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Herr D
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Eowyn Dametas of Argus 5 was born to the [gasp-gasp-wheeze] clan. That basically translates into “Your last breath.” His species was unknown, just another enslaved race far from its original home, when it renamed itself as it suddenly slaughtered Argus 5’s natives, three of the owned species, and all twenty-five mercenary forces serving the planet’s needs.
Birthed, therefore, by genocide, their leaders set out searching for their homeworld, certain of a soon and triumphant return. That was over five thousand years ago. No one has heard from them.
His species [smack-SMACK, simultaneous with ululant whistle] (translates to “We win!”) is excellent at speaking any language, as they have unusually flexible innards and tentacles, suitable for making almost any sound. They are excellent porters, supply clerks, organizers, and gofers, as they have surprising strength, speed, and agility, and don’t have to use their eyes to find anything they store in their packs. Their tentacles are much like those of Terran octopi, though tougher and more capable. He doesn’t need backpack straps, as one tentacle is always IN the pack.
Dametas joined up as a weapons expert to get back to his roots. At least, his murderous ones. He earns a piecework rate for each weapon stored, maintained, and delivered or loaned out when needed. He is salaried for unusual or fragile weapons or ammo and paid bonuses for difficult or particularly spectacular or demoralizing kills. The day-to-day killing he does for free. He is paid in room and board, weapons and weapon parts, current astronomical data, and credits toward his eventual emigration.
Shown here leaving the site of a burning troop transport during an unrecorded battle, Dametas explained that he lived through the ambush because he was the only species aboard who does not completely go unconscious during sleep. He killed the enemy and stole their data, keeping a copy of this picture for sentimental reasons. It comes up on his screensaver once in a while.

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