There were seven of them. Rasalhague, Muliphen, Sabik, Marsic, Shellow, and the Yed twins. Seven who found themselves in that mined out asteroid, seven who awoke without memories to serve as prophets of the true fate of the universe. Of course, that was before the first murders.
The truth and mystery of things was too much, for as much as the seven knew, there was much they did not. How had they come to be here? Who were they beforehand? Had they done this to themselves or was there another hand at play? Raz never much cared, he was content to tell those who cared the truth of the universe and move on to enjoy his new life. One of their number, however, could not take it. Muliphen was the first to die. Then Sabik, and Yed the Greater were killed.
Paranoia is a unique poison and as tightly knit as the seven had been bound together by the strangeness of their situation, it did not take long for everything to come undone. The relationships drew taught and snapped. Raz was the first to suggest it, he had always been the least interested in what the others had assumed was their mission but most invested in his fellows. Unable, or perhaps unwilling to turn upon themselves, the remaining four split up not telling each other where they were going and cutting their ties. They were safe, after a fashion.
Raz traveled widely, wholeheartedly giving up on the mission the others had dedicated themselves to. The universe was vast, and while it may end one day, that meant nothing today. He wanted to see and experience as much of it as possible. Yet from time to time, he hears things. Hints of a message hidden amongst the litany of nihilistic destroyer cults and raving madmen. A message of the end so similar to his own yet devoid of the quiet beauty inherent in perfect mechanical execution and anathema to the multifaceted chaotic existence that filled the untold billions of years between the birth and the end of this universe.
He might have to deal with this wayward prophet in time.
Just whatever happened to Rasalhague has left deep marks upon him. While his flesh is ashen and cool to the touch but not alarmingly so. The scars are another matter. There his not a section of his body that does not sport at least one scar of one kind or another seemingly from a myriad of different types of injury but the most unsettling thing is the fact that they seem to shift, slowly changing from day to day into new patterns and placements. Apparent age, too, is an odd thing for Raz that seemingly changes from moment to moment. Depending on his mood and how he carries himself, he can seem to shift from late-twenties to early-fifties at the drop of the hat.
His hair, fittingly, is almost pure white at this point with hints of a darker color scattered throughout, though his eyes make up for his general lack of color by being two deep, black orbs. In all but the brightest light, his eyes look more like openings into the void between stars than optical organs. Still, despite all of this, he retains much of his good looks from life. His features are sharply defined, with strong brows, a strong jaw and something of aquiline nose. The overall effect is unsettling, but not wholly unappealing. If one were of a mind to, his peculiarities might be something that could be dismissed as a slightly morbid affectation provided by various enchantments and aesthetic implants. This is not the case.
The kasatha microcord he favors as armor these days fits well under most clothes. Aboard ship, he typically prefers a simple utility jumpsuit as that is the most reasonable to wear in microgravity. If staying on a station or planet for a long stretch of time, Raz typically begins to adopt the local modes of dress, though he distinctly favors darker colors and values unrestricted mobility above all else.
One would not expect a prophet of the end times to be this cheerful, friendly, or open with those around him. Raz would, of course, tell you that it is a matter of scale and perspective. The end of the universe is entirely natural and unavoidable. It is also untold eons away and the fact that it will come to an end does not devalue anything in the present anymore than a person's inevitable death devalues what they managed in life. To Raz all things are part of a beautiful dance that should be enjoyed from moment to moment.
Fittingly, Raz is ambivalent towards gods at best and outright dismissive at worst. He does not argue their existence but does not see them as objects worthy of worship. They may lay claim to certain aspects of reality but when you apply the sort of scale Raz can now conceive of, they too are but eddies in the fabric of reality. They distort existence about them, but so does the singularity of a black hole. They too will come to an end.
The one exception he has is for the nihilistic destroyer cults. Those that seek to bring an end to things prematurely earn nothing but scorn from Rasalhague who sees them as nothing but impatient fools unable to appreciate the inherent beauty of unseen mechanisms that guide the universe and all that arise from them. Needless to say, he is entirely happy to give them the oblivion they so desire.
Raz does not spend much time ruminating on who he was before his existence was so expanded, not like the others did. Instead, he embraces a certain joie de vivre or rather joie de résurrection. It does sadden him that he had to split from those he thought of as family and he is increasingly certain he may have to return to that thread of his life and exact the justice he had not been able to follow through on in the near future. Yet sadness is as much a part of life as joy and should be embraced as such.
Rasalhague Human Solarion HP 11 / 11 RES 4 / 4 STAM 7 / 7 Speed 30ft Init 3 KAC 17 EAC 15 Fort 2 Ref 3 Will 2 CMB 25 BAB 1 Survival Knife +4 (1d4+0, )
Hunting Rifle +4 (1d8+0, ) Str 10 (0) Dex 16 (3) Con 11 (0) Wis 10 (0) Int 10 (0) Cha 16 (3)