Eldritch Puppy

[CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY] Persona Ω: Antumbra Joker Pandemonium

Daniel Astier blinked several times, confused and disoriented. He was sitting on his couch just then, browsing internet forums on his smartphone and having dinner. Now he stood in the middle of nowhere, a strange vastness shrouded by a white mist. When he turned around, he felt his skin crawl and stumbled backward as he faced... himself. Only it wasn't really Daniel. Same clothes, same hair... but the thing in front of him had a disturbing grin, distorting its face and wider than what should be possible with a normal mouth. "Wh... What the fuck is that?"

"Rude." The thing cackled. "Besides, you already know, don't you?" It stepped forward. "The voice that murmured to you all this time. The voice that you chose to ignore because you're afraid of the truth."

"You're... you're not real. You're not." Daniel was sweating. Was that it? Was he finally going insane, as he feared he would?

"Not real?" The other Daniel growled, his body bulging and convulsing as it morphed into a larger, bestial form, with arched legs and long arms ending with claws. The face was worse, a mockery of human features with a mouth stretching from ear to ear and full of sharp fangs. But the worst part was that the thing spoke again. "I am the only real one! You are a fake person. Nothing more than a shell full of lies. Lies to yourself, to others... But I know. I know your dreams, your deepest secrets." The hulking beast took another step towards a Daniel too paralyzed by shock and fear to even try to run away. "You're nothing but a coward. Too cowardly to be yourself, to act as you really want to."

Daniel breathed heavily as he struggled to keep his wits about him. He couldn't bear to hear this maddening voice that was so like his own. "Sh-shut up! You don't-"

Before he could say another word, the thing grabbed his face with its massive clawed hand and lifted him up, leaving him to helplessly kick the empty air. "You shut up. You don't deserve to live. You don't deserve to have ever existed. But I'm going to change that." The beast then effortlessly threw Daniel away like a cloth doll, sending him sprawling to the floor and screaming in pain when his left femur broke and perforated his skin. Daniel's head was spinning, and the pain was excruciating. "I don't want to die. I'm not going to die..." he thought as he got up on one knee, grunting with pain as the beast snarled and walked towards him, clicking its claws with a sickening laugh. "...but how?"

[CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY] Persona Ω: Antumbra Joker Pandemonium

Daniel Astier

Name: Daniel Astier

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Appearance

Visual reference

This unassuming young French man usually wears rather unremarkable clothes; shirts and t-shirts, denim pants, sweaters and hoodies. Daniel stands at 180cm/5’11” tall, with a lean figure and well-defined musculature, short dark hair and blue eyes. His face is almost always smooth-shaven save for a goatee, giving him a youthful appearance without being childlike. In the Shadow Realm, his hair grows to shoulder length and turns to a fiery red color.

Personality:
Daniel can sometimes be cynical and has a tendency to take time to warm to people, if he does at all. When he does get along with someone and opens up, he reveals a taste for sarcastic but never mean-spirited humor and enjoys a good time with drinks, pizza and movies, but as much as he enjoys what friendship has to offer, he always needs some alone time after a while. He might have a full beer & barbeque weekend with a group of friends, and then spend two whole weeks not speaking to others anymore than necessary for his daily life.

Backstory:
Daniel was born in rural southern France as an only child. Even though he showed potential for higher studies, he quickly became disinterested and quit university to become a freelance electrician as he had a natural taste for manual work. At twenty years old, he got his first few jobs and settled in a small town. He lived a simple if perhaps a little reclusive life: he doesn’t have many friends, but they are as close as friends can be. Generally speaking, Daniel enjoys simply being left alone for the majority of his time, which he spends immersing himself in books, video games, and of course the internet.

Yet, despite this introverted personality, he’s always felt a sort of pull towards higher goals. He rejected these feelings, convincing himself that he would be happier just carrying on with his life, and happy he is, but the faint calling never stopped anyway. He sometimes even had bursts of inner conflicts that made him fear that he may be suffering from schizophrenia as he tried as hard as he could to push intrusive thoughts out of his mind.

Skills:
Speaks French and English: Native French speaker and fluent in English, although with a noticeable accent.

Hunting: Daniel likes spending time in nature, and will occasionally go hunting for boars. As such, he knows how to track an animal and use a hunting rifle.

Cooking: Daniel lives alone and has learned to cook for himself, an activity that he enjoys quite a lot, especially when he’s got some aforementioned boar meat in his freezer.

Electrical work: He knows his way around an electrical circuit, for sure. It’s his job after all.

Amateur rugby player: Training sessions and friendly matches are a welcome physical exercise, and provide Daniel with much-needed camaraderie and outlet. Being a good runner, he performs best as a winger.

Abilities:
Telekinetic grasp [Psychic]: Can move objects from a distance. This ability gets more and more difficult and taxing as displaced mass and speed increase.

Telekinetic augment [Psychic]: Force fields deployed around the user’s body help mitigate impacts. As another application, this energy can instead be applied around the user’s fists and feet to greatly improve the strength of his blows.

Arcana:
Daniel has received the Arcana of the Devil, freedom and domination coexisting uneasily when moral conflicts come up.

Shadow:
Daniel’s Shadow represents his repressed ambition, his will to be in full control of his own life, and his underlying desire to bend the world to his will. A thirst for freedom that through control of what that would seek to restrict him. It looks like a clone of Daniel himself, save for two red burning eyes and a permanent, twisted grin distorting its face.

Its monstrous form truly is monstrous, with a hulking hunched body covered by black veins and terribly sharp talons at the tip of its oversized fingers. The face is equally deformed, with a wide mouth bearing many long fangs, yet it is still unnervingly human-looking.

Persona: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordred
The mythical knight who betrayed king Arthur has his side of the story to tell. As Daniel’s Persona, he represents rebellion and the rise to power, challenging the common understandings of good and evil. Questioning self-proclaimed benevolence is his most notable feature, with a distinct aversion for “it’s for your own good” principles. Even though he’s a Persona, he occasionally makes his opinion known on various subjects, much to Daniel’s discomfort.

He appears as a man clad in a black leather biker outfit, complete with boots and gloves that do not show any skin. His clothes always faintly shimmer with shades of red, as if blood or fire was flowing under the surface. His head is covered by a motorbike helmet with a tinted visor under which no human features can be discerned except for two purple flames where the eyes should be. Contrasting rather sharply with his appearance, Mordred carries a longsword sheathed in its scabbard at his belt; the weapon’s guard and pommel seem to be plated with finely engraved silver.

Persona abilities:
In addition to bolstering Daniel's arcane abilities, Mordred primarily fights using his sword that he can wreathe in Dark or Light energy (but not the two at the same time) to enhance its capabilities. He is also capable of projecting Fire from his hands, although he doesn't have much control over the flames which results in an attack similar to a flamethrower without real finesse.
He is vulnerable to Water and Air attacks, while possessing some resistance to Light and Dark attacks.

[CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY] Persona Ω: Antumbra Joker Pandemonium

Daniel WIP

Name: Daniel Astier

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Appearance

Visual reference

This unassuming young French man usually wears rather unremarkable clothes; shirts and t-shirts, denim pants, sweaters and hoodies. Daniel stands at 180cm/5’11” tall, with a lean figure and well-defined musculature, short dark hair and blue eyes. His face is almost always smooth-shaven save for a goatee, giving him a youthful appearance without being childlike. In the Shadow Realm, his hair grows to shoulder length and turns to a fiery red color.

Personality:
Daniel can sometimes be cynical and has a tendency to take time to warm to people, if he does at all. When he does get along with someone and opens up, he reveals a taste for sarcastic but never mean-spirited humor and enjoys a good time with drinks, pizza and movies, but as much as he enjoys what friendship has to offer, he always needs some alone time after a while. He might have a full beer & barbeque weekend with a group of friends, and then spend two whole weeks not speaking to others anymore than necessary for his daily life.

Backstory:
Daniel was born in rural southern France as an only child. Even though he showed potential for higher studies, he quickly became disinterested and quit university to become a freelance electrician as he had a natural taste for manual work. At twenty years old, he got his first few jobs and settled in a small town. He lived a simple if perhaps a little reclusive life: he doesn’t have many friends, but they are as close as friends can be. Generally speaking, Daniel enjoys simply being left alone for the majority of his time, which he spends immersing himself in books, video games, and of course the internet.

Yet, despite this introverted personality, he’s always felt a sort of pull towards higher goals. He rejected these feelings, convincing himself that he would be happier just carrying on with his life, and happy he is, but the faint calling never stopped anyway. He sometimes even had bursts of inner conflicts that made him fear that he may be suffering from schizophrenia as he tried as hard as he could to push intrusive thoughts out of his mind.

Skills:
Speaks French and English: Native French speaker and fluent in English, although with a noticeable accent.

Hunting: Daniel likes spending time in nature, and will occasionally go hunting for boars. As such, he knows how to track an animal and use a hunting rifle.

Cooking: Daniel lives alone and has learned to cook for himself, an activity that he enjoys quite a lot, especially when he’s got some aforementioned boar meat in his freezer.

Electrical work: He knows his way around an electrical circuit, for sure. It’s his job after all.

Amateur rugby player: Training sessions and friendly matches are a welcome physical exercise, and provide Daniel with much-needed camaraderie and outlet. Being a good runner, he performs best as a winger.

Abilities:
Telekinetic grasp [Psychic]: Can move objects from a distance. This ability gets more and more difficult and taxing as displaced mass and speed increase.

Telekinetic augment [Psychic]: Force fields deployed around the user’s body help mitigate impacts. As another application, this energy can instead be applied around the user’s fists and feet to greatly improve the strength of his blows.

Arcana:
Daniel has received the Arcana of the Devil, freedom and domination coexisting uneasily when moral conflicts come up.

Shadow:
Daniel’s Shadow represents his repressed ambition, his will to be in full control of his own life, and his underlying desire to bend the world to his will. A thirst for freedom that through control of what that would seek to restrict him. It looks like a clone of Daniel himself, save for two red burning eyes and a permanent, twisted grin distorting its face.

Its monstrous form truly is monstrous, with a hulking hunched body covered by black veins and terribly sharp talons at the tip of its oversized fingers. The face is equally deformed, with a wide mouth bearing many long fangs, yet it is still unnervingly human-looking.

Persona: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordred
The mythical knight who betrayed king Arthur has his side of the story to tell. As Daniel’s Persona, he represents rebellion and the rise to power, challenging the common understandings of good and evil. Questioning self-proclaimed benevolence is his most notable feature, with a distinct aversion for “it’s for your own good” principles. Even though he’s a Persona, he occasionally makes his opinion known on various subjects, much to Daniel’s discomfort.

He appears as a man clad in a black leather biker outfit, complete with boots and gloves that do not show any skin. His clothes always faintly shimmer with shades of red, as if blood or fire was flowing under the surface. His head is covered by a motorbike helmet with a tinted visor under which no human features can be discerned except for two purple flames where the eyes should be. Contrasting rather sharply with his appearance, Mordred carries a longsword sheathed in its scabbard at his belt; the weapon’s guard and pommel seem to be plated with finely engraved silver.

Persona abilities:
In addition to bolstering Daniel's arcane abilities, Mordred primarily fights using his sword that he can wreathe in Dark or Light energy (but not the two at the same time) to enhance its capabilities. He is also capable of projecting Fire from his hands, although he doesn't have much control over the flames which results in an attack similar to a flamethrower without real finesse.

[CLOSED DUE TO INACTIVITY] Persona Ω: Antumbra Joker Pandemonium

Interesting, I'll check this out.

Not a Step Back - a World War II Inspired NRP

The Castillian Republic

Capital city: Andatoria
Government: Parliamentary republic.

Pantheon

The Castillian pantheon is made up of five pairs of twin brothers or sisters, each pair representing two sides of the same coin.

- Thomis, Goddess of Justice, associated with light and purity. Attributes are the three eyes and scales, and the colour white.
- Thella, Goddess of Vengeance, associated with grudges and writing. Attributes are the sword and the stone tablet, and the colour purple.

- Rhulus, God of War, associated with honour and bravery. Attributes are the spear and the horse, and the colour red.
- Rhirus, God of Wrath, associated with rage and murder. Attributes are the lightning bolt and the axe, and the colour orange.

- Felios, God of Fertility, associated with nature and prosperity. Attributes are the laurel tree and fire, and the colour gold.
- Onos, God of Madness, associated with hedonism and alcohol. Attributes are the goblet and the crow, and the colour green.

- Krydia, Goddess of Death, associated with rest and quiet. Attributes are the night sky and granite, and the colour black.
- Cadonia, Goddess of Plague, associated with sloth and decay. Attributes are the scythe and the spider, and the colour grey.

- Visnia, God of the Unknown, associated with dreams and travels. Attributes are the compass and the sailing ship, and the colour blue.
- Vistoris, God of Trickery, associated with duplicity and cruelty. Attributes are the moon and the knife, and the colour maroon.

Summary

Castillia is a country of fertile plains and green hills, round forested mountains and plentiful rivers, with gentle spring and autumn seasons punctuated by hot, sunny summers and snowy winters. Castillians have ever been farmers and hunters to this day, a nation grown rich from its flourishing agriculture and high-quality industry, a heritage from the renowned craftsmen and armourers of times past. The Castillians themselves are a proud people, fondly attached to their lands and homes. The population is rural in its majority, forming an intricate network of towns and villages, with larger cities more often found near the southern coast or centuries-old trade hubs. Despite old glory being nothing more than a distant memory, the common people of the Castillian Republic remember that their blood is the blood of conquerors and explorers, their history a tale of chivalric heroes and blood-soaked killers alike.

