>>7269Ссылки нет, только паста. 40k - Torturer's bio and ref
Name: Torturer (alias, real name unknown)
Planet of hailing: Scintilla
Race: Human->Adeptus Astartes (corrupted, possible mutations)
Age: 294 years
Height: 8'8"
Specialist: Raptor (Assault marine)
Former Status: Emperor's Wolves 6th Company Assault Marine
Interim Status: Blood Disciples Raptor Marine, Traitor Excommunicate
Current Status: Flawless Host Aspiring Champion, Noise Raptor, Traitor Excommunicate
Psyker level: Theta (limited telepathy)
Threat level: High
Unlike many of youngsters across the galaxy, harvested by the Adeptus Astartes from barbaric, feudal worlds thrown in the turmoil of war, Torturer had been recruited off a civilized hive world. And not from the bowels of the underhives – no, he had been pulled from a highly leisurely lifestyle of a rich and noble offspring.
Born on the hiveworld of Scintilla, in the great hive city of Tarsus, to a family of aristocratic Munitorium advisors and the Baron line of the High House of Zobeslaus, Torturer from his early years had been spoiled senseless, enjoying all the luxury the spires of the Overhives could bestow upon him. An only child, he had been brought up with care and a cold affection that some people save for rare animal specimen - as he was meant to inherit and multiply the wealth of his progenitors through an arranged marriage with the inheritor of High House Erkenbrand.
From an early age he had been surrounded by numerous slaves, lackeys and tutors, all fixated on a goal to hone him into a perfect member and leader of the House of Zobeslaus, all ready to execute his every whim and demand. All these investments, combined with his natural intelligence, would've created a model man for the Tarsus society – cunning, deceptive, demanding and malevolent behind a rather attractive and slick façade.
Following the customs of his House, he engaged in martial arts training from the moment he could walk. It had been a rather strict condition and a sport for many noble youngsters – the Houses held enormous gladiatorial tournaments, where baronets and lesser heirs would compete against each other, mutants, rigged servitors and captured hive scum for the glory and prestige of their family. Perhaps, it was his faint, undeveloped at the time psyker powers, that allowed the boy to climb to the top of such, often bloody and cruel tournaments, making him addicted to the fame and rush of power from an early age.
His family didn't prohibit his extracurricular activities, feeling that their offspring should learn the harsh and crooked ways of Tasus as early as possible in order to seize the influence over the lesser people and learn how to rule the weak masses.
The young nobles would hunt the underhives like sharks in their predatory, streamlined hovercars, in pursuit of pleasure and blood, pillaging and slaughtering the impoverished people – feeling above law and the Arbiters as they were encased in the bulletproof armor of money and ancestry. From childhood, Torturer was taught to look down on the dregs of humanity, to crush, exploit and neglect them in his own favor.
It was rumored that during one of those raids the boy even took down a Redemptionist cultist, which caused a week-long rebellion in the lower levels that had to be suppressed with the help of Arbitrators.
Torturer enjoyed his life, and trained hard in mind and body in order to obtain the promised legacy and fiefdom. His father would often take the boy do the Munitorium councils and events, teaching Torturer how to behave in the tenets of Tarsus' shady politics.
It was all well before his mother, Kalen Hyath Zobeslaus, had conceived another child.
The news shocked the boy, as he understood that his status as the only inheritor was being undermined, that he had a replacement and a potential rival. In order to show off his unquestionable supremacy, he set out to demonstrate just how valuable his blood was, partaking in numerous duels and tournaments in the name of his House.
It was at that time, when the Emperors Wolves Astartes Chapter had homed in on Scintilla in order to recruit new Space Marine initiates from Imperial Guard regiments and the Underhive criminal gangs.
The arrival of Adeptus Astartes had caused a hysteria amongst the ruling Overhive class. The fabled demigods were nearly torn apart as different Administratum functioners attempted to show off their hospitality. Finally, in the honor of His Holy Servants, the Tarsus Hive prepared a magnificent performance in the Cathedral of Illumination – highlighting all the wonders Scintilla could lay before the feet of the Space Marine Chapter Master and his retinue. It finalized with the inevitable gladiatorial contest and the display of the might of the Scintillian Protectorate army, since the Cathedral also served as the biggest Coliseum in the Hivecity. In a sense, it all was a part of the Imperial Cult, and the marines gladly indulged in the feasting and celebration.
