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 "Don't blame me for what I’ve done. I watched my wife and daughters die before me. It was death or embracing Chaos, and I knew that through Chaos, I might live. Live! It is life that matters and what I have learned is that Chaos IS life, for life is change and destruction and new forms, new mutations ever manifesting. We clung to the Emperor, a dying effigy, because He was all we knew. We feared life. We feared our own potential strength. The Imperium is dying. A slow death, but it’s dying. I did what I had to, that’s all. I opened my eyes and saw what a fool all of us were, bowing to a half-dead failure slumped on a throne. Haha! The blasphemy still sends shivers down my spine. It is the freshness of life. I am given to Chaos now. Now I truly live!" - Unknown, found in a half burned journal in Marconia, capital of Kaurava IV   “You’ve seen what lurks under the dead waters here. Whatever that spawns them from the centre of this world must surely hate all living things.” - Jareen Kolp, survivor of the downed voidship Endless Vengeance If the endless galaxy itself is uncaring, what can be said of the many warp storms that plague and intrude upon the material plane? In the Vortex, men are either slave or master, for any other existence is anathema to a region ruled according to the whims of Chaos. You were once a powerful and feared, or perhaps at least influential, servant of the Dark Gods. You always knew of the fickle nature of them and their favour, but never experienced it so brutally in your life before. Something bad happened to you, to say the least. Betrayed, forgotten, lost, defeated or eaten by a warp abomination, in the end it doesn't matter, you lost and you lost bad. But perhaps there is a chance for you yet, if you can manage to desperately grasp it with all your anger, strength, willpower and determination... The painful memories of your downfall are still fresh on your mind as you slowly regain consciousness. Dazed and confused you look around to understand your surroundings: the wreckage of some void-ship in the middle of an endless ocean. You look down at your body and notice that you even lost some of the gifts given to you by the Chaos Gods, and most of your equipment is missing or damaged. You see dark things stir below the waters and up only hellish crimson skies, befitting a planet so cursed by the Blood God... ~ ~ Welcome to my newest BC game! I've learned from my past mistakes and will only focus on this one game if there is any interest in it! There are some important house-rules and campaign notes so read carefully! Character Creation Starting Experience: 6000 XP for Humans and 5500 XP for Chaos Space Marines. All Alternate Archetypes from Tome of Blood, Fate (WITH THE EXCEPTION OF ALPHA LEGIONNAIRE!), Excess and Decay are allowed. Reminder that the Alternate Archetypes have an XP cost. The Human ones cost 5600 XP and the CSM ones cost 4100 XP. Stats: 100 Point-Buy. No more than +20 per Characteristic. Wounds: Don't roll 1d5, go with maximum wounds Infamy and Corruption: Everyone starts with 15 Infamy and 5 Corruption. Ignore the added amount if you're doing an Advanced Archetype from a Tome. Pride/Disgrace/Motivation can alter the values as usual. Don't roll for Pride/Disgrace/Motivation, pick what fits best for you. Equipment and Starting Requisition: NO additional starting equipment based on Infamy Bonus. You only get the Starting Equipment of your race and career/archetype. And even that WILL be damaged/missing in some way at the beginning of the game (although not ALL items, I'm not THAT Hitler). The only exception to this is if you took the Wealth Pride in character creation. Legacy Weapons: Nope. Feel free to include it in your backstory, but you probably lost it. Idiot. You may get one way later though! Backstory: There has to be some downfall in your fluff to explain your current poo poo situation. Did you get betrayed by an ambitious subordinate? Defeated by a rival? A warlord you were serving picked the wrong enemy to fight? Failed an important task given to you by the Dark Gods? Made a bad deal with a Daemon? Flagship eaten by a Leviathan? WHO KNOWS???? House Rule 1: Chosen Chaos God: You can pick your chosen god right at the start and don't worry about falling off. You may do the traditional way on the Core book if you really want though, I won't mind. House Rule 2: Experience Cost Shenanigans: Some stuff on BC is really expensive based on God choice so I'll let only Khorne/Slannesh and Nurgle/Tzeentch to get the True/Opposed treatment on XP costs (see the table on page 75 of Core book). For example, if your PC is dedicated to Nurgle, Tzeentchian advancements will be Opposed as usual, but you may pick Slaneeshi at Allied costs. Party Balance: I'm not worried about God or Human/CSM balance since I will build the campaign based around my picks that are interesting to me. I'll still limit only 2-3 psykers though. I want 6-8 players and will make my picks on 08/16 so you have plenty of time to do your dude/dudette! I'm always in #acolyte in synirc.net Feel free to ask any questions! frajaq fucked around with this message at 16:48 on Aug 9, 2014 |
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Aug 7, 2014 03:48
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Gonna be a Thousand Sons Sorcerer. hosed up a ritual and got burned for it.
