Name: Ankhu Anek
Appearance: Standing at 6'3, Ankhu wears the deep blue colors of the Thousand Sons. Ankhu keeps his head shaved, showing a tattoo of the Great Manipulator on his scalp. His eyes are a deep set of emerald green. Ankhu enjoys adorning his armor with his personal fetishes: a rival psyker's skull, deeds of his accomplishments, symbols of Tzeentch, etc.
Personality: Proud and merciless, Ankhu is a feroucious warrior. Ankhu would gladly sacrifice the entire galaxy if it would grant him a shard of Tzeentch's plans. Ankhu's ambitious goals keep him seperated from any fellow warriors, viewing almost all other psyker's as nothing close to his prowess.
Background: Hailing from Sigma VII, a hive planet, Ankhu Anek grew up within the underhive of the capital hive. Misery, murder, and chaos were all that the hellish domain Ankhu and his kin called home offered them. From a young age, his parents kept him hidden whenever the rare Arbites patrol. When asked why, all they told him was that he was special, and that the evil men in white would take him away forever if they found him. By the time he had turned 16, Ankhu was running with the gangs. During a shootout at a local watering hole between Ankhu's gang and a rival gang, Ankhu had the first experience of what made him so "special".
Crouching under a collapsed pillar, Ankhu was reloading his autogun as he suddenly siezed up; his eyes rolling back into his head as a trickle of blood came down his nose. When he regained his composure, he slammed another clip into his rifle and wiped the blood off on his arm. Ankhu began seeing feet from behind the hauler approaching soon after. Without thinking, Ankhu flung his hand out and felt a tidal wave of energy flow towards. With a huge explosion, the propane tank behind the debris hurled the gutted hauler away and destroyed any trace of the enemy gangers.
Standing up, Ankhu's heart sank and then froze in his chest as he saw the bullet-ridden corpses of his fellow gangers and then the men that had killed them. Instead of the gruff scum he expected to see, a party of no more than 15 stood with their weapons pointed at him. A tense moment passed before Ankhu realized he was still alive and that a several of the unknown men were approaching him. As the men stopped in front of him and took off their hoods, Ankhu saw the men's face. 2 of them wore tattoo's of a raven on their faces and bore the signs of mutants. The leader though displayed no signs of mutation. Moreover, he bore a face that seemed easy to overlook, like he was just another one of the nameless masses of the hive. Introducing himself as the Patriarch, he explained that they had sensed Ankhu within the empryean. Not knowing what he was talking about, Ankhu felt his gun slacken from his fingers and fall. Instead of hearing the clatter of the gun hit the floor, Ankhu watched in amazement as the gun floated at his feet and slowly roase. Smiling, the Patriarch told him he was a gifted psyker and that he must come with the True Way to survive. With nowhere else to go, Ankhu followed the True Way.
The next 10 years of his life were spent learning of his power, of the warp, and the Great Changer within it. Tzeentch. That was the word they used to describe what they served. Whenever he wasn't learning to control his power, he and his fellow True Way brethren were out serving Tzeentch: burning buildings, raiding supply caravans and recruiting more followers of Tzeentch. Rising through the ranks, Ankhu learned of the goal of the True Way from the Patriarch one night. In a hushed whisper, the Patriarch explained the plan to bring the god sorcerors to them. Coordinating a mass assault from all the cult's cells, which had by now grown into a very influential and powerful cult, at the librarius within the upper hive, Ankhu and the Patriarch led their warbands deep through the house guard of the governor and the arbites.
As they breached the doors leading inside, Ankhu followed the Patriarch as he seemed to insticitvely follow an invisible trail. After dispatching the librarians, Ankhu watched as the Patriarch pulled a key from the head librarians neck and walked over to a wall containing display cases of various items. The sounds of gunfire drew closer with each passing second as Ankhu and the remaining 8 members of the warband drew next to the Patriarch as he unlocked the casing and removed a crown from the glass. Holding it up, the Patriarch explained this was the key to their goal but they would need the holy sacrifices to summon the god sorcerors. Stepping next to the Patriarch, Ankhu watched as the remaining warrior-mutants nodded as one and fell on their own blades. With a sick smile on his face, the Patriarch turned to Ankhu expecting him to follow suite. Drawing his blade, Ankhu only briefly pointed the dagger at himself before turning it and driving it deep into the Patriarch's neck.
As he watched the man's lifeblood flow onto he crown, Ankhu fell to the ground himself, blood flowing from his eyes, nose, and ears. A splitting pain lanced through his mind as a fiery image was burned into his mind; giants walking towards him, the symbols of Tzeentch on their armor. It was too much for him to handle and Ankhu felt the darkness claim him.