Chapter Master Marcus Vohex was impressed at the battle prowess of the competing youngsters, and had chosen four boys that reached the end of tournament as recruits. Torturer, who had killed three battle-programmed servitors, a drugged conditioned slave and defeated a future Count of House Rutiger by cruelly breaking his pelvic bone, was among those four.
Marcus Vohex had noted the aggressiveness, and calculated psychosis of the noble heirs, something that was unparalleled even by the animalistic cunning and brutality of the gangers they captured – traits most necessary for a future Emperor's Wolf.
His father, Decius Worran Zobeslaus, much to Torturer's dismay, had ordered him to comply to the Astartes wishes. He persuaded his son in how glorious and honorable for the House it would be to have a nearly mythical Astartes in their line, how it was the will of the Emperor and his duty as a nobleman. In reality, Torturer never wanted to leave Tarsus, even more so – to be subjected to the rumored treatment that the marines underwent.
But, he couldn't argue. At that time his mother had given birth to his brother, the new baronet, so he was obliged to comply with his father's order… Though not before he spent a massive chunk of his allowance of failed assassination attempts of both his younger brother and parents.
In the end, his father somehow managed to sweeten the pill, painting the picture of triumphant battles, the immense power he would harbor once the Emperors light would shine over him. Those visions were most tempting, and the boy gave in to the pressure.
Whiffed from the face of his homeplanet, and confined to the boundaries of a titanic space barge, Torturer quickly learned that reality had little to do with fantasy. The training was so harsh and brutal, demanded for so much mental and physical concentration compared to what he received at home, that he sometimes wondered why he didn't die.
All the dreams and aspirations he had as a child, to take the rightful place as a leader and a ruler where crushed – and instead all he received was pain, more pain and humiliation in the form of unquestionable obedience. There were numerous other problems – the need to acknowledge dumb agriworld savages and ganger filth as equals, the constant Ecclesiarchy drill, the lack of any respect from the superhuman trainers. He watched as some of recruits died, and how they were treated as nothing more but pieces of meat. The other three noble boys, those he could relate to and communicate with, didn't make it past Ossmodula implantation, which left him alone amongst fellow initiates that couldn't share any of his experiences and outlooks.
The only things that helped Torturer pull through the initial recruitment phase, was his sense of pride – and his fathers instructions. Lying beaten and sore in the cocoon of the hypnomat, and absorbing the information poured into him, all Torturer could do was cling to the words and memory of his father:
"You should also learn this, son. Sometime it may happen so that you are weaker than your environment. That someone is stronger than you. Many fools, idealistic fools that set too big goals for their little minds, think that they should oppose the strength they don't posses. So you need to know this – don't fight mindlessly. Bow before the powerful. Show them your loyalty. Let them feel safe…" He would recall how his father would twirl his ornate lho pipe, before letting a curl of smoke between his lips. How he would sternly look at him, seeking for understanding to reflect on Torturer's face. " Never, though, let them feel your own intentions. Power works in different ways, and one day when it will be you who is commanding our actives, our money – you should be prepared for it. Play two games simultaneously, like in regicide. Or better – three, four, six."
Somehow, Torturer did manage to follow that advice and hide himself. As new commandments, techniques and mental abilities were hammered into him, he, whilst obeying, managed to preserve that small core of selfishness and self-importance, hide it from the psycho-screening tests. At that time, he didn't know what for – it was just silent, reluctant protest to part with his former life and goals.
His body slowly changed, accommodating the Emperor's Wolves gene-seed. His psyche too, had accommodated to the plain, repetitive routine of a Space Marine initiate. All the pleasures of his former life had been erased from presence – but he hadn't forgotten them.
Torturer's conscious split in two: the daily layer of pious following and enjoyment of his duty, the anticipation for the final initiation that would pay off all the pain and surgery, for the day he'd become that demigod he was promised to be – and the hidden, bitter core of regret and frustration that he rarely dared to turn to anymore as control after the initiates became more harsh.
