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[Tartaros]

Tartaros stares back towards Carn, surprised at the... odd comments that their apparent allies had made before departing, "Well then... I suppose we should meet again on the other side, aye?", before heading out towards the recruitment tent.

The marine trudged through the crowd of participants, an odd mix, beings off all sorts from plate-clad warriors to unknown xenos, before finally being called into a large brown leather tent. It was rather plain, with a singular desk and two seats across its entirety, inside was a man, of the aging sort, dressed in a suit and hunched over in one of the chairs, holding a clipboard. Muttering something as Tartaros entered, he pointed to the second seat, some kind of simple stone-like stool. The marine sat cautiously on the reinforced seat, resting his arms on his lap.

"Wot's yer name?", the man grumbled in a disinterested tone.

"Tartaros Castus."

"Bloody odd name that is...", the man replied. "Anyways, what are ya here for, an' what qualifies ya fer this 'ere competition?"

"Hrm? Ah... the omnilium, of course, also glory, honour, blah blah you know the rest... As for what qualifies me, I like to consider myself an... experienced fighter."

The man, who at this point had had his face buried in his clipboard, looked up at the marine. "Oh... right then, yer one a' those types. Tell you what lad, you're in. Take a step outside."

Tartaros followed the man out through an entrance, into a small room with a camera placed in the middle. The man pointed towards a spot in front of the camera.

"Over there."

While the marine trundled over towards the spot, the man fiddled with the camera desperately grumbling.

"Bloody thing..."

Finally, the man shoved something into place and the camera clicked, printing out a small photograph, which the man proceeded to scribble something on with a pen.

"There we go...", the man pointed towards a large dark door, "Right through there, that's where you need ta go."

The marine stepped through, into the tournament.

Appearance



Tartaros is rather large and as bulky as any other Astartes, standing a few inches shy of eight feet tall when armoured. His body is covered throughout with scars and other marks, as well as specks of dirt and muck. His hair and unkempt facial hair are rather thick, if very short, and obviously graying.

His powered armour is rather obviously scavenged, though it still bears the traditional Luna Wolves scheme of dark grey and red, the materials bear the mark of various slapdash replacements and high levels of damage along all parts of it, some areas of the arms, pauldrons and torso are even torn open or missing altogether. The helmet in particular is a mark 4 "Maximus" pattern, though the normally recognizable respirator is almost impossible to notice under the plethora of bullet holes and slashes, even the left eyepiece seems to be utterly broken.

Personality

Tartaros is, slightly uncharacteristically for his notoriously headstrong legion-of-origin, rather level-headed and calm most of the time, though in combat this tends to be a whole other story. Though still a somewhat loyal devotee of what he perceives to be his leader, the Emperor of Mankind, Tartaros' faded memory often fails him on what exactly the Emperor stood for.

Possible Reactions

Tartaros is calm a majority of the time, though if injured or provoked, will oftentimes fly into a short fit of anger, hacking through with anything possible.

The marine is adept at survival, often even preferring to hunt over taking processed foods, and if trapped outdoors will attempt to make some kind of shelter and fire.

Tartaros is also rather loyal to his allies, almost never betraying them unless they turn on him first (though, what constitutes "turning" is of course subjective), or if utterly necessary.

Relationships

Tartaros is still very new to the Omniverse, only really knowing Carn, Okor Paleblood and Galel Baraz, and would likely be able to recognize Victor Wolfe. He is not too trusting of any of them, Baraz in particular, though not planning against them either.

‘Combat’ Style

Tartaros is a very seasoned fighter and survivalist, living from place to place for millennia. He reacts rather well to combat and typically remains calm, if aggressive. He prefers to fight within close-to-mid range, but is competent in most types of combat from sniping to, to trapping, to melee.

Eligible Powers

Survival (2000 OM)

Moves

None eligible.

Chainsword /w Exterminator Cartridge (600 OM, requires Physical Proficiency and Ranged Proficiency)
A somewhat poorly maintained weapon, its scavenged nature is apparent. Along one of its two sides is an affixed set of intimidating, sharp and bone-like teeth, ready to begin tearing foes at the push of a trigger. Attached to the blades basket guard is a small Exterminator Cartridge, a flamer-like device ready to spit forth a torrent of flame with a single motion by the wielder. The cartridge is heavily limited, with a very short range and inability to store more than a shots worth of promethium at a time.

Tigrus-Pattern Bolter (300 OM, requires Ranged Proficiency)
An old semi-automatic rifle design of Tartaros' universe, firing roughly 2 rounds each second, utilized to effectively penetrate armour and blow through tough targets, in the right hands it can be very intimidating indeed. Somewhat heavy and very sturdy, its recoil is considerable, though ultimately manageable by most strong humans. Tartaros, accustomed to assaults, tends to fire ranged weapons while moving, at least in close-quarters, ultimately sacrificing a level of accuracy while keeping mobility. Due to this weapon's ancient nature and numerous, almost schizophrenic ways it has been repaired over the years, it has a tendency to jam often in the absence of frequent maintenance.

Extra

Nothing, really.

Quotes

"I'm no son of that... bloody monstrosity."
"Just like old times."