Stavus, The Marine

One of the most remarkable survivors of the Scythes Fall, was the long considered fallen, Stavus. alongside brothers of the Fourth during the initial boarding actions at the edges of Sothan space. Those first, desperate, engagements against a wholly new kind of Tryanid strain quickly determined the truly exceptional amongst the super-human Astartes warriors. In a series of tragic events he was to be left stranded upon a forgotten world, somewhere along the Damocles Gulf. Years later, through a chance encounter and resultant escape effort, he would be reunited with his kin, aboard the Tenax. Noted through training for being particularly astute in a tactical fire support role, Stavus is considered a lynch pin member to any Scythe action. His ability at range or in close quarter fire fights, asserts just how devastating an Imperial Bolter can be when placed in gifted hands. During engagements, Stavus will position himself with superb foresight, tenaciously refusing his position to the enemy with accurate, incessant fire. A fusillade which can just as easily keep heads down as remove them. This is not to say he is wary of hand to hand combat, the foot long assault blade which projects menacingly under his boltgun’s muzzle, deftly greets any enemy that feigns a hope at contesting the marine’s chosen position should they survive the fusillade.

Stavus, Fourth Company, Second Platoon, Third Squad.

Seen above, Stavus carries two satchels of sickle clips, super Krak and Frag grenades, a utility line and standard grenade discs in a hip pouch. This kit is predominantly used during Hunter missions, seeking out scouting Xenopmorphs on outlying worlds, when speed is more advantageous than rate of fire. Should he be involved in a boarding action, it is not unknown for Stavus to carrying four more clip satchels affixed about his utility belt. Once one is depleted he discards it, then methodically slides the remainder forwards to keep his clips in easy reach. Possibly the most notable feature of his armor is the ‘Mortis Aquilae’, a Sothan decoration for ability in ranged arms, which he was awarded only weeks before the Tyranids arrived over Sotha.

Since his return among fellow brothers, Stavus shows signs he has clearly struggled to come to terms with his own survival amongst the death of every brother in the Fourth, only to be stranded during Sotha’s final hours. Years of solitude have for now, entrenched whatever mental reasoning he has found solace in, but it has left him somewhat reserved and distant. Amongst the Scythes of the Tenax, his skills are greatly respected and with an understanding of shared experience, they are sure Stavus will come to integrate with the crew given time.

Rolling the shell casing between his finger and thumb, Stavus looked at the surface, his face smeared across the warping reflective surface of the cylinder. He rolled it back and forth slowly, watching with an appraisal that saw more than what was crafted upon it. He saw the casing fall, and sizzle into the flesh-floor of the Hiveship, the warhead open up a Tyranid before him as another received one after that. Suddenly the explosions spread alien shades of eviscera and sinew across the bulkheads of the Phrax, as the resolute Destroyer fought free of an awakened hiveship.

Muzzle flashes took snapshots of living and the dead a, always the alien maws snarling. He fought to leave the dying warship while the casings rained down on metal floors. He held his ground for any of a hundred brothers to make that last rendezvous. None came, their lives spent like so many rounds he had dispensed into the face of their foe. Taking from the dead, he kept his vengeance alive. He kept firing, kept hoping. But only the Tyranid flashed in the light of his defiance. Soon, even the Phrax cried out and so he shot down his closest would be killer, then stepped away. Ejected amidst explosions and fire, his hand seared from the last casing he had caught, just as the world below reached out for him.

A shrill ring made him aware that last casing now trickled across the walldesk of his alcove, then it left the edge and fell away, to be caught by him again.
“Stavus.. we launch in twenty minutes, Ardan’s just located the proto-nest” Stavus was suddenly interrupted.
A hundred faces looked to Stavus as he nodded in acknowledgement to the one alive among them. Turning back, he placed the spent casing on it’s end, at home amidst several electro-candles, rotating it about until his own etched name marred the reflection. Returning to his work, he slid aside the familiar scribing tool and brushed away the fine shavings. Then methodically selected each round from serried ranks; Illian, Haetus, Rael, Herus, Locan.. sliding each into their resting place within several magazines,
“I will fight with you always brothers..”