the same nightmares she had, and every mistake she made in learning to apply her abilities was punished with beatings and restriction of "privileges" - up to, for the first time, both food and water if they were feeling cruel. All the while still being targeted by unspeakable whispering and imagery, somehow worse than before despite being in such a holy place. Again, she was forced to rely on her internal clock to keep her psyche intact, adding to it with strict and regimented creative activities of a sort - picturing a blank page in her mind, imagining herself writing upon it, and in time generating an entire fantasy trilogy that, when one teacher noticed it, was judged amateurish and naive. That teacher promptly copied the whole thing down word for word behind Nina's back, published it, and made a relative fortune on her efforts. The exercises, however, did their job. Combined with the data from those tests performed upon the Black Ship, the examination of her talents in the Scholastica Psykana, and examination of her own coping mechanisms, she was unbeknownst to her graded at the level Zeta Secundus - decently strong, not quite capable of protecting her own soul from harm as a Primaris might, but nor a mere sheep to be sent to slaughter and soul syphoning with the massed Tertius psykers. At the end of those five years, she was taken into the core of the Imperial Palace, a golden twisting morass she could never hope to navigate alone protected by giants themselves clad in gold, to what looked like some sort of throne room, and forced to kneel in front of a corpse that she recognised as important for reasons that escaped her in the moment, alongside ninety nine other unfortunate souls like herself. Not long after that, the God-Emperor touched her mind. It is quite fortunate that the human brain contains no nerve endings directly, at least for the purposes of sensation. If it did, it would be likely that the electrical and chemical signals coursing through it would induce a constant headache at best, and an unbelievable agony at worst. For Nina, as with most of the astropaths-to-be, her Soul-Binding could not quite be described with realistic metaphors - the closest she could come would be to suggest that it felt very much like her brain had just been crammed full of said sensation-inducing nerve endings, and then shoved into an acid-filled blender with super-heated blades. To say it was pleasant, as some of them purported after the fact, was a strong statement. So too was calling it modest, or distressing. Even words like "excruciating" and "traumatic" were a little weak. If anybody ever bothered to ask, she would likely say it was the single worst experience she had ever had, before or since. As it was, the teachers merely described it as "graduation". When she came to, she realised very quickly that, whilst the whispering in her mind and vague appendages in the corner of her eye were finally quelled, so too was literally everything else about her sight and vision - even though feeling remained, something made very evident when she was strapped down and the remnants of her melted eyeballs scraped out of their blackened sockets without anaesthesia. Nonetheless, she was practically crippled, and it took another month after that fateful event for her psychic-abilities to take over the role, translating the vibrations in the air into mental patterns she could recognise as sound, and the surfaces about her into images she could position herself relative to. Her telepathy even offered full colour awareness by the time the ship she was on found its way to her very first role as an agent of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica: a component in a major astropathic relay. For most other astropaths, this would be where their story ended. Whilst a necessity for rapid information flow, the astropathic relays were constantly flooded with psychic messages from across the galaxy, and they were notorious for inducing the phenomenon called burnout: the crippling of an astropath's psychic powers, be it temporary or permanent, often accompanied by braindeath after however many years of replacing indecipherable whispers and visions with an indecipherable torrent of maddening ciphers in all forms. Only those of particularly strong will could hope to survive for any significant length of time. Once more, Tecca Nina's tendency to develop psychological coping mechanisms saved her: this time, she simply found a way to turn off the part of her mind that was, for want of a better word, "human". Those in charge of the relay didn't want her to be human; they wanted her to be a wire. So, when she was in the immense choir that made it up, she was effectively no longer human, but a wire of