| Full Name |
Karthuus the Fallen |
| Race |
Chaos Space Marine |
| Classes/Levels |
WS: 42 BS: 47 S: 34 T: 43 Ag: 43 Int: 41 Per: 37 WP: 53 Fel: 40 Inf: 24 Cor: 1 |
About Karthuus the Fallen
Karthuus the Fallen
WS: 42
BS: 47
S: 34
T: 43
Ag: 43
Int: 41
Per: 37
WP: 53
Fel: 40
Inf: 24
Cor: 1
Pride: Devotion
Disgrace: Hubris
Motivation: Vengeance
XP to spend: 150
Wnd: 18
Skills: Athletics, Awareness, Common Lore (War), Dodge, Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War), Linguistics (Low Gothic), Navigate (Surface), Operate (Surface), Parry, Psyniscience, Scholastic Lore (Occult), Deception, Forbidden Lore
(Daemons)
Talents: Ambidextrous, Bulging Biceps, Legion Weapon Training, Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight), Nerves of Steel, Quick Draw, Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons), Unarmed Warrior, Meditation
Traits: Amphibious, Unnatural Strength (+4), Unnatural Toughness (+4), Psycker
Equipment: Legionnaire Power Armour, Legionnaire Bolter [4xStd Ammo], Legionnaire Combat Knife, Legion Bolt Pistol, Force Sword, Refractor Field, Comm Leach
Psy: Psy Rating [2]
Telekinesis:
Mind over Matter
+- Force Bolt
+-- Force Storm
+- Precision Telekinesis
Divination:
Precognition
Backstory:
The Phoenix Knights are a Chapter of the 8th Founding, descend of the Imperial Fists. They are a grim chapter recruiting from the hive-corpses of Cleanis IV, the ashen dunes of Kor-al-Kash VI and among the irradiated desert of Penx. From just this desert, one of their secret shames has arisen. Karthuus was born among one of the tribes eking out their existence in makeshift radsuits.
His early life was as remarkable as any space marines. He excelled in the squabbles and ritualized battles among the tribes youth. He was inducted and took to the implants exceedingly well. Yet still, his tutors and mentors considered him nothing but another scout to pass his trials.
Only much later did his career take a turn that would change both him and the chapter. He had just graduated from Devastator to Assault marine with no particular merits or shames, when he was deployed with his squad to put down a mutant uprising on an orbital colony. Without the support of their jump packs, the marines nevertheless made short work of the mutants with rattling chainswords and screaming bolt pistols. The ten of them cut through the profane temple of the mutants, and Karthuus gained the honor to execute the demagogue himself. Yet as he leveled the pistol against the grotesque, squid-faced abomination, something tugged at him. He felt... fazed, and the mutant touched his hand with one of his clammy appendages.
The shock triggered a reflexive execution, but the skin where the mutant touched him felt as if on fire afterwards. All through the cleanup, Karthuus hid the injury, reasoning that it was beneath the notice of an apothecary. Perhaps even then, he had subconsciously recognized the taint for what it was.
The dreams came next. He shut them out, and more and more frequently skipped sleeping altogether. The heresies his sleeping mind committed send the still-loyal brother out into prayer all the more frequently, yet even as his increasing zeal was noticed, and his possible induction into the chaplainhood discussed, things once more escalated.
He chanted for hours, scourged himself, and recited prayers. One day, during a most intense session, he left a hand unattended. Fully immersing himself in prayer to the emperor, he did not recognize that on the towels before him, in his own blood, the same blasphemies took shape.
He burned these towels, only to find the words scrawled against his bunk walls in the night. Scrubbed them clean and found them align on the leftmost character of a litany every line he transcribed.
It took half a year, but finally he started to read. To learn. To accept. And to practice. All tests had indicated he was not a psycker, that he lacked the crucial mutations to bend the warp to his will. The tests either had failed, or the mutants touch had changed these facts.
He started moving a small plaque with his mind. Graduated to a dataslate. All the while knowing he was edging ever closer to discovery. He came to relish his new talents, but hiding them felt ever more unnatural. The Emperors faith became hollow to him, given that he was hiding what he considered his best weapons.
Finally, he began preparing what he rationalized to be a simple disassociation. He stole a Comm Leach to gain insight into his squads deployment. Forged orders to put them into peril. Left them stranded in the middle of an ork horde, having a compromised chapter serf smuggling him to safety.
