Description
Stands at 5'9', his physical appearance is only speculated on. He has never been seen by anyone
other than himself outside of his armored tactical suit. Consisting of chain mail covered by Kevlar, with ceramic Trauma plates inserted between the two. Also wears a tactical helmet with an amber shaded visor, bullet resistant. The tactical helmet is Kevlar coated with more trauma plating inserted between the helmet and the Kevlar armor, with the visor being bullet resistant.
Personality
Stark, or "Sabre" as his contacts know him, is for the most part, reserved. He rarely shows any outward emotion. And when he does, it's normally hidden by the tinted visor on his tactical helmet. Although he has many feelings about what he does and who he kills, he will not allow himself to be lost in thought about his past. In his line of work, the first time you forget to duck behind cover, is the last time you'll ever forget anything.
Equipment
Tactical Suit and Helmet, details above. Except for the amber visor, made to amplify any light source in dark spaces, it's all as black as midnight. Carried in shoulder rigs, he carries his dual 45. SOCOM's. For bigger missions, his choice is a Beowulf assualt Rifle, the modifyed M-4 that lets lose 50. rounds of death. Pouches located all over his tactical suit allow him access to many extra's that have kept him alive over the years. Nylon grappling rope, the hook that goes with it. Concussion grenades, fragmentation grenades, extra clips for all his weapons, at times even a heartbeat sensor. His most devious and unexpect tool comes from the rather bulky looking arm guantlets.
Looking out of place from his normal streamlined operation, to allow maximum stealth, the raised gauntlets are actually quite heavy. With a careful, speical flick of the wrist, the resulting movement signals the hydralics into action, unleashing the hidden blade in both of his arms. The result is a tactical short sword on demand.
History
Stark's history and background is a mystery.
The few people close to him suspect he may of
been a loner. An outcast to society. Never accepted anywhere.
He has let slip that he was an orphan as a child. And that's
amazing in of it's self. Don't expect him to let down his emotional
gaurds more than once per ever.
So begins...
The expanse of the void was endless, and he just wanted a beer, anything good and strong, and it didnt just matrialise out of nothing. So how to get out of the endless expanse of a rather beautiful endless flower meadow was actually rather nice. It was not often he got to really just wander a flower meadow, and as beautiful as it was, there had to be a door or a window or something.
Finally finding what looked like a door frame, with no visible door per sei, he tried going through it, like it was a opening in a fence, and promptly smacked into a door panel with a hard thud. The dragon saw he couldnt fit through the door but it was infact a door. Dust was on the ground among the beautiful flowers but he felt he should not disturb the dust, it was after all possible that someone had distributed family ashes there. And just being there made the dragon shift form to his human asize and get to his knees, bowing three times towards a nearby small pile of void dust before getting to his feet.
Turning back to the door frame he found the4 handle. But something made him halt. Where there others looking for the door that he had just found ?
A tall skeletal figure wandered the void. Zal’hagun scanned the impenetrable darkness with fleshless eyes that glowed with necromantic energy. His ancient robes, worn and tattered yet still bearing an air of nobility, flowed behind him.
“Well…” He hissed into the nothingness. “This is… problematic.”
Leon dropped his shot glass and reached for his revolver. How did he get here? He listened carefully for any sound in the pervasive darkness. His teeth clenched in frustration.
“I don’t have time for this. Need to find a way out…”
Elanna Torres opened her eyes after what seemed like an eternity. She didn't remember how she got here, and she didn't seem to know where she was at, drifting in an infinite void. She ran her hands on her body, the polished leather of her sam browne, and the sleek casing of her disruptor. She reached into a leather pouch, and clicked on a small LED flashlight, shining it into the void.
Quickpaw Hurojo awakes after having been asleep for several years. Around the area was only void. It was empty. Dark. Cold. "Where... where have the spirits placed me?" He started patting his body all over; ensuring that he was corporeal. "Not dead; that's a plus." Though there was no time to lose. If he was corporeal, that likely means that he could return to the world he knew, and hopefully return to his king. He began running, hoping to find an exit to this ethereal obscurity.
Sibael Rhodwyn looked around, finally staring one of the strangers in the face, "I don't remember you. Any of you, to be frank."