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Aug 7, 2014 04:27
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I'll make a Warpsmith.
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Aug 7, 2014 05:04
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I think I'll stat up a Pirate Prince tonight or tomorrow depending on how bad my insomnia is.
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Aug 7, 2014 05:18
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It's a rare man who embraces Grandfather Nurgle with full knowledge and no fear of imminent death. Most are either raised to it, knowing nothing else, or are so maddened by their diseases that Nurgles whispered offers seem to be a good deal. Yet Lucius was sound of mind and body when he made his plans and began the rituals. He knew what the sacrifices would do, he had full details on the creature his rites would summon. And yet he did so anyways. For Lucius had one goal, one overarching need that every event in his life had forged into his psyche. He, Lucius, son of an dead Ecclesiarchy priest, a noble in his own right, needed to be immortal. And among all of the foul powers that existed, only one offered such gifts easily and without deception. Now, hundreds of years later, the foul man known as Lucius the Devourer was lost. He hadn't expected a warpstorm to appear right as he was fleeing the planet Crystal on the captured, and badly damaged, rogue trader vessel. With his employer, the Plaguemeister Kar'tul already dead, and the planet so full of plagues that Nurglings were spontaneously appearing in the material realm, there was little reason for him to stay around and risk his own hide for a project where he and his followers had been asked to be enforcers in case the initial contact went wrong. The Gellar Fields failed a week into the trip, with no warning given. Probably sabotage, by the same Inquisitorial strike team that had assassinated the Plaguemeister, although there was no way to prove it. It only took seconds for the storm to consume the ship and everyone on board... everyone but one person. Grandfather Nurgle was one to keep his word, and Lucius had done well by him. He would live, if in a much reduced state... His followers were dead, his gifts stripped from him. Everything he had built up had been taken away from him in one foul swoop. Everything but his life. But that was fine. After all, his life was all he wanted, everything else was... insignificant. Calculating follower of Nurgle, a butcher once feared far and wide, known for his brutalism and cannibalism. He's not quite as... dirty... as most Death Priests of Mire, but thats just because his deal with Nurgle is based around death and cannibalism rather than smearing poo poo all over himself. His body still houses diseases galore, he just... actually pays attention to his appearance occasionally. Acts as a freelance enforcer for other powerful chaos people in exchange for future favors, prefers to let others do the planning, unless the plans seem suicidal. pre:
chin up everything sucks fucked around with this message at 04:35 on Aug 16, 2014 |
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Aug 7, 2014 05:24
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NAME: Lucius the Devourer
ARCHETYPE: Death Priest of Mire
PRIDE: Fortitude: +5 T -3 Ag -3 Int
DISGRACE: Betrayal: +5 corruption -10 to Charm tests
MOTIVATION: Immortality: +2 wounds -5 WS
Weapon Skill: 40 25 + 15 +5 - 5
Ballistic Skill: 30 25 + 5
Strength: 40 25 + 10 +5
Toughness: 60 25 + 20 +5 + 5 + 5
Agility: 42 25 + 15 - 3 + 5
Intelligence: 32 25 + 10 - 3
Perception: 36 25 + 10 + 1
Willpower: 35 25 + 10
Fellowship: 30 25 + 5
Wounds: 20 = 17 + 2 + 1
Infamy: 15 = 15
Corruption: 10 = 5 + 5
Skills:
Athletics + 10
Awareness + 10
Common Lore (Ecclesiarchy)
Common Lore (Imperium)
Common Lore (Mire)
Dodge
Forbidden Lore (Daemonology)
Intimidate + 10
Linguistics (Low Gothic)
Linguistics (Miren)
Navigate Surface + 10
Parry + 10
Survival + 10
Trade (Scholar)
Talents:
Ambidextrous
Betrayer
Cold Hearted
Combat Sense
Die Hard
Disarm
Frenzy
Hardy
Jaded
Light Sleeper
Resistance (Fear, Poisons)
Sound Constitution (+1)
Sure Strike
True Grit
Two Weapon Wielder
Unarmed Warrior
Unshakeable Will
Weapon Training (Primary, Las, SP, Bolt)
Traits:
The Quick and The Dead
