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Phaedra is a young woman - prone to the errors and misteps of youth. Cavalier would be the easiest word to describe her attitude and demeanor to others. Sure of herself, guarded in her mind by the prophecies that were told at her birth and her position in one of the most powerful houses of the Navis Nobilite. Her swagger can be off-putting to say the least, her manners suggest little genuine respect for others. She flirts with disaster and heresy, pursuing her pleasure and passions rather than sacred duty to the Imperium and may one day find herself judged poorly by the Inquisition for her past actions. Like many born of nobility, she's flirted with luxury unknown to the common citizen. But there is redemption to her in some ways - the pure joy she feels navigating the warp provides a different woman to those who encounter her away from a ship. Exploration is exhiliration - to pilot a ship through the darkness of the warp - where possibly no person has been in millenia - if ever thrills her, defines her existence. Having been grounded for a few years prior has left high anxiety in her up to this point.

Her dark, solid black eyes provide an immediate focal point for most who look upon her. The lack of iris or light in the orbs of blackness easily marks her position. A light, translucent veil is worn over her blonde short mohawk and long braid at the back of her head - more importantly - it emphasizes the third eye. The gauzy fabric makes one looking for it take a few moments more - its a small mindgame of the variety she seems to enjoy. Her shoulders, back and neck are tattooed with the Fenris Wolf from her family's crest and additional tattoos cover her arms - Imperial Iconography etched to her flesh rather than worn. Her style is a utilitarian one - to one who did not know her place or look to her face, they'd think her more likely some bit of scum or gun-slinger. Naval pants and boots from her time amid the Battlefleets, a long jacket that billows slightly to mask her slender frame behind a larger shadow.

When born, Phaedra's mother peered through the warp to the distant shores of the future and came back with an image. Her parents and others among the house spoke and considered the meaning of these things and the consensus was that at some point in her life, Phaedra would repay the last coin of the Pact of Anwyn and remove the debt of the Belisaruis to the Eldar Xenos. Such a portent - even if no more than potential - brought her considerable attention from a young age. It is said even the Celestarch visited the young girl in her youth on a few rare occasions to see how she was shaping up. Despite wanting for nothing amid the massive mansion on Holy Terra, from a young age Phaedra wanted out.

Considered even among the upper crust to be a spoiled brat, it was a surprise when she requested her first posting be a Battlefleet assignment on the frontier. The larger shock was that she settled in so well to it. In truth, the military discipline gave her focus she lacked finding in the lack of luxury. She very well could have had a long and promising career there had fate not intervened. In this case, fate took the hand of a dreaded matchmaker.

Obviously, Phaedra could not be married outside of the house while the prophecy was unfufilled but she was now at an age where she could produce offspring to spread the Navigator gene to a new generation so her family found a distant cousin who would make a suitable match. Unfortunately the young scion of the house found that cousin a dreadful person and refused. The internal politics this led to were bloody and took the lives of a number of figures around Phaedra. Finally - she forced the hand of the higher parties in the House to intervene - though she was hardly pleased with the results. Until she relented, she would be banned from serving as Navigator for any Imperial craft and she would not benefit from the guards and assassins normally at the disposal of a Navigator Primaris nor the privileges of her station in the house.

She's spent over a year now at Port Wander waiting. Hoping to find a Rogue Trader desperate enough, travelling far enough from civilization to let her take her place again at the observation post of a great ship - to look up through her blackened eyes into the twisted shapes of the immaterium and tether herself to the Astronomicon, to know the Emperor himself in those moments. In the time, she's hired herself out to serve as a cargo loader, a mercenary - she's hungered and needed the taste of the void but none so far has dared commission her in her proper place.

Sometimes, when she was tired, Phaedra could convince herself that the thrum of the systems which maintained Port Wander's position and gravity were in fact the altogether different mechanical resonance of a warp drive core vibrating the air below her. She could imagine the constant electrical noise in her chambers was the faint presence of a geller field hugging her ship - almost her flesh. And on those nights she could rest peacefully - the pit in her stomach would fade away that. She slept on those rare, sweet nights without the illness and terror of being grounded.

Her days had blurred into a hazy sort of oneness, it was hard to motivate herself out of her chambers. For those toiling away in the industrial sectors around her - it would be hard for them to pity her. Even grounded and denied many of the resources of House Belisarius, her chambers were near enough to a palace for the common working man of the Imperium - especially here on a tightly quartered space station. But for her all the trappings were like ashes in her mouth before her.

This day was ever so slightly different. A tiny breeze amidst the doldrums that she was cast into. As the klaxon-like alarm roared in her chambers to wake her from her fitful slumber, she actually smiled. How many weeks had it been since such an act occurred? The contortion of muscles dawned on her a moment later through the haze of chemicals fleeing her brain and was quickly remedied.

She dressed slowly, carefully covering her extensive tattoos. Today she would pretend that the man watching her door did not know what she was. That she had not realized she was 'made' by the spy from a rival house. She would travel the decks, and the young rake would approach her. She would look at him with sad eyes again and he would enquire what was wrong. The dance was already planned. Phaedra had been setting up the stage for four days. Having anything to think of, anything at all, was a kind change.


There was a definite charm in the reliability of agents. That was why they were agents and not just scum after all, but after being plied with platitudes as they stared out at the stars, the lady was ready to advance the game. Her voice was carefully affected in a wistful sense, "Once I was not a caged bird and flew among the stars, can you believe it?"

"I could believe anything of you beautiful," the man responded easily. Practiced. Phaedra had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. She hoped her houses enemies didn't truly think her that enfeebled.

"You've never told me how you came to be here Dieter. What brought you to Port Wander? Are you a dashing rogue trader? A pirate?" she asked - a teasing tone carrying through. Her words sobered, "Or - are you a spy on an important mission."

