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1.85m(6’1″), athletic build in a thin frame, takes alot of work to put on the muscle that is clearly defined, brown hair cut extremely close and brown eyes, well kept beard and mustache forming a near perfect circle around his mouth. Martin wears whatever is functional and timeless. He dresses to impress when in house, but he’s typically dressed to blend in outside of headquarters. Martin’s vanity keeps everything in just do order. The ouroboros on his left arm is a black dragon biting its own tail sourounding a stylized triangle.
Martin is ambitious, he rise high as a youth in training in the military, and then when things happened to change his career path, he rose to a pinical with in the Atharim very quickly, thanks to his talents. Martin is confident and loyal, almost to a fault. But if you can get past the exterior, he can be generous and encouraging. He has been known to take worthy men and women under his wing to guide and nurture to be the best they can be. He is also pretentious and melodramatic. Two things that tend to work for him, but can be his downfall if he’s not careful. He is a control freak as well as stubborn. Martin rarely changes his point of view on anything. His greatest flaw is his vainity. Martin rises to every challenge and accomplishs everything he does or he’d die trying. There is no risk too great when it comes to accomplishing his goals. He is a solitary soul, bent of being the best.
Martin’s youth was like a fairy tale. He grew up in a loving home, his parents pushing him to be the best he could be. Insuring that he maintained their notablitly in his actions. A family with wealth was always making sure their name stood above the others. Their name meant that much to them.
He was the prince in the high tower, though the castle could be seen from his bedroom window, he did not reside in said castle of fairy tale, it only felt that way. He was guided through ritualistic sports in boarding school, but his displeasure at the school lead him to rebel, forcing his family to send him into miltary school. Here Martin thrived. Anything and everything Martin attempted he succeeded at.
From military school he joined the Czech Republic Land Forces. Martin had the nack of ferretting out information and was quickly assigned in low ranking facilities of the Reconnaissance and Electronic Warfare Department. There he learned many of the skills he utilizes today.
However an incident occurred when Martin was only 23, just barely starting his military career in full swing. His unit was out collecting information in some classified region of the world. No one knew they were there, well at least that’s what they claimed in the end. Martin’s team was attacked, they really had no information on what attacked them. All Martin knew was that it had been massive in size and it devestated the building he was in, quickly and almost quietly. He’d have said it was like a dragon, or an ogre, or something from myth and legend, but he knew that had to be his imagination.
At least that was what he thought at the time. He’d not come face to face with it. But he’d managed to be the sole survivor of the devestation, the men who found him, claimed the rpg he’d fired into whatever it was had brought the building down on top of it, rendering it dead. Martin never got to see the thing that attacked him and his unit. The building was quickly on fire and there was nothing left but ash by the time the fire finished consuming whatever it was.
But that had all be hearsay, Martin woke up in a dimily lit hospital room inside some place that smelled of must and dust and disuse, despite the sterililty of the room. Martin knew he had not been where he had fallen.
Martin found himself in Vatican City, more specifically under the Vatican. He had been treated and the men who had found him had brought him there to question. The interrogation lasted for weeks. They never treated him ill. But the questions barely stopped. What did you see? What do you know? How did you kill the creature? Do you know what it was? The questions drove on and on and repeated themselves when new men and women came to question him. Everyone trying a new tactic on him.
By the second week he laughed in their faces. He told them his answers weren’t going to change. And then Martin rattled off better ways to yield information with peaceful intent and a few that weren’t quite so nice. It must have impressed someone behind the screens and hidden cameras.
Another man had come in, it was the last man he would see in his interrogation cell, and the last man to whom he would answer questions for. The man introduced himself as Armande Nicodemus. He was senior something or other, he was behind the screen, watching the cameras. He told him of a man, the man whom Martin would speak to soon. The Regus. A title of some world renown as head of the Vatican Historical Society. But it was not the whole of it. He informed Martin of the their organization. He’d some light on the reasons for his interrogation. That he’d shown promise. And he was to be introduced immediately.
The entire concept of the Atharim had boggled Martin’s mind the day he met Stephano Wijngaard. The Regus was a kind hearted Dutch man with little sensibilities in the ways of interrogation, or much of anything really Martin soon learned. He was leader, but he was not A leader.
Martin soon found himself with in the Vatican walls training to slay monsters. Swords, guns, any weapon imaginable to kill a creature. And the creatures they could come up seemed unfathomable – men made of mist, gods, and people who could manipulate a man’s emotions. He’d heard rumors of some being harnessed – these furia. Creatures who could smell emotion. The only reason they survive in the mist of the Atharim is because they are harmless and completely useful. Martin disagreed with using the monsters, but the Furia had a place, a choice, here with them, or death. He’d seen few not choose to work with them.
The world turned on in this so-called wheel and the Atharim fought monsters. Martin rose in ranks and was soon close to the heart of the society when the hands of the office of Regus changed. It was just before that change that he was named High Inquisitor. Martin had only held the position a year before he would answer to the new Regus. The new man was strong, Martin liked him. He was scholar and warrior all wrapped up into one. Martin was young to hold such a key place among the Atharim. But he was good at his job, some even claimed the best. While Martin knew his own vanity, he still knew he could be better, he could always be better, stronger, more knowledgeable. There was always more!