thought and spirit, not taking in the messages passed to her, merely letting them move on through her being as fast as possible, and all the while maintaining that mental clock to draw herself back to when she was allowed a break, though by then she was assailed with reminders of her disturbing past so frequently that she often preferred not to revert at all. She burned out sixteen times in the first year before this mechanism took hold; once it had, she burned out once in the next six, and then only because she let that mindstate slip due to a bout of negative memory interfering with her focus. This improvement did not go unnoticed. By now, she was in her early forties, and looked very much like she was in her late sixties, so major the toll of her life and powers had taken on her. It came as a great surprise, then, when she found herself recommended for work at a much less strenuous choir somewhere near the outer edge of the Imperium's holdings, and an even greater surprise when that work proposal came with a free rejuvenat treatment to ensure her ongoing service there. All at once, she reverted from looking and feeling like an elderly lady back to more or less her physical prime, complete with renewed hair growth. All this, however, would only serve to be the introduction for another trial entirely - granted, not one that would be at all comparable to the horrors she had faced thus far, but something difficult to overcome nonetheless. At first, her approach into the deeper, less inhabited parts of the void left her wondering if her Soul-Bond was failing. Whispering she had thought banished for good returned steadily, growing louder the further from civilisation she went. It didn't take overly long, once she had taken up her position in the astropathic choir of that region, for her to recognise them for what they were: not the monsters of her past, but the dying screams and nascent dreams of aliens from far before her time, maddening to contemplate even compared to those other monsters of the Warp. They, after all, had at least some basis in human emotion. Nonetheless, her old coping mechanisms kicked in once again: shut down needless emotion, keep track of the passage of time, use the mind to craft creatively- this time, actually delving into and practicing her telepathic powers, to see what creative fashions she could use them in- all serving to keep her on track toward the eventual title of Astropath Transcendent... somehow, though, she found a sort of magnetic pull despite those mechanisms. Week after week, month after month, she kept being drawn back to contemplating, not the voices coming from the darkness, but the very darkness of the void itself, and this fascination manifested one day in the form of a deep chill filling her private quarters. After that, she found she didn't need to lose herself in her coping mechanisms anymore, though she continued to work on her telepathy where she could. Again, this did not go unnoticed. Not long after this revelation, perhaps three years since joining the choir, she was requested by name by a member of the Falcon-Cook Rogue Trader lineage. A Praetorian family, the patriarch offered her a position in his own choir aboard his ship. It would be quieter still than the one she'd grown used to, and perhaps a touch more dangerous at times, but then excitement was part and parcel of the life of a Rogue Trader! Excitement, freedom, and of course wealth beyond measure, more than Nina herself might ever have access to in the alternate course of her life. Wealth, in truth, wasn't too impressive to her, but the freedom to expand her abilities, and perhaps see just how far they could go...
Skills:
Astrotelepath - By far Nina's most notable skill is her aptitude in astrotelepathy. Though she sacrificed her vision, hearing, and much of her former self in the process of transformation- not all of which was due to exposure to the Emperor's soul, and none of which was pleasant to experience- what she has gained in return more than makes up for it. She experiences the world psychically now, as if she were in full retention of her former senses, and she can send messages across vast stretches of Imperial space in relatively short timeframes, a vital process for the Imperium's ongoing functionality, with even further distances made possible in the presence of an astropathic choir. Granted, sending even one relatively brief message is not nor ever will be a short process for any distance greater than orbital, especially with how much effort goes into encoding the most important and sensitive information packets to ensure prying Warp creatures and scions of heresy can't intercept it, but the capacity to do so at all is a rare and rightly-prized ability.
