Name: Kazimir Rostislav
Legion: World Eaters- Legionary- Assault
Appearance, Armour, and Wargear: Kazimir's MKIV warplate, like its owner, shows only the true decorations of war that he has earned in his short years amid the hot lust of battle. The curves of the wargear are unadorned other than the tracks of scars under the white and cobalt enameling, marks of fearless aggression gained face to face with those who would oppose the Crusade's order. When his peers mocked him in the pits for not taking trophies from his kills, Kazimir merely grunted and shrugged, casting a ruthless grin of gleaming teeth from under his shaggy mane of mottled brown dreadlocks before asking which fate was worse- to have your defeat remembered by an opponent bedecked with titles and trophies of his prowess or to be dismissed in death on the blade of an unnamed warrior who cares not who you were nor to remember your failure. The bulky turbines of a jump pack that peeks over his shoulders marks him out for his role of assault and suit the ticking need to close with an enemy that is always itching within Kazimir's thick skull. Kazimir stands a slight hand shorter than average for his battle brothers, though his stocky build is unmistakably threatening with corded slabs of muscles wrought across his powerful shoulders and back. His skin is a dusky olive under the tracings of pale scars, and his eyes a bestial shade of dark amber. His favoured weapons are a basic chainsword, marked in blue and white chevrons, and a mark II Mars pattern bolt pistol in arterial red though he has a habit of forgoing both to wade into close quarters with merely his fists or combat blade drawn. He does carry and utilize both krak and frag grenades, though often it is more of as an afterthought than a primary assault.
Personality: Outside of battle, Kazimir is relatively phlegmatic. His rather brusque nature often comes off as uncouth when he speaks his mind- and he is seemingly unaware or uncaring in his youth of the use of tact when it comes to topics he finds important. Despite his blunt approach, those that attempt to match wits with him find a surprisingly keen mind hidden within the shell of a killer. Kazimir once overheard one of the older Terran veterans refer to him as a kahrkuhjoo, some ancient terran beast know for its stubborn tenacity and volatile prowess despite its size and noting that the only way to stop him from pursuing an objective is to give him a new one. Inside of battle, however, he becomes something a bit more unchained and feral thanks to the burning bite of the Butcher's Nails.
Background: Kazimir's homeworld holds only a marker number in the Crusade's records. A small backwater culture under the thumb of a larger, more advance society. The son of a semi-feral tribe, Kazimir was ten winters old when the Crusade's Fleet burst from the warp and announced its message of humanity's compliance. The system's dictator made the greatest, and last, mistake of his reign- demanding that the warriors of the XII Legion submit themselves to his supreme ruling. Less than a fortnight later his death screams went unheard across the primitive vox system of his palace in the northern reaches of the world; the towers of their great city toppled and five million of his subjects already cooling in death, slaughtered to the soul by the single company of World Eaters.
When squads dispersed into the surrounding regions, they were met with a mixture of tribes and subjugated townships. When the squad entered Kazimir's clan's village, many of the adults fled in fear- leaving everything behind including their children in their terror driven flight. Kazimir was one of the abandoned, but instead of howling in panic or hiding in fear, he had leapt from the shadows of his bloodkin's hovel with a snarl and attacked the blue and white monsters barehanded with all the blind ferocity of a rabid puppy. Amused by the feral child's lack of fear- the apothecary attached to the squad sent the filthy, malnourished Kazimir back to the fleet for induction, stating that perhaps the world was worth something despite the lack of sport.
Kazimir had grown under the brutal training, though never quite fitting in with his peers and spending far more time in the company of a select few veteran War Hounds- listening with rapt attention to the recounting of the Legion's honours before the location of their Primarch. The degenerating nature and wild rages of Angron never fully settled with the young tribesman and he found the pits to be a distraction at best, more than once voicing his dissenting thoughts on what he considered 'mock' bloodshed. One hunted for food, not sport, and fought to kill if challenged, not merely for entertainment- and killing was something that he found he was very good at.
When the time came for his full induction as a battle brother, however, Kazimir's group was not given the choice to deny the implantation of the Butcher's Nails. The scratching burn of the implants saw many of the young astartes lose themselves completely in bloodlust, yet Kazimir resisted the degeneration of his personality outside of battle more so than others. The pain was still there, scalding bright and engrossing in the roaring churn of battle, but the grip of the Nails would fade in times of quiet setting the young warrior farther apart from his brothers. Kazimir would give a bemused scratch at the implants buried within his shaggy mane when questioned and muse that perhaps he was already feral enough.
Battles turned into slaughters and the Legion burned its way across the galaxy with fewer and fewer limits heeded upon the enemies that were ignorant enough not to run at the first mention of the approaching fleet. Kazimir grew in his skill and strength, taking his place in an Assault team lead by a grizzled old Terran veteran. Here Kazimir found a kindred spirit in the old warrior, an understanding that bloodshed was more than just a release from the pain of the Nails, it was the way of the galaxy. A necessary balance of fury and power for humanity's humours. This teaching of the past was what marked him out in the end to be culled from the ranks.
Kazimir finds the current events darkly amusing in a way, bearing his teeth up at the heavens as the bombs began to fall, the biting fury of the Nails adding an edge of twitching rage to his low chuckle, 'Oh no, Brothers, you are going to have to do better than that. Come... nugghhn... come down here if you wish my wretched life ended. Come… uggh… come learn just what you have created in me.'