Barabbas Thule

Low-Rung Juve Ganger of Sinophia's Undertow



Male; Average 5’7.5/1.75m; 143lbs/65kg; 16yo; Lightly tanned skin; Black hair; Dark brown eyes; Handed: Right
Quirks: See Bio Below
Divination: Heresy begets Retribution (+3 Str, -3 Toughness)

WS: 25 BS: 40 S: 28 T: 27 AG: 35 INT: 30 PER: 50 WP: 45 FEL: 25 IFL: 25
Movement: 3/6/9/18 Wounds: 12 Fatigue Threshold: 9


  • Teeming Masses in Metal Mountains: A hive world character ignores crowds for purposes of movement, treating them as open terrain. When in enclosed spaces, he also gains a +20 bonus to Navigate (Surface) tests.
  • Never Quit: An Outcast character counts his Toughness bonus as two higher for purposes of determining Fatigue.


  • Awareness-2
  • Deceive
  • Common Lore (Underworld)
  • Dodge
  • Linguistics (Sinophia Thieves Cant)-2
  • Linguistics (Low Gothic)
  • Scrutiny
  • Sleight of Hand
  • Stealth
  • Survival


  • Weapon Training (Low Tech, Solid Projectile)

Insanity: 0 / Corruption: 0 / Fate Points: 2

Aptitudes: Perception, Fieldcraft, Defense, Intelligence, Knowledge, Willpower, Agility & General


Barabbas Thule spat a wad of congealing blood and broken teeth as he half ran, half hobbled through the dirty ruin of the hab. Though his path took him through intricate tangles of canals and walkways – a winding warren liberally strewn with rubble, muck, and overgrown flora – none of it really seemed to obstruct his path. He was making good time, yet the sounds of pursuit in the distance still made Barabbas’ pulse race. The gentle sussuration of bodies splashing and scrabbling through the labyrinthine hab was distant and faint, but it meant They were still looking. Barabbas needed to warn the others…but first he had to save himself.

Skirting a puddle of a dark, viscous fluid, Barabbas deftly navigated the surface to avoid its source – a broken pipe steadily leaking the smelly sludge – and continued to clamber over the rubble. Harsh white light filtered in through above, flickering in and out of life as the machine spirit inhabiting the overhead lighting system sputtered its indignation at having been neglected and unattended for years. Despite its valiant effort to illuminate the crumbling tenements, exposed plasteel girders and gantries prevented the lumen’s machine spirit from succeeding and deep shadows were cast over the hab. What was once housing for poor factory workers had slowly fallen into decay when Sinophia ceased being a primary staging point for the Angevin Crusade, the entire world becoming marginalized as its purpose faded and trade shifted to more lucrative worlds. While the district was always poor, its inhabitants had once retained their pride, had faith in the God Emperor, and were at least clean. Now the neighborhood was an unsanitary ruin.

Barabbas paused to catch his breath and turned to peer into the vast expanse of the vaulted undercity section of the Sinks behind him. Even with his keen and perceptive eyesight he could make out nothing out of the ordinary. Gently prodding his upper lip, turned fat with a swelling of blood, Barabbas ran his finger over the light moustache he took so much pride in. Barabbas grinned – more a sneer, really – and squared his shoulders despite the danger. To him, the peach fuzz was a sign of manhood and power.

To others however, especially with the swelling of his lip, the moustache looked more like a comically hairy grub dangled precariously under his nose. Adding this to his completely average looks and features, patchwork clothing, and gangland swagger, it was easy to dismiss Barabbas as just another low rung underhive punk out of the Sinks of thirteen. It would be nice to say that some glimmer or spark of willpower in his eyes gave him gravitas, something that made him stand out and call a person to notice him, but frankly that would be a lie. His eyes were just a dull, average brown.

Suddenly the smell of freshly cut grass hit his nostrils – obviously out of place in the dirty ruin of the Sinks. He had smelled this before, and always the odor preceded something dangerous – when he was 13, it allowed him just enough time to dodge the errant stubber round that pierced his room wall when a rival House emptied clips into his family’s apartment to try to kill his mother and sisters. At 14, it was the only thing that saved him from being beaten by the pack of bullying juves who would have had otherwise cornered him in the market when he tried to explore further up-hive. When he was 15 it helped him avoid the truncheon in the head which was swung by a power-mad arbites officer. Now 16, it only partially helped him flee the Spyrers who came to the undercity to kill for sport. It sadly did not forewarn his family who undoubtedly lay dead behind him.

With a roar, an armored figure burst through a wall a few meters distant…

Summary: Sinophia underhive ganger juve
Physical Attributes: Average height, average weight, trimmed black hair and dark brown eyes – completely unremarkable and easily overlooked as just another hive-trash ganger, albeit a young one. 16 years old. Sports a peach fuzz mustache that he thinks makes him look older, but really just makes his upper lip look dirty.


  • Physical Trait: Grimy Skin. Just can’t seem to get clean. Must be all the clambering around in the muck of the Sinks.
  • Hive World Tradition: Solitude is Golden. Despite his general lack of respect for, well, anything, Barabbas always respects a persons privacy/solitude.
  • Speaks in juvie ganger cant/lingo. Liberally uses slang terms and thinks that adults just don’t understand
  • Talks smack when he should keep his mouth shut. Nuff said
  • Legitimately believes everyone is on the take, and that people only do things because something is in it for them. Doesn’t understand, nor wishes to understand, concepts of honor, sacrifice, or codes of conduct. Believes everything has a price.
  • Chip on his shoulder about following orders, especially from women. One of very few males in a female dominated gang, as men are held in contempt and pitied by his House. As a result, he is often deferential to decisions made or requested by women without thinking, only to sputter and start questioning things while halfway through what he’s doing once he realizes he’s unconsciously started doing it. Gripes and groans about any orders.
  • Obsessed with learning about “Spyrer” tech. Growing up, only his siblings (older sisters, haven’t decided how many or names or abilities) ever treated him “well”, and they were slain by an roving gang of Spyre Hunters. As a result he is obsessed with learning about and acquiring hunting rig combat technology, particularly tech he thinks is like spyrer suits and weaponry (state of the art, self-sustaining and self-repairing suits with built-in weapons and gear / cybernetic enhancements that can include features like customized power armor, bolters, force fields, mirror shields, web spinnarets, camo-cloaking devices, power claws, jump pack like wings, monomolecular swords, etc, some of which is purportedly gotten from the Tau empire)
  • Distrusts and nurses severe hatred of nobility. The general mistrust and dislike that Sinophia Magna residents have toward nobles is magnified due to the killings of his sisters by rich up-hivers who have come to kill in the underhive for sport, and as a result Barabbas has a perception that whatever they are like to your face, Nobles are “all the same” inside.
  • Believes in safety first, but if you can’t get away stomp your enemy until he’s pulp. Like many underhive survivors he is constantly (though sub-consciously) aware, and his first instinct is always on how to survive a situation; he does not take undue risks or make heroic sacrificial charges, though many of his ‘fight’ responses (as in fight or flight) to things are to meet antagonism with as overwhelming a force as he can bring to bear because dead enemies can’t come back to seek revenge in the future. Has no compunctions about ‘finishing’ beaten opponents so they can’t come back to haunt him in the future.
  • Tries to act tough, but is mostly just comic relief. He swaggers and tries to act tough, and tends to exaggerate to try to impress people (we fought a dozen, no 20, no 30 cultists!!). Voice occasionally breaks to his chagrin and the amusement of others. Easily impressed by combat veterans and combat prowess, but thinks administratum pursuits are boring and beneath him.
  • Keeps a journal on a dataslate. Don’t call it a diary, brah. Just don’t.

Barabbas Thule

Emperor Preserve seanpp lostboy24