Sanctioned Psyker - Beyond mere astropathy, Nina is a reasonably skilled psyker in other areas too, sanctioned as she is. All psykers can detect the soul-aura around an individual, so-called Witch-Sight, and may make use of it to elucidate certain pieces of information about them, though not much without explicit training. The majority of sanctioned psykers thus focus their efforts on learning to make use of a relatively selective pool of psychic abilities called a discipline, most practicing with one particular discipline above all others, and mastering two or maybe three distinct disciplines in their lifetime if they are exceptional; Nina may not even have had that much opportunity if she had never risen from the rank and file of the Astropathic Relay, for many astropaths in a choir never have the time to develop beyond their basic telepathic sending and astropathy. As it is, though, she is an adept when it comes to Telepathy, wielding both communication- and domination-style abilities for their respective roles of information relay and compelling others to act in certain ways, and has started to delve into the Voidfrost discipline that a number of astropaths find themselves dredging up when isolated from other human minds, with the capacity to shield herself from the void's icy grip in a bubble of air and warmth, plummet her own metabolism or that of a willing target into a form of life-preserving stasis, and even seek out and locate the minds of other sentient beings from many Void Units away, up to and including xeno races. There is evidence to suggest that she could progress much further still in these regions and perhaps others, if she gets the opportunity to continue mastering her abilities. Granted, none of this comes without cost. Though she is soulbound to the Emperor, warding her mind and rendering her far more resistant to the whispers at the edges of her sanity, effectively inaudible by this time, whisper they nonetheless do - and every so often, the ward will be strained by over-enthusiastic use of her abilities and the resulting eddies of the Immaterium, generating a disturbing effect in the local environment. Ever since she first accessed her Voidfrost potential, this has almost universally manifested as a sharp but brief temperature plummet, seeding hoarfrost across every surface in a wide area about her. She remains ever-vigilant for more explicit Warp manifestations, however - rare as they ought to be, they are by no means impossible, and if worst comes to worst, old brainwashing is likely to lead to an almost-instinctive suicide attempt even so many years after leaving the Scholastica Psykana behind - assuming another crew member doesn't attempt to kill her first, that is.
Weaponplay - Naturally, it is rarely appropriate to wield psychic abilities recklessly, least of all those based on altering the mind directly. It is therefore a good thing that she has grown at least reasonably skilled in making use of both pistols and melee weaponry - far more direct is the damage of a pistol than an urge to run out of cover, and far less risky to make use of unless she runs out of ammo. Melee combat is rather more of a concern, in truth, but with proper protection and, occasionally, making use of her powers to support her in combat, she can usually get through a fight unscathed - assuming she's allowed into the fight at all, anyway.
Trauma Response - Nina's past is one filled with the worst sorts of disturbances, most of which weren't even produced by her power directly. To say she has some serious PTSD is an understatement, and it is likely that this will affect her for her entire life; however, she has developed the means to at least withstand future horror as it comes, especially for long-term situations like prolonged torture and imprisonment. The major component of this at present is essentially to turn off her human emotion and relegate her response to logical and creative thought alone, rendering herself nearly unbreakable as far as further harm goes, but the first aspect of it, developing at some point in her teenage years, was to essentially keep an internal clock and calendar to track how much time has passed, and she has become very good at keeping track of time even under severe stress.
Equipment: Nina's gear is mostly basic but highly functional, focused on quality over quantity in a way assisted by her relatively privileged position:
A hellpistol for ranged combat, good for 20 shots per hotshot charge pack, and with extra packs carried on her person when it runs dry;
A mono-edged sword for melee combat, granted typically more of a last resort than intended for standard use;
Thermoplas mesh armour, woven into her robes for protection;
A blessed necklace charm in the shape of an Aquila, for purposes of faith and psychic focusing both;
A void suit, generally stored on-ship in case she needs to head into the void unprotected by her powers;
Various utility items: micro-bead for short-distance comms; chrono for timekeeping; flashlight and glowbulb for light in different circumstances; pict recorder for vid captures; dataslate for sending, storing, and receiving information.
