Le sorcier a survécu. Miraculeusement, il semblait. C'était une complication qui devait être abordée plus tard, mais Ashtor courut devant lui et les autres jusqu'à la rampe d'embarquement de l'averse du tonnerre. "Le cousin de Fulgrim est d'accord! Allons-nous-en." Que le sorcier brûle ou cherche à se venger plus tard. Mais il était en sécurité à court terme avec sa connaissance de la fuite et la protection des fils de Fulgrim qui avaient besoin de lui vivant pour que le Thunderhawk fasse exactement cela. Brossant à travers les rangs des guerriers roses dans sa hâte d'atteindre le cockpit de l'embarcation.
Il n'osait pas laisser perdre plus de plasma vers les limites internes du transport moins il endommage irréparablement quelque chose d'important. Pour cette raison, il ne pouvait pas risquer plus de balles de boulonnage à tirer non plus. Donc le premier légionnaire noir qu'il pouvait atteindre a trouvé la baïonnette déchiquetée d'un pistolet à plasma volé et corrompu coincé vers sa poitrine. "Amenez-moi dans le cockpit!" Il rugissait alors qu'il descendait dans un duel avec le Légionnaire noir. Un duel qu'il n'avait pas prévu de combattre équitablement. Après son élan du Baynot charger et s'écraser sur l'épaule dans le guerrier noir. Ils se sont tous deux claqués dans la coque intérieure du Thunderhawk avec un bruit réverbérant, Ashtor a senti une morsure de lame de combat dans l'armure douce de son côté et a concentré cette lance de douleur et la rage qu'elle a engendrée pour alimenter ses membres. Saisir la main qui tenait la lame son autre a brisé le corps du pistolet plasma dans la tête de ses adversaires. Probablement faire les bobines minces et complexes internes de l'arme pas de faveurs. Mais il continua à épingler le guerrier contre la coque, lançant le pistolet plasma et se brouillant pour son propre couteau de combat. C'était dur de flatter pour une lame pendant qu'on était coincé dans votre propre corps. Même pour une amorçage chaque torsion et tour a envoyé des vagues de douleur à travers lui.
Malgré la difficulté de lutter contre un chaos rival maritime, Ashtor a réussi à glisser sa propre lame dans l'armure douce de son ennemi. Maintenant, c'était un peu plus qu'un libre pour tous car il a perdu l'emprise du couteau du légionnaire et ils étaient à la fois verrouiller les bras et rouler contre l'averse du tonnerre. Cet échange s'est poursuivi pendant ce qui semblait être une quantité intolérable de temps avant qu'Ashtor n'en finisse en frappant son casque dans ses adversaires et en conduisant sa lame vers le haut dans le cou et le cerveau. Le sang qui sortait du légionnaire était aussi noir que son armure et tout aussi entaché. Il pouvait l'entendre dissoudre la lame de combat comme un acide. Il l'a laissée logée dans un corps blindé noir et a arraché la lame coincée dans son côté pour garder pour lui-même.
'Laissons les enfants de l'Empereur finir le reste', pensa-t-il, jetant le tonnerre vers le cockpit. Son pistolet à plasma s'est rétabli et s'est accroché à sa main gauche tandis que sa droite tenait sa possession la plus récente, un couteau de combat baigné dans son propre sang de vie anormalement sombre. Ses systèmes immunitaires et de récupération surhumains n'ont pas pu réparer les dégâts qui lui ont été infligés si rapidement.
Il y avait encore un légionnaire dans le cockpit. De toute évidence, attendre que les combats soient terminés pour qu'il puisse décoller avec ses frères et échapper à cette invasion ratée. Il est mort beaucoup plus vite que son frère à l'arrière. Ashtor l'a laissé pourrir sur le sol et a pris sa place dans le siège des pilotes. Il s'est fait aiguiser les dents à cause de la douleur qui s'est abattue sur lui. Il ne se souciait pas vraiment de qui était ou n'était pas à bord à ce stade. Le warchant des légions mechanicus était trop fort pour ignorer plus longtemps. Leurs armes étaient trop près pour être réconfortées. "Je ferme la rampe!" Ce n'était pas tellement un avertissement qui a donné l'avis aux tragglers de se précipiter à l'intérieur de la sécurité de la coque d'adamantium car c'était une déclaration qui disait que les tragglers étaient maintenant seuls et probablement confrontés à leurs dernières minutes de vie.
Fidèle à sa parole, la puissante rampe a scellé tous les passagers qu'elle avait à l'intérieur. Il était temps de se débarrasser de ce monde.
Name: Ashtor
Age: Unknown, Close to 800 standard years. Maybe longer
Legion/War-band/Chapter: Word Bearers, 'Defilers of Sacrament' 23rd war-host
Planet of Origin: Sicarus
Physical Description:
Ashtor stands as a giant among men, like any space marine loyal or tainted. His skin mostly unblemished by mutation but covered with all manner of edritch and ancient Prosperan tattoos displaying his unyielding loyalty to chaos and the legion that raised him. What would otherwise mark him as undoubtedly tainted is his pure black eyes that sometimes swirl and eerily reflect the image in front of him. Other other images entirely, smokey dark images that invite one to stare deeper and take time to discern.