Toxic(Corruption Bonus)
Mutations:
Eye Stalks (+1 perception)
Special Ability:
Contaminated Blades
Death Priests often smear their weapons with the rancid remnants of their recent kills and other putrid sources of
decay in order to better spread the vile maladies of their diseased patron. As a Full Action, a Death Priest of Mire
may make a Routine (+10) Survival Test to coat his own melee weapons and solid projectiles ammunition in filth from
a suitable source. These weapons gain the Toxic (2), Corrosive, or Irradiated (2) Quality for a number of rounds equal
to the Death Priest's Degrees of Success on the Survival Test.
Grotesque Appetite
Once per encounter, as a Full Action, a Death Priest of Mire may consume and desecrate a fresh corpse within reach.
When he does so, he gains the Unnatural Toughness (1d5) Trait (or increases the value of this Trait by 1d5 if he already
possesses it) until the end of the encounter.
Putrescence Within, Putrescence Without
Death Priests of Mire exude all manner of corruption and filth from the many contagions and parasites that fester within
their distended guts. Whenever an enemy strikes the Death Priest with a melee attack, the Death Priest may spend an Infamy
Point to destroy the weapon that struck him after the attack is resolved. Whether or not the weapon can later be restored
through cleansing, devotion, and sacrifice is left to the GM.
Gear
Weapons:
Scavenged Bolter
Poor Quality Bolt Pistol with Melee Attachment
Good Craftsmanship Sword
Armour:
Flak Jacket
Equipment:
2 magazines each for Bolter and Bolt Pistol
Advances: 5950/6000
Agility (Simple) - 250
Toughness (Simple) - 100
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Toying with either a Night Lords Chaos Marine or Chem-Hunter of Messia right now.
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Aug 7, 2014 05:38
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You know I'm totally down. I don't know what I'll make, kind of want to go totally outside my comfort zone and do some type of Psyker, but who knows!
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Aug 7, 2014 13:12
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From those that would not heed we offer praise to those who do, that they might turn their gaze our way and gift us with the Boon of Pain, to turn the Galaxy red with the blood, and feed the hunger of the Gods - Excerpt from the 341st Book of the Epistles of Lorgar I've watched so many worlds tear themselves apart as the glory of the Ruinous Powers swept over them. The weak, who bow to a dead man, being culled by the strong, who bow to me - and through me, the True Gods. Torae IV was just another such world - the plaything of some feckless Rogue Trader, who left brutal taskmasters in charge of thousands of miners - I dare say that if left alone, the rebellion that I fostered would have happened anyway. Without me, however, it would not have succeeded. In the courtyard of the former governor's palace, I began my true work. A vast sculpture composed of metals wrenched from the planet's ground by the men and women who now stood with me. I made sure to pay my due to each of the Gods, for fortitude, martial might, skill, and cunning were all needed for the final push - a bunker near the spaceport where what remained of the loyalists were making their final stand. A show of strength was needed to break the stalemate - we needed immaterial allies. Perhaps it was my pride that brought me low. Surely, such a devoted servant of the Gods could assume certain things. Those who dwell in the Warp should know my name! They should know that my sacrificial victims (which were, technically, a few short of the usual number required) were but a prelude - that I would repay the shortcoming with the service of an entire world. Instead, it seems the Powers took me to make up the difference. I did get to see the glorious warp-denizens spill out as I was drawn in. My ignorance of my current whereabouts and situation frustrate me, but not knowing what has become of Torae IV makes those frustrations seem trifling. No matter. This planet, whichever it is, shall just be another planet for me to paint with Chaos' glory. So says the Book of Lorgar, and so say I.  quote:Name: Bazroth Jolinaxas fucked around with this message at 05:24 on Aug 16, 2014 |