During the implantation of the Progenoids, the remaining survivors from their batch of recruits were almost never left alone to their devices. Prayer, practice, indoctrination – everything blurred into a line of never ending chores and duties. At night – or what substituted night on the barge, he would still dream of being on the passenger's seat of a brightly-painted Armadillo hovercar, a bolt-pistol in his hand and the entire Tarsus splayed before him, inviting for a most exciting flight.
Despite his expectations and the surgical agony he endured, nothing changed drastically after he received his grey and white power armor. He felt his body was reconstructed for such great deeds, and he could appreciate the potential it withheld – but the goals were still unclear.
In his family, the devotion to the Emperor and his cult never had been more than an offhanded habit, and altruism itself was an unknown word on Scintilla… Despite all the hypno-lessons, the briefings, history lectures and chorals that they sung, commemorating their Chapter history, Torturer embraced the ideals on a very superficial layer. He gave his superiors what they wanted: correct answers, perfect reactions, a direct and open approach to the posed problems. Sometimes shards of his past personality would slip through, but he carefully controlled it, allowing only such amounts that would guarantee him friendship and satisfy the others.
Being a rather small chapter, the Emperor's Wolves' missions were mostly concentrated on helping bigger Astartes Chapters. The battles, in Torture's opinion, were the only thing that justified such a way of life, which effectively rendered him truly alive only during the fights.
There he could compete, could actually do something. Not only for him, but for the other 140 Space Marines from the company, these were the pivotal moments of their existence. However, these were scarce. They battled an Ork invasion on some Emperor forsaken agri-world for a few decades, which they and the Death Knights chapter ultimately lost, driven Tau Expedition force on the fringe of the Segmentum, and intercepted two Eldar pirate raids. Everything in between was mostly pacification of the rebelling Imperial worlds.
For the next two centuries since his initiation Torturer had been a rather unremarkable Astartes, if not when it involved hand to hand combat. His major feat was a reckless assault on an Ork Deffkopta, on which he jumped from a cliff, managed to cling on it and kill the pilot, taking control of the machine and using it to bomb the enemy entrenchment. No one knew that it was all done so he could fly in the primitive vehicle. That led to his promotion to the 8th Assault Company, where he spend his last century of service to the Emperor. It was better than being in the 6th Company, solely for the ability to fly, but the mind-numbing drudgery still gnawed on the backside of his brain, along with an unexpressed desire to achieve higher rankings even within such a system.
***
He waited for a drastic overhaul, dared to. And one day, the wait ended.
Something happened to their ship. The space barge, "The Ivory Spire" had endured many disturbances from the warp, but that time Gellar Field, for a split second, failed. As the alarm sound off, the ship corroded, inflamed and let inside horrors that spilled aplenty, killing and destroying everything on their path.
Torturer never fought Chaos before, most of their Chapter didn't, and demons were an enemy they hadn't been prepared for, especially as their home was set aflame, plummeting through the warp and changing on its way to become an inescapable trap… When he finally was backed into a dead end by a demon, he realized that the crucial moment to take the decision-making process in his hands had finally approached.
The creatures eyes, burning deep in the sockets, human and inhuman at the same time, held a promise. One that spoke directly to that preserved, frozen core of his personality: promise for movement, power, and discovery. And freedom. Very painful and horrific freedom, as he could observe, freedom that was barely different from the worst slavery imaginable, but still – so tantalizing. It was the freedom of evolution.
Torturer raised his bolter as the Daemon kept advancing, the fiery blade leaving smoking slashes in the steel floor.
"Do something, Marine!" Yelled Brother-Sergeant Huthor as he stepped back and withdrew a combat blade. "Curse the Throne, I've no shells left!"
He glanced with hope at his battle brother and noticed that his bolter was aimed and locked on – only not on the Daemon behind his back, but on him!
He couldn't see Torturer's face behind the helmet, but he could hear the nervous smack of the Assault Marines lips through the vox channel. Torturer struggled to swallow as in one moment his mind struggled, turned inside out with a tremendous, shattering agony of going against all knowledge he'd accumulated for one and a half century – and reverted back to it's original state, the core becoming the surface once again.
