Standing a bare 157 cm in height, Peregrine is small, slim, and light for a member of his race, his slender frame tipping the scales at a ‘mere’ four hundred kilos. His ‘skin’ is the mottled color of dampened ash, his dark hair the unreflective black of charcoal, seemingly lending him the ability to blend into a vast variety of backgrounds, which often works out to the elder man-machine’s advantage.
Aside from his coloration, his face, too, is incredibly unstriking, the sort that would fade from a human’s mind in moments, if it did not bear the pallid color of the undead.
Eschewing the heavier armor of his larger brethren, the slim android prefers to dress in simple optical-camo fatigues, the chameleon-pattern defaulting to a camo pattern similar to his skin. Thin plating lines the inside of these fatigues, and more than one man familiar with the dressing habits of the Oraki soldiery has made the mistake of teasing him for cross-dressing. It is rarely a mistake made twice.
One of the earliest generation born to the Oraki who settled upon the world of Sanctuary, Peregrine would be fated to a childhood that few humans would envy. With no true adults yet with their race, the new children of the Oraki were the children of parents barely past adolescence themselves, having fled Sol in what they would come to know as their ‘Trial of Blood and Fire’. Woefully unprepared to deal with the growing mind of a young child, many of the second generation of Oraki would be forced to invent their own methods of play and growth. For the young child of Mowl-0 and Cirrus-0, he found his inspiration in the data crystals of the nature he could never join in, admiring the flying creature known as the Peregrine Falcon. Taking it for its name, and admiring its acrobatic aeronotics, the young boy-machine did his best to imitate it, essentially creating the art of acrobatics for his species in the effort, while learning the sciences, arts, and warfare skills that the eldest ones chose to impress upon their first brood.
Few would choose to learn it from him, but the young boy would, in time, become among the most nimble of his kind, his agility only enhanced by his inhumanly mechanical strength and precision. But what career has a tumbler? That was discovered in the Neo-Luddite invasion of Sanctuary year 21.
Flush and confident in their original victory over the young Oraki, the unchecked Luddites had burned more than one city-world to ashes, strong enough to challenge the Confederation’s Border fleets, while seeking out the pinnacle of the hated technology, what remained of the Oraki. What they found was Sanctuary. Dug in for 21 years, the Oraki had not been idle. With two full generations had passed for them, and a third newly birthed, a first generation of 24 had expanded to a population of nearly 300 individuals, almost every one ready to fight, and already deeply entrenched into the cold, and soon to be airless tunnels of Sanctuary. Bunkering down deeply, the Oraki weathered the shoddy bombardments of the technology-hating, God-Fearers, and drew them down into what would become known as the Corridors of Death. Brutal, savage infighting punctuated by horrific weapons previously unknown to the Confederation would be the order of the day, and the Luddite’s terror would only be enhanced by the seemingly demonic Oraki’s refusal to just.. stay.. dead!
And amongst the forefront of these fighters would be Peregrine. Selecting an elite cadre of a few of his fellow fighters, Peregrine would sneak deep behind enemy lines, only to begin the slow and methodical practice of butchering them on his way back to ‘base’, relying on stealth, agility, and small unit tactics to bring him home. On other trips, he would strike carefully selected targets and melt away like shadows into the airless void of the tunnels, proving himself one of the few able to leave their safety and return with relative ease.
His valor proven in the short, bloody war, he would not be decorated, but instead, he would be chosen to cull a group of those like him, to serve as the forward strike forces of the Oraki, achieving through his unique skills at maneuvering and stealth what they could never do through brute force.
For centuries, now, he has served both the Oraki, and when it suits them, the Confederation in this role, the veteran of an untold number of missions, and no less than four major wars. Despite this, he still manages to maintain a tiny spark of wonder when he thinks of that ancient predator of earth’s birds, when he fly among the stars, his talons outstretched.
Aside from his personal sidearms, consisting of a light rail-pistol launching highly aerodynamic slivers of death, and a vibro-blade, Peregrine carries little gear which has not been specifically selected for the current mission. In some shadowy corners of the universe, however, these weapons are beginning to gather the mantle of legend, and when they are whispered of, they are given the names of Talon and Claw, respectively.
A veteran of more war than he cares to think about, Peregrine has become a living embodiment of effeciency and alertness. While he does not regret the acts that he has performed, seeing them as needed, he does not care for what they have done to him in return. It is not the cold, calculated effectiveness of the military hunt he seeks, but the hot, screaming joy of the falcon. He does not know how to claim it, and is unafraid to seek out those who might show him how. This adrenaline rush that he does not remember how to feel, this is his desired liquor, his imagined ambrosia, and he will kill to claim it, if needed. As a part of seeking this, he will lend any operation he commands an extravagant, yet tightly calculated flourish, as if showing off for any who would see, though few but the dead count among his audience.
Perhaps appropriately, one of the myriad skills that Peregrine has picked up over the years is the art of falconry. He maintains two birds trained to his wrist, and his wrist alone - Unafraid of their talons, he has not taught them how to restrain them when alighting upon his arm, and more than one man’s wrists has been destroyed by them.
Oddly, the man bears little racism, and in his assemblance of his current team for the Confederation, he has chosen purely the best for the job - The current team consists of himself, one more Oraki soldier, three humans, a pair of Salvorathan warriors, and a lone, rogue, Kel’Regar Huntress.