OH YEAH BABY, Maarten has no creativity and is blatantly ripping off the warhammer Universe again for his RtD.

Rules are still going to be simple, game will be narrative driven.
D6's will be rolled, no stats will be compared, I'll apply bonuses and penalties as I see fit.

What you need to know to participate:

• You'll be Henchmen for a yet to be decided inquisitor(so I can pick one that fits your character choices)
• Your character needs to have a name, age, equipment, a background story and a role in the party.

You can be anything from a A human possessed by a daemon. to a fanatical priest who burns books and witches alike, or maybe you want to be an underhive arbite: a trenchcoat clad judge, jury an executioner all in one. Or a mechanically enhanced warmachine. Let your imagination run wild, please give me some characters that I can work with, because:

• I will be PM'ing each of you hidden objectives

And, although I hate to do this, I'm going to need at least one of you to be an interrogator AKA inquisitor in training.

Name: Casmir Geier
Description: Red hair, pale skin, grey eyes.
Age: 22
Equipment: Silken robes, noble dresswear, and several types of colognes. He also carries around a few books of poetry, a hand mirror, and a fancy hygiene kit.

Background: Born to a noble house, Casmir's ego was inflated from a young age. He grew up a spoiled brat, he completely missed the point when he learned he was a psyker. He did not think of the enormous responsibility now on his shoulders, nor of the lives he endangered, or his dark fate. He thought only of the power and import this power gave him, and the attention it would garner.

While found to be of enough use not to be sacrificed to the emperor, Casmir, unfortunately, has not been soul-bound to the emperor yet. He is still in training, and thus quite vulnerable to the warp's influence. His ego, however, blinds him to the danger he is in every time he uses his power. Nobody of such noble birth or ability could ever be in danger!

Needless to say, he has a lot to learn about the world.

Role: Sanctioned Psyker.

Reserved
Edit: Made char
Character

Name: Ekaterina
Description: Blonde hair, green eyes, light skin
Age: 29
Equipment: Office attire (white button-down shirt, black pants) with a labcoat over top. Carries a briefcase containing surgical instruments (scalpels, sutures, forceps, a bone saw and drill), various medical chemicals (antiseptics, antibiotics, analgesics, anesthetics), safety goggles, gloves, and respirator.

Background:
Enrolled in medicae school to become a surgeon, and then ended up not having the money to finish. Took a "break" from schooling to make money by practicing illegally, until she made enough to finish school and become legal.

Except, illegal medicae practices turned out to be much more alluring. Crime bosses paid her a good number of digits to torture, mend, and then again torture specified targets for information, as well as providing medicae care to those who couldn't afford to go to a public medicae facility and be identified. When one underground organization was gutted by the Inquisition while she was on the job, she was captured and discovered to be of use, performing to the standards that the inquisition needed.

Now, after a good dose of brainwashing, she serves the Inquisition, tending to fellow inquisitors and torturing heretics.

Sure why not

Name: Toggle Justiceson
Age: 30-ish
Equipment: A large, conspicuously shaped, impressively sturdy tower shield of ceramite, sturdy mechanical lower legs with deployable wheels, and a large billowing cape that looks a lot like it was made to imitate purity seals.
Background: Not totally certain. Appeared in front of an inquisitorial party one day holding a book of scriptures and having augmented legs, saluting and reciting passages with great vigor. Memories before that consist of waking up in an Adeptus Mechanicus sponsored hospital, wandering here and there for a month, then seeing an inquisitor purge a hive city residential building of heretics. After that his resolve was cemented as to help root out heresy. Why this sight is what convinced him is a mystery to all but Justice. Not a very bright man, but it doesn't matter greatly when he's 195cm and 115kg of brute strength and diesel powered legs.
Role: Vanguard

Description:
A hunch-backed hooded, large, broad, heavily augmented and armored humanoid man wearing the typical red Adeptus Mechanicus robe, with various cybernetics and electronics jutting out from within. His original flesh is nowhere to be seen, covered by copper-like metal plates or behind layers and layers of tubes. A slight sound of air intake periodically emanates from his respirator "mouth", a sign of air pumped into and out of his artificial lungs; tubes snake away from there into various positions on the man's body. A dull blue/red light glows from a spider-like array of optical sensors above the "mouth". A pair of metal claws hang over his back, articulating from position to position; with another pair of weapons in between them, twitching as if itching to be used. Every movement brings about a servo sound, and every step a stomp, this machine man is not very stealthy.

