Paths paved with his enemies’ broken bodies, leading his men to greatness and glory He ascended from the scorched planes of a wrecked world – no past, no future on his mind, an empty vessel for a broken soul. In solitude he ventured through devastation and death without care for the lives he took, when his ever-changing leaders called to arms. In the end he left them all to their gruelling fate and wandered further – alone, with broken hearts and promises.
But he wasn’t destined to waste away in the Wastelands and so his fate decided for him to cross the tracks of a lone wolf. The beast promised him a purpose in life, a chance to rise above himself. Together they would hunt for greatness and glory and bring freedom and terror upon the sacred but condemned lands. Together they hunted down their future queen and guided her to their new kingdom, claiming rule of the meek.
Prophet | Shaman | Visionary
A tainted mind, yet cunning and wise – winding his path through treason and lies Once, a young man fled from Dystopia, desperate to prove himself and find his way to greatness. But the Wasteland is a place without mercy, unforgiving for the meek and starry-eyed. For years he sank into a maelstrom of hallucinogens, fornication and ferocity, spiralling down towards his self-destruction.
At the climax of his downfall reoccurring visions began to haunt this almost broken soul. Thus, this lone wolf began a long journey back to his roots in the northern wastes. His tales, wondrous and engrossing, impressed Dystopia’s townsfolk. The leading caste quickly found use for his broad knowledge of the Wasteland and his perpetual visions to inspire their army until this day.
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A fatal error has occurred – press any key to continue Once being a masterpiece of science and technology, the Machine was the latest model of biomechanically enhanced humans. But now his past life is lost in the shades, just like the knowledge of the engineers, who carved him from flesh and steel those many decades ago. Only his serial number can still be found engraved at the base of his skull – Unit AI-H37.
He was covered under dirt and rubble, rusting in the scorching sun of the Wastelands and would decay there still, if it weren’t for two lost souls who stumbled upon him. They carried his silent body to the forges of Dystopia where he was awoken by the sound of thundering hammers. Reassembled and rebooted, with him the mechanists created Dystopia’s most devoted soldier, processing his tasks without empathy or remorse.
Unbent | Unbroken | Unburned
Unscathed from the flames, risen from the ashes like a mad phoenix He served many men, feigning allegiance, swearing fealty with crossed fingers and watching his masters’ descent into madness happily as they waged war on the torn lands. He served the mighty and wealthy, maniacs, blinded by their lust for power, deafened by their greed, but mostly he served himself. He wasn’t just a mercenary, he was The Mercenary, never one to back down, never one to lose a fight, never one to truly bend the knee.
But one day he was caught in crossfire, trapped, as hell rained on London and he was left to die. The withering cries of his burning comrades would haunt his dreams forever as he was forced to hide among the molten corpses, the acrid taste of charred flesh and betrayal forever to be burned in his mind. In the end, when nothing was left but ashes, he emerged, a sole survivor, unscathed. In the end, he wouldn’t even bow to death.
Scavenger | Trespasser | Larcener
One among the few to have glanced upon Superbia and lived to tell Once, the Crow was known amongst all thieves as the most cunning and ruthless of them all. She wouldn’t hesitate to slay a child if it prevented her from anything she desired. She wouldn’t refrain from a challenge, no matter the peril she had to face. She was the queen of the slums and only those desperate enough to pay the price – any price – would dare to approach her, begging for her services.
The higher they rise, the deeper they fall. They caught her committing the highest treason – entering the sacred gardens of Superbia. They caught her and clipped her wings. Either death at the hands of the City’s executioners or death in the service of their oh so beloved Lady Dystopia. She always had faith that she would be free once again, even if she had to feed of carrion first. She always had faith that the odds were ever in her favour.