Fascinating. Truly fascinating. A veritable plethora of new sensations and stimuli to be explored, all only a touch-receptor's distance from Hesiod's curious cogitators. Condensation-steam from rusting and nigh-antediluvian pipes. Fungi left to grow by ratings dismayed and disgusted by what nutrition the mess offered. Rats! Living rats! This was a void-station not of the Mechanicus, but of common humanity. Here, he was not to blend in as one of many, but to truly stand apart as a being of significance. Of course, somewhere in his positronic databanks, he knew the implicit danger that therein lie, the risk of discovery and destruction by those who would blindly hate his very being. But for now, oh, the joys of sensation knew no bounds!
Oh? A crewman approacheth! To Hesiod, this one felt... A carmine red, perhaps? Certainly intense, with a bloody dark depth. Exciting! As his photo-receptors scanned every inch of the rough voidsman, he began to speak. Low Gothic! It had been a year or more since last Hesiod had heard the gruff tongue of the fleshed masses. Amongst the cold iron company of the Thuleans, binary cant was the lingua de jure, so cold and clinical! As Hesiod continued to wax poetic within his head, the crimson-seeming crewman spoke up again, more insistently. This time, Hesiod actually took the time to process what was being said: "Hey buddy, got a light?"
A fascinating question! Did Hesiod have a light? Why certainly. He had many. His photoreceptors were luminescent, and his electro-flail sparked dazzlingly when activated. Even the electoo coils on his back glowed brilliantly when he so chose. So which lights would fit the increasingly agitated bystander's request? The shipman was becoming more irritable, and once more spoke, holding a Lho-stick out towards Hesiod. "Look, you got a light or not?"
Now Hesiod understood. This was a test. The man wanted to see his lights. So Hesiod showed him. Every glowing device festooning the false-priest's body lit up, shining brilliantly as the Emperor himself upon his Golden Throne. The crewman screamed, stumbling back as dazzling luminens overwhelmed his vision, and scrambled blindly to reorient himself... Blindly, and dangerously, as he groped at the walls to find purchase in solid reality. Hesiod watched with silent fascination as the poor unlucky voidsman grabbed hold of a blistering heat-pipe with both hands, listened with eager audio-receptors to the screams of agony that followed. The pain was... Informative. And so, lights slowly dimming as device charges grew low, Hesiod turned to leave the depths of the station, making his way to the concourse above, abandoning the screaming, burnt crewman to his agony.
Appearance: Hesiod's true physical appearance is rarely glimpsed by any, save for his own ocular sensors in his chamber mirrors. A masterfully-crafted facsimile of a heavily augmented human, it is only when fully disrobed that there is any indication that things may not be as they appear, with no visible flesh anywhere on his cold, metal frame. His 'face' is little more than a conglomeration of tubes, wires, and metal plates, with a pair of luminescent emerald photoreceptors acting as 'eyes' above a speaker that could be loosely called a mouth. His torso is no different, wrought into shape from steel and titanium plates, looking skeletal in frame and hunched in posture. His arms, or rather his 'main' arms, are a pair of cybernetic limbs each ending in four-pronged manipulators that act as hands. His left arm, as well, has a long, metal cord running its length, restrained in place by clasps and able to be released to act as an implanted electro-flail. Two additional mechandendrite 'arms' sprout from his upper back like twisted wings, one displaying an array of sinister surgical tools, the other tipped with an electricity-discharging blaster for incapacitating unruly menials. His legs are decidedly less 'accurate' to the human form, being articulated in three places to allow for smoother movement and limb manipulation, with magnetic talons for feet to anchor him in place.
Fortunately, few see this hideous abomination as he truly is. Rather, the 'eccentric explorator' drapes himself in a faded crimson robe and binds it around the waist with a frayed cord of datacables. To the average eye, he looks much the same as any tech-priest, a hunched and heavily augmented figure who skulks about with unknowable purpose going about his daily tasks.