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Aug 7, 2014 21:51
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 In many things, the line between success and failure is measured in bodies. This is most accurately portrayed in war, but it also applies elsewhere. In ritual sorcery, for instance. And in the case of Zarapheth the (Un)Enlightened, it matters a lot whose bodies they were. When fallen allies outnumber the sacrifices by a factor of 20, some questions are going to be raised. It had all been perfectly planned. A collection of 9 of the Imperium's best and brightest in the sector all gathered together to be the catalyst of a ritual that would pass on their prowess to an elite unit of renegades under the command of Lord Dengir Svarog, Blight of the Reach. Each of the nearly 200 troopers had be trained to the peak of human capability, and even then most were augmented further by cyber-surgeries and implanted organs. All the knowledge and skills contained in the generals and admirals you had captured would be shared with the whole unit, turning them all into universally trained soldiers capable of operating anything, anywhere. The idea was bold, but perhaps that was its flaw. Despite years of planning, the magic soured and the warp turned to flame. The whole thing had hinged on Zarapheth being the linchpin of the ritual. This was non-negotiable, and part of the payment he demanded for his expertise. The knowledge passing through him would also become a part of his repertoire, making him even more of a threat to the Imperium, then it would be shared among Svarog's men. But it seems that sharing such secrets was not the way of the Lord of Lies. Power flowed through the chamber and reverberated through both the material and ephemeral worlds. The words spoken, the captives marked for death and passage beyond. But something must have been wrong. The inclusion of another man in the unit, the miscalculation of arcane formulae. Or maybe it was just hubris, plain and simple. That Zarapheth had tried to meddle in things he should have left alone. The sacrifices were burned alive and ever single member of the would-be conquerors shared their agony as their minds burned like kindling under the torrent of Tzeentch's wrath. Zarapheth had reached too far and overstepped his bounds. Svarog's wrath followed soon afterwards. An entire week of tortures usually shared for hated enemies, and then exile in the warp, only to crash down on some barren rock. And that is where our story picks up. pre:Name: Zarapheth Career: Thousand Sons Sorcerer Pride: Foresight Disgrace: Betrayal Motivation: Perfection Characteristics: WS: 37 (30 + 10) [-3 Motivation] BS: 37 (30 + 10) [-3 Motivation] S: 40 (30 + 10) T: 40 (30 + 10) Ag: 40 (30 + 10) Int: 50 (30 + 20) Per: 50 (30 + 10) [+5 Pride] [+5 Advance] WP: 65 (30 + 20) [+5 Motivation] [+5 Career] [+5 Advance] Fel: 30 (30 + 0) [-5 Pride] [+5 Career] Wounds 20/20 Infamy 15 IP: 1/1 CP: 11 Skills: Athletics Awareness Command Common Lore (All) Common Lore (Imperial Creed) +10 Common Lore (War) +10 Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes) Forbidden Lore (Demonology) Forbidden Lore (Horus Heresy) Forbidden Lore (Psykers) Forbidden Lore (Warp) Forbidden Lore (Xenos) Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Psyniscience Scholastic Lore (All) Scholastic Lore (Legend) +10 Scholastic Lore (Occult) +10 Scrutiny Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Infused Knowledge Legion Weapon Training Meditation Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poison, Psychic Powers) Strong Minded Unarmed Warrior Warp Sense Traits: Amphibious Psy Rating 3 Rubric of Ahriman Unnatural Strength +4 Unnatural Toughness +4 Unnatural Willpower +2 Psychic Powers: Boon of Tzeentch Doombolt Precognition Precognitive Dodge Gear: Legion Power Armor Legion Bolter w/ 4 mags Legion Combat Knife Legion Bolt Pistol w/ 2 clips Infero Bolts Force Sword Talisman of Tzeentch XP Spent 1350/1400 Infused Knowledge 400 FL (Demonology) 100 FL (Xenos) 100 Precognititve Dodge 200 Total Recall 200 Perception +5 250 Willpower +5 100 Vicissitude fucked around with this message at 19:37 on Aug 10, 2014 |
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Aug 7, 2014 22:06
