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Gabriel
"People speak sometimes about the 'bestial' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts.
No animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel."
"People speak sometimes about the 'bestial' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts.
No animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel."
Gathered together and scurrying, we run; we run. The marbled glade beckons. Escape?
Lungs screaming, we pant; we pant, gasping and gulping for breath (gulping and gasping).
Broken and battered, we flee; we flee. Oily shadows stretch. Time trickles away. Finality?
Willful and defiant, we fight; we fight. Gnashing teeth echo, smiling under the strain.
Bloodied and ruined, we sink; we sink. Lapped up by the waves, drifting into the sea.
Into the depths, we drown; we drown. Encased in its touch, icy and dark. Abyss.
Lungs screaming, we pant; we pant, gasping and gulping for breath (gulping and gasping).
Broken and battered, we flee; we flee. Oily shadows stretch. Time trickles away. Finality?
Willful and defiant, we fight; we fight. Gnashing teeth echo, smiling under the strain.
Bloodied and ruined, we sink; we sink. Lapped up by the waves, drifting into the sea.
Into the depths, we drown; we drown. Encased in its touch, icy and dark. Abyss.
| Name: | Gabriel | Species: | Human |
| Faction: | Undisclosed | Homeworld: | Necropolis |
| Rank: | Undisclosed | Age: | 27 |
| Gender: | Male | ||
| Strength: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Height: | 6'1" |
| Dexterity: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Weight: | 180 lbs. |
| Constitution: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Eyes: | Gray |
| Intelligence: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Hair: | Black |
| Wisdom: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Skin: | Pale |
| Charisma: | ■■■■■■■■■■ | Force Sensitive: | Yes |
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Psychoanalysis
Violent, callous, grandiose, and savage. Observations of the subject have discerned very little. He wears his silence proudly, with the audacity of a king, denying audience to lesser beings. However, should one persist in their attacks on his vanity, the subject's composure quickly shatters, and a lustful violence brightens his gaze. He is unstable, uncontrollable, and, to top it all off, unpredictable. Addendum: To date, the single most accurate detail of the subject's personality is his hatred of aliens. He is a human supremacist, xenophobic in the extreme.
Violent, callous, grandiose, and savage. Observations of the subject have discerned very little. He wears his silence proudly, with the audacity of a king, denying audience to lesser beings. However, should one persist in their attacks on his vanity, the subject's composure quickly shatters, and a lustful violence brightens his gaze. He is unstable, uncontrollable, and, to top it all off, unpredictable. Addendum: To date, the single most accurate detail of the subject's personality is his hatred of aliens. He is a human supremacist, xenophobic in the extreme.
Background
The decrepit streets of Necropolis birthed Gabriel, an anathema by any other name. Born to a modest whore and an abscondee of a father, Gabriel sprung from derelict beginnings, a blemish on the galaxy's pox-scarred face. Left to his own devices, Gabriel made amends with the society of carted corpses that hugged the dust colored ground so familiarly. His peers, the various filth and trash staining Necropolis' dust colored streets, instilled in him a sense of superiority over others. They followed him, admiring his intelligence, his decisiveness, and pandered to his every whim. Under their haphazard care, a deep arrogance settled in him. He lorded over his fellow Necropolians, the king of rats. He, along with his subjects, grew to fear and, eventually, hate the growing hoards of aliens that invaded their home. They were filthy creatures, physically inelegant and ugly.
His unprovoked acts of discrimination escalated over the years, until the Church took notice. An elderly man with a kind smile and cruel eyes, known only as Father Scipio, decided to confront these errant youths, to strike the darkness from their hearts. He met them with a lecturing tone and a honeyed invitation, asking them to join his sermon later that evening.
Enthralled by the man, Gabriel accepted. The sermon, filled with nihilistic energy, captured him completely. After it, under Father Scipio's wing, he joined the ranks of the Church, becoming a member of Scipio's Flock, one of the countless sects sprawled across Necropolis' surface. Gabriel, enraptured by their beliefs, admired their diversity, their force of presence that spurned the masses into action.
However, Scipio wanted more than devotion to the Church; he wanted a personal acolyte, unwavering loyalty. In exchange, Gabriel's hardships would end, and he would live a life of decadence and resplendence. Never again would he worry of starvation, of homelessness. He did not even blink. Taking the man's hand, his life began.
The training broke his body, shattered his bones and bruised his flesh, but gave him the strength to kill, to abuse... to rule.
Eventually, he was whisked away in the night, taken beneath the chapel and greeted with a somber smile. Father Scipio stood before him, flanked by masked guards, staring down at a clump of squirming bodies at his feet.
"You are the gifted few capable of greatness," he said. "But first you must learn to use it."
Scipio trained them, then, honing their latent Force potential into a bladed designed for the sole purpose of murder. He turned them into beasts, dogs sitting at their master's feet. However, this was only the beginning of Gabriel's initiation.
One night, while peacefully asleep in their new home, Father Scipio paid Gabriel and his mother a visit. The peculiarity of the situation did not escape him. Father Scipio never visited in person. Regardless, they welcomed him. His intent became clear over a bottle of wine: Gabriel had a final test to pass before Scipio would recognize him as a member of the Flock.
"There is but one final test," Scipio said. "Kill your mother."
Silence rung out over the air. Gabriel met his savior's eyes, slowly realizing the implication. This was the man who gave him hope, who drew him from the ragged hell he had grown accustomed to.
His mother laughed, breaking the silence. Scipio nodded; Gabriel did not even need to think. Flipping a blade from his pocket, he drew it across his mother's throat, and her laughter choked off into gurgling splutters. He looked at her with piteous eyes, blood dribbling over his hands. Scipio clapped, and the test ended.
For years, Gabriel ran with the Flock, working as Scipio's personal assassin. He murdered without thought, a doll by any other name. Losing himself in the rank and file, he hardly noticed as time slipped away from him. Eventually, Scipio fell ill and joined the corpses Gabriel presented to him. Gabriel, lacking direction and purpose, left Necropolis, and found his calling: Killing aliens.
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