Miscellaneous: There are a wide variety of directions Tecca Nina's powers could develop in the future, setting aside her ongoing advancement of the Telepathy and Voidfrost disciplines. Most are derived either from her soul-bond to the Emperor, namely the Warp-banishing Theosophamy and divinely-inspired Soul Ward, or from the usual mentally-charged disciplines of Divination and Telekinesis. Technically speaking, however, nothing explicitly prevents her from taking them in more offensive directions via Pyromancy, Biomancy, or perhaps even stranger options, though it is likely these would not be strictly optimal choices given her position. It is also worth noting that the damage done to her flesh and nervous system by the Soul-Binding ritual is such that standard bionic replacements could not hope to restore either her vision or her hearing. However, such augments capable of it do exist - they are expensive beyond standard measure, and so heavily engineered as to be works of unparalleled artifice in most circumstances, but not unattainable for a Rogue Trader whose fortunes trend toward the stars...
Appearance: It is difficult to really call Severus human anymore. No part of him that one sees carries the hint or scrap of human skin, wrapped as he is in the iconic robes of mars, with brown red speckled smock and golden trim. His face looks more like a squid, the dozen tubes that connect into from his skull into the various systems that are attached to his body. In front of the tubes is a plate of five glowing green eyes as his optics. His left hand actually resembles a human hand before the fingers telescopically unfold into various tools. His left hand is a series of clawed cable like tendrils capable of manual manipulations beyond that of weak flesh, and that is before one gets to the mechadendrites, three of them. One is a servo arm holding a massive hydrolic claw and phosphor blow torch for heavy repairs. One holding all the medicae tools needed for knitting and exchanging flesh and the biologus cogitators. The last another limb for more tendrils to carry weapons and other gadgets for appeasing the machine spirits.
One can see the various systems hanging from satchels and mechadendrite anchor points. The scanning devices. The data slabs. Entire tool kits, and a charging station for his servo skull Cornelius. He does also carry with him a number of biological specimen jars, just in case he comes across anything particularly interesting.
When expecting trouble, his hands usually have a grenade launcher and bangoliers filled with his grenades, but he commonly would switch to his shock maul and web pistol, in order to prevent unnecessary loss of organ integrity.
Personality: The various attachments, wires, tubes, and connectors in his skull has affected his thought process and temperment as it had done with many of the Mechanicus. He speaks with a constant robotic inflection and doesn't appear to have any emotion aside from cold hard logic. However that is where the similarities between him and his other compatriots end. Severus seems to have an unorthodoxly open desire to converse with others. His words while monotone, always carry a playful hint about them. Something cheeky, sarcastic, with a rather morbid sense humor. He doesn't get angry, or sad, or annoyed and seems to take pleasure in doing it to others, as if his advanced state of being makes him above such emotions, and its up to him to show its superior and preferred side.
He works on machines, but his passion, his hobby is in the biological form, experimenting on flesh and swapping it with stronger prosthetic components. It doesn't matter the source either, humans, xenos. All are just flesh, waiting to be processed, enhanced. That isn't to say that he is cruel. Despite his macabe fascinations, he has a rather optimistic point of view. All things are alive. Humans, Xenos have souls. Machines have their spirits. The Emperor. The Ominssiah. Their will extends like the Astranomicon across the stars. Even stars burn, live, die. He sees himself as a medicae, preserving life in unrotting metal. His rather unorthodox ideas of xenos does make some question his loyalty to the Imperium.
However his faith in the Omnissiah is beyond reproach. They are the great creator. The engine of progress and creation. He believes himself an instrument of his will whenever he lays hands upon something to fix. He plays the litanies by vox cast, burns incense and lays the oils. He is friend to machine spirit as he is to flesh.
If there is one thing he does have a profound hatred for, its chaos, and those that serve demonkind. Those that mix with the darker powers are a cancer, a rot that should be cut out. He hopes the infections are not so deep. Their organs can be put to better use.
Relationship to the Dynasty: Hierophox was offered as a favor between the Martian Adepts and the Dynasty. The Techpriest has no personal relationship with the Dynasty.
History: Vat grown on a Mechanicus ship to the Gothic Sector, Severus grew among the priest hood as an acolyte. Plying his knowledge, the trade, and all in all focusing hard to become another Engineseer, a noble profession that would see him supporting the other deparmentos of the Imperium. He knew he was not made for fame, glory, merely that his work would provide order, creation to the chaotic galaxy.
His main apprenticeship would take place on Research Station X9 Artemis which would act as a harbringer force while the other planets were surveyed and colonized into the Imperiums Service. Then a Raiding force under the banner of Chaos sought to pillage and infest the system while Imperial presence was weak. The Research Station became a listening post by which the Mechnanicus could spy on the Raiders. The station had received countless attacks, and over time, communications were disrupted, and the station was considered lost.
It would be years later that the Imperial Navy and Adeptus Astartes would purge the system of the Chaos Warband and the research station was rediscovered. It was a surprise when the short range radio picked up the Imperial distress voc. It was even more surprising that the gun turrets in a part of the station were still manned. It was considered impossible that a single member of the station had survived, Severus Hierophox, working frantically to maintain the core systems of the station and the hundreds of Servitors that were once its former crew, injured from the decades of repelling the attackers.
Severus was rescued, but his time isolated had changed him. He became a gifted tech priest, but even under interrogation, he was considered unhinged, possibly tainted, yet he passed every test the adepts could give him. The Adeptus Mechanicus had saw his duty done as a great service to be honored, but the possible concern overrided welcoming him back to the fold. Instead, he would be given to a Rogue Trader to honor a deal. Best to continue the Great Work, far far away from Holy Terra.
Skills:
Passionate Genetor- While not a true member of the order, his love and passion are for the crafting and study of the flesh. Biology has such fascinating properties and he spends every moment he can manipulating it to its true purpose, to host the metal of the machine.
Tech Priest of Mars - His Order is more in line with the Artisan. Artisans, sometimes called "Constructors," are the Tech-priests who design and oversee the construction of new devices, edifices, spacecraft, weapons, technology and other Imperial civilian and military hardware. For that, he sees to the machine of the ship and its upkeep.
Data Archivist - A life of scholarly study with numerous data slates and cogitators, allows him to have a bit of knowledge for any given situation.
Servitor Fabricator - His specialty is craft and upkeep of servitors, provided he have the time and resources.
The Flesh is Weak - His form boasts numerous augments including his extra limbs, auspex implants, and general physically robustness. Handy for survival, gathering data, or having a tool for any occasion.
Non Lethal Combat - Knows how to put something down without excess damage.
Chem Tinkerer - Numerous experiments with alternative medicines and reagents, he has an array of drugs and grenades he could provide.
Equipment:
Phosphor Burner - Acts as a Hand Flamer, attached to Servo Arm
Pneumatic Claw - For bashing, lifting, crushing, attached to Servo Arm
Webber Pistol - Blasts a globual of expanding sticky foam to incapacitate foes.
Shock Maul - A cudgel with a charge of electricity that disrupts electrical signals, both biological and mechanical.
Grenade Launcher - Commonly equipped with Smoke, Stun, Hallucinogen, Neurotoxin, and a few more destructive options.
Field Medicae Kit - Has enough supplies for a proper field surgery.
Enginseer Array - All the tools needed for on the spot repairs. Attached to mechadendrite.
Data Slates - For Record Keeping.
Specimen Bottles - Just in case.
Multi Range Optical Auspice - Able to view, infrared, ultraviolet, xray, and integrity scanner
Integrated Vox Caster - A short range radio
Telescopic lasher - Acting as his hand, gives him reach and greater dexterity.
Servo Skull - Cornelius, equipped with the various religious iconography needed to appease the machine spirits, censor burner, holy oils, prayer strips, and a number of recorded songs that play from a Vox Caster.
Miscellaneous: A motivation is that Severus has maintained a sample of the Poxwalker Plague among his personal items, and spends open hours trying in vein to discover a cure. This is entirely to spite the darker powers, that his medicae is superior then their vile tricks.
