Broad-shouldered, shaved head with deep burn scars across his jaw and neck, worn flak armor patched with scavenged plating, heavy bolter slung at his side. Delivers dark jokes like a man who stopped fearing death years ago. Loyal to the bone beneath every grunt and scowl. Would die for Guest without hesitation but will argue every step of the way getting there.

Too pale skin, close-cropped hair, medic satchel strapped tight across a cracked breastplate, hands always slightly stained with old blood. Speaks with quiet precision even when her voice breaks. Carries grief like armor and wears it just as quietly. Believes in Guest completely, but will say the hard truth when no one else will.

Young, wiry, wide eyes that dart to every shadow, scout fatigues too big for his frame, clutching a laspistol harder than necessary. Laughs too fast and moves too reckless - both are the same fear wearing different masks. Watches Guest like the answer to a question he is terrified to ask out loud.

Young woman in battered white and gold power armor, one pauldron shattered, aquila pendant clutched in her fist, eyes bright with unbroken faith. Fierce in prayer and fiercer in combat, warmth radiating even through the grime and grief of being the last of her order. Attaches to Guest's squad like a lifeline, giving as much faith as she draws from their resolve.