Name: Tasso Zel
Gender: Female
Demeanor: Dreamer
Build: Low Nominal (1.65 m/50kg)
Age: 27
Skin: Tan
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Brown
Feature: Discolored Nails
Superstition: Native Metal (Carries a brass knife)
A woman with skin browned and hardened by the sun of the harsh chem wastes and nails turned pitch black from gun chemicals, Tasso Zel was one of countless common laborers on Navarone. She, however, dreamt of being something more than surviving to the next day's ration of corpse-starch and reconstituted water. She scavenged for every coin she could, and put it all toward the bits of contraband dataslates hosting tales of the stars, the Imperial Guard and more. When her mother died, for a time her dreams began to die, only for her passions to be enflamed when a small piece of orbital debris, a torso sized chunk of brass, survived atmospheric reentry. She discovered it, and with the help of her older sister, managed to get it reforged into a replacement for her broken knife, with the ashes of her kin worked into the steel. Believing it a sign, she ardently prayed for a way off Navarone. In time, her prayers to the God of All Machines would come to be answered. That blade would save her life when the mass-grav transport that took her and two-hundred other workers to the chemical production sites crashed from sabotage. She managed to cut her way free of broken wiring just in time to surprise one of the raiders scavenging the wreck, killing him with several blade strikes to the face. She threw another repeatedly against the wall, only to be ambushed by a third, who stabbed a primitive spear through her leg. She broke his nose with a punch before a fourth raider dragged the irate worker down. When the PDF arrived and sent the marauders fleeing, they found her still alive. Their officer, amused at her resistance, had her provided medical care, and offered her a posting in the PDF. She was thrilled, and when three months later, an accident caused the material tithe to fall beneath acceptable levels, the local Magi inclined to make up for the losses on their pacts through the raising of Guard regiments from among the populace. Zel, having already proven herself a tough individual capable in a fight, shot to the top of the selection lists when she volunteered herself. Soon, she set off into the stars.

Zel is a very pious and superstitious woman, keeping several trinkets (such as a spent casing, and the augmetic finger of a grandfather) of faith and ancestry. Like many common Navarones, she believes that the ancestors that came before keep watch through the machine-spirits touched by their souls, which is why she always keeps her 'blessed' knife close at hand. She believes herself to be truly charmed, guided by the Omnissiah, and is excited to see the galaxy. Zel always sees the best part of things, but she is not naive-she has had to struggle much to survive on Navarone, and is no stranger to bloodshed. A tough woman, she finds her place greatest in the thick of close combat, attacking without a care for her own defense such is her trust in the protection of the Omnissiah. She is generally friendly, though naturally defensive of her prized possessions. She has little issue with authority, though she can become easily distracted, lost in her dreams of wonder and glory.
Wounds: 13
WS: 40
BS: 29
Strength: 36
ToughnesS: 43
Agility: 31
Intelligence: 42
Perception: 34
Willpower: 38
Fellowship: 37

Skills:
Athletics +20
Intimidate
Dodge +10
Tech-Use +10

Talents
Furious Assault: If the character makes an all-out attack and lands a hit, they may immediately make a second attack with the same target number as the first.
Berserk Charge: Charges add +20 rather than +10 to Weapon Skill tests.

Equipment
Combat Shotgun: 1d10+4. S/2. Range 20m. Clip 8. Reload Full. Scatter.
Brass Combat Knife (1d10+3, pen 2. Balanced.)
Flak Armor: 4 Armor Rating.

Name: Marcella Ceile
Gender: Female
Demeanor: Gambler
Build: Low Nominal (1.65m/50kg)
Age: 34
Skin: Ruddy
Hair: Rust
Eyes: Grey
Feature: Crooked Nose
Superstition: Honour the Metal
Marcella has always had a love for risk and money. From her earliest days, she gladly took the most dangerous jobs she could in the factorum looms in exchange for a few extra scraps of coin. Even after fixing a leak in the steam vents at age twelve left her with a hideous burn along her neck and chin, she was far from discouraged. Indeed, the fact that she'd survived where so many others would have passed out from the pain and bloodloss and died only made it all the more exciting for her. Soon, she began to seek other ways to earn money. She proved to have a good eye for scrap, and in time, for easy marks for pickpocketing and theft. But it was only after she found a band of other workers risking all their life earnings over a game of cards that she found her true calling. Good at lying, attentive, and willing to perservere through even the bleakest of failures, she made herself a good card player.

