Martellus Vogel

## History

In many ways, the Independent Station of Concordia was defined by faith. Built independently in Egronian space and deployed on an uninhabited barren rock of a planet just beyond the edge of the Egronian Empire, Concordia was meant to be a safe space for all those who didn't wish to subject themselves to the rule of other stations. Eventually the station grew into a sprawling city, expanding both on the surface and into the planet's depths. Underneath the planet's crust, numerous veins of precious metal were discovered, and soon Concordia was trading with the nearby empires, selling the planet's riches to the highest bidder.

The population was varied, containing all races and kinds, but one thing was constant: faith. Dwarven workers prayed to Torag that their tools might strike true in the deep shafts. Doctors and patients alike prayed to Sarenrae for good health. The station's businessmen prayed to Abadar for profit and wealth. After a long day of work, all gathered within the numerous bars and clubs to raise a glass in Cayden Cailean's name. Some, however... Some prayed for Desna's blessing to leave the capitalist wonderland to satisfy their own wanderlust.

Martellus Vogel had always been such a man. Life within Concordia's depths was far too rigid, as once a profession was entered, it was difficult to leave it again. No, Martin looked to the stars even as a child, wishing only for the freedom of the void. Once he was of age and had finished his education as a pilot (including basic training with firearms, which Martin sucked at, and hand-to-hand weaponry, which Martin excelled at), he first tried to sign up as a transportation vessel pilot for several mining corps, but got turned down each time; they weren't about to entrust valuable supplies and heavy transports to a complete rookie.

Instead he signed up as a data courier. Ships jumping through gates were faster at bringing data from system to system than signals traveling at light speed, and a lot cheaper and easy-access than a lot of magical options. Perhaps more importantly, if the pilot got shot down halfway, the data wouldn't be lost - the company would just have to find another way to send the copy. It was a perfect position for new pilots, and for Martin, it meant he would see more of the galaxy. The tether back to Concordia bothered him, but if he worked for the corporation long enough he would be able to buy off the ship and set off on his own.

Of course, his wage was far too little to be able to afford that any time soon. For four years, Martellus worked as a corporate pilot. Every night he prayed to Desna to release the bonds that shackled him to Concordia, in the hopes that he would be truly free.

His fate took a turn around one night (Concordian station time) as he was flying back home through the void. A ship hailed him, a stranger without a Concordian identification code. While he was arming his weapons in preparation for a pirate attack, his communications sprung to life. The person on the other end of the line introduced himself as Iatan, a fellow follower of Desna. The two exchanged some pleasant communications after Iatan asked to be guided to the station. A pirate attack had knocked out his navigation, and it was his first visit to the station. Going by the size and armaments on the Desnan vessel, Martin doubted any of the pirates made it out.

A few hours later the two were talking in a Concordia launch bay. Their regular interactions did not stop for several days. Iatan roamed the station, and Martin showed him around. The Desnan hadn't planned to stay very long, but repairs on his ship were taking longer than expected. In Martin's case, the corporation was undergoing some restructuring, which meant he would stay grounded for some time.

Concordia was defined by faith in its life, and so too in its death. While Iatan was on-station, a devious cult brought its plans to fruition. Worshipers of Lamashtu had spread across the city's underbelly. The malformed and mutated, the sick and mad, all had banded together against the hypercapitalist government of Concordia and risen up at once, laying siege to the city from within, slaughtering or kidnapping innocents to sacrifice to their dark goddess.

Martin and Iatan were forced to defend themselves with what they had on hand. For Martin it was a wicked blade looted off one of the cultists, and for Iatan that was his starknife and the magic he possessed as a faithful follower of Desna. Their goal was the hangar bay; Martin's ship was good to evacuate, and Iatan was insistent on returning to his own ship despite Martin's insistence he shouldn't fly a vessel undergoing repairs.

For hours, the two fought through the cultist horde - though most of the damage was done by Iatan, whose martial and magical abilities were equally terrifying. Martin found himself strangely disconnected from the carnage around him. Even when he saw a familiar face amidst the victims or even the attackers, it didn't stop him from continuing on his way. It almost frightened him how little he felt as the adrenaline rushed through his veins, his muscles empowered and kept intact by Iatan's magic.

The two reached Martin's ship first, and despite the blonde's protests, Iatan all but shoved him into the vessel with a set of coordinates and Iatan's spare holy symbol in hand. The last time Martin saw Iatan was when the cleric disappeared through the hangar airlock to disengage the docking clamps and open the hangar doors.

Martin's emotions finally came rushing in as he flew through the jump gate that would lead him towards Iatan's coordinates - one of dozens of fleeing ships. He wept, he screamed, he stared at his own blood-stained hands. His home was gone. His people were gone. Even his new friend might have been gone - he does not know to this day.

