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The Times Of Holliando McPhareson
So it was the worst moment of his life, he was so tired of winning wars and battles all over the world. He came to retire in Necromunda, The Underhive. The melting pot beyond all realms, the industrial hive city that had destroyed so many lives. Where profits were to be made, copyrights were to be claimed.
He had an excellent sense of self, and it made him feel good, he was afraid of drifting off into narcissism. And often stared at paintings too much, more to impress that to actually appreciate them. He was happy to be a student and he was happy to be a soldier. He had retired and rejoined but always they made him forget by getting him drunk on the way out. He was not a career soldier, although he was good at it, and mostly they were glad to see the back of him.
Very sad for some, but not for Mr McPhaerson because he was too consumed by his own egomaniaism. He was dullard really but a very well read one, he was not made for command and desperation had seen him into war zones and finally he had broken his own heart after breaking many. And for him although he knew it was karma, he was not in his right mind when she left and he left for Necromunda Hive with a sick note and that was his mistake.
He was indentured to slave owners midhive pretty quickly, he ended up working in vast chemical plants and suffering the life of a pornography pin up for some of the Escher elite. As he worked his poor hands to the bone, small and ugly they were and his feet disgusting he learnt that he was trapped essentially in a pit of hell, so disgusting only a woman’s touch would save him. And he felt it was for someone else’s prayers. He was still heart broken but he worked.
He eventually got exiled after smoking light cigars around some of the older members of the crew and they threw him into a long deep crevice. It spilt open and crushed him. He was complacent he felt and felt the voices of his first teachers in his head. He friends had warning him he would go crazy unless he learnt to be alone and now trapped and drowning in quicksand, a gully he felt folly smash him around the head until his emotions made him no longer wail out like a banshee, but sat on his head until he came to the conclusion and terms with the fact that he had lost much of his life but it was not over yet.
He drugged himself with basic survival medicine and dragged himself out of the dirt with a dirk and a basic autopistol. He worked for a scavvy gang leader and did not feast on the human flesh and nearly died of starvation. He was ill and sick but did not mutate, he learnt not to trust anyone but himself.
Two years later he walked into a bar after buying a second back up pistol and then began working for a scum financing group that wanted to work alongside bounty hunters who were to work with the guilders. He was a great asset to some of these Van Saar gangs and made a tidy profit. However he had a bad eye from all the abuse he had suffered and eventually had to go in for an operation.
It cost him a lot of money but he saved and got his eye replaced with an infra-red bionic eye. He thought he might be able to work as a bounty hunter then but they said no. So he did free lance assassination throughout the hive and caused no end of stress and pain to those around the areas where the lawless and as he saw it evil people or strange detached beings worked. Ex-bounty hunters, ex-gangers even whole gangs that had split up and were causing havoc he assassinated for the guilders following wanted posters and the trail of criminal developments within the dome cities of the lower depths of the Underhive.
Learning survival, he took to carrying a long light maul he used in one hand. He struggled to find a better way of walking around at night and defending his secret accommodation without one. He burnt out his pistols and custom jacked his special issue poison squiring autopistol with a powerful jacked up set of alcoholic or self made drugs in the eyes and mouth of the enemy. He knew it was foolish to expect the enemy to be able to find this weapon off. And just in case he took a concealed whip which he wrapped around his wrist or waist to fight off capture.
Capture was a regular depression for him. He was captured twice in the stupidest of ways, having offended some arbiters in his bitterness and his savage heart. He knew that he liked to walk and they were tired of leads popping up about him. Then he got a big assassination while captured and because he then learned that he was a great shot with his small scarred hands.
Later he joined gangs again and after all that time as a scum it was quite refreshing working for Delaques and Van Saar again. He charged a reasonable price for his efforts but never really saw the light of day again. Until one day he left to go the ash wastes on a sojourn. Out there he saw an eagle. A cyber eagle, a Njal the Stormcaller appeared to him in a vision. He left the hive eventually as was seen working with an inquisitorial warband as a henchman some years later in the war against the Death Guard and was found to once again be one of the hardest survival experts in the industrial hive cities of the great universe at large.
Holliando McPhaerson Final Rules:
M 4 WS 3 BS 3 S 3 T 3 I 3 A 1 LD 8
Fast Shot, Quick Draw, Nerves of Steel, Sneak Up, Ambush
Maul, Concealed Whip (Counts as Concealed Blade), Poison Autopistol (Autopistol rules except STR 2, +3 Ammo Roll), Bionic Eye (Infra-Red Variant)
Approximate 35 Credits Gang Rating 175
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