The vast majority of the population, about 94%, are human. A variety of other species can be also found in small numbers, products of punctual immigration. Those non-human populations are located in the cities for the most part, along with a recent large number of war refugees.

History

Pre-War: Castillia has enjoyed long, long years of peace and prosperity in its recent history, content to reap the benefits of its economy and of its rich colony of Isla Morada. During that period, the Castillian army steadily declined, resting on its laurels and eventually stagnating as little more than a conglomerate of overdecorated generals who never commanded anything else than the occasional parade or even rarer field exercise, its soldiers underequipped with century-old gear and trained for outdated tactics. As the strength of what was once a mighty military force dwindled, the nation withdrew from international affairs beyond trade.

Outbreak of War: Many worried at the ever-increasing aggressivity of the Reiyk, but to most Castillians it was only another unrest of the world, far from their borders and none of their business. This changed radically when the Reiyk suddenly and without any declaration of war invaded Isla Morada, aiming to turn the island into a naval base for future operations. The local garrison resisted, only to be wiped out with extreme ease, the outnumbered Reiyk troops only suffering minimal casualties. A nearby navy detachment that rushed to come to the colony's aid was nearly completely destroyed, reportedly without landing a single hit on the enemy vessels. In the following days, it seemed the entire country had fallen into a trance, paralyzed by disbelief as if it was trying to wake up from a bad dream. The government failed to do more than emit protestations and condemnations, while the King provided whatever words of comfort he could to the frightened populace.

Recent History: Shock and widespread panic has turned into outrage and vengeful anger. The passive social-democrat government has been swiftly evicted in favor of a new energetic and bellicose administration, and even though a formal war declaration still has not been delivered by either side, the whole of Castillia is now dedicated to gearing up for war. Recruitment centers are overflowing with volunteers, factories are being converted to produce weapons, tanks and aircraft, and long-abandoned naval yards are being refurbished while license-produced and newly designed equipment alike start finding its way into the hands of eager soldiers.

Pressing issues and strengths

Pressing Issues:
The Castillian armed forces are woefully unprepared for any sort of real warfare. The fact that the Alfheiches Reiyk has not even bothered to declare war on the Republic is proof enough that it is not yet ready. Infrastructure needs to be constructed, while hundreds of thousands of men need new weapons, uniforms and vehicles. The aging officer corps of the army has been nearly entirely purged, judged to be too old and incompetent to be worthy of leading men to battle. And as motivated as they may be, the Castillian soldiers lack any kind of practical experience.

As the war escalated, international trade suffered major hits; another painful reminder to the people of Castillia that the times of shutting themselves off from the troubles of the world are well and truly over.

A general sense of unease and in some cases, paranoia has swept all over the country. Above all else, there is a fear of a surprise invasion, like it happened on Isla Morada. There is suspicion of foreign agents working to undermine the Castillian war preparations, and there has even been a few cases of foreign tourists being lynched by mobs for no other reason than taking some pictures.

Notable Strengths:
The Castillian army may be only a mere shadow of its mighty forebearer, but the country itself has not crumbled to sloth and decadence. Castillia has the means to feed and supply a powerful army; it needs only raise it. A daunting prospect, but the mixture of righteous anger and fear of an invasion can give wings even to an old relic of previous centuries. With every passing day, young officers are being trained, fresh weapons come out of factories by the thousands and legions of recruits prepare for a war the likes of which has never been seen before.

National priorities

The Army: Given absolute priority, because of its absolute decadence. It is an endeavour taken from practically the ground up.

Technology: Castillia has plenty of technical knowledge and the installations to apply it. The real challenge is converting to military applications and mindset.

The Navy: Not quite as outdated as the army, but still inadequate. The time has come for Castillians to make their presence on the seas known once more.

Agriculture: Plenty of fertile land and ideal climate naturally lead to an agricultural powerhouse.

Industrial Output: Plentiful, yet still not enough. Streamlining and efficiency need to come into action quickly, and the industry is learning that quantity has a quality all of its own.

Resource Extraction: Not great, not terrible. Castillian mines and oil fields could certainly use some more drilling and digging.

Diplomacy: A sudden need for allies has led to a surge of diplomatic endeavours, even if some think that it may be too little too late.

The Economy (External Trade): Badly hit by the war, yet still lucrative, if risky. Castillia has a lot to import, and more to export.

The Economy (Internal Trade): Mostly on the local scale. Why spend more on shoes that come from another town, when your neighbor is a shoemaker?

The Upper Classes: Managing a factory can be more exhausting than working in the fields, yet ambitious and talented citizens can enjoy the upper-class lifestyle if their business is successful.

The Common People: Work, hunt and till the land. The common people are expected to fend for themselves most of the time, and they do so with pride.

Cultural Issues: The fervour of war has, for now, provided national unity. Only time will tell how well it will hold up once the first bombs start falling.

Espionage and Intelligence: An unfortunately neglected field, not out of disdain but simply because it is merely the last priority among a million other urgent matters.

Religion: Religion has long been a thing of the private sphere in Castillia. Temples and churches are funded by donations from private citizens.

Not a Step Back - a World War II Inspired NRP

"Just a final verification." The recruitment officer pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced up from his desk at the young man standing in front of him. "Rodrigo Lagos, born in 1920 in Soría. Single, no children, two brothers and one sister. One recorded infraction for... 'disruption of the peace under the influence of alcohol'. Is that correct?"

"Yes mister, that's uh, that's correct." The farm boy nervously chewed his lip and fiddled with the fedora hat in his hands as the clerk scribbled on a sheet of paper. Rodrigo wore his nicest clothes, as did the other men who came to the vast city of Santania by the thousands, all of them for the same reason. His late father's grey wool jacket, waxed brogue shoes, black cotton pants and a striped shirt that his sister had sewn for him on his eighteenth birthday.

"Very well, Mr. Lagos. Medical exams are favorable, you seem to be in perfect health. You are approved for active duty." The clerk turned a file towards him along with a pen. "Please put your signature at the bottom of every paper." The officer handed a copy of the contract to Rodrigo after he was done. "This one is for you. Don't lose it. You will receive your enlistment notice at the post office in three days; in the meantime, I suggest you find somewhere to stay in town. And, that should go without saying, stay out of trouble. Congratulations, Mr. Lagos." The officer glanced towards the queue stretching well into the street and gave a tired sigh. "Next!"

Rodrigo stepped outside, clutching the precious piece of paper in his hand. He had never seen so many people before, Santiana was a busy enough place during peaceful times and now it was more active than ever. Trucks and trains flowed in and out, men wearing flat caps and shirts with rolled up sleeves patrolled the streets looking for potential workers for the naval yards, and Guardia Nacional personel on horseback did the same looking for troublemakers and drunkards. All the while, newspaper boys cried out the front page titles, suddenly hard-pressed to satisfy the Castillians' newfound hunger for world news.