Name: Thiemo Olden
Age: 38
Equipment:
Infravisor
Graviton Gun (back mounted)
Bolter (back mounted)
Auspex
Twin Servo Arms

Biography:
Thiemo Olden was a normal augmented techpriest working to service the many vehicles, weapons, and other equipment of the Imperial Guard. For a time he never saw the battlefield in which his works disappear to, only to come back damaged, blasted, covered with the viscera of the Imperium's enemies and of its martyrs.

Until in one battlefield, the base he was stationed at was attacked by a swarm of Orks. The besieged defenders were pushed in by the Orkish pressure, then the bloodied Orks reached him... While he was surrounded by the Imperial Arsenal, his survival instincts brought him to use the surrounding equipment immediately. Wielding las-rifles, bolters, with his still human arms, along with mechadendrites, swapping for loaded weapons as they emptied their cells and magazines into the green shapes at close range, he slowly pushed them back, but just enough for the base's defenders to eliminate the rest.

He never forgot the exhilaration he felt that day, constantly imagining that battle constantly, he began to adopt a far less benign theme to his cybernetics, praising the Omnissah for its protection, and reviling in it. It wasn't long before he found himself a proven Sector. It has been noted that Theimo often gets too excited during his battles, but for the time being, hasn't killed any allies.

Role: Secutor

Name: Cornelius

Description: A young initiate to the Omnissiah's glorious church, shrouded in the red robes of Mars and noticeably armored by the heavy cogitators, tools and dataslates he bears on his person. His skin is ruddy and his shoulders are broad - surprisingly indicative of vitality for someone born in the glowing pits of a forge world, miles beneath open sky.

Age: 23

Equipment: Extended Cogitator Package, Mind Interface Unit, Rotor Cannon

Background: A strange child who nearly drove his artisan parents mad by vanishing to the hidden spaces of the factory floor when called for, Cornelius grew up steeped in tech-lore and the omnipresent cult of the Mechanicum. Witnessing the pulping of his father's arm by a hydraulic hammer - and the swiftness of the red priest who tore away the remnant without pity, replacing it with blessed machinery - Cornelius saw firsthand the weakness of flesh and the permanence of metal. How like a god his father was to the boy! If he could be hurt, who is safe? Only those who trust iron are safe.

Cornelius only understands the divine light of the Emperor in terms of dark science and relic technology, and communes naturally with machine spirits. There is a radical seed waiting to burst in his heart. His studies of machine rituals have taken him to strange scrolls, describing animate technologies which seem almost to live. These spirits - black and perverted by the power of the Warp - were involved in the disaster that brought him to the attention of the Inquisition.

In the second year of his studies, Cornelius was assigned to trace through data-divinations a string of violent errors afflicting Imperial control mechanisms on Machus IV, choking the manufactorums of the very forge world that he had called home. Thousands were dying in the pits as reactors flared and servitors ran amok, butchering their masters. He had the misfortune to ping one of the vast factory cogitators just as it was subverted by a higher power. It knew he was hunting it. It flowed back through the neural link into his systems, whispering that it would bleed him dry and profane the purity of every machine on the planet.

For forty nights Cornelius engaged in spiritual warfare with a Tzeentchian cogitator phantom that wanted to devour his soul, a leering fourteen-eye face in the screen of the dataslate that licked with a razor tongue at his mind while he slept. Day and night he armed himself with mathematics and prayed. He prayed for strength against the titanic warp monster that tormented him even as it hid its existence from his disgusted colleagues, who berated him for his weakness and "organic thinking". He could find no proof that he was not just going insane.

Cornelius locked himself in a shrine to square himself with reality.

Flagellating himself to the edge of death in a burning cloud of incense, the young priest saw a vision of himself with a strong mechanical claw on his shoulder, guiding his hand as he dragged the demon out of the system and strangled it for hours. The hand of the Omnissiah burned with power on his body. So holy and pitiless was his God he that he woke with marks on his flesh, and knew that the moment for conflict was nigh.

With a clever routing algorithm he baited the demon to come to him directly, offering his own soul up as the sacrifice. Having no senses in the physical world, it could not know that he had drugged himself to an almighty hatred and wrapped his body in plastic explosives. Tackled to the ground by the frenzied strength of the frothing Cornelius, it had made a fatal miscalculation. Gnashing his teeth, he made a pact with the cowardly spirit to enter a cogitator system of his own design in exchange for sparing its miserable life.

The tech-priest had bottled a demon in a virtual world reconfigured to simulate forever torture. He locked the processor in a twice-blessed shrine. He subjected a Tzeentchian beast to its perfect hell. And when he showed his bloody prize to the magos responsible for his training, the horrified elder had no choice but to notify the Inquisition and wonder whether his best student had turned to sorcery.

Role: Tech-Priest

>Let someone else take the lead, follow.

(Is Isabel still there? )