The cocky half-smile the man wore faded a bit as the game was wearing down. "I wouldn't say that important - killing a bird with a broken wing is more of a mercy killing. I'm not sure your house won't thank me as well as my employers."

"We both know you aren't that lucky," she said. Four days of planning and she realized she would miss the man even as her third eye opened to the vast void. While men who chose their own fortune liked to say that there untold possibilities, she knew better. Her eye watched the half-dozen ways the next few moments might play out, the shadows, the reflections. Like a broken mirror, but each slowly faded as she drew her concealed pistol.

The man leapt for cover - only for her single shot to find him in the middle of his trajectory. Predicatble, reliable, but she would still miss him.


What would her father say if he saw her carrying heavy pallets down the tether of a docked ship simply to feel the ionized vents of a proper vessels engines near her skin? It had been three months and her memories of Dieter were fading faster than she would have liked. Even the rigorous labor under the skeptical eye of a few voidsmen was over much too fast. Every month the agitation was growing worse - in the past few days she had even considered marrying her toad of a cousin.

A glance at the boxes and she turned to one of the voidsmen. "Is that it? A ship that large and this is all your cargo?" She offered a small confidential wink. "I know how to keep my mouth shut if there's more work to be done."

"Would that there was, Skink," he answered with a shrug. The fake name raised far less eyebrows than a noblewoman's on the docks. It wasn't hard to hear the tone of desperation in the man's voice. "I'm not sure we'll be making many more voyages at this rate. The crew grumbles and the fates have abandoned us."

"There is only the guidance of the Emperor," she intones - too many sailors were suspicious to the point where they invited heresy. Something Phaedra saw no need to add to her list of crimes in her father's eyes.

"No guidance if our Navigator does not improve," the man counters, bitter and done with the young woman. Had he remained - he would have seen her second smile in the past year. Perhaps the Emperor provided after all. Her eyes scanned the nearest terminal - the registry of the ship - to the Umber Dynasty. Just maybe she could solve two people's problems at once.


Casual wealth was something one must have to understand - just as one must live through poverty to truly know it. Phaedra easily bribed her way into all the information she needed. It was a routine exercise, in truth, old hat. The area the Rogue Trader was meeting in was an open air.

She listened to the words within, waiting for desperation, waiting for someone to say - ah there it was, "We cannot travel without a Navigator."

Her steps were crisp, and the smile on her face genuine. "Captain Umber - allow me to introduce myself," she offered. "Lady Phaedra Belisarius. Yes, that Belisarius." After all - one did not forget their manners.

What can you say about the personality of someone who impersonates people professionally? Certainly there are those who would say that inquisition assassins are unfeeling, righteous blades of vengeance and judgement. Of course - most of that is little more than righteous propoganda. Someone who looks past the public persona of Echo would likely first notice that she has an amazing laugh that fills a room. Especially for bawdy jokes told by long time voidsmen. Not that many would have the courage to say one to a woman present to seek out heretics and defilers. Those who do though are rewarded with a great laugh and usually a bit of respect in turn.

Fiercely devoted to the Imperial Creed and the belief in her teachings, she almost seems to become a different person when on a mission. A honed focus guides her towards her prey and money, wealth, power - these things hold no interest to her. When not actively engaged, she is amiable. Friendly though at times she may be awkward, trying too hard in some situations, hanging back in others as a result of too much time focused on other things. She 'missed' the class in things like fitting in. Its a strange dichotomy - when she adopts a role for an assassination she isn't plagued by these troubles. Like many gifted actors, it is safer to be bubbly and extroverted when you are not yourself.

Much like trying to describe her personality, knowing what Echo truly looks like can be a challenge. She possesses numerous wigs, prosthetics and figure warping outfits to make that difficult. The biggest disappointment for most is likely just how dull the truth is.

Her skin is rather flat, pale. It borders on sallow but isn't quite so remarkable as that. A couple very small blemishes, unremarkable and bland. Her coppery hair lacks body, is mousy and usually drawn up in a simple, quick pontail. Narrow grey eyes are sunken without the right makeups to make them really pop. It isn't that she's ugly - its just that she's plain - homely - boring. Not what people imagine - and she doesn't slide into the skin-tight bodysuits when she's not hunting someone. No, she wears comfortable pants - more fit to the lower decks than a person of her power and authority, loose, baggy clothing when she is not presenting herself as an instrument of the Emperor's Will and Justice.

Lord Gregarion was a good man - or as good of a man as he could be in his line of work. When his son, a victim of too much pride to still live, fathered a bastard child upon a poor woman working in the low decks - the rogue trader ensured his granddaughter would be well enough situated. Illegitimate though she was, she would be a target for his enemies and other parts of the Dynasty, the greater mercy was to erase the ties between them. The only memory she has is a small emblem given to her early in life.

Coming into adulthood, she was raised in the Death Cult aboard the ship - serving the will of the Captain and Omnissiah as if they were one in the creed she was taught. A gifted killer from an early age, her grandfather again stepped in - offering her a higher place in the Imperium in service to an Inquisitor whom he had old-standing ties with. Here she was taught the importance of service to the God-Emperor and would come to be one of the most skilled assassins employed by the Inquisitor.

And then would come her grandfather's death and the destruction of the ship that had given birth to her - who's spirit was still venerated on some level by Echo. It took over a year for the information to reach her as she had been deep at work infiltrating a large cult at the heart of the Calaxis sector - but when the news came it was a crushing blow to her. Even moreso when the Inquisitor explained that the Captain was not just a near deific figure to her - but also her grandfather. The people who were accountable would be brought to justice, she swore that day. And so she has sought out the remainder of the crew - to judge them of any guilt and then move on through others.