Waking up, Ankhu looked out to see the sun setting. Jumping to his feet, Ankhu realized how quite it had become; not even the sounds of gunfights. Looking down at the corpses, he saw that they were icy blue and showed obvious signs of rigor mortis. Wondering how long he had been out, Ankhu pushed the doors of the librarium open.
With his mouth wide open, Ankhu stared in wonder at the god sorcerors standing lifelessly in a line in front of him. As he stared at them, Ankhu also saw the mounds of corpses in the background; imperial scum and his own brethren too. As he gripped the crown in his hands, a lone giant stepped from the line. Though he spoke no words, Ankhu felt the sorceror look down at the crown in his hands and then feed the words into his mind. He had been chosen. He would be tested to see if he was worthy of the Thousand Sons. Handing the crown to the giant, Ankhu followed behind them as they began to disembark for the stars...
Weapons: Bolt Pistol and Force Sword
Powers: Energy Manipulation
Great one Nightlord. Your in.
Hope this is adequate, let me know if I should change anything.
Name: Chisisi Mubarak
Appearence: At just over 6’5” and thin beyond the point of healthy, Chisisi casts a somewhat bizarre figure. A number of self-inflicted scars line his deeply tan skin, and most of the ribs showing on his abdomen appear to have been broken at some point. A handful of tattoos decorate the unmarred portions of his skin, all of them references to time or immortality. Most notably, a small ankh rests firmly above his thick brow and dark eyes. A thick mane of black hair flows to Chisisi’s shoulders, always unkempt and often falling over his serious features.
Chisisi favors his armor and is rarely seen without it. It is a typical Thousand Son design, though he rarely wears the helm. The tabard that hangs from his waist displays the sacred symbol of Tzeentch, and it is cinched by a copper chain ornamented with an ankh.
Personality: Chisisi has an anxious personality. With his incessant paranoia and persecution complex, he tends towards a lot of fidgeting and looks over his shoulder often. Chisisi fears a permenant death most of all, and he makes elaborate plans to ensure that he remains safe and alive. Like most sorcerers, Chisisi is unendingly curious and always eager to learn. Chisisi’s greatest aspiration is to ascend to daemonhood, thus insuring his immortality.
Weapons: Bolt pistol, Force khopesh.
Background: Born on a bustling hive world to Imperial scribes, Chisisi started life in a world of endless information. Eager and intelligent, he was nonetheless skeptical of the Imperial cult from the start, their endless indoctrinations failing to catch in the young boy. Enamored with the stories of old battles and ancient warriors, it was at a very young age that Chisisi learned about Magnus the Red, reading from a yellowing text hidden away from the eyes of his parents. Despite his arcane interests, Chisisi was destined to be yet another bureaucrat, were it not for the intervening whispers of chaos.
Having grown accustomed to the bizarre amount of good fortune that seemed to bless his life, Chisisi’s latent powers exploded onto the scene when he was just reaching adolescence. On a day like most others, the young boy suddenly found himself overcome by a blinding headache. A series of images flashed through his mind: his father hiding something behind his back, his mother grinning, teeth bared murderously, a knife glinting in the light, and finally, a massive labyrinth, at the center of which stood a shadowy man, his silhouette constantly shifting. Over the next few days, the visions returned, always the same, always knotting Chisisi’s stomach with fear. Finally, the boy awoke one morning to his parents standing over him.
“We have a surprise for you,” his father said, his hands behind his back. Chisisi’s mother stood silently, concealing something sitting on the nightstand. In her left hand, the glint of metal caught the boy’s eye. Chisisi felt the now familiar ache in his skull come over him. The labyrinth overtook his vision once more, its twisting passages sailing by as though he were flying through it. He stood at the center of the maze, before him, the shadow from his visions.
“Surprise,” spoke the shadow, in his father’s voice, “Surprise, surprise, prise, ise, ise, dies, dies, DIES, DIES, DIE, DIE!” Chisisi howled in fear, lashing out at the shadow. A blur of violence followed, the boy’s headache worsening until he thought he might die. Finally, the pain ceased, and Chisisi found himself back in his room, his parents lying dead before him. In his father’s hand, a small package, wrapped in colorful paper. Behind his mother, a tiny cake, Chisisi’s name written in frosting. He never saw the gifts his parents got him for his birthday, he merely ran, still convinced he had excaped his own murder.
After that fateful event, Chisisi fled, letting his feet take him wherever they landed. A single thought guided his actions: the shadow that had whispered to him, that had stood before him, that had guided him to safety. In no time at all, Chisisi had fallen in with a cult of Tzeentch devotees. With his budding, though unpredictable powers of foresight, and extensive, nearly obsessive plans, he quickly climbed the ranks. After years of bizarre worship and devotion, Chisisi was allowed the first step to ascendency, to lead a troop of Rubics in the endless crusades of the Thousand Sons.
Quite good, though since Magnus the Red was a traitor Primarch it would have been impossible to find any records on him, at least for a common citizen. Your in.
Hopefully I'll meet standards with this character; simply ask for more detail as necessary and it will be furnished, as I am more than willing to edit to meet standards.
Age: App. 200 Terran Standard
Appearance: 7'2", with a comparitively lean frame for an Astartes. Sharp, angular facial structure with high-perched ears, dark and oily hair at shoulder length, and fiery amber eyes with black flecks. The mark of Tzeentch is prominent on his left pectoral, literally writhing upon his crazed-scar chest. Bio-daemonic hybrid left hand, akin to a clawed human hand (no bonus strength). A livid and knotted scar along his right jawline further enhances his unquenchable air of unbreakable stamina. Wears Mark VI "Corvus" Armor, now recoloured into that of the Crimson Sun cult
Personality: Ulthrexyl is a surly, calculating madman. His quiet if threatening demeanor breaks into unrestrained violence in battle, even as he retains his cool veneer. He looks to his comrades as indesposible so long as their power aids him in his machinations. His time as a loyalist Librarian entrenched his crazed instincts in cold logic and control, and under his patron god his bastard blend of twisted logic and metered insanity make him a particularly unpredictable element in war. His inability to rise through the ranks of the sorcerors of Tzeentch has left its mark as bitter, hateful zeal.
Weapons: Force axe, hellpistol
Background: Ulthrexyl was taken in by the Crusaders of Antex Chapter in 795.M41 as a neophyte and was quickly sent to the chapter librarium for indoctrination as a chapter psyker. His battle skills proved ferocious, but the Crusaders held to a standard of disciplined warmaking that chafed at the young marine. His studies in the librarium leaned heavily towards the art of prediction, as his abilities had first led him to become a Space Marine. He saw horrific, twisted danger in his future, but falsely pinned it to the harm an Astartes might face. However, his gift became a curse, and the more he grew as a Space Marine, the more hellish his visions grew. In his attempt to avoid such a fate, he desperately grasped at his chapter's ranks to reach a position none could challenge: that of chief librarian. Although he never reached this goal due to the unpredictable nature of his powers, he served as an acolyte for around 75 years.
For a time, the terrible visions receded, and he thought he was at last free. Until he came across a forbidden text upon a mission to eliminate a sorceror and her cult. The book called to him, its unspoken temptation a cry from the damned souls it had consumed. Upon opening the book, his fate was sealed. All the visions of horror he had left behind crashed in upon him, and the librarian was driven nearly mad, only the indoctrinated discipline of mind keeping him on the edge of sanity. It was then that Tzeentch called to him, and offered a taste of the prophecy which was his purview.
Ulthrexyl knew he was ensnared. Knew that he was betraying his chapter, the Emperor, and mankind. He didn't care. Alongside all the visions of blood and fire and doom, Tzeentch offered visions of power, glory, and eternal bloodshed in his name. The two blended into a horrible effigy of past, present, and future. It was maddening, and soothing, all at once.
For nearly a century, the fallen Astartes has studied across the galaxy in vain, trying to follow the convoluted path of Tzeemtch through his twisted predictions. All has led to his service to the Sons of Magnus, and finally, a search for damned enlightenment under master sorcerors.
Powers: Foresight (maddened - Ulthrexyl's visions show only the most extreme of predictions, resulting in overreaction which may do as much harm as good)
Telekenesis (crazed - with his mind awash with images of extreme fate, his psychic efforts are disjointed. His telekenesis tends towards extremes, either uncontrolled bursts of raw unguided force, or weak but clinically focused efforts)
Ok just a few issues with this one.
1. Change the age, that may be how old you are in realspace but the Warp plays havoc with time, so it would be far less then that.
2. Your armour. You would not have the Mark of Tzeentch, thats for his champions. And the Crimson Sun cult is a series of cults that Malzaren cropped up on a string of worlds as information gatherers, your armour would be the Thousand Son colours.
3. Weapons. No hellpistol, got to have a Bolt Pistol. But all characters can enhance theirs to fire Inferno Bolts.
4. Powers. The rules clearly state only one. Now im somewhat fine with the ways you've had your power manifest but you can only have one.
Change those and you'll be good. But I really do like the past you've chosen for your character, a former loyalist.