|Full name||Conrad Sebastien Oberhauer|
|Date of Birth||01.Nov.2510|
|Eyes and Hair||Brown/Brown|
|Height and Weight||5'11"/150 lbs|
I was young when dad left, good riddance. Mom was a bit overbearring, believing in the almighty and all his bullshit, well fuck God and fuck the priesthood. It was go hungry or steal, so I stole. First time I got caught, it was some little thing and I wasn't but eight or so, my mom beat my ass with a belt, but worse off, she crammed the bible in my face. Made me read chapter after chapter every night, every morning, every gorram time she thought I might have what she called her idle-hand syndrome. Weren't idle hands, it was an empty belly that motivated me. Didn't take long though that I started rebelling against that. Found all kinds of shit on the cortex, stuff that I knew would piss her off to no end if she knew I was reading it, but I did what any good son would do and did it behind her back. After all, last thing I wanted was her cramming the 'good book' down my throat. The 'good book' ruined our lives, she was just too damned stupid to see it.
When I was a teen, I fell in with some other teens that were rebelling against their folks, not a difficult thing to do when you grow up amongst the lower-class on Bernadette. We called ourselves a coven, practiced our witchcraft straight out of the books we found, well that didn't work. It took me a while, and while the sex was great, it was empty. To them, it was just an excuse to dye their hair black, wear too much eyeliner and stay out of the sun. It didn't draw power, and I moved on.
Mom started visiting church damn near every day. Started having prayer vigils at our home, praying for her 'lost son' as she labeled me, well mom, I wouldn't have been lost if you'd fucking put food on the table. Still, I learned to be strong, learned that I didn't need you, that I could provide for myself and that's what I did. I bounced around, one group to the next. It was easy to manipulate the young ones, they were so idealistic and next thing you knew, I had my own little gang of cutpurses. I didn't even have to steal anymore, just told them that the dark gods wanted them to prove their devotion. I quit going hungry almost overnight, at least until a few of them got pinched by the local feds. They didn't know my real name, as we all went by some stupid monicker or whatever, so I hopped on the first shuttle off planet. That was a few years ago, back when I was still a teen, but now I've gotta move on.
When I was twenty, I took a job, full on contract. I'd found a few fences, even hired on with a crew as a trainee pilot for a while, but this was my first real contract to steal something specific. Book collector guy wanted a rare bible, and was willing to trade just about anything in his collection for it. Let me tell you, it was a nice collection with all kinds of valuables and all he wanted was some damned illuminated manuscript as he called it. Well, I got him his damned book but it wasn't without cost. Made it into the home clean, even got the old bible safely tucked into my pack, but as I was about to make my retreat a fuckin' maid walks in. There I was, standing in front of a window, dressed all in black, but not wearing a mask. She flips on the lights, spots me and I froze. What was I to do? Well, fuck getting caught, she could identify me so I ran at her. Next thing I remember, I'm waking up in a shitty hotel, my hands still soaked in blood. Local news feeds said someone had broken into an archediocese and performed a ritualistic killing of a member of the staff there. She was dead of course, so the reports said no witnesses. I look down, and there's my pack, and it's still got the book in it, even though the reports were that nothing was taken. Must have been my lucky day.
I think I bathed for about 8 hours, after puking up everything I'd eaten for the past week. I'd never killed anyone before, had never even considered it. I looked at my hands and still saw the blood upon them, no matter how much I scrubbed. Well, I guess I crossed the line, but at least I got out of there with what I came for. Hell, I don't even know what I used for a weapon, but I'd been wearing gloves, at least I think I had been wearing gloves.
Next day, I met up with the collector and handed over his book. Man didn't say a word, it was like he knew I'd succeeded. Hell, everything had been exactly where he said it would have been aside from the maid. To this day I don't know exactly what happened, only that I was there, she was there, and when I woke up in my hotel room my hands were covered in blood and news reports talked of murder. I handed over the book, and he gave me another in return. Hell, I didn't even argue, I just dropped it in my pack and left, still disoriented.
Took me a few days, laying low as I could before I hopped a shuttle off planet. I didn't read latin, at least not then, had no clue what this book I had been given was, only that it wasn't quite as nice as the one I'd stolen. No gilding, no fancy etchings, just a black leather binding, a bunch of writing I didn't understand, and a hell of a lot of pages filled with drawings and diagrams. Looked similar, but not exactly like some of the shit I'd read from the cortex when I was a teen. Thought about selling it, but taking it to the few fences I knew that might deal in such books didn't pan out. They wouldn't touch it, said I should even burn it. Well, that peaked my curiosity and I started studying latin, trying to translate it best I could. Granted, learning latin didn't pay the bills, and since the last scenario ended in me brutally murdering some poor woman, I'd decided to go legit. At least for now.
Bounced around on a few different crews, doing light maintenance, a bit of piloting, but mostly I stuck to my bunk. Honest work wasn't that bad, a bit boring, but at least it gave me time to study. I got obsessed, the more I read, the more I was intrigued. Took me two years, but I had a good grasp of the language it was written in, hell I got to where I didn't even need the cheat sheets or dictionary anymore to read the pages. Liber Juratus, it was called, and dealt heavily in necromancy and other dark arts. Then the Alliance inspection came, and for the first time in months, the captain came into my room. Man did he flip out when he saw the altar I'd set up, even more pissed when the ship's cat was discovered disemboweled as part of a sacrifice that never got finished. It was a good thing I packed light, because I was off that ship well before the feds were, told never to come back. Guess I gotta find a new crew, or another source of income because I ain't never going hungry again. I'll do what I have to do, and learn to be more discreet in my studies.