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Draemus the Disgraced The plan had been perfect. Blessed by the Changer of Ways and imparted to him by the Lord of Change An'Thyr'Zaer, Draemus knew that it could not fail. Assist the Ascendant and his coven in their scheme, topple the planetary government in Timuxen IV, then sacrifice the whole group in a grand ritual to ascend as a daemon prince and rule over the newly birthed daemon world. Everything had gone just as planned at first. He had slaughtered the planetary governor's pathetic guard and ripped the mewling coward's head from her torso. He had prepared the ritual chamber and brought the Ascendant and the rest of the coven who had survived to its center. That's where it all went wrong. They knew. Knew what he had planned. The melta blast had taken his legs from him. They pried off his breastplate and cracked his chest open like an egg. The last thing he saw before his world went black was the Ascendant holding his primary heart in one hand and his secondary heart in the other. The last thing he heard was the laughter of An'Thry'Zaer ringing cruelly in his head. Draemus awoke with a start. He still had his limbs, his hearts, and his rage. But the last of them burned hotter than he had ever known. Stumbling to his feet, he removes his helm and stares into the reflective metal in front of him. Staring back is his face, now branded with his new master's mark. Khorne. He could feel the rage build. Blood. Skulls. Kill for Khorne. pre:NAME: Draemus the Disgraced ARCHETYPE: Chosen PRIDE: Martial Prowess DISGRACE: Betrayal MOTIVATION: Legacy Weapon Skill: 70 (30 +20 +5 Pride +15) Ballistic Skill: 40 (30 +10) Strength: (11)70 (30 +20 +10 [+20 in armor]) Toughness: (9)50 (30 +20) Agility: 40 (30 +10) Intelligence: 26 (30 +5 -5 Pride -4 Motivation) Perception: 35 (30 +5) Willpower: 40 (30 +10) Fellowship: 30 (30) Wounds: 21 Infamy: 17 (15 +2 Motivation) Corruption: 10 (5+5 Disgrace) Skills: Athletics Awareness Command +10 Common Lore (War) Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Horus Heresy) Intimidate Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry +10 Stealth Talents: Ambidextrous Berserk Charge Blademaster Bulging Biceps Counter Attack Crushing Blow Disarm Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Legion Weapon Training Lightning Attack Lightning Reflexes Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Rapid Reload Resistance (Heat, Cold, Poison) Step Aside Sure Strike Swift Attack Unarmed Warrior Whirlwind of Death Traits: Amphibious Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Special Ability: Cold Killer Equipment: Legion Bolt Pistol 2 clips Legion Chainsword Legion Power Armor (Power Source, Life Sustainer, Auto-senses) http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4598556/ Remnants of Mutation (Tail) Legion Bolter 4 clips Legion Knife Alignment Khorne Advances: 5900/6000 Strength +10 350 Weapon Skill +15 1500 Parry +10 200 Counter Attack 500 Swift Attack 300 Lightning Attack 400 Killing Strike 300 Step Aside 750 Whirlwind of Death 300 Crushing Blow 400 Command +10 300 Berserk Charge 200 Blademaster 400 Olanphonia fucked around with this message at 13:33 on Nov 6, 2014 |
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Aug 8, 2014 00:25
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 Things were not going to plan. Erika sidestepped a swinging chainsword and whipped her ornate power sword upwards through its wielder’s torso, slicing him in half diagonally from chest to neck. At this point the novelty of being hunted by her own crew through unfamiliar territory was wearing thin, and nothing annoyed her more than boredom. The thrill of cutting down familiar faces was quickly becoming trite; numbers were on their side, but she was an ex-Rogue Trader, combining the best training money could buy with the power of Chaos. They were practically hurling themselves onto her sword. Still, as traps went, this was a good one; lure her in with promises of an ancient Daemon Weapon uncovered in an abandoned mining colony, ripe for the taking, then let her own backup hunt her down through endless, identical corridors until she collapsed of exhaustion. The next doorway opened, revealing her pet Tech-Priest Vasili and his coterie of servitors, autocannons already spinning. This wasn't particularly surprising, given that she knew he worshiped Tzeentch and a