"Yes." Torturer said, the bolter slightly jumping in his hand. "Yes. I should really do something. Something long past due…"
The bolter steadied, and spat out fire. Brother-Sergeant Huthor fell, the bolter shell fired into his neck blowing and nearly decapitating him.
Some part of Torturer readied for death. The man and the daemon looked at each other, assessing their strength and perspectives. But, the traitor felt something else mixed into the fear – satisfaction.
"That was wise of you, human." The daemon's voice was guttural and low, but it clearly cut through the cacophony of the ship's agonizing destruction. "Would you like to turn your kill into a suitable offering for the Bloodied One? Or maybe – become such an offering yourself?" The Bloodletters long, blackened fingers brushed alongside the skulls fastened to his corpse.
Torturer shook his head, and hesitantly kneeled down to Huthor. Pulled the blade he still gripped out of his hand, and began to cut.
Sometime later, when he fought his way through the barricade in the Engineering section to those sixty marines that managed to cut themselves off from the onslaught, he discovered that all the lessons in rhetoric that his parents paid for centuries ago, still proved helpful.
It turned out that not only he had dreamed of a completely different life, not only he who realized that they were destined for something more greater, than servitude and obedience with no reward. Others joined them in the slaughter and the unlikely, semi-materialized allies became their new mentors.
They had named themselves Blood Disciples, in the honor of the sanguine baptism they carried out when, alongside with the hulking Daemons, they've murdered the third of their own company. Turned out that not only he, Torturer, has a deep dissatisfaction with his presumed demi-godhood.
***
The next four decades dedicated to Great Butcher had blurred in one enormous, none-stop frenzy. The rampage through their own ship miraculously shifted into a pillaging of some half-civilized Imperial world, onto which their barge had crashed.
He remembered the joy with which he realized that he was once again a nobleman, a man with very specific duties that he needed to carry out. After they've beaten the population of the planet into submission through mass-slaughter, they've established a semi-monarchy rule, only so that they could educate the near feudal humans to repair the ship. Two years later they took off, leaving the planet in ruins and covered in rotting shrines out of corpses dedicated to their new deity. Later, when he reflected on it, he was positively sure that the breath of freedom and endless opportunities left them drunken with power. It took considerable time for the "alcohol" to evaporate and them to gain the clarity of thought again.
With no clear goal or meaning they've jumped from a sector to sector, leaving destruction and misery behind, never sated with the bloody amusement the universe offered them. For Torturer, it ended when they've attacked the Uthiel Monastery, located on a remote Shrine world. At first, the idea of desecrating the Corpse Emperor's world seemed quite enchanting, and Tegon – then named as Champion Talon, had jumped on the opportunity to gain fame and material wealth.
They had slightly overestimated themselves, as the siege of the secluded Adeptus Sororitas Monastery was nothing but easy.
***
The Battle Sister finally fell. Ignoring the sounds of bolter rounds blowing off against stone, as the battle carried on, Torturer too slumped to his knees before the fallen enemy. With a groan pulled out long, slightly curved dagger out of the crack between his chest armor and stomach cabling and tossed it aside.
He grinned as his attention focused on the dead Sister Superior… though, dead? He could see how her chest moved, the plating caved in but still mostly intact despite the devastating blow of Torturer's powerfist. That hit should have shattered her ribcage and plunged the bone shards into her heart and lungs, but the False God's Bride still lived, blood misting out of her gaping mouth with each desperate exhalation. Torturer grabed her ankle and dragged her closer, observing her with interest. He was proud he defeated her in hand to hand combate, but there was something more as he looked at the blood-spattered, scared face. She finally fixed her gaze on him and her lips moved. He didn't need to hear what she wanted to say, the lip movement was enough.
"Emperor have mercy on me…"
That threw the Blood Disciple Raptor off kilter. The blood craze, his wounds, the exasperating fight in the inner sanctum of the Monastery that wasn't over yet – and most of all, this woman lying before him, combined in his mind into an experience from the past, a desire to relive it so strong that it overrode what was left of his common sense.
"Mercy…" he whispered as he reached towards the lock ports of her armor, his common Gothic mutating into an underhive slang accent suddenly. "Dog-bitches dan't ghet no merc-eeeh, they ghet breed!"