His armour is a suit of reclaimed MK.V power armour. Easy to repair and maintain in the barren abyss of the warp. Covered in rivets, some inscribed with sigils of chaos or inscribed with images of warp beasts and daemons. Painted in the dark red and silver livery of the Word Bearers, the burning skull and book proudly painted on his left shoulder pad.
His plasma gun is a corrupted Mk. V 'rage-fury' pattern weapon. Taken off the body of a slain loyalist marine and re-purposed by the heretek forges. Painted black with three bronze spikes out the top and a savage looking bayonet underneath.
Skillset:
Veteran- having serves for centuries of equivalent real-space time Ashtor is adept in the art of war. With a variety of weapons and wargear used over that time
Through victory, my chains are broken- Born into slavery to chaos and put through hellish aspirant trials the likes of which even loyalist chapters would be reluctant to replicate. A gruelling experience that forever scarred and shaped him into the warrior he is today. He knows fear, desperation, cruelty, sadism and malice and how to channel those feelings. He also knows ambition and the need for survival and is forever more capable because of it.
Warrior of Note- Resources are scarce for chaos, Examples of fading archeotech even more so and are next to impossible to recreate with limited supplies and industrial infrastructure. To be granted the right to wield such a weapon as a plasma gun is an honour, one earned in blood after proving himself capable enough to be trusted with keeping such a weapon and for slaying its original owner and claiming it for the legion.
History:
Ashtor was born a slave on the planet of Sicarus by parents who were enslaved during a raid into realspace. Life as a slave of chaos was an unimaginable hell, luckily he no longer remembers too much of his life before his being raised into the ranks of the word bearers. He knew his name was different back then, he cannot recall what it was. Nor does he remember the faces of his parents, only that he had to kill them as part of his trials. They were both details of his slave life, his lesser life, before he was enlightened by the truth of the dark gods and the glory of Chaos.
Now, The day to day horrors as a slave of chaos are primarily viewed from the lens of the oppressor not the oppressed. For Ashtor survived trials and terrors even more gruelling than mere slave life on a daemon world. To be selected for astartes training in a traitor Legion is to be reduced to something less than even a slave, only then once he was broken in mind and body so utterly, even his own name and personality pulled from his mind and ground into the tainted soil could he be remade into armour clad demigod that he is.
When he passed his trials and stood atop the bodies of his fellow applicants, having fought bitterly over a suit of powered armour and a bolter, scrounged from the legions armoury. There was only one suit and one weapon and nearly forty applicants. One could prove himself ruthless enough to claim it and the rest would either be sacrificed to repaint it or sent back to live as slaves for their failure. Ashtor won that contest, weeding out his opponents through savagery and cunning. And with his new panalopy of war came the opportunity to claim a new name for himself. To start his new life with everything fresh and leave his weak past behind him.
For 800 hundred years he fought as Ashtor, Legion-brother and servant of Chaos. Battle by battle he rose in respect and status. Still a less being in the eyes of some of the true Word Bearer veteran's, those that have survived since the dawn of the long war. But the legion holds that faith and ability are the greatest judges of worth. And Ashtor venerates the dark pantheon highly, and serves his Apostle with absolute loyalty.
He has served three dark apostles in his time, having been essentially purchased like any other weapon or commodity or slave by the 23rd war-host from those blood masters who forge new legionnaires on Sicarus out of slave stock. His current Apostle Amon is a fierce and uncompromising individual, a true servant of chaos who usurped power and position from his fellow acolyte rivals after the untimely death of the warhost's last Dark Apostle. Ashtor was one of those that sided with Amon during the brief conflict as was well rewarded for his choice in loyalties. Amon, in exchange agreed to overlook his more lowly origins that previously held him back from more prestigious opportunities and positions. This was a big step for Ashtor and his life in the legion. Since that incident he has fought for Amon many times and has earned rare wargear and status, even a squad command of his own. Ashtor's ambitions were unlocked once the opportunities became available. Ashtor aspires for higher status than a mere battle squad. He aspires to the ranks of the chosen, to be named a champion of chaos and the host, perhaps even join the Legion's Cult of the Anointed.
Psychological Profile:
Ashtor is fanatically loyal to chaos, Lorgar and Dark Apostle Amon of the 23rd war-host Fanaticism simply is a way of live for a Word Bearer's, They are one of the few Chaos Legions to retain elements of organization, structure and rigid(comparatively) discipline. This is telling as there is almost nothing he would not do if ordered directly by Amon, The Dark apostle he swore himself to. Even to the detriment of his own health and life.
He looks down upon those who worship singular aspects of chaos. I.e Nurgle, Khorne, etc. In his mind Chaos is a pantheon of dark truth. Not just the four great powers but a myriad of lesser ones as well. To pay homage to one and ignore the others is tantamount to heresy against the word of Lorgar.
Equipment (Weapons etc, this can and most likely will be replaced as the RP progresses):
Plasma gun, M.V 'rage-fury' pattern. (three plasma canisters total)
Bolt pistol, 30 rounds (I don't know what is normal to start with.)
Frag Grenades x 2