About Creon 18
He remembers opening his eyes for the first time. Seeing the sky through darkened branches. Birds calling between the trees.
The sudden realisation of being. In one movement he sits up, sloughing off the liquid in which he had bathed and been reborn. He is in some kind of cradle, in a clearing, in a wood. The cradle is the size of a fully grown human figure. His size. It’s traced in circuits, once glowing, now fading. There are whispers in the darkened trees beyond.
He pulls himself stiffly from the cradle onto the ground below. At the foot of the cradle, there are some simple clothes. He puts them on, slowly, first leggings, then a shirt and over that a rough smock. As he finishes pulling the smock over his head, he notices a figure nearby, emerged from the woods. Another apparently-human form. It wears a long cloak, but its face is visible. Circuits, like those on the cradle, trace across its face, suddenly glowing with fear and urgency. The figure screams:
He runs, keeps running, behind him the sound of human voices, of horses, of hounds, of armour, of weapons. The woods are set afire. He continues to run.
Eventually, he finds himself by a river. Whoever else was with him in the wood is nowhere near. Only the sounds of animals and - in the distance - the sight of the smoke in the burning forest. All he has are rags. On the undershirt is a label, with a name and a number - Creon 17. He is, he decides, the next Creon.
He remembers the lean years. With the gangs on the Brevoy border, far away from the Technic League. Learning the bow, and how to concentrate on nothing but the kill. Seeing, time and again, the glowing circuits trace his own skin, mend and raise him when he was hurt. Seeing the fear and hatred this aroused in those he had thought to be his friends. Learning, ultimately, to hide, as best he could, his true identity.
If he stops concentrating, there are other memories, not his own - not quite, at least. Of long metal corridors, of windows onto nothing, of centuries of darkness. Of the things that dwell in the void beyond, that can creep as far as the windows and reach through them, that can take crewmen - or change them utterly - with a thought or a whim.
He believes in nothing but the memories. No gods for him. The memories hold a secret, the whispers of past lives form a pattern. There are answers in the woods, in the rivers, in the forgotten places. He’ll find those answers - all of them.
Creon has heard a rumour of an artefact that will unlock the seemingly random mutterings of the voices in his head. He doesn’t know whether the decoded conversations will form questions or answers. He doesn’t even know whether the artefact, which he calls “the Cypher” is an object, a person, a creature or for that matter a place. He just wants to know what the voices are saying.
He’s joined the party as a professional sniper, because he believes it plays to his strengths. The focus that the role requires allows him to block out the constant back-chatter in his head. He thinks the mission will give him better access to the sites in the Stolen Lands. He is also well aware that he’s completely unlearned. If the answers are to be found in artefacts, in strange inscriptions, in maps and puzzles, he hopes that he can call on the help of others to work out answers where he can’t even understand the questions.
Creon is well aware that his Android background is disturbing to many. He avoids where possible revealing his abilities and identity. His interactions can be taciturn, while occasionally, especially at night, the voices in his head will speak through him.
Appearance and Behaviour:
Creon is six feet tall and of slim build. He wears leather armour, head to toe. The armour is a natural brown, over cheap green and brown clothing. There’s no element of luxury or decoration; the clothing is modest because its owner sees no point in anything fancier. He wears a dark green cloak and hood, with a mask over the lower part of his face. When he removes the mask, it reveals a smooth human face with almost unnaturally “average” features; the characteristic android tattoos scatter down his lower jaw and neck, and occasionally glow a bright blue-grey. The skin has a strange metallic tinge, not immediately obvious but detectable as an afterthought. His eyes are grey, more obviously metallic. His hair is cut very short, but the "natural" colour is a kind of grey-black. He’s used to covering up his true nature, as best he can.
He’s aware, as well, that his posture and tone isn’t quite human. He tries to cover this up by staring ahead while speaking, but will stop awkwardly occasionally when asked to think. At night, in “rest” mode, he’ll remain alert to his surroundings, but the “whispering” will grow, and he’ll occasionally shout out the phrases he hears in his head.
Note - house rule - DEX as bonus to melee/ranged attack dmg
Speed 30 ft.