betrayal from the Changer’s minions was a matter of when, not if. Still, Vasili had served her dynasty for several generations, even before his fall to Chaos alongside her, so she permitted herself a moment’s sadness as she effortlessly sidestepped the volley of fire from his servitors and put a bolt round through his head. As she finished mopping up the servitors, Erika occupied herself by thinking of a list of other Princes who had the resources and the motive to pull off a double-cross like this. It was probably Yuri the Reaper, but there was always Master Haas, or perhaps Rodok the Defiler… Unfortunately, the list vanished along with her confidence and most of her limbs when the blast door ahead slid open to reveal the enormous pile of mining explosives in the next room. A few seconds later, Erika the Red, Scourge of the Helix and Terror of the Vortex, found herself rapidly bleeding to death in a shattered heap several hundred meters back the way she had come. Adding to the indignity, Yuri stepped calmly from a side passage and stood over her, Daemon Sword in hand and sickening grin on his face. She saw from the carvings on the blade and the markings on his face that the weapon had seduced him to a new master: Khorne. She was utterly deafened and her eyes were cloudy with blood, but she could read his lips well enough: I win. As he plunged the weapon through what remained of her chest, letting the daemon within devour her soul, her last thoughts were that she would surrender anything for even the slimmest chance to make Yuri suffer for this. This was no way to die… Judging from the fact that she has now found herself on a raft in the middle of an endless sea instead of dissolving in the empyreal guts of a Bloodthirster, it seems Slaanesh took interest in the idea of giving his latest failed servant a chance to redeem herself, if only to take vengeance on Yuri for betraying him to Khorne. The weakness spreading through her limbs and the damage to her equipment hurts, but Erika already clawed her way to the top once; a whole new chance to wreak debauchery and death across the stars hardly seems like a punishment, even if it has put her in debt to the Dark Prince. pre:Name: Erika the Red Archetype: Pirate Prince (+5 Agi, +5 Int, +5 Fellowship) Pride: Martial Prowess (+5 WS, -5 Int) Disgrace: Deceit (+2 Inf, -4 Per) Motivation: Legacy (+2 Inf, -4 Int) WS 50 (+15+5+5) BS 40 (+10+5) S 40 (+15) T 30 (+5) Ag 50 (+20+5) Int 36 (+10+5-5-4+5) Per 31 (+10-4) WP 40 (+10+5) Fel 40 (+5+5+5) Wounds: 15 Infamy 29 Corruption 30 Skills: Acrobatics Awareness +10 Intimidate Charm +10 Command +10 Commerce Common Lore (The Ragged Helix, Screaming Vortex, Imperium) Deceive +10 Dodge Linguistics (Low Gothic) Forbidden Lore (Pirates) Scrutiny Navigate (Stellar, Warp) Operate (All) Operate (Voidship) Parry +10 Psyniscience Stealth Tech Use Trade (Shipwright) Talents: Ambidextrous Air of Authority Betrayer Cold Hearted Counter Attack Disarm Enemy (Imperial Navy) pre:Daemon Stats Daemon Characteristics (3d10s): Daemon Characteristics (2d10s) Daemon Infamy WS: 47 BS: 42 S: 32 T: 27 Agi: 51 Int: 37 Per: 33 WP: 42 Fel: 78 Inf: 39 pre:Minion: Scavenger Bodyguard Name: Serge Minion Three Stats WS 18 BS 18 S 21 T 31 (26+5) Ag 31 (26+5) Int 09 (14-5) Per 25 WP 26 Fel 11 (16-5) Wounds: 6 Skills: Dodge Parry Intimidate Stealth Talents: Lightning Reflexes Rapid Reload Quick Draw Weapon Training (Flame, Primary) Traits: Fanatic Sycophant Equipment: Flamer (Backpack Tank, Melee Attachment) Guard Flak Armor  Minion Graveyard Here Lies Serge, Eaten by Flesh Hounds Here Lies Serge, Exploded by Evil Space Elves Dachshundofdoom fucked around with this message at 01:10 on Jun 15, 2015 |
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Aug 8, 2014 00:29
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Friendly reminder to the people doing Human PCs: Even if you're doing an Alternate Archetype you still get the universal skills all Humans get in core book (page 50) Starting Skills: Common Lore (Any Two), Linguistics (Low Gothic), Trade (Any One) Starting Trait: The Quick and The Dead To survive in the Vortex, particularly as a human, one must be quick, both in wits and action. Sometimes fast reflexes can compensate for ceramite armour. All Heretics with this Trait add a +2 bonus to Initiative Rolls.