That was what he lacked – yielding flesh beneath him, the terror of a submissive being put into the righteous place and made to enjoy the violation! That was what he truly missed all these decades and didn't realize. The Raptor nearly wept with joy, as the Sororitas hacked and spasmed when he set all of his substantial weight on her lower body and began tearing her armor off.
The joy faded as abruptly as it appeared. Despite the burning need he felt, he couldn't apply himself properly, the twisted physiology prohibiting him what he vaguely remembered from his pre-Astartes life was quite pleasing. He stupidly stared at the mortally wounded Corpsegod servant before him, and then with a bitter thought just decided to cause her as much pain and humiliation as possible.
It's not uncommon for the Blood God worshippers to loose track of their surroundings while in the process of active worship. It was true for Torturer, as in his pursuit to defile the dying Battle sister he managed to block out of his brain the clatter and roar of a Penitent Engine as it raced across the inner court, dodging bolter rounds and shrugging off mortar fire, managed to block it long enough for the machine's leg to crash unto him, pinning the disoriented Raptor under one of it's feet manipulators.
Torturer vowed that those one of the moments of his life he remembers the clearest. He remembered the insane look of the Engine's pilot, froth bubbling from her mouth as she spewed curses and litanies forth. He remembered the impossible weight of the machine, his own frantic and futile struggle to get out, from down under it – and how the pilot turned her attention to him.
The saw-blade came down, cutting across his thighs, the ceramite armor giving way under the tremendous forces of the saw. Blood and gore erupted in a fountain once it was through with separating his legs from the body, and the pilot lost interest, being distracted by gunfire.
He felt pain unlike any other before. Pain that, however, cleansed him, brought his conciousness to some unimaginable point where he could feel how his being sent waves across the warp, the pain and terror radiating into it's boundless maw, so grateful for it.
However, he survived. The Blood Disciples won that battle, and the Raptor was hauled off to the space barge.
The situation had awoken something inside Torturer, a new purpose. He pursued it, which ended in his duel with Tegon the Talon when he announced that he leaves the Disciples for a lone journey. For many decades he, as a mercenary for various heretic organizations, raided Imperial, Eldar and Tau forces on a small ship, the Reign of Agony, slowly building up the realization that his life is directed not by the Bloodied One, but some other warp entity, one that could grant him the enlightment he looked for.
The final act of his path to Slaanesh came to be through another bodily injury, when he clashed with the Death Spirits Chaplain Moerchen during a merc mission to capture an Ordo Malleus Inquisitor. The much older Chaplain heavily wounded the traitor Raptor, permanently disfiguring his face which once had been Torturer's pride. The heretical Astartes was forced to wear an augmentic rebreather mask/jaw, but as he came to terms with such disfigurement he also finally realized the new diety that had orchestrated it all and showed interest in his persona.
He offered his service to the Slaaneshi warband, the Flawless Host, and got accepted into their ranks. For decades he remained a Flawless Host agent, climbing to the position of an Aspiring Champion and was finally granted with his own squad and ship.
In this role, partially independent from the Host, he existed as a leader of an avant-garde, recon and special-ops splinter warband, focused on infiltration, kidnapping, sabotage and riot ignition in the Imperial sectors, up to the current storyline time. He is relatively known to the Ordo Hereticus Inquisition for the aforemention activity, but as with all Chaos warbands, especially this small, tracking and countering them as they disappear into the warp had been proved highly difficult.
Worshipping Slaanesh finally put Torturer into the sense of living a purposefull and perspective life, finally locking him into his favorite pastimes and ideologically comfortable system, so he gradually had begun toying with more daring and independent strategies.
***
Properties:
Torturer is a medium-built Assault/Raptor marine, around 8 ft tall in normal posture. His most notable feature is his bionic, clawed leg augments, which give his posture and silhouette a slightly inhuman/alien appearance, as they are digitrade and don't follow normal human anatomy, more resembling a birds or reptile's feet.
Physique: For the most part, Torturer didn't mutate. His physique accommodated to the demands of a Raptor lifestyle, making him less bulkier and muscled, and his bone less dense in order to enhance flight capability.
His eyes are partially bionic, which allows him not to wear a full helmet in order to use the targeting systems of his armor, and their snake-like appearance is possibly the only visible mutation Torturer does posses.
Like many of the Emperor's Wolves, the geneseed implantation left his hair unpigmented. Most of his face is concealed behind an augmented and daemonically infused rebreather mask, that when needed can split up to form jaws and a toothy maw.
He has massive aural augments on his head, plus a plethora of injector ports scattered accros his body and head.
Torturer's skin is pale due to rare exposure to direct sunlight, had a grayish/yellowish tinge to it. Eyes are often bloodshot due to sensory overload.
Armor: His armor is rather uniform in design, painted a glossy dark grey, and sprouting air-intake vents and Doom Siren grills aplenty. The armor pauldrons are different in size, the left, bigger pauldron serving as a protection for the Powerfist cabling and a display stand for his trophies. This pauldron is colored a rich pink color and is adorned with long spikes running through the centre of it.
The other un-uniform part of his armor is the huge, circular Doom Siren speakers affixed to his Jump Pack. Those can fold backwards during flight so as to provide better aerodynamics. The armor has in-built combat drug vials and injector systems, sound-amplifiers for the Siren and allows connecting neural interfaces between two beings connected to – thusly, Torturer can feel the pain of a victim strapped to his shoulderpad, for example.
The weakest part of his power-armor is the stomach area, as it, instead of standard Space Marine cabling, is protected by flexible plates and rather thin composite interweaving belts. This construction was implemented due to Torturer's style of hand to hand combat, which requires high dexterity and twisting of the body.
_______
Personality/character: Though undoubtedly twisted, Torturer is quite mentally stable. He's neither self-destructive, nor blindly bloodthirsty, doesn't suffer from delusions of grandeur or excessive paranoia. His personality is well-balanced for a Prince of Pleasure devotee – he can concentrate, scheme, deal with personal differences between his squad members, not rush ahead and generally keep a cool head in most situations. His rather humble psyker gift grants him a limited insight into the minds of others, on which he can build and scheme.
Like all Chaos Marines, he is sadistic, hedonistic and conniving – which is enhanced twofold by his noble upbringing. Unlike the more ancient, Horus Heresy era traitors and following the vein of the recent renegades, he also doesn't have a huge problem being a team player.
Though arrogant and prideful, the Raptor can objectively assess the limits of his abilities and strength, and the need for others to help him in his schemes. Thus, he upholds a chaotic version of friendship with his subordinates and comrades, carrying on the Blood Disciples legacy of such behavior, and in times of need can put the teams priorities over his, ensuring loyality from his followers. At the same time, he's unforgiving and merciless to those whom he deems better than him. Those who are, usually end up on a kill-list, though outwardly he might pay respect to them and appear with a good attitude.
Jealousy prevents Torturer from keeping those who outperform him around, as he stifles competition in the bud. On one hand, it keeps the integrity of his team wholesome, but on the other, every other marine, cultist or Tech adept is measured by his virtues. Never higher.
Torturer's greatest mental weakness lies in his inability of seeing greater pictures, ever, and this is something where he relies fully on other Astartes, such as Zekkel. While he can pan out a small mission in detail, he cannot grasp bigger problems in their entirety, which often causes him to feel blind in certain circumstances. –
His Khornate psycho-indoctrination also takes a toll on his psyche as while he is able to control the lingering bloodlust and urges for unrestrained carnage, he is unable to override certain situation responses. The indoctrination seems to wear off with time, and Torturer thinks that soon it will be mostly obsolete.
The Traitor Marine is also heavily reliant on drugs in his battle and mental performance, up to the point where the failure of certain drugs to be administered to him, might throw Torturer into panic or retreat. The need for constant sensory stimulation also leaves him prone to irritation, anger and bad judgment.
While being objective about his physical abilities, Torturer isn't at all objective about his cognitive abilities. For example, he deems himself a lot smarter than he really is, more slick and manipulative than he really is, more cunning than he really is. These smaller delusions about himself cause the Noise Raptor to often outsmart himself – combined with his narrow field of vision into perspective, it sometimes leads to a very negative outcome. He prides his mental strength and endurance while being prone to doubt and confusion.
That's not to say he's not intelligent. He is highly versed in the workings of human psyche, fears and doubts of humans, can assess one's character in minimum time and determine their weak and strong sides to exploit.
The Raptor likes to boss around and dominate. Ideologically, he's lenient towards other Chaotic Worship if it doesn't cross his path, neutral towards the Imperial Creed when it's exhibited by common folk, and boils with hatred when Inquisition is concerned. He believes that the Dark Prince chose humans to be his divine punishing hand against the Eldar, and in Chaos being the sole alternative to the cage Imperium had put humanity in, pronouncing the unity with the Warp as the only evolutionary path for mankind. Fears death quite a lot. Considers all races inferior to humans, and all humans inferior to himself.
Though Torturer is hateful, he can channel the hate in creative ways, not just in murder, which what earned him his namesake. He revels in causing pain and misery more than in death and murder, amused to no end by the reactions of sentient beings when they are put in most horrible and desperate conditions. He sees that as his destiny, to channel this sense of hopelessness and desperation into those who oppose the Dark Prince and more importantly – him. Egocentrism and self-centeredness are his last names.
On a positive side, the Raptor is good at dealing with defeat and extracting lessons from it. Losing only fuels his determination and the intricacy of his revenge plans, and he likes himself way too much to give up.
Torturer has a perverted sense of humor which he often expresses, and a generally mocking, sarcastic attitude. However all that flair of calmness and smugness is quickly evaporated if his own feelings are hurt. He can be aloof and then quite engaging and social, which is likely caused by the cycling of drugs in his system.
In pop culture terms, his character is a mix of Deadpool, Pinhead, Jean-Batiste Zorg from the Fifth Element and Feyd-Rautha Harkonen from Dune.
___ Battle Tactics: Torturer is experienced in both ranged and close combat warfare, but if there's a thing he isn't, it's a marksman. Utilizing sonic weaponry, he is prone to deal crippling wide-range combat on multiple targets, and then move in for a close and personal kill. Being a Raptor he favors of stricking right into the midst of the enemy, causing confusion and scattering.
He has no qualms in running from the battle if he feels endangered, as the terms "cowardice" and "courage" hold no value to him. He will try his best though, to escape. By no means he's the best of the best there, in terms of personal power, but his amorality is what let Torturer to live so long. Not exceptional battle prowess.
______
Weapons:
Blastmaster: Long-range, powerful sonic cannon with an attached chainblade. Currently in repair.
Sonic Blaster x 2: Sonic analogues of a Space Marine bolter. Dual-weilded, medium damage.
Powerfist: Standard Powerfist with talon-tipped fingers, no special attributes except daemonic infestation that manifests with tentacle whips.
Assorted cold weaponry, ranging from knives and hooks, to the claws on his feet.
Doom Siren: Psychological sonic wargear.
____ Abilities:
Aural
Song of Agony: Torturer switches on all the Doom Siren speakers in his armor, including the ones embedded into his Jumppack, turning the latter into one huge speaker. The Siren begins to extort the Chaotic melodies mixed wit the screams of victims that envelope the Raptor into a sphere of swirling condensed hypersound.
It acts like a shield against melee attacks and a moral and speed boost for the heretic himself. Any enemy that gets into the range of this sonic sphere is affected by the horrenduous music and soundwaves. Weaker enemies get disoriented and loose the ability to attack in a formation, and the stronger ones, while engaging in hand to hand combat with Torturer, significantly loose accuracy as the rhytmical screaming and beats take toll on their concentration. However it drains power very fast.
Song of Desecration: Torturer himself begins screaming curses, threats and blasphemies through the sound amplifier in his mask, filtering it to such properties that it debilitates and paralyzes his opponents, afflicts their eardrums or aural augments, opening them up for attack. For Imperial Cult believer targets it also affects their morale and battle spirit.
Song of Atrocity: Dual Sonic Blaster weilding shockwave combination set out on doing maximum damage to the internal organs of the enemies. This low-frequency technique can cover a large territirory since the music pulse is dispersed on more multiple targets at lower output. Any unarmored part of the target is affected, causing the tissue to virtually fall apart into pulp. Blindness, blood vomit and brain haemmorage are the immediate effects of this technique.