Hotels all over the city were booked full, while a number of locals offered spare rooms and sofas to the gathering numbers flooding the city. Some had to sleep on the streets while they waited to be enlisted, given blankets and hot cups of tea, coffee and whatever comfort the city folk could provide them with.

---

Later

"Too slow! Again, second platoon!" The instructor's voice snapped like a whip, thick with a foreign accent. Rodrigo turned around and jumped into the meter-and-a-half-deep water-filled moat along with the rest of his thirty-five comrades in the second platoon, ninth company, fourth instruction regiment at the Torez Army School, fifteen kilometers away from Santiana. For two months now, he had been learning the myriad of things a soldier needs to know, things he never knew existed. Military jargon, ranks, types of ammunition, how and where to dig a foxhole, cleaning and operating weapons. The rifle he knew, thanks to the countless times he went hunting with his uncle and brother. Mines, machine guns, grenades, those were something else entirely.

It took two more laps of running, jumping, climbing and crawling through the obstacle course before the physical instruction corporal was satisfied and gave the soaked and exhausted recruits ten minutes to put on dry fatigues and hurry to their tactical instruction session. The classroom they sat in was not much different from the one in the small school back in Soría. Except instead of spelling and basic mathematics, they learned concepts such as spacing, suppressing fire and anti-tank combat.

And singing as well. Each company was expected to march and sing in unison wherever they went. Even as a fresh recruit, the steady rhythm of boots on the ground along with military songs gave Rodrigo pride, a feeling of belonging and brotherhood with his fellow recruits. Some were impatient to get in combat and bemoaned the government's decision to not declare war yet. Others boasted that they would personally put down any Alfheich stupid enough to set foot on Castillian soil. Some others wanted to be the first to take the white-and-blue banner to one of the Alfheichen cities.

---

Elsewhere

Marcos Lérida massaged his temple with two fingers, reclining in his leather armchair. The office of the 26th President of Castillia was occupied by a dozen officials for an extraordinary meeting. The Minister of Defense continued: "...In addition to the aforementioned ongoing naval refits, ammunition stockpiles are still too low to allow for large-scale operations for prolonged periods of time. Fuel stocks fare better, still inadequate. Small arms can be expected to be fully replaced in two years, whereas armored vehicles-"

"In short, Mr. President, we're not ready," the Chief of Staff of the Army interrupted. "And while the production reports are accurate, we have bigger issues. The Alfheiches Reiyk has been fighting in escalating conflicts for decades, while our most competent soldiers are hunters and mountain shepherds. We do not have a professional force, not anymore." The general leaned forward on the large dark oak table. "We need experienced troops. Otherwise, no matter how well equipped, we'll be fighting a war with armies of paper."

"And what do you propose we do then? Throw our men at the enemy and hope to salvage a handful of veterans among the survivors?" The Minister waved his hand broadly across the room. "You forget that we know full well what we need, thanks to reports from the front in Akiya and Longguo. We still have some time to prepare, and we surely can compensate or at least mitigate any experience deficiency with proper support, once the production of aircraft and heavy artillery..."

Lérida raised a hand. "So, you are saying that our greatest advantage is that we are fully aware of how weak we are?"

The room fell into an uneasy silence.

"General Abarquero is correct. We need experienced soldiers." The President rested his elbows on the table and joined hands. "But I will not have us engage in a foolish offensive while as unprepared as we are. We're not alone in this. Akiyans and Longguans are engaged on their own soil as we speak, and there's apparently heavy fighting going on in the Scorched Lands. That's where we need to go."

There was a pause as the various officials looked at one another, some pensive, others nodding in agreement.

The Minister of Foreign Affairs cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "We will have to consult with the other governments, sort through the details et caetera... Given the circumstances, I assume we can expect a response shortly. But ultimately, the decision of where to send our troops will be yours, Mr. President."

Marcos Lérida nodded. "General Abarquero. You may begin preparations to organize an expeditionary force immediately."

Not a Step Back - a World War II Inspired NRP

The Castillian Republic

Capital city: Andatoria
Government: Parliamentary republic.

Pantheon

The Castillian pantheon is made up of five pairs of twin brothers or sisters, each pair representing two sides of the same coin.

- Thomis, Goddess of Justice, associated with light and purity. Attributes are the three eyes and scales, and the colour white.
- Thella, Goddess of Vengeance, associated with grudges and writing. Attributes are the sword and the stone tablet, and the colour purple.

- Rhulus, God of War, associated with honour and bravery. Attributes are the spear and the horse, and the colour red.
- Rhirus, God of Wrath, associated with rage and murder. Attributes are the lightning bolt and the axe, and the colour orange.

- Felios, God of Fertility, associated with nature and prosperity. Attributes are the laurel tree and fire, and the colour gold.
- Onos, God of Madness, associated with hedonism and alcohol. Attributes are the goblet and the crow, and the colour green.

- Krydia, Goddess of Death, associated with rest and quiet. Attributes are the night sky and granite, and the colour black.
- Cadonia, Goddess of Plague, associated with sloth and decay. Attributes are the scythe and the spider, and the colour grey.

- Visnia, God of the Unknown, associated with dreams and travels. Attributes are the compass and the sailing ship, and the colour blue.
- Vistoris, God of Trickery, associated with duplicity and cruelty. Attributes are the moon and the knife, and the colour maroon.

Summary

Castillia is a country of fertile plains and green hills, round forested mountains and plentiful rivers, with gentle spring and autumn seasons punctuated by hot, sunny summers and snowy winters. Castillians have ever been farmers and hunters to this day, a nation grown rich from its flourishing agriculture and high-quality industry, a heritage from the renowned craftsmen and armourers of times past. The Castillians themselves are a proud people, fondly attached to their lands and homes. The population is rural in its majority, forming an intricate network of towns and villages, with larger cities more often found near the southern coast or centuries-old trade hubs. Despite old glory being nothing more than a distant memory, the common people of the Castillian Republic remember that their blood is the blood of conquerors and explorers, their history a tale of chivalric heroes and blood-soaked killers alike.

The vast majority of the population, about 94%, are human. A variety of other species can be also found in small numbers, products of punctual immigration. Those non-human populations are located in the cities for the most part, along with a recent large number of war refugees.

History

Pre-War: Castillia has enjoyed long, long years of peace and prosperity in its recent history, content to reap the benefits of its economy and of its rich colony of Isla Morada. During that period, the Castillian army steadily declined, resting on its laurels and eventually stagnating as little more than a conglomerate of overdecorated generals who never commanded anything else than the occasional parade or even rarer field exercise, its soldiers underequipped with century-old gear and trained for outdated tactics. As the strength of what was once a mighty military force dwindled, the nation withdrew from international affairs beyond trade.

Outbreak of War: Many worried at the ever-increasing aggressivity of the Reiyk, but to most Castillians it was only another unrest of the world, far from their borders and none of their business. This changed radically when the Reiyk suddenly and without any declaration of war invaded Isla Morada, aiming to turn the island into a naval base for future operations. The local garrison resisted, only to be wiped out with extreme ease, the outnumbered Reiyk troops only suffering minimal casualties. A nearby navy detachment that rushed to come to the colony's aid was nearly completely destroyed, reportedly without landing a single hit on the enemy vessels. In the following days, it seemed the entire country had fallen into a trance, paralyzed by disbelief as if it was trying to wake up from a bad dream. The government failed to do more than emit protestations and condemnations, while the King provided whatever words of comfort he could to the frightened populace.

Recent History: Shock and widespread panic has turned into outrage and vengeful anger. The passive social-democrat government has been swiftly evicted in favor of a new energetic and bellicose administration, and even though a formal war declaration still has not been delivered by either side, the whole of Castillia is now dedicated to gearing up for war. Recruitment centers are overflowing with volunteers, factories are being converted to produce weapons, tanks and aircraft, and long-abandoned naval yards are being refurbished while license-produced and newly designed equipment alike start finding its way into the hands of eager soldiers.

Pressing issues and strengths

Pressing Issues:
The Castillian armed forces are woefully unprepared for any sort of real warfare. The fact that the Alfheiches Reiyk has not even bothered to declare war on the Republic is proof enough that it is not yet ready. Infrastructure needs to be constructed, while hundreds of thousands of men need new weapons, uniforms and vehicles. The aging officer corps of the army has been nearly entirely purged, judged to be too old and incompetent to be worthy of leading men to battle. And as motivated as they may be, the Castillian soldiers lack any kind of practical experience.

As the war escalated, international trade suffered major hits; another painful reminder to the people of Castillia that the times of shutting themselves off from the troubles of the world are well and truly over.

A general sense of unease and in some cases, paranoia has swept all over the country. Above all else, there is a fear of a surprise invasion, like it happened on Isla Morada. There is suspicion of foreign agents working to undermine the Castillian war preparations, and there has even been a few cases of foreign tourists being lynched by mobs for no other reason than taking some pictures.

Notable Strengths:
The Castillian army may be only a mere shadow of its mighty forebearer, but the country itself has not crumbled to sloth and decadence. Castillia has the means to feed and supply a powerful army; it needs only raise it. A daunting prospect, but the mixture of righteous anger and fear of an invasion can give wings even to an old relic of previous centuries. With every passing day, young officers are being trained, fresh weapons come out of factories by the thousands and legions of recruits prepare for a war the likes of which has never been seen before.

National priorities

The Army: Given absolute priority, because of its absolute decadence. It is an endeavour taken from practically the ground up.

Technology: Castillia has plenty of technical knowledge and the installations to apply it. The real challenge is converting to military applications and mindset.

The Navy: Not quite as outdated as the army, but still inadequate. The time has come for Castillians to make their presence on the seas known once more.

Agriculture: Plenty of fertile land and ideal climate naturally lead to an agricultural powerhouse.

Industrial Output: Plentiful, yet still not enough. Streamlining and efficiency need to come into action quickly, and the industry is learning that quantity has a quality all of its own.

Resource Extraction: Not great, not terrible. Castillian mines and oil fields could certainly use some more drilling and digging.

Diplomacy: A sudden need for allies has led to a surge of diplomatic endeavours, even if some think that it may be too little too late.

The Economy (External Trade): Badly hit by the war, yet still lucrative, if risky. Castillia has a lot to import, and more to export.

The Economy (Internal Trade): Mostly on the local scale. Why spend more on shoes that come from another town, when your neighbor is a shoemaker?

The Upper Classes: Managing a factory can be more exhausting than working in the fields, yet ambitious and talented citizens can enjoy the upper-class lifestyle if their business is successful.

The Common People: Work, hunt and till the land. The common people are expected to fend for themselves most of the time, and they do so with pride.

Cultural Issues: The fervour of war has, for now, provided national unity. Only time will tell how well it will hold up once the first bombs start falling.

Espionage and Intelligence: An unfortunately neglected field, not out of disdain but simply because it is merely the last priority among a million other urgent matters.

Religion: Religion has long been a thing of the private sphere in Castillia. Temples and churches are funded by donations from private citizens.

WH40K: An End to the Alien - A Deathwatch Narrative Roleplay

The sound of clashing steel echoed across the open ground on the flattened top of one of the mountainous peaks that harbored the Astartes Fortress-Monastery. Seeing little point in training and testing each other's strength in a controlled environment, the Black Swords had built their arena to be exposed to the elements; thunderstorms, blizzards, and hailstorms regularly swept the bare stone. Those were the best times for combat, but on this day the sun shone brightly and made Parions' sweat glisten on his body, only covered by a loincloth as he sat on a stone bench and gulped some water down from a terracotta jug. Drops of blood stained his pale skin; some of his, and some of another.

"At least you're easy to find. Esklados is going to have you thrown in a cell for a few weeks if you keep avoiding the chapel so much."

Another had spoken, clad in a grey tunic and approaching from behind. He looked similar, with long red braided hair that fell to his shoulders and black eyes with no white.

"Our dear Chaplain would tell you that the only prayer worthy of the Emperor is a battle. This is the next best thing." The gladiator answered, gesturing towards two other Astartes who were linked together by a chain wrapped around their left arm as their blades impacted upon each other. "Are you here for a rematch, Orsa?"

The sergeant shook his head. He looked more serious now.

"Not today, Parion. The old man wants to see you." Orsa turned around and started walking towards the stairs that led down into the fortress. He stopped after a few steps, looking over his shoulder. "You'd better hurry and clean yourself up. I wouldn't make him wait if I were you."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Light from burning braziers reflected on the smooth black stone walls and bronze pillars of the throne room, in which three figures stood immobile. Chapter Master Sagramor Kohr gave off an aura of savage strength and power, clad in a dark Terminator armour that was worn by all of his predecessors. If one was to get close enough to the golden engravings that covered the armored plates, one could see minuscule letters: the written names and deeds of all the Chapter Masters who walked these ancient halls. Even for an Astartes, his weathered and scar-ridden face told a story of many centuries of war.

To his right, a skull-faced Chaplain looked like he was a shadow emerged from the darkest corner of the room, his facial features concealed behind his helmet's skeletal grin. The one to his left had a distinctive psychic hood over his head, and the scarlet robes he wore over his blue armor marked him as the Chapter's Chief Librarian.

Parion could not help but wonder what such an assembly wanted with him as he opened the large bronze door and walked into the throne room, a place usually reserved for the greatest honors and harshest punishments, as well as welcoming the rare guests who ever deigned to visit in person. Even as one of the Angels of Death wearing his ancient suit of power armour, he felt like he was a mere man in the presence of giants as he lowered himself to one knee before his master and bowed his head.

"I come to your summoning, my lord."

"Rise, Parion Sharratar of the Fourth Company." Sagramor's voice was deep and rumbling. "You have been summoned for a matter of importance, and a mission for you to accomplish."

Parion stood up and removed his helmet, keeping it under his arm. Chaplain Esklados' words echoed in the chamber with his usual unflinching tone.

"His Majesty's Holy Inquisition has come knocking at our door once again. As always, we answer. We have spoken with your captain and have found you worthy of being sent to accomplish a vigil in the Deathwatch."

"Deathwatch?" This came as a bit of a shock to the young Space Marine. "You honour me, and I mean not to question your judgement, my masters, but it seems to me that those who are usually selected are quite older than I am." Parion did not hide his surprise, like most of his brothers he rarely made an effort to conceal his emotions.

"You are young, yes. You are also a great warrior already, the suit of armour that you are wearing is proof of that." Mirish, the Chief Librarian, was a soft-spoken and eerily gentle man. "We have agreed that your youth will not prevent you from accomplishing this mission we give to you. Maybe, will it even turn out to be an advantage? This vigil is not merely a service to the Inquisition."

Sagramor spoke up again. "We have little favours within the Imperium, you know this. By binding ourselves to the Ordo Xenos, we gain much-needed allies, as fickle as they may be. You will not only fight for them. You will learn, learn everything you can. Those of our brothers who returned from the Deathwatch came back with invaluable skills and expertise, and now your turn has come." The Chapter Master stepped forward and placed his hand on Parion's shoulder. "Represent our Chapter, show that we are mighty and valuable allies. And return to us when your vigil is over, to share your knowledge."

"So shall it be, my lord." Parion felt both pride and a hint of disquiet swell in his chest. "I will not disappoint you."

Sagramor nodded with an approving grunt, a faint smile showing through his red beard.

Mirish stepped to the young Marine's side, speaking quietly without looking at him as if nobody else was meant to hear. "Take great care, Parion. You may uncover secrets that best remain buried. I cannot say what may happen or what truths remain to be seen, as I dread to gaze too far back. Do not allow yourself to be changed by whispers from the past. Remember who you are, no matter what."

The Librarian then smiled amicably, as if they had just been discussing the lightest of matters.

"Go now. Say your farewells to your brothers. You are leaving tomorrow."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Check."

The trooper grinned and laid the cards that he had onto the table.

"Tough luck, Space Marine. Imperial flush."

Parion's own cards seemed minuscule in his armored hand as he made a disappointed face. "You are good, Armsman. I couldn't read you at all." He said, letting the cards fall on top of the others.

"I've been on this ship for three decades. Ain't too many things to do during Warp travel, you know." The man laid back on his chair. "Suffice to say, I have more training than you do in this domain."

The Astartes chuckled. It took weeks for the ship's crew to stop avoiding him whenever they could, even longer for them to stop calling him 'lord'. In time, the mortals got used to the sight of the Black Sword exercising in the hallways or walking around in his dark armour, even if the grinning skull hanging from his belt, the chains wrapped around his arms and the strange gem strapped onto his right shoulder pad still made them somewhat uneasy. Still, the Imperial Navy soldiers on board eventually made for decent companionship for the remaining travel time.

His vox earpiece came to life as he heard the voice of the ship's captain. "Sir? We have arrived at your destination. Your shuttle and compartment for your equipment are ready, entering low orbit in thirty minutes."

"On my way, captain." The Black Sword rose to his feet and lowered his gaze towards the small mortal. "This is my cue. Safe travels, Armsman."

The trooper stood up and offered his hand. "I wish you better fortune in war than in gambling, Angel of Death."

Human and Astartes shook hands before parting ways, never to see each other again.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hours later, Parion found himself in his assigned chamber, where his guide left him to wait until initial training. What he had seen of the Watch-Fortress was impressive indeed, a feat emphasized by the fact that it was built into the dead planet itself. A work befitting of the secrecy and paranoia of an Inquisitorial organisation, and evidently a powerful stronghold capable of serving as headquarters for considerable force projection.

But the Watch-Fortress itself had little presence in Parion's mind at the moment. Instead, the words of his masters rang in his head, along with newfound loneliness. He didn't like it. He didn't like having words dancing around in his mind either.

The Black Sword took a deep breath and assumed a fighting stance, starting a warrior's ritual. An arm thrusts forward. Muscles that bend steel. A kick is thrown, swift as lightning, and severs a spine. Fingers grab and rip through flesh, crush bones to dust. Each part of the body accomplishes its duty as a soldier in a war against the enemy's. Punches weaken his defenses. A feint goads him into an ambush, and the killing blow comes unseen. The ritual of war cleanses the mind and brings peace as doubt is washed away by blood.

WH40K: An End to the Alien - A Deathwatch Narrative Roleplay

Parion Sharratar

Name: Parion Sharratar

Chapter: Black Swords

Chapter Demeanour: The Black Swords are a loyalist Space Marine Chapter raised during an unknown Founding, their origins a mystery subject to much speculation. The minor genetic mutation that they exhibit in the form of unsettling, completely black eyes certainly could raise some questions, but it is the Chapter's demeanor in combat that is most responsible for the scrutiny they are subjected to. In the heat of battle they slaughter with unrestrained enthusiasm, displaying a bloodlust few can match as they gleefully cut their enemies down with boltgun fire and roar savagely when tearing them apart with chainswords or even their bare hands.

However, and despite the appearances, the Black Swords are not mindless berserkers. Their strict discipline and strong bonds of brotherhood allows them to not become overwhelmed by their lust for battle and slaughter, instead turning it into a weapon to be unleashed when the time is right. Although the Chapter adheres to the Codex Astartes in principle, complying with the standard thousand Battle-Brothers limit, their organisation and tactics deviate quite substancially. They consider the Codex Astartes to be a useful guide and a treasure trove of information and tactical wisdom, but not without potential blind spots or inadequacies depending on the situation. The Black Swords do not believe in battle honour and are more than willing to employ every trickery and low blows available if it can grant them victory. As a result, their tactics are very unpredictable and often unconventional, but also quite effective.

Surprisingly, the Chapter regularly sends some of its best warriors to serve in the Deathwatch. In fact, the Black Swords have a rather close relationship with the Ordo Xenos, as a way to shield themselves from the zealous Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus.

Personal Demeanour: Like his battle-brothers, Parion appreciates combat and killing with the same savage joy. This contrasts heavily with his otherwise friendly and brotherly attitude. The relatively young Black Sword seeks out companionship with other Astartes, and even mortals on the rare occasions that his Chapter is deployed alongside Imperial Guard elements. Many outsiders find this rather peculiar blend of a personality somewhat unsettling or outright disturbing, as he will gladly exchange war stories and have pleasant conversations on one day and be found on the next in the midst of ferocious bloodshed, barely recognizable as he would emerge from the battle covered with his foe's innards and holding a bloodied new trophy in his armored gauntlet.

One would be ill-advised to take Parion for a mere killer, though. He has a keen tactical mind and takes his duties very seriously, and he is not likely to let anyone making light of his capabilities as one of the Imperium's elites get off easily. Nevertheless, he is aware that pride can be a fault and is not the type to make it a personal offense of every comment and criticism. It is worth noting that he does hold some strong opinions of his own, notably on those Chapters who strictly adhere to the Codex Astartes, a reflection of his own Chapter's tense relationships with the sons of Guilliman. In a rather predictable fashion, he usually does not particularly appreciate those of outstanding religious zeal either, who in turn tend to consider him and his brethren as dangerous degenerates.

Speciality: Close-range and melee specialist.

Rank: Fourth Company Veteran. The Black Swords do not regroup all of their veterans in a single company; instead, every company has its own veteran squads.

Power Armour History: When a Black Sword rises to the rank of Veteran, he leaves his power armour behind to be in the care of a fresh initiate, and instead dons the armour of one of the Veterans who preceded him and fell in battle. These suits of power armour consequently have much history attached to them, each new owner adding his deeds to its story and legend. Parion's is no exception, made up of parts from different models as they had to be replaced throughout the centuries. The helmet and greaves, both of the Mk IV "Maximus" pattern, are obvious witnesses of a long and glorious past. According to the Chapter's Librarius, this suit saw service during the Great Heresy and was donned by great heroes who ultimately suffered a cruel death at the hands of traitors. Since then, the successive owners of the suit have been recorded as powerful combatants, either seeking out and slaying the enemy's champions or slaughtering their soldiers in droves. Parion's predecessor was very different from the one who would take his place; a hulking beast of a Space Marine, whose strength and savagery alike were unmatched in the whole company and who was said to have killed more than two hundred Orks in a single engagement. The Chapter Artificers had to resize the Power Armour substancially so it would properly fit its new owner.

Description: His pale skin and copper-red hair contrast with his Chapter's typical pitch black eyes, only a faint lighter circle indicating the direction in which he's looking. A diagonal scar runs down his angular face and onto his collarbone, where an eldar blade perforated his armour when he was but an initiate. He collected many other scars over the years, a proof of his bravery for facing down exceptional foes and talent for defeating them.

Parion Sharratar wearing his black and grey armour is an intimidating sight. The arms are wrapped with chains that are traditionally used for the Black Swords' gladiatorial fights, and a human skull hangs from his belt; a trophy taken from an Astartes Chaos sorcerer. An eldar spirit stone is strapped onto the pauldron that bears the heraldic crossed swords of the Chapter, a reminder of the warrior who came closest to killing him.

Skills: Parion is an excellent swordsman and displays a sense of balance that is truly exceptional, even for an Astartes. From his integration as a neophyte he displayed an affinity for melee combat and a remarkable ability to fire on instinct accurately, and he put these traits to good use against xenos and traitors alike. He has shown perfectly adequate skill in the other forms of Astartes warfare, but this made him a prime candidate for becoming an assault specialist.

History: Parion does not remember much of his early life. Taken by the Black Swords' apothecaries at a young age from the feudal world of Talison, he just barely managed to pass the trials and for a time it looked like he would be a rather mediocre recruit, just worthy enough to become a Space Marine but nothing more. But as he trained, fought and recieved the geneseed implants that would gradually make him an Astartes, he showed incredible improvements. Something had awoken in him and he quickly became the best fighter of all his comrades who were selected around the same time. Whatever attachement he could have had to his previous family, he found a new one among the Emperor's Angels of Death.

While he never showed the qualities of a commander, his name kept coming up after every campaign that he took part in. He seemed to always go just beyond the achievements and ferocity of his peers, who were formidable warriors in their own right, and was rarely defeated in the gladiatorial fights he often participated in. Despite the distrust that the rest of the Imperium displayed towards his Chapter and himself, Parion lived a fulfilling life in the company of his brothers.

He faced his greatest challenge when his company's strike cruiser succeded in tracking down a traitor Astartes warship that had been conducting piracy operations in the sector. The Black Swords boarded the vessel and set off to crippling the ship by attacking the engine blocks and the bridge, and Parion found himself in the vanguard heading towards the bridge, shooting and hacking his way towards the enemy command center with his squad. But as the loyalists finally overcame the renegade Space Marines barring their way and forced the bridge's blast doors open with melta charges, they came under a devastating psychic attack, vile sorcery burning through their power armour with unnatural blue flames. Many died at the sorcerer's hands, but Parion avoided the eldritch fire with the speed and agility that granted him victory so many times. Closing in on the traitor, he ignored the whispers that promised him strength and power as the two Space Marines crossed swords. The fight was blindingly fast-paced, each of them receiving wound after wound until the Black Sword finally managed to grab a hold of his opponent's arm and twisted it behing his back, before unloading his plasma pistol at point blank range into the sorcerer's neck, vaporising his flesh and spine and severing his head clean off his shoulders.

After this exploit, Parion was set to become part of his company's Veterans, the Chapter's elite, despite his relatively young age for an Astartes. However, the masters of the Black Swords had taken notice of him and planned to send him to accomplish a vigil for the Deathwatch. This was a great honour awarded to him, being chosen to represent his Chapter in this prestigious order. But it was also a new challenge of a very different kind, for the young Astartes who watched the closing airlock doors of the shuttle that was to carry him to the Watch Fortress felt like he missed his brothers already.

Equipment and Armament: Although he is proficient with any weapon in the Adeptus Astartes' arsenal, Parion's arms of choice are the standard Astartes chainsword and a bolt pistol as well as a plasma pistol, swapping between the two during combat depending on his current need.

WH40K: An End to the Alien - A Deathwatch Narrative Roleplay

Parion Sharratar

Name: Parion Sharratar

Chapter: Black Swords

Chapter Demeanour: The Black Swords are a loyalist Space Marine Chapter raised during an unknown Founding, their origins a mystery subject to much speculation. The minor genetic mutation that they exhibit in the form of unsettling, completely black eyes certainly could raise some questions, but it is the Chapter's demeanor in combat that is most responsible for the scrutiny they are subjected to. In the heat of battle they slaughter with unrestrained enthusiasm, displaying a bloodlust few can match as they gleefully cut their enemies down with boltgun fire and roar savagely when tearing them apart with chainswords or even their bare hands.

However, and despite the appearances, the Black Swords are not mindless berserkers. Their strict discipline and strong bonds of brotherhood allows them to not become overwhelmed by their lust for battle and slaughter, instead turning it into a weapon to be unleashed when the time is right. Although the Chapter adheres to the Codex Astartes in principle, complying with the standard thousand Battle-Brothers limit, their organisation and tactics deviate quite substancially. They consider the Codex Astartes to be a useful guide and a treasure trove of information and tactical wisdom, but not without potential blind spots or inadequacies depending on the situation. The Black Swords do not believe in battle honour and are more than willing to employ every trickery and low blows available if it can grant them victory. As a result, their tactics are very unpredictable and often unconventional, but also quite effective.

Surprisingly, the Chapter regularly sends some of its best warriors to serve in the Deathwatch. In fact, the Black Swords have a rather close relationship with the Ordo Xenos, as a way to shield themselves from the zealous Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus.

Personal Demeanour: Like his battle-brothers, Parion appreciates combat and killing with the same savage joy. This contrasts heavily with his otherwise friendly and brotherly attitude. The relatively young Black Sword seeks out companionship with other Astartes, and even mortals on the rare occasions that his Chapter is deployed alongside Imperial Guard elements. Many outsiders find this rather particular blend of a personality somewhat unsettling or outright disturbing, as he will gladly exchange war stories and have pleasant conversations on one day and be found on the next in the midst of ferocious bloodshed, barely recognizable as he would emerge from the battle covered with his foe's innards and holding a bloodied new trophy in his armored gauntlet.

One would be ill-advised to take Parion for a mere killer, though. He has a keen tactical mind and takes his duties very seriously, and he is not likely to let anyone making light of his capabilities as one of the Imperium's elites get off easily. Nevertheless, he is aware that pride can be a fault and is not the type to make it a personal offense of every comment and criticism. It is worth noting that he does hold some strong opinions of his own, notably on those Chapters who strictly adhere to the Codex Astartes, a reflection of his own Chapter's tense relationships with the sons of Guilliman. In a rather predictable fashion, he usually does not particularly appreciate those of outstanding religious zeal either, who in turn tend to consider him and his brethren as dangerous degenerates.

Speciality: Close-range and melee specialist.

Rank: Fourth Company Veteran. The Black Swords do not regroup all of their veterans in a single company; instead, every company has its own veteran squads.

Power Armour History: When a Black Sword rises to the rank of Veteran, he leaves his power armour behind to be in the care of a fresh initiate, and instead dons the armour of one of the Veterans who preceded him and fell in battle. These suits of power armour consequently have much history attached to them, each new owner adding his deeds to its story and legend. Parion's is no exception, made up of parts from different models as they had to be replaced throughout the centuries. The helmet and greaves, both of the Mk IV "Maximus" pattern, are obvious witnesses of a long and glorious past. According to the Chapter's Librarius, this suit saw service during the Great Heresy and was donned by great heroes who ultimately suffered a cruel death at the hands of traitors. Since then, the successive owners of the suit have been recorded as powerful combatants, either seeking out and slaying the enemy's champions or slaughtering their soldiers in droves. Parion's predecessor was very different from the one who would take his place; a hulking beast of a Space Marine, whose strength and savagery alike were unmatched in the whole company and who was said to have killed more than two hundred Orks in a single engagement. The Chapter Artificers had to resize the Power Armour substancially so it would properly fit its new owner.

Description: His pale skin and copper-red hair contrast with his Chapter's typical pitch black eyes, only a faint lighter circle indicating the direction in which he's looking. A diagonal scar runs down his angular face and onto his collarbone, where an eldar blade perforated his armour when he was but an initiate. He collected many other scars over the years, a proof of his bravery for facing down exceptional foes and talent for defeating them.

Parion Sharratar wearing his black and grey armour is an intimidating sight. The arms are wrapped with chains that are traditionally used for the Black Swords' gladiatorial fights, and a human skull hangs from his belt; a trophy taken from an Astartes Chaos sorcerer. An eldar spirit stone is strapped onto the pauldron that bears the heraldic crossed swords of the Chapter, a reminder of the warrior who came closest to killing him.

Skills: Parion is an excellent swordsman and displays a sense of balance that is truly exceptional, even for an Astartes. From his integration as a neophyte he displayed an affinity for melee combat and a remarkable ability to fire on instinct accurately, and he put these traits to good use against xenos and traitors alike. He has shown perfectly adequate skill in the other forms of Astartes warfare, but this made him a prime candidate for becoming an assault specialist.

History: Parion does not remember much of his early life. Taken by the Black Swords' apothecaries at a young age from the feudal world of Talison, he just barely managed to pass the trials and for a time it looked like he would be a rather mediocre recruit, just worthy enough to become a Space Marine but nothing more. But as he trained, fought and recieved the geneseed implants that would gradually make him an Astartes, he showed incredible improvements. Something had awoken in him and he quickly became the best fighter of all his comrades who were selected around the same time. Whatever attachement he could have had to his previous family, he found a new one among the Emperor's Angels of Death.

While he never showed the qualities of a commander, his name kept coming up after every campaign that he took part in. He seemed to always go just beyond the achievements and ferocity of his peers, who were formidable warriors in their own right, and was rarely defeated in the gladiatorial fights he often participated in. Despite the distrust that the rest of the Imperium displayed towards his Chapter and himself, Parion lived a fulfilling life in the company of his brothers.

He faced his greatest challenge when his company's strike cruiser succeded in tracking down a traitor Astartes warship that had been conducting piracy operations in the sector. The Black Swords boarded the vessel and set off to crippling the ship by attacking the engine blocks and the bridge, and Parion found himself in the vanguard heading towards the bridge, shooting and hacking his way towards the enemy command center with his squad. But as the loyalists finally overcame the renegade Space Marines barring their way and forced the bridge's blast doors open with melta charges, they came under a devastating psychic attack, vile sorcery burning through their power armour with unnatural blue flames. Many died at the sorcerer's hands, but Parion avoided the eldritch fire with the speed and agility that granted him victory so many times. Closing in on the traitor, he ignored the whispers that promised him strength and power as the two Space Marines crossed swords. The fight was blindingly fast-paced, each of them receiving wound after wound until the Black Sword finally managed to grab a hold of his opponent's arm and twisted it behing his back, before unloading his plasma pistol at point blank range into the sorcerer's neck, vaporising his flesh and spine and severing his head clean off his shoulders.

After this exploit, Parion was set to become part of his company's Veterans, the Chapter's elite, despite his relatively young age for an Astartes. However, the masters of the Black Swords had taken notice of him and planned to send him to accomplish a vigil for the Deathwatch. This was a great honour awarded to him, being chosen to represent his Chapter in this prestigious order. But it was also a new challenge of a very different kind, for the young Astartes who watched the closing airlock doors of the shuttle that was to carry him to the Watch Fortress felt like he missed his brothers already.

Equipment and Armament: Although he is proficient with any weapon in the Adeptus Astartes' arsenal, Parion's arms of choice are the standard Astartes chainsword and a bolt pistol as well as a plasma pistol, swapping between the two during combat depending on his current need.