Mechanicus Chirurgeon and inquisitorial acolyte.
Home World: Cerix Magnus
Divination: Humans must die for humanity to survive!
Mementos: xenos skull fragment, Phial of gelatinous ooze
Physical Quirks: Metallic smell, faint whiffs of embalming fluid
Forge World Cant: Honour the Metal- No machine should fall forgotten; whenever a stray part or shard is found left in the dirt, raise it up and place it in a prominent spot to honour its service.
Appearance: stands at 5’10’’ and weighs 200 lbs(due to the weight of many cybernetics). Has a crooked hunched back and walks with a shambling gait. Wears a yellow robe with the mechanicum emblem on it and has Optical, Medical and a Utility mechadendrite waving idly around him. He has 3 glowing green optical lenses instead of eyes.
History: Nelix-2038 is a genetor of the Magos Biologis researching new and improved ways to meld together man and machine to bring humanity closer to the omnissiah. Caring only for the pursuit of knowledge he is little troubled by petty things like morality or codes of conduct. All that matters to him is that his goals are reached. Despite the depth of his medical knowledge he is unempathetic and cold and prefers to leave others to manage their injuries themselves only giving aid if he can see clear benefit to himself. Abhors physical labour of any kind, believing that mankind’s great asset is their versatile minds.
Askellon Space – Undisclosed Location
The Prison is carved deep into the crust of the planet, spiralling down level after level as the inmates mine ever deeper in search of valuable minerals. Only the worst of the worst are sent here: murderers, rapists, child molesters. Scum from every corner of the galaxy brought here to labour for the rest of their natural lives.
When a prisoner first arrives, he is told that he is here until the Emperor sees fit to forgive him his sins. A naïve few believe that with hard work and repentance that they could eventually be pardoned. The majority though, quickly realize that the only way for an inmate to leave the prison is in a body bag.
The guards only maintain a minimum presence on the uppermost level. Their job is not to keep order, but to simply stop any convicts from leaving and insure that productivity remains high. The prisoners, left largely unsupervised, quickly fall back on old habits. The strong preying on the weak with viciousness unheard of even on Death Worlds. Gangs are formed. Alliances made and bloody turf wars fought to control the slightly more tolerable upper reaches where the air is less toxic.
When a shipment of new convicts arrives they are lowered one by one, suspended by their manacles into the darkness below only accompanied by the howls and screams of the prisoners below. If a convict manages to survive the nightmare of their first few hours in the Pit their best chance of survival lies with convincing an established gang of their value. Skills from a past life, promises of loyalty, anything they can do to secure a place before the night cycle sets in. For those who are alone in the Pit quickly become prey.
The Pit – 109 Levels Down
Rat was running scared. He had survived 25 years in the Pit. Never the biggest or the strongest, he lived by being too valuable to kill but not dangerous enough to be a threat. He always had information to trade and valuable luxuries to curry favour. Most gang leaders didn’t last more than a year or two before catching a knife in the back. Not Rat though, he survived and while his existence wasn’t particularly comfortable at least it was a predictable routine he could navigate with reasonable safety.
That all changed 3 months ago when the leader of the largest gang, the Bloodfists, disappeared without a trace. Rat thought nothing of it at the time. After all, gang leaders came and went as their underlings jockeyed for the top spot. Then a week later the head of the Bloodfist’s rival gang went missing along with their five lieutenants. Tensions were high with each gang blaming the other and readying themselves for bloody vengeance. Before true chaos could descend, a third gang was hit. This time it wasn’t just the leaders taken, but the majority of their enforcers. Rat didn’t need to stick around to see anymore. Gang wars were one thing, but people just disappearing – some of them from fortified locations- could never bode well. Rat quietly slipped away to a bolthole he prepared for emergencies and sealed himself inside.
“Safe” he breathed to himself as the last of the locks engaged.
Over the days and weeks to come his listening posts caught hushed whispers of continual disappearances along with rumors of strange monstrosities roaming loose in the mines. Several gangs had banded together and tried to storm the upper level and escape, but were quickly gunned down by autoturret fire. Soon enough all activity in the mines ground to a halt as convicts forted up in a vain attempt to evade the mysterious snatchers. Rat had heard nothing for weeks but dared not venture out in search of answers. All he could do was sit tight and pray that his refuge wouldn’t also become his tomb.
Rat’s introspection was broken as a slow grinding sound filled his hideout before the back section of wall slowly pulled away.
“Who’s there!” he shouted into the darkness fumbling desperately for his shank.
A glowing red light lit up the newly revealed tunnel, “Ah there you are Rat” came a sibilant whisper, “I have been looking for you for quite some time now”
There was a pneumatic hiss and Rat clapped his hand to the side of his neck in pain. Icy cold began to spread through his limbs and as his vision began to dim he saw a hunched figure with tentacles waving around it shamble out of the darkness towards him.
The Pit – Unknown Room
Rat came to with a splitting headache and intensely bright lights shining into his eyes. Instantly beginning to struggle, he realized he was securely strapped to a long metal table.
“Please” he cried, “don’t hurt me I’ll do anything you want”.
“That’s good” a voice came from behind him, “I am glad you are willing to co-operate”.
There was a slight shuffling noise before a figure came into Rat’s view. The man was hunched and walking with a limp as he approached the table. Clad in yellow robes bearing the crest of the Mechanicus Biologis, mechadendrites idly swayed around the tech priest waiting for his commands. Three glowing green lenses that were where eyes should be turned to stare at Rat.
“You see I have a problem. I was sent here by my superiors in order to further my research into improved servitor alterations. I believed that by keeping the mind of a man intact he would be able to endure greater modifications then a mind wiped servitor ever could. After all, the mind is mankind’s greatest asset in our battle for galactic supremacy. Unfortunately I have yet to see any significant change in my new servitor’s resilience. I have taken the toughest and the strongest in this prison and they all broke in a disappointing short period of time. After thinking on it I realized my problem. All of them were too used to being in power and control. I needed someone who was used to doing anything they could to survive. That leads me to you Rat. You are a survivor! 25 years in the pit is quite an accomplishment. All you need to do to keep me happy is to do what you have always done. Survive!”
With that, his mechadendrites descended onto Rat and all he could do was scream.
The Pit – Medical Observation Bay
Inquisitor Valdane turned away from the one way mirror, “Well at the very least he is enthusiastic about his work. You say he is also well versed in xenobiology?”
“Nelix-2038 has studied them extensively” replied the Arch Magos beside him, “it was his study of Xenos that prompted his current line of research. Developing better combat servitors in order to face the varied threats they represent.”
“Good, then he will do” Valdane responded brusquely, “Once he is finished with this one send him to my ship. I have need of his services.”