Name: Isabelle Acantha.
Appearance: Isabelle is a short, beautiful woman. Her skin is golden, sun-kissed, her youth retained with continuous augmentations and surgeries. Her hair is long, falling to the small of her back, and a deep, electric blue. Her features are fine, delicate, like a doll - Her eyes green, flecked with silver and bronze - Her lips thick, red, contrasting heavily against her flesh. The skin of her right cheek glows from within, a sub-dermal electoo of the Icon Mechanicus. Her breasts and her hips are shapely, noticeable, her legs long, graceful and muscled like an athlete's. She wears a coronet upon her head, an hololithic display that allows her to interface with the Auratus Salvator, her steed, a mighty and revered Reaver-Class Titan. When she is fully interfaced, her face takes on the aspect of something far crueller, and yet, she's still beautiful in an animalistic way. She wears a form-hugging body-suit, a simple affair with bronze gauntlets, the finger ending in sensory arrays.
Personality: Usually a calm, collected woman, Isabelle sometimes finds the bloodlust of the past, where she commanded a Warhound, bubbling beneath the surface. She is intelligent, having downloaded a great deal of information directly into her brain - An unorthodox, though not unheard of, method. Isabelle has a sharp tongue, often throwing her witticisms out at the most inappropriate times, her humour is morbid, though always followed by a mellifluous laugh. She likes to flirt with danger; to put herself in places where the odds are often against her favour. She leads assaults with ruthless ambition, systematically demolishing the enemy forces, her jaw set, her face unreadable save for grimaces and grins. She is, overall, a friendly woman - She'll converse, quietly and calmly, with anyone who makes the effort with her. When slighted, however, Isabelle is a fearsome beast, she will be sly and sarcastic, if not outright vehement.
Background: Isabelle is the daughter of a pair of hab-workers, born on Gryphonne IV and faced with a lifetime of peril and toil within the endless, world-spanning forges. Her father, Iskander, regretted her birth - Blaming himself for his daughter's future of unending work. He was, however, a good man - He strived to give her a future, and after pulling many favours, the six-year-old Isabelle was considered as a prospective student of the Collegia Titanica. Where others failed, Isabelle excelled. She had the conviction and determination to work, the ambition to see herself one step ahead of everyone else. She sacrificed countless hours, weeks, months and years to her studies; a studious, quiet girl. It was this cool-headedness, this intelligence, that brought Isabelle to the attentions of her superiors.
These venerable Princeps and forge-lords lifted her through the ranks, and at the age of thirty-one, Isabelle was given her first command - The Warhound Cruor Victorum. It was a wild, passionate beast - The machine-spirit ancient, angry, lusting for blood and violence and victory. On two dozen worlds, Isabelle proved herself a capable and competent commander - Her Titan loping ahead of the others, clearing those areas where the Imperial Guard and the Adeptus Astartes had failed, laying a wake of devastation for the larger Titans, the Reavers and the Warlords and the Imperators, to follow. She made many friends, and many rivals, during this time. Often, jealous eyes where turned on her - She was a woman, a mere woman, and yet she was tallying up the kills. And yet, this didn't bother her. She continued on, imperious, untouchable when comments were thrown at here, smirking them away and taking them in her stride.
On her sixty-third year of service, with multiple engine kills to her name, Isabelle Acantha was elevated to the command of the Reaver-class, the Auratus Salvator. It was a venerable engine, and recently bereft of a crew, and Isabelle found its influence a cool, icy flow when compared to the passion of the Cruor Victorum. In those two years, Isabelle has calmed significantly - Though, she still savours the taste of destruction upon her tongue, enjoying the rush like any sane man, or woman, should. Rusilay, her Forward Moderati, is someone who she has met before - During his childhood, Isabelle Acantha was assigned to the construction of the Warlord that he, and his parents, were working on - One of several Princeps who were inspecting, and overseeing, the operation. In their two years together, Isabelle and Rusilay have become good friends, ironing out most of their disagreements in tactical, theological and personal opinions. She considers herself friendly with all of her crew, and rules with a benevolent hand, and a cheeky wink here and there.
And now, the Second War for Armageddon has commended, and Isabelle will once again march. And a woman, as everyone knows, is a wrathful, terrible thing.
Titan Name: Auratus Salvator.
Titan Description: Despite the hunched, almost apish appearance of the Auratus Salvator, there is an undeniable nobility to this ancient, revered machine. A Titan that has walked on a thousand worlds, over seven thousand years, the Auratus Salvator has seen its fair share of warfare - Battling the dread forces of Chaos, the stinking, barbarous Ork hordes, the enigmatic, perfidious Eldar and just about every threat that the Imperium has ever faced. Whereas the Warhound is the skirmisher and the Warlord is the heavy-hitter, the Reaver is the middleman, a role that the Auratus Salvator bears proudly. Her machine spirit is ancient and calm, as methodical and destructive as Isabelle's, if not more so. When the Reaver walks, her huge, clunking steps are accompanied by the terrifying, ear-aching blare of her warhorn, a terrible dirge for the enemy. Clad in the dappled grey and yellow of the Legio Gryphonicus, the Auratus Salvator has been polished to a brilliant, glossy sheen - The fierce, rearing griffin sigil of the Legio carved into one of the 'shoulder-plates,' in fine gold. A kill-pendant dangles between the Titan's legs, displaying an Eight-Pointed Star for the forces of Chaos; a triangle for the Eldar, a crude, green circle for the Orks. Kill banners dangle from both of the weapon-arms, though these denote the kills which belong to the Moderatii, rather than Isabelle or the Auratus Salvator.
Should I include a description of the Titan? I wasn't clear on that part. Here's to hoping you like her!
Nyctophobia- Fear of the Dark Angel.
"No one ever spoke about of those two absent brothers. Their separate tragedies had seemed like aberrations. Had they, in fact, been warnings that no one had heeded?"
'Killing a man is like fucking, boy, only instead of giving life you take it. You experience the ecstasy of penetration as your warhead enters the enemy's belly and the shaft follows. You see the whites of his eyes roll inside the sockets of his helmet. You feel his knees give way beneath him and the weight of his faltering flesh draw down the point of your spear. Are you picturing this?'
'Is your dick hard yet?'
''What? You've got your spear in a man's guts and your dog isn't stiff? What are you, a woman?'
Last edited by dark angel; 05-16-14 at 04:05 PM.