Iatan's coordinates turned out to lead to an isolated monastery on a planet within Egronian space. There he learned it was the monastery where Iatan had learned his trade, and that the donation of Iatan's holy symbol meant that Iatan had appointed Martin as worthy of becoming what Iatan was - a warpriest. The faithful order within the monastery took Martin in as one of their own, offering him a roof and shelter. They taught him, too - how to perfect his skills with the falchion he had taken from the hellish halls of Concordia.

His education took another two years. He already had basic martial training from his education, though said training had gathered dust for five years. The harder part was magic - it took him months to channel even a spark of Desna's grace, but slowly he learned.

At age twenty-five, Martellus Vogel was released upon the galaxy once more. He was hardly a legendary warrior, but he was trained and capable. He had refined that emotionless, adrenaline-driven state into a battle trance, allowing him to maintain his magical abilities while also gaining a greater, deadly focus on combat. While he did not gather much of a name for himself, he became an explorer, seeing the stars like he had desired so much as a youth. Iatan had never come to the monastery, and Concordia had gone dark since the assault, its defensive guns warding off all approaching vessels.

One day, he promised himself he would return and find out what remained within those halls.

## Appearance

Martin is tall for a surface-born humanoid, standing at a height more usual for spacers. His body is lean but muscular, a product of his two years of nearly non-stop training as a warpriest, possessing very little in terms of scarring, birthmarks or even hair. He carries himself with apparent confidence, walking with swagger in his shoulders and a gleam in his eyes.

His hair hangs down to about ear-length, straight and kept impeccably clean and combed. The strands are golden in color, gleaming much like the metal under the right lighting due to his archon heritage. To compliment the color, Martin usually wears some form of golden jewelry - most commonly earrings, though often also bracelets, necklaces, even ankle rings and belt buckles. He rarely wears decorative rings, as he feels wearing too many interferes with his weapon grip.

His eyes are deep-set and upturned, and crimson red in coloration. Like his hair, they seem to shine under certain lighting. His eyebrows are far darker than the hair of his head, and rather thin, accentuating his eyes. He does not possess a particularly strong jawline - instead he possesses more boyishly handsome facial features.

His casual clothing is often simple, favoring jeans and other sturdy wear for his pants. He keeps it simple with shirts, preferring button-ups in plain colors, occasionally with patterns along the hems or sleeves. When flying, he wears a fairly simplistic flight suit, covering him from feet all the way up to his neck. It's a plain grey color, with a plain detachable metallic helmet in case of atmosphere loss. When expecting combat, Martin wears similarly sturdy pants as in his casual gear, though on top he wears a metal breastplate over a skintight black shirt. He often straps bracers to his forearms and greaves to his shins for a little bit of additional protection, but prefers mobility over weight. Over this all he wears a knee-length high-collar coat to protect himself from the elements.

## Personality

At first glance, Martin appears to have a fairly typical 'cool guy' persona. With his confident gait, easy smile, and hypnotizing crimson gaze, he often makes a good first impression on new people. He's somewhat silent around new people, preferring not to speak any more words than absolutely necessary.

Those who know him beyond surface level quickly find out this isn't due to some smooth personality. It's more that Martin doesn't quite know how to carry a conversation. Due to spending much of his time on a colony obsessing over space travel and later getting a job as a pilot, Martin's social skills are somewhat underdeveloped, and it's not uncommon for him to display personality quirks like changing the subject of a conversation to a subject he enjoys quite suddenly or pondering the answer to a question for so long he falls entirely silent.

That's not to say Martin isn't a charming person. Should a person share his interests, mostly things including spacecraft, Desna, or one of his handful of hobbies, he suddenly becomes a lot more animated in his conversation with them. Martin can discuss the specifics of different ships or the religious teachings of the Great Dreamer for hours as long as he has a conversation partner with similar knowledge on the subject.

Once he becomes more comfortable around a person, conversation comes more easily. Knowing a person's hobbies, personality and habits makes it a lot simpler for him to interact with them, as he has certain handholds to grasp in case he doesn't know how to respond to a statement. Overall he's a good man with his heart in the right place.

If there's one thing he absolutely dislikes, it's overly strict rules. Concordia was a good place to live, but there were so many laws and contractual details to keep track of he eventually grew sick of them. As a warpriest of Desna, he is able to indulge in his own wanderlust as much as possible, and he will react violently to anything that tries to interfere with that ability to go wherever he wants whenever he wants.

## Friends

Followers of Desna: A Desnan saved his life, then provided him with his new one. Martin appreciates his fellow Desnans greatly, and often gives them the benefit of the doubt if issues arise.

## Enemies

Followers of Lamashtu: Cultists of Lamashtu were responsible for Concordia's destruction, Martin's home.

## Aspirations

Martin aims to explore as much of known space as he can, hopefully discovering wondrous celestial bodies and life forms. He also aims to gather enough resources, allies and power to