Song of Dysfunction: Dual Sonic Blaster weilding shockwave combination set out on doing maximum damage to tech and armor. High-frequency rhythms and beats effectively destroy armors internal structure and protecting qualities, disrupts electric signals and complex mechanic systems of vehicles or servitors. In cybernetically enhanced organisms damages machine/neural interfaces.
Song of Depravity: Doom Siren technique that mentally afflicts the targets. Upon getting into the range of the broadcast, targets fall into a bloodlust frenzy, turning against each other and harm themselves too in order to sate the desire to find pleasure in pain. As a result Torturer ends up surrounded in a circle of psychotic, self-devouring madmen instead of an organized opponent. Has no effect on Astartes, Orks, Eldar Wraithbone constructs or Tyranids. Acts as support and invigoration to friendly troops.
Song of Corruption: Blastmaster technique, most powerful of all Torturer's attacks. Can affect one large target, such as a Space Marine Terminator or a few lesser targets. Musically coded hypersound inflicts permanent brain damage unto the victim, throwing them into a coma-like state of nightmare-filled hallucination. With the end of the hellish vision in which the victim finds themselves dying, ends the targets life or leaves them crippled and insane. Due to the soundwave nature of the attack, only such complex methods as a Librarians Shield or weapons such as a Chaplain's Rosary/Crozius can effectively repel it. Requires time to get loaded and rendered in the Blastmasters processors and amplifiers, has a very low firing rate.
Physical
Aerial Disembowelment: While gliding on his Jump-pack, Torturer can grab a victim with his foot claws and hoist them in the air, using his other foot claws to tear apart the disoriented enemy.
Forgotten Art: In hand to hand combat Torturer will fight unorthodoxally for a Space Marine. The dexterity of his armor set-up allows him to utilize fighting techniques of his homeworld Scintilla, which resemble modern martial arts and at which he was quite apt during his pre-Astartes youth. He actively uses his augmented legs in the offensive, acrobatics, smaller cold weaponry and dirty hive-ganger moves.
Venomous Suffocation: Torturer's daemon-enhanced powerfist sprouts thick prehensile tentacles that can grab and whip targets. Torturer can latch them his opponent and coil the tentacles around them, suffocating or constricting them. The tentacles excrete acidic venom that can eat through light Guard-grade armor after prolonged exposure and paralyze the victim, adding to its helplessness. The power of the constriction is sufficient to keep an Astartes from effective movement.
Chemical
Pain Therapy: In case of prolonged fight, a special combat drug mix allows Torturer to sustain himself from the wounds he is accumulating. The drug tweaks his nervous system to derive pleasure and stamina from pain and bodily damage and function in an overdrive. The danger of this results in the fact that Torturer doesn't feel his own physical boundaries and where to draw the line.
Overdose: Torturer would use either all of his combat drugs at once or get injected with Extase. This doubles his speed, power and morale, but has a harsh drawback - with the end of the Overdose, the heretic is completely drained and can no longer fight.
Defilement: Brandishing an injector pistol, the Raptor would attempt to cripple his opponents by shooting them with drug ampules which contain powerful tranquilizers and hallucinogens. Due to the low accuracy of the injector, this tactic is carried out during melee, when he tries to slip the weapon in the cracks of his enemy's armor. This is designed to slow down the opponent and cripple them temporarily, not kill.
Psyker
Corrosive Intent: Torturer uses his psyker ability to persuade people join him instead of fighting by transferring images of the futility of their struggle against him and channeling despair. This ability is enabled only upon physical contact with the victim and works only on unprepared and mentally weak opponents.
Unholy Summons: Unlocks a daemonic Cube artefact via psyker-code, summoning five Slaanesh Daemonettes for a limited amount of time.
Other
Deepstrike/Strategic Evasion: Torturer can carry a teleport module on himself that's homed to a teleportatium on his raider ship. The module which tracks his coordinates consumes a rather substantial amount of energy so the Raptor will use it only during dangerous hit-n-run missions, where immediate withdrawal is necessary. Requires contact with the ship's bridge to activate.