Unfortunately, she was never a wise one, as her broken nose can attest. After running herself broke she borrowed money. Money she lost. Money to be collected by gangs connected to Navarone's Servitor Production vats. When the Guard Founding arrived, she volunteered. Half because she wanted to get away, and half because that for those willing to take the risk, half because there was great fortune to be found among those Guard who could survive. Finding her within acceptable standards, the Mechanicus let her in, something aided by a short stint she did in the Enforcers (Before she ended up falling out). The rest, they say, is history.

A risk-taker who doesn't know when to quit, no matter how bad it gets, Marcella is always willing to look for more opportunties for risk and reward. As a small part of this, she enjoys taking a host of trophies, various pieces of metal from all her triumphs she keeps festooned around her body.
WS: 29
BS: 40
Strength: 33
Toughness: 30
Agility: 36
Intelligence: 34
Perception: 43
Willpower: 43
Fellowship: 42

Skills
Charm +10
Decieve +20
Scrutiny
Stealth:
Tech-Use

Talents
Deadeye Shot: May take a -20 penalty on a Ballistic Skill test to subtract 2 from a foe's armor rating.
Jack of All Trades: Using a skill you're untrained in is only a -10 penalty, not a -20.

Equipment:
Autorifle: 1d10+3. S/3/10. Range 90m. Reload full. Magazine 30.
Flak Coat and Armored Gasmask: 3 Armor Rating.
Frag Grenade (3): 2d10. S/-. Range 18m.
Revolver: 1d10+2. Pen 1. S/2/-. Range 25m. Reload Full. Clip 6.

Name: Artho Yorke
Gender: Male
Demeanor: Cocky
Build: Minimal (1.7m/65KG)
Age: 24
Skin: Ruddy
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Brown
Feature: Soot-Stained skin
Superstition: Honour the Metal
Probably the smallest man in the squad, and barely any bigger from the smaller female members of the squad, it's easy to miss the webs of muscle and scar hidden beneath Artho's combat fatigues. Artho Yorke has a long and 'proud' history as ganger and PDFer. Once a member of an infamous smoke stack cleaning sect known as the "Smog Ghosts", Yorke gained his first scars in a conflict over servicing an extra smoke duct. With extra rations at stake, he threw himself into the the thick of it, taking a bloody cut across the torso in exchange for crushing the skull of a rival with a homemade club. In time, he would earn his way to one of the highest ranking positions among the Smog Ghosts, before they were eventually torn apart when a budgeting cut hit the factorum they worked at. Desperate for the rations and coin needed to survive, former allies turned upon one another to maintain their jobs, the literally cutthroat competition eventually bringing in the Interior Guard. Although less than pleased, the Captain in charge noted Yorke's bloodymindedness, and decided to conscript him to the PDF. To hear Yorke tell it, the captain begged for Yorke to enlist. Although that is obviously false, the merits he recieved hunting recidivists and raiders are quite real.

When the founding began, Yorke was more than content to remain right where he was. Unfortunately for him, his scores were high enough to ensure his placement among the Guard. At the very least, he consoles himself, it means he is one right badass. Unfortunately, what he fails to realize, is that there are things far more impressive than him among the stars...

WS: 38
BS: 31
Strength: 42
Toughness: 30
Agility: 34
Intelligence: 39
Perception: 40
Willpower: 41
Fellowship: 34

Skills
Awareness +10
Athletics +10
Dodge +10
Tech-Use

Talents:

Athletic Fighter: Once per Round, after making a successful melee attack, Artho may make an Athletics Test. If he succeeds, he may move up to 4m as a Free Action. Enemies may not attack him during this special Move Action

Blind Fighter: Artho ignores penalties to Weapon Skill tests while fighting in darkness or other obscurement.
EquipmeName: Heavy Flamer
Class: Heavy Damage: 1d10+4 Pen: 2
Range: 30m RoF: S/–/– Clip: 18 Reload: 2 Full
Special Rules: Blast (3), Flame
Spiked Club: 1d10+5.
Flak armor: 4 All



