Tesla, Explorator Jak Tesla. It's a name that sounds as though it ought to be applied to a rakish young man with unshaven stubble in a black leather sleeveless waistcoat, a heavy hellpistol riding low on one hip and a barely-dressed female assassin on the other.

 The universe doesn't have the same sense of narrative as humanity however, so as misfortune would have it what the gets is somewhere around seven feet of gangling cerametal and flesh completely draped in deep-red ceremonial robes, save of course for the gleam of unexpectedly cheerful (somehow) occular implants set over a rebreather that's shaped somewhat after the Aquila of the Imperium, a short and curving brass beak under which is the grill-like expanse of a streamlined (and rather stylish) voder system that, naturally gives him a deep and resonant voice capable of filling a room at will. There are mechandrites as well of course, two long and trifurcating arrangements of polished brass-coloured alloy which end in a ferociously complicated set of branching manipulators and scanning equipment.

 He usually carries an Adeptus staff as a badge of office, graven with minuscule sigils and binary-rune incantations (with a powered axe-blade on the back, for when technomancy needs to be backed up with a little brute force) and the Lamentation of Heresy, a Mars-pattern Inferno pistol while in time of more serious conflict he often bears a heft Mark V Mars-pattern plasma gun, the better to flay the heretech and xeno with the righteous argument of Sol's holy light.
 So, you know. Not that cheerful.