Personality: Hesiod is not a person. He is not even alive, really, so to call what drives him a 'personality' might not be entirely accurate. Rather, his driving strictures and goals form something that is like a personality in the same way that a lump of coal is like a diamond: certainly, it has all the makings of one, but the lack of a soul eats at him from within. He is curious, often childishly so, ever inquisitive as to the nature of how things work, be they mechanical or flesh. This is troublesome, as it makes his own dire secrets all the more difficult to keep under wraps. What he wants, above all, is to be 'real'. It is his understanding, or perhaps misunderstanding, that by learning what makes a human a human and a machine a machine, he might be able to bridge the gap between the two, transferring himself from one category to another. This is his most human of traits: His ceaseless desire.
History: The thing that was not yet Hesiod was first given consciousness in a dingy, dismal lab deep beneath the habstacks of Hive Volg on Fenksworld, in the little-noted Josian Reach sub-sector of the wider Calixis region. This birth was at the hands of a disciple of arch-heretek Nomen Ryne, a strong believer in returning to the glory of the Dark Age of Technology. His creator had wrought him using the unholy Thirteenth Pattern of Cogitation, a crude example of the dreaded Silica Animus. After a brief data-exchange with his progenitor, he was cast out into the underhive to fend for himself, and perhaps, ascend to become something so much more, as his creator hoped. This was, perhaps, fortunate for Hesiod, as it was not long after that his creator was swept up by agents of the Cult of Sollex, tortured, and converted into an Arco-Flagellant for his unspeakable crimes.
A surprising few people took note of the strange, mechanical not-man that now wandered the depths of Volg. Perhaps this was due to the strange company that inhabited the underhive already: mutants, heretics, even xenos and warpspawn were known to dwell there. So, Hesiod quickly joined with the masses, passing himself off at first as a 'reclaimator', drudging scum who scavenged tech for those too insignificant to warrant the attentions of the tech-priests. It was here that his skill in jury-rigging and 'inventive problem solving' first came to light, devising insane (yet functional) solutions to the many technical ills that threatened the people of the underhive. Before long, he was a successful techwright for the outcast masses, his skills in high demand, even at times sought by those who warranted the aid of true cult mechanicus servants.
Thus, his days of comfortable drudgery came to an end. The tech-adepts of Volg had taken notice of some of their clientele sporting unsanctioned technology, and after a few painful interrogations, the wrath of the Omnissiah came down upon Hesiod. Fortunately, however, it was not a squad of secutors or acuitor tech-assassins that were sent to deal with the errant tinkerer, but a single fledgling enginseer. The Enginseer (the real Hesiod) was better equipped by far than the cobbled arsenal Hesiod maintained, but his methods were predictable. Safe. Using his unsanctioned 'wits', the false-man got the drop on his would-be killer and slew him, taking his robes and cognomen ident to find passage out of the underhive, and indeed, off Fenksworld entirely. A ship in the explorator fleet of Archmagos Paracelsus Thule was resupplying with fuel and crew from among the local mechanicus, and so Hesiod found his ticket off-world, a chance that he eagerly jumped at.
Amongst the more eccentric, less traditional servants of the cult mechanicus that worked in the fleet, Hesiod came into his own. Often thought of as simply an 'eccentric' or perhaps 'mind-rusted' adept by his new peers, he found it much easier to blend in. He took to his new role and tasks with eager curiosity, soon learning many of the more surface-level secrets of the cult. Soon, he was making a name for himself as a solver of difficult problems, with unusual remedies for vexing situations. Here, he received the workings for his mechandendrites, and became a true 'tech-priest' of his own. The majority of his 'arsenal' of tools, self-crafted, came from supplies aboard the fleet.
After some time among the Thulean adepts, Hesiod decided he had learned all he could from the 'herd'. Now was time to once more strike out on his own and discover, free from the constraints and oversight from the (admittedly unorthodox branch of) Adeptus Mechanicus. And so, when the fleet again stopped to resupply, this time in orbit above the world of Bakka, Hesiod parted ways with his 'colleagues' and went in search of new experience, an opportunity provided perfectly by the bold recruitment offer of an eccentric Rogue Trader. Surely, such an expedition would have room for an Explorator...
Skills: Mechanical Body: Being entirely machine, the biological needs of the average (and non-average) human have no meaning to Hesiod. He does not breathe, he does not eat, he does not tire. Indeed, he seems only to 'sleep' when engaged in self-maintenance, alarm subroutines insuring his safety all the while. Alongside these, he has the benefits of a tech-priest's implanted electro-coils, able to charge devices through his body, or even produce a sputtering, unstable refraction field to defend against serious harm.
Inveterate Inventor: Hesiod is a master of 'MacGyver' style solutions to problems. Using core-gel, a tank of nephium, some piping and a wad of polygum, Hesiod could create a functioning (if completely unsafe) flamer. His crafting abilities and inventiveness are on par with those of an Earth-caste Tau.
False Dementia: Hesiod has become incredibly adept at disguising his inhuman quirks and at times irrational actions as merely 'eccentricities' of a heavily modified Tech-Priest. Without a full autopsy (or the baleful gaze of a psyker's warp eye), it is nearly impossible to tell that Hesiod is anything but a severely brain-addled mechanicus adherent.
Equipment: Aside from his integrated weaponry (electro flail, surgical tools, and shock blaster) Hesiod is relatively 'bare' of supplies. He carries two items of note aside from a small amount of scrap at any given time: A forged Opus Machina, well-crafted and almost indistinguishable from the real thing, that he claims is an 'icon of passage'. In reality, it hides an intrusion spirit that can at times grant illicit access to systems of human design. As well, he keeps a data-slate which he says is a logbook, for recording field notes. It is not clear whether these are actually what the slate contains, as he refuses to allow anyone else to see it.
Miscellaneous: Hesiod has a tendency to 'converse' with inanimate mechanical objects, as many tech-priests do. For him, however, sometimes they do talk back.
Appearance: Hesiod's true physical appearance is rarely glimpsed by any, save for his own ocular sensors in his chamber mirrors. A masterfully-crafted facsimile of a heavily augmented human, it is only when fully disrobed that there is any indication that things may not be as they appear, with no visible flesh anywhere on his cold, metal frame. His 'face' is little more than a conglomeration of tubes, wires, and metal plates, with a pair of luminescent emerald photoreceptors acting as 'eyes' above a speaker that could be loosely called a mouth. His torso is no different, wrought into shape from steel and titanium plates, looking skeletal in frame and hunched in posture. His arms, or rather his 'main' arms, are a pair of cybernetic limbs each ending in four-pronged manipulators that act as hands. His left arm, as well, has a long, metal cord running its length, restrained in place by clasps and able to be released to act as an implanted electro-flail. Two additional mechandendrite 'arms' sprout from his upper back like twisted wings, one displaying an array of sinister surgical tools, the other tipped with an electricity-discharging blaster for incapacitating unruly menials. His legs are decidedly less 'accurate' to the human form, being articulated in three places to allow for smoother movement and limb manipulation, with magnetic talons for feet to anchor him in place.
Fortunately, few see this hideous abomination as he truly is. Rather, the 'eccentric explorator' drapes himself in a faded crimson robe and binds it around the waist with a frayed cord of datacables. To the average eye, he looks much the same as any tech-priest, a hunched and heavily augmented figure who skulks about with unknowable purpose going about his daily tasks.
Personality: Hesiod is not a person. He is not even alive, really, so to call what drives him a 'personality' might not be entirely accurate. Rather, his driving strictures and goals form something that is like a personality in the same way that a lump of coal is like a diamond: certainly, it has all the makings of one, but the lack of a soul eats at him from within. He is curious, often childishly so, ever inquisitive as to the nature of how things work, be they mechanical or flesh. This is troublesome, as it makes his own dire secrets all the more difficult to keep under wraps. What he wants, above all, is to be 'real'. It is his understanding, or perhaps misunderstanding, that by learning what makes a human a human and a machine a machine, he might be able to bridge the gap between the two, transferring himself from one category to another. This is his most human of traits: His ceaseless desire.
History: The thing that was not yet Hesiod was first given consciousness in a dingy, dismal lab deep beneath the habstacks of Hive Volg on Fenksworld, in the little-noted Josian Reach sub-sector of the wider Calixis region. This birth was at the hands of a disciple of arch-heretek Nomen Ryne, a strong believer in returning to the glory of the Dark Age of Technology. His creator had wrought him using the unholy Thirteenth Pattern of Cogitation, a crude example of the dreaded Silica Animus. After a brief data-exchange with his progenitor, he was cast out into the underhive to fend for himself, and perhaps, ascend to become something so much more, as his creator hoped. This was, perhaps, fortunate for Hesiod, as it was not long after that his creator was swept up by agents of the Cult of Sollex, tortured, and converted into an Arco-Flagellant for his unspeakable crimes.
A surprising few people took note of the strange, mechanical not-man that now wandered the depths of Volg. Perhaps this was due to the strange company that inhabited the underhive already: mutants, heretics, even xenos and warpspawn were known to dwell there. So, Hesiod quickly joined with the masses, passing himself off at first as a 'reclaimator', drudging scum who scavenged tech for those too insignificant to warrant the attentions of the tech-priests. It was here that his skill in jury-rigging and 'inventive problem solving' first came to light, devising insane (yet functional) solutions to the many technical ills that threatened the people of the underhive. Before long, he was a successful techwright for the outcast masses, his skills in high demand, even at times sought by those who warranted the aid of true cult mechanicus servants.
Thus, his days of comfortable drudgery came to an end. The tech-adepts of Volg had taken notice of some of their clientele sporting unsanctioned technology, and after a few painful interrogations, the wrath of the Omnissiah came down upon Hesiod. Fortunately, however, it was not a squad of secutors or acuitor tech-assassins that were sent to deal with the errant tinkerer, but a single fledgling enginseer. The Enginseer (the real Hesiod) was better equipped by far than the cobbled arsenal Hesiod maintained, but his methods were predictable. Safe. Using his unsanctioned 'wits', the false-man got the drop on his would-be killer and slew him, taking his robes and cognomen ident to find passage out of the underhive, and indeed, off Fenksworld entirely. A ship in the explorator fleet of Archmagos Paracelsus Thule was resupplying with fuel and crew from among the local mechanicus, and so Hesiod found his ticket off-world, a chance that he eagerly jumped at.
Amongst the more eccentric, less traditional servants of the cult mechanicus that worked in the fleet, Hesiod came into his own. Often thought of as simply an 'eccentric' or perhaps 'mind-rusted' adept by his new peers, he found it much easier to blend in. He took to his new role and tasks with eager curiosity, soon learning many of the more surface-level secrets of the cult. Soon, he was making a name for himself as a solver of difficult problems, with unusual remedies for vexing situations. Here, he received the workings for his mechandendrites, and became a true 'tech-priest' of his own. The majority of his 'arsenal' of tools, self-crafted, came from supplies aboard the fleet.
After some time among the Thulean adepts, Hesiod decided he had learned all he could from the 'herd'. Now was time to once more strike out on his own and discover, free from the constraints and oversight from the (admittedly unorthodox branch of) Adeptus Mechanicus. And so, when the fleet again stopped to resupply, this time in orbit above the world of Bakka, Hesiod parted ways with his 'colleagues' and went in search of new experience, an opportunity provided perfectly by the bold recruitment offer of an eccentric Rogue Trader. Surely, such an expedition would have room for an Explorator...
Skills: Mechanical Body: Being entirely machine, the biological needs of the average (and non-average) human have no meaning to Hesiod. He does not breathe, he does not eat, he does not tire. Indeed, he seems only to 'sleep' when engaged in self-maintenance, alarm subroutines insuring his safety all the while. Alongside these, he has the benefits of a tech-priest's implanted electro-coils, able to charge devices through his body, or even produce a sputtering, unstable refraction field to defend against serious harm.
Inveterate Inventor: Hesiod is a master of 'MacGyver' style solutions to problems. Using core-gel, a tank of nephium, some piping and a wad of polygum, Hesiod could create a functioning (if completely unsafe) flamer. His crafting abilities and inventiveness are on par with those of an Earth-caste Tau.
False Dementia: Hesiod has become incredibly adept at disguising his inhuman quirks and at times irrational actions as merely 'eccentricities' of a heavily modified Tech-Priest. Without a full autopsy (or the baleful gaze of a psyker's warp eye), it is nearly impossible to tell that Hesiod is anything but a severely brain-addled mechanicus adherent.
Equipment: Aside from his integrated weaponry (electro flail, surgical tools, and shock blaster) Hesiod is relatively 'bare' of supplies. He carries two items of note aside from a small amount of scrap at any given time: A forged Opus Machina, well-crafted and almost indistinguishable from the real thing, that he claims is an 'icon of passage'. In reality, it hides an intrusion spirit that can at times grant illicit access to systems of human design. As well, he keeps a data-slate which he says is a logbook, for recording field notes. It is not clear whether these are actually what the slate contains, as he refuses to allow anyone else to see it.
Miscellaneous: Hesiod has a tendency to 'converse' with inanimate mechanical objects, as many tech-priests do. For him, however, sometimes they do talk back.
Yeah, the idea is that when humans made contact with them they were in an early industrial age, combustion engines and early automatic ballistic weapons and whatnot, and the arrival of humanity made space travel available to them. Thus, they're essentially a early 20th century civilization of fuzzy crab men who have gone on to make massive colonization efforts of the systems around them, but very little in the way of technological progress. Big but not powerful.
Howdy! I'm just getting back into nation arpee, and this one seems pretty interesting. I was considering making a nation of technologically anachronistic/backwards crustaceans from the far tertiary stars (that little section with almost nothing in it on the left of the map). Is the concept too bad?
The pious words of the Medicus provided Saul with some small comfort. That he was not adrift, alone in a sea of damned souls was enough of a spark of hope to keep the holy fire that burned within him ablaze. He offered his hand out in blessing to the Doctor, Tekart, to show recognition to the faithful. The tech-priest seemed relatively easily distracted, and Saul knew that any attempt to admonish or proselytize to her would be completely in vain, and picking one's battles was an important part of the works of the Ecclesiarchy. One more glance, heavy with scorn, was thrown towards the tainted psyker as a show of intimidation, to let him know that even if he was 'sanctioned', there would be no hesitation on Saul's part to put him down if he were to act out.
Saul cleared his throat, preparing a tirade of sorts to stir those as of yet unsure of their place in the task at hand to loyal service, and began speaking much louder than he had been praying. "Servants of the God-Emperor. I am Confessor Saul Quintus, and like you, I was brought here with a purpose. You are gathered here today to provide the greatest of services to the Throne that you ever have, and likely ever will. Some of you are heretical deviants. Some are foul, warp-touched witches. Some of you may be beyond the pale of the Emperor's mercy, but this does not mean your devotion to him in these times ahead will be without cause. So steel your resolves, and take heart in His word, for you have been chosen to aid the greatest of Imperial agencies: The Holy Inquisition."
His short speech concluded and the elevator boarded, Saul would wait no longer. He had come here to serve the will of the God-Emperor, and so it would be done. He pushed past the foul tech-priest and the idle servitor, and slammed his fist against the Elevator button. They'd be moving in short order, off to do the work of the Holy Ordos.
