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post #7 of (permalink) Old 02-24-17, 04:39 AM
Euphrati
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==Excerpt from the personal writings of Brother Malik Kyron==

Heretics.

It is the name they have given us and, in truth, it is fitting. For, in the dark shadows of the galaxy, we are heretics.

We have done the unforgivable, taken that first step down a path that can only end in darkness. But, that is how it starts is it not? A single errant action. Accepted, even defended in righteousness. So simple to justify in the blood and fire of battle’s heart. The ones that come after are always easier to accept once the first is taken, or so I have been told. No matter how well intentioned that first step may have been.

There is an ancient Terran saying about good intentions.

I once thought that I was above such sin, pure in thought and purpose. My loyalty was absolute, without question to the actions of my brothers and my Chapter. How nave I was.

I have seen true purity.

I have stood witness as it carved through the crimes of my brothers’ like a flame through oil soaked parchment. Bare ceramite, polished until it shone like liquid silver. The souls that it clad, I cannot put words to their perfection. To do so would be a sin in and of itself. I was shamed and honoured beyond measure to merely lay eyes upon them even as their purity ran with the crimson lifeblood of my brothers.

I have been burned by the flames of truth, yet I live.

I live, however I know now that my soul is forever tainted. There is no absolution for my sins. I have accepted that.

And yet, I wonder of the fate of my brothers.

The few of us that remained scattered like chaff before the threshing. Now my remaining brothers seek a whisper in the darkness. Something they say will be our salvation. Another step down the path. There is only one chance to save their souls from the damnation they willingly embrace.

I pray that I am strong enough when the time finally comes.


-

Name: Malik Kyron

Age: 51

Appearance: Malik stands at seven and a half feet of corded flesh clad in the dusky skin of the south islands. His shoulders are thick and sleek with muscle like the ghost cats of the deep forests. A stylized tattoo of the deadly feline stalks across his back in the tribal custom of a warrior borne. His eyes are a shade of grey-green that shifts with his humours like the churning oceans. Glossy, straight black hair is shorn tight on the sides and crested on top giving Malik a perpetual air of agitation when he goes helmless. His Aquilla patterned armour has seen better days; the grey surface showing chips and signs of battle that Malik’s best skills of patching cannot fully hide. He tends it as best as their meager supplies allow, the one exception being a deep gouge to his left shoulder guard that runs partly through the white skull of his Chapter. The wound to the ceramite is clean and precise, for it was made by a nemesis blade. Malik refuses to repair it, seeing it as a visual reminder of the sins of his Chapter.

Personality: Malik’s humours have taken a darker turn since the sanctioning of his Chapter. His mood has favoured towards a more somber and morose vein than the candid mirth he had before. He has a history of bluntness, tending to take on a fight straight face to face and has trouble seeing alternative routes. Being on the younger side of the squad, Malik still had a sense of naivety to his own mortality that seems to have been shattered by the recent events. His temper has become dangerously sharp without warning, more often as of late he has lost his temper in the training cages and drawn bloody wounds before stalking away into the dark recesses of the ship in a cold rage. Glimpses of his old self peek through the dark at times, like shards of sun through the tightening over story of the deep, deadly forest. Strangely, throughout it all, Malik seems to have become even more devout to the Emperor to the point of Penitent- what that means for his future and his brothers, however, time will tell.

Background: Borne to the tribal people of the southern islands, Malik childhood world was one of life’s constant struggle between existence and destruction in the green depths of the forest. He learned early on to respect the great predators of the dark, to be swift in his hunting and quick in his kills least he draw unwanted attention. His recollections of that time are more impressions now than true memories, as he was claimed for the Chapter at the age of seven. Within the Relictors, Malik excelled in close combat, his young body taking to the gene-enhancements with seeming relish. His reactions became predator fast, and just as deadly with a blade as with his bare fists. Although he carries a bolt pistol, it tends to go forgotten more often than not- recalled only when a target is frustratingly out of his reach. The fall of his Chapter has been a festering wound to the younger marine’s psyche. Loyalties and orders he would have followed without question before now draw a pause from him.

Squad: Malik was a member of an assault squad, many of his brothers lay dead at the hands of the Grey Knights. Even with his skill in close combat, Malik barely escaped with his life from the battle with the Imperium’s ultimate warriors. A fact that has humbled him greatly.

Equipment: Frag grenades, krak grenades, and spare ammo of indeterminate amount :-p. Aquilla patterned power armour (lightly damaged, mostly superficial). Various personal effects in his chamber (leather bound journal, quill and ink, armour repair supplies).

Weapons: Combat blade and chain sword/bolt pistol for standard equipment. Malik has taken to carrying an additional combat blade as he has a habit of breaking/losing them in battle.

It is not adversity itself that makes one great, it is our actions when faced with hardship that define us. Never forget your purpose. Never forget the oaths you have made and why you made them.

Last edited by Euphrati; 02-25-17 at 09:38 PM. Reason: numbers..
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