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Aug 8, 2014 01:53
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Gozer, Sanguinary Smith quote:"The first time I was introduced to the Glory of Blood Smithing was when I was still a Neophyte in service to the Machine Cult. I was raised on a Forge World dedicated to construction of the most complicated of melee weapons used by the Imperium, we dedicated ourselves to making Astartes combat knives, chain swords, power weapons, anything more advanced than a sharpened stick. While I was working in the sharpening shops as but a teenager, I accidentally cut my hand on a blade I was sharpening. The crimson blood flowed readily to coat the blade. I quickly grabbed a cloth to soak the blood up, but as I touched the blade I heard faint whispers in my mind, encouraging me to instead rub the blood into the blade. quote:"The successful key to forging Blood Weapons for Khorne is simply blood. 'Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows' is more than just an idle saying. Blood from sentient beings is the preferred blood, animal blood will not suffice. In my early years I discovered that the charnel pits of the Servitor Manufactorm was a great place to acquire blood. If you do not have access to a ready supply of blood, then capturing undesirables is also sufficient. quote:While a minority view, one particular theory of the Chaos Gods that I have often fancied, is the 'multifaceted Pantheon" view of the Gods. In this theory, the Chaos Gods each represent a small, interrelated pantheon of gods or aspects. To give an example from the God I am most familiar with, Khorne is actually a multifaceted god, he is both a God of Blood, God of War, and God of Skulls. Khorne is indeed venerated by worship of any of these individual facets. This explains why one such as myself, a self-professed Blood Cultist, still curries favor by worship of his Blood God Aspect. However, as my worship includes making blood blessed weapons, I also venerate his War God aspect." Gozer gives out a sigh as he floats on the twisted piece of metal serving as a boat for himself. While his god despises Slaanesh, Gozer was right now more infuriated with the tricky followers of Tzeentch. Having long left his home forge world for the open minded denizens of the Vortex, Gozer had made quite a reputation in writing various works dedicated to worship of Khorne, as well as in forging Blood Blades, similar to so-called rune weapons, and daemon weapons. Gozer's downfall was when he was confronted by a Sorcerer of Q-Sal, who was interested in widely publishing Gozer's works, which had only been reproduced in limited numbers. However, this particular sorcerer was more interested in collecting knowledge, than disseminating it, and the originals of the legendary Gozer was a great prize indeed. With the originals, the sorcerer needed only to kill Gozer to make sure the knowledge was never reproduced. Outmatched, Gozer did the only thing he could do, he released the daemon in his personal daemon weapon. he unfortunately was unable to see the completion of the daemon's work, as in part of releasing the daemon, Gozer was transported here, wherever here is. pre:NAME: Gozer, Sanguinary Smith ARCHETYPE: Heretek ALIGNMENT: Khorne PRIDE: craftsmanship +1 infamy, +3 agi & int, -3 BS&WS DISGRACE: waste +2 infamy, -4WP MOTIVATION: Innovation +2CP, +3 int, -2 wounds Weapon Skill: 42 25 + 10-3+5+5 Ballistic Skill: 37 25 + 10-3+5 Strength: 35 25 + 10 Toughness: 40 25 + 15 Agility: 28 25 + 3 Intelligence: 66 25 + 20+5+3+3+5+5 Perception: 40 25 + 15 Willpower: 36 25 + 10-4+5 Fellowship: 35 25 + 10 Wounds: 15 = 17-2 Infamy: 18 = 15+1+2 Corruption: 8 = 5 +1 (cold hearted) +2 Skills: logic Common Lore (war, imperial guard,adeptus Mechanicus, tech) Tech use +20 Forbidden lore (warp, daemonology +30) Scholastic lore (astromancy) parry +20 Linguistics (Low gothic) Trade (armorer) +10 Talents: die hard Technical Knock Weapon training (las, primary, shock, power) Mechadendrite training (utility) total recall armor monger Cold hearted Enemy (adeptus mechanicus) Infused knowledge Traits: The Quick and The Dead Traitor to mars unnatural intelligence +2 Weapons: Best craftsmanship las-carbine Common craftsmanship power axe Armour: light carapace Equipment: good quality skeletal petrifaction good quality cerebral implants unholy unguents combi-tool dataslate utility mechadendrite ferric lure implants Advances: /6000 FL daemonology 200 FL daemonology +10 350 FL daemonology +20 500 FL daemonology +30 750 Int simple 250 Int intermediate 500 ws simple 250 WS intermediate 500 BS simple 250 willpower simple 250 infused knowledge 750 parry +10 200 Parry +20 400 Tech use +20 500 trade armorer +10 350
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Aug 8, 2014 02:31
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Edited the Character Creation rules slightly. After much deliberation and discussion I have decided to forbid Alpha Legionnaire PCs. They're really interesting but too hard to GM for, and are best suited for very specific campaigns anyway
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Aug 8, 2014 06:12
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 Father Jaizon The marine known as Jaizon was once lost, a stray in the universe who had not found his path. He followed under the banner of a failing army, a soldier fighting a battle he could never win against forces unknowable to his simple mind who had existed for longer than he could ever imagine. But he was resilient. He fought on. He struggled where others merely fell, he strained against his bonds while his fellows were crushed by them. He didn't know it at the time, but each time he survived, each time he was driven closer and closer to questioning the very things he held as sacred fact, the closer he came to salvation. It was in this way that he faced down a Great Unclean One, a monstrous being that, as it laughed through each blow, questioned the marine on his faith, casting the shadowed doubts he held in his mind fully into the light. At first, this merely enraged Jaizon, and he pressed his attack harder, digging deeply into the creature's flesh, eliciting deeper and more boistrous laughs. Finally, the monster grew bored and caught his arm on the next swing, wrenching his arm out of its socket as it hoisted him into the sky to dangle before its face, and it asked him, "Do you not know that all beings wither and die, little one? Even the greatest of gods may be slain, and may be wounded, and it will break your heart to know yours cannot even be found by ours. He is gone. You have fought, and you have killed, and you will die in the vanity of a dead man who created greatness and inspired nothing." Jaizon was stunned by the words, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Part of him knew it to be true, while another fought on, screaming that the daemon was using some sort of hideous sorcery to warp his mind, to alter his perceptions and fill him with despair. That version of Jaizon lashed out with the blade attached to his hip, slashing through the creature's throat. The blade should not have cut as deep as it did, for all the punishment the beast had sustained so far, but with the single swipe a torrent of vile ichor sprayed out, bathing the marine from head to toe in filth. The daemon laughed as it dropped the marine and fell atop of him, before dissipating back into the warp. The marine was wounded and infected through and through, and lay there in a stupor. No succor would come for him, no aid; he craned his head slowly, seeing his brothers dead bodies about him. For days, he lay there, fighting back the disease and his own wounds. For days, fever cooked his brain, and disease ravaged his body. Slowly, the Jaizon who had once fought against the inevitability of decay and strove to champion all that was good with humanity died. But the other being, the one who had found reason in the daemon's words, who had always wondered why he fought at all, