Name: Desmond Hawke
Specialty: Weapon Specialist
Handedness: Left
Wounds: 14/14Fate Points: 3/3
Description: A wiry young man, dressed in a lightweight carapace with only a couple bars and a slightly duller color scheme to mark his specialization, and tends to hold himself such that it seems he could fade away at any second. He has tanned skin, grey eyes, and somewhat unkempt brown hair under his helmet, complete with a hawkish nose and the start of a goatee.
Characteristics: (26) Weapon Skill
(48) Ballistic Skill
(32) Strength
(40) Toughness
(40) Agility
(29) Intelligence
(33) Perception
(33) Willpower
(27) Fellowship
Skills:• Athletics (S);
• Common Lore: Imperial Guard +10 (Int);
• Common Lore: War +20 (Int);
• Dodge (Ag);
• Navigate: Surface;
• Stealth (Ag);
• Survival (Per);
• Tech-Use (Int).
Talents:•
Rapid Reload;
•
Bombardier;
•
Deadeye Shot;
•
Sharpshooter;
• Weapon Training (Bolt, Las, Launcher).
Traits:•
Bonded to the Machine Cult;
•
Fluency;
•
In the Shadows of the Ecclesiarchy's Light;
•
Mechanicum Influence;
•
Suspicious of Machine Spirits.
Initiative: 1d10+4
Movement: Half-Move: 4m / Full-Move: 8m / Charge: 12m / Run: 24m
Max Carrying/Lifting/Pushing Weight: 45.0 Kg | 90.0 Kg | 180.0 Kg
Aptitudes: Agility, Ballistic Skill, Fellowship, Finesse, Fieldcraft, Weapon Skill, Perception
Experience: 0/600xp (600 Initial)
Experience Usage: Dodge (200xp); Sharpshooter (300xp); Stealth (100xp).
Inventory:• One Valtrassian levyman Uniform;
• One suit of
Best-Craftsmanship Light Carapace Armor;
• One
Common Craftsmanship Solo Boltgun• One
Common Craftsmanship Grenade Launcher;
• One
Common Craftsmanship Long-las and two charge packs;
• One
Common Craftsmanship Laspistol, and five charge packs;
• One Frag grenade;
• Five Krak grenades;
• One Micro-bead;
• One Deadspace earpiece;
• One
Common Craftsmanship Knife;
• One set of poor weather gear;
• One rucksack;
• One set of basic tools;
• One mess kit and one water canteen;
• One blanket and one sleep bag;
• One rechargeable lamp pack;
• One grooming kit;
• One cognomen;
• One Valtrassian Levyman Instructional Primer;
• One Chrono;
• Combat sustenance rations, two weeks' supply.
Background: The only child of an impoverished minor lord, Desmond Hawke wasn't quite old enough to enjoy the family holding or a noble title when his father died. He was just barely old enough to watch and form fuzzy memories of the lands seized and split between the old lord's creditors, leaving the boy and his mother penniless and with nowhere to go. A sympathetic servant--a washerwoman, Desmond thought, but he wasn't entirely sure--took pity on them and brought them with her to one of the few great cities of their world, and that was where the boy grew up, living in a run-down tenement, surrounded by buildings of stone, and wood, with a decrepit citadel of steel stripped bare thousands of years prior in the city's heart.
He learned, as he grew, the ways of the streets. Doing odd jobs here and there, washing clothes or collecting herbs for apothecaries in the woodlands outside the city walls, but more often than not stealing what he needed when he needed it. Beyond finding enough to eat and surviving for a few more days, he had few concerns and fewer dreams. True, he may have wished once or twice, maybe while at home on an empty stomach or sitting in a jail cell for petty theft, that his forebears had been cleverer with their money and he was still a lord. But wishes aren't much for solving problems, and when he woke up in the morning and left the bed or was released from his cell with another glare and another warning, he'd just shrug them off and get back to making do.
The start of the draft came as a bit of a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Distant stars had never appealed overmuch, and he couldn't say the threat of death appealed. But provisions would be welcome, and he'd been promised by more than one of his usual jailors that the next crime would see him lose his hands. As luck would have it, he was one of the men accepted for duty, trained in the use of miraculous--or, as Desmond typically thought, damned confusing--technology and, fortunately, demonstrated a greater intuition for the boltgun, explosives, and las rifle he was provided when assigned as designated marksman to the squad of some prancing knight. Machine-God help him.
Comrade: Name: Frederick "Flowers" Govern
Demeanor: Optimist
Advances: None
Orders: Maintain Cohesion (Half), Move Actions, Ranged Volley (Half), Close Quarters (Half), Take Cover! (Full)
Background: A bright, cheerful, and handsome man who trained as an apothecary in the city where Desmond was raised. Finding himself rather poor at the job, but refusing to let his own ineptitude get him down, the young Frederick took a job as a fence on the side and found work buying and selling stolen goods from his "patients." He wasn't, to tell the truth, the best at that either--his constant cheer often prevented him from telling when he was being scammed--but he made do until the draft, when he found himself called up, trained, and shoved into the same squad as his old friend Hawke from back home. Not that he minded terribly. After all, service to the Sky-Emperor was sure to go well.
Author
Topic: War for Andala, an Only War Campaign (Read 13863 times)