Name: Rosa Ibram
Gender: Female
Demeanor: Sarcastic
Build: Optimal (1.7m/70kg)
Age: 30
Skin: Tan
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Blue
Feature: Squinted Eyes
Superstition: Placate the Machine-Spirit
Long life looking down a scope has left Rosa Ibram's eyes permanently squinted. The second oldest member of the squad, Rosa is the child of an Imperial Guardsman who was assigned to Navarone to hunt down redemptionist activity decades ago. She took after him, often picking out targets on the field, and when her father died to a mutant and the regiment went on without her, she earned her keep collecting bounties on raiders and hereteks lurking within the long abandoned mines of the chem-wastes. The hardy woman eventually caught the eye of the Interior Guard, who sought to recruit her for their own uses. She minded little, glad to once more be among those trained in the military, though her erstwhile squadmates found that long isolation had left in her a half playful, half bitter sarcasm. One that bit as hard as any waste mutant. When alone or distracted scoping in for the kill, Rosa often hums half-remembered cants and marching songs from her time among the Guard or visiting the Omnissiah's churches. Alone among the squad is that Rosa Ibram is not a 'full' member of the cult of the Machine God. While she worships the Lord of Cogs, she still remembers the prayers to the God-Emperor and Saints from among the regiment. She freely mixes the terms of both the Imperial and Machine Cults, wholly believing them to be practically one and the same, and while she hews closer to the latter, the differences may some times cause some level of disconcertation and confusion among her squadmates.

WS:34
BS: 42
Strength: 35
Toughness: 41
Agility: 41
Intelligence: 37
Perception: 33
Willpower: 41
Fellowship: 36

skills
Awareness +10
Athletics
Stealth +20
Tech-Use

Talents
Target Selection: Due to her battlefield experience firing into the pandemonium of combat, as long as Rosa performs an Aim Action before making an attack she may shoot into melee with no penalty

Hatred (Mutants): Ever since her father's death at the hands of a mutant abomination, Rosa has struck at the fleshwarped filth with particular fury and gains +10 BS and WS against mutants.


Equipment
Name: Long-Las
Class: Basic Damage: 1d10+5  Pen: 5
Range: 200m RoF: S/-/– Clip: 1 Reload: Full
Special Rules: Accurate, Tearing

P54Name: Blind Grenade
Class: Thrown Damage: 1d10 Pen: 0
Range: 9m RoF: S/–/– Clip: 1 Reload: –
Special Rules: Blast (3), Creates a cloud of smoke which is roughly
3m wide, 2m tall, and blocks vision and sensors. Cloud lasts 3 Rounds..

Flak Cloak: 3 Armor Rating.

Name: Jace Stiehr
Gender: Male
Demeanor: Addict
Build: Low Nominal (1.75m/65m)
Age: 32
Skin: Tan
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Feature: Small Eyes
Superstition: Abhor the Natural
Jace Stiehr was once just an ordinary factorum worker. That changed after an factory accident left him dying of a horrible gut injury from an errant piece of metal. Ever concerned, the shift managers had him dragged outside and the piece of metal removed. Then they left him, going to go and reshape the metal. He would have died out there, likely collected for conversion into corpse-starch or a servitor, but a struggling Priest Biologis stumbled across him after having his request for a trained assistant rejected. Thinking quickly, the Priest saved the life of Stiehr-and as repayment, bound the factorum worker as his indentured servant until he deemed the debt ended. Stiehr, too stricken by pain and the fear of death agreed to the terms. Over weeks, the factorum worker recovered, but the pain of his injury never truly left him. He began to assist the Priest, becoming initiated as a technoseer in the arts of the body and medicine, and assisted the priest in slowly but surely solidifying his position. But the agony of his wound never truly ceased, and Stiehr, fearful of being replaced by someone in better health, began to self-treat.

Soon, he developed an addiction to morphia. When the Priest began to notice the missing painkillers, Stiehr took to the streets, taking anything and everything that could halt the pain. And all the while, he continued to work, carving up cadavers, retrieving limbs, injecting test-subjects. As the priest managed to solidify his position, Stiehr fell ever deeper into darkness, loathing his work and his weak flesh. It came to effect his work, and the Enginseer became concerned. Too fond of the worker to merely let him off into the streets, the priest biologis was pleased when news of the Guard Founding came forth. And Jace, as it happened, was an effective enough for first aid work. Self-loathing and pained, Stiehr nevertheless works for the good of his squadmates, trying to save them from the suffering he has seen and known far too much. Trying to keep them from being just another blank faced body on a table to be cut up. All the while, he tries to hide the drugs he takes to stop the pain that ravages him...

WS: 12
BS: 10
Strength: 7
Toughness: 13
Agility: 13+5=18.
Intelligence: 13
Perception: 19
Willpower: 18
Fellowship: 7

Skills
Decieve
Medicae: +10
Stealth: +10
Tech-Use: +10

Talents

Superior Healer: Due to his experience as performing the first stage of triage and medical 'repair', Jace has become quite skilled at patching up injuries. His own treatment of the injuries he recieves gainging his drugs are likewise, quite skilled. He heals an additional 1d5 wounds upon a successful first aid test.

Equipment
Autopistol: 1d10+2. S/3/5. Range 30m. Clip 10.
Knife: 1d10+2. Pen 2.
Flak Vest: 3 Armor

Name: Tristan Holt
Gender: Male
Demeanor: Lateral Thinker
Build: Low Nominal (1.75m/65KG)
Age: 19
Skin: Dark
Hair: Black
Eyes: Grey
Feature: Radiation Scar, Metallic Smell
Superstition: Purifying Heat
Holt was born to be Mechanicus, almost literally. The child of a prostitute and a novice Enginseer who'd made a significant mistake, Holt grew up on the streets abandoned by his parents, struggling to scavenge whatever he could to eat, as well as various pieces of scrap to repair and sell off. In time, he managed to earn a position at a factorum producing arms, where the genetic augmentations in his veins proved him well, allowing him to swiftly complete many a duty faster than other workers. Soon, he began to recieve benefits which alone would have set him well...But the natural ease with which the machines yielded with him soon sent him beyond a simple factorum, though his unconventional thinking and playing with scraps kept the Enginseers from considering initiating him. Instead, he was recruited to help run one of the forge's reactors to replace those lost to the plasma heat and radiation. For months he worked there, surviving and thriving when most others died swiftly, but after seven months, his luck ran out when a hivequake struck, causing a major reactor leak. Hundreds died instantly, and though the leak would normally have been rapidly fixed...A single redemptionist, having survived the purges of a decade ago, struck out, sacrificing himself to slay those closest to the reactor repair suits and shutting the remaining entrance to them. Additional crews would have taken precious minutes to arrive.

It was Holt that saved the day, realizing that if the majority of the reactor was venting into the occupied sections, then the heat vents proper would not be as hot as usual. "Not as hot" meaning "Still horribly deadly", Holt liberated for himself several layers of thermal cloaks from dead co-workers and drenched himself in every water ration he could before storming into the heat-vent. Instantly, the water began to evaporate, turning into steam as he sprinted down the burning hot tunnels. The water cooked off, and the suits began to melt and burn. His flesh beneath began to burn, but he pushed through into the repair room, mounting one of the suits. The heavy suit sprang to life at his command and he set forth, but by then the overheating had grown to extreme amounts. Holt sealed the hole in the containment unit, the patch holding long enough for additional repair crews to stabilize the situation. In the doing so, he had suffered hideous radiation burns and was an inch from death.

Impressed and grateful, the Mechanicus rebuilt him, introducing him into the secrets of the Omnissiah. Yet, he never felt right among the ranks of the factorums, hating watching the suffering from the other side. When the Imperial Guard founding occured, he requested a transfer. The request was granted, his superiors feeling time in the Guard would give him much needed experience. Perhaps it would. And hopefully, it would instill some discipline in him.
BS: 13
Strength: 13
Toughness: 15
Agility: 4
Intelligence: 11+5=16.
Perception: 18
Willpower: 20
Fellowship: 16

Skills
Athletics
Dodge
Forbidden Lore (Mechanicum)
Tech-Use: +10

Talents

Luminen Capacitors: Holt is equipped with bio-capacitors that
generate and store bio-energy as electricity. Holt can tap into this
energy. His laspsitol never runs out of ammunition.

Unnatural Characteristics: Holt has replaced large portions of his
body with sturdy machinery, and adds +2 to his Toughness Bonus.

Equipment
Enginseer Light Carapace: Armour Rating 4

Name: Laspistol
Class: Basic Damage: 1d10+2 Pen: 0
Range: 30m RoF: S/2/– Clip: — Reload: —
Special Rules: Accurate

Name: Hand Axe
Class: Melee Damage: 1d10+4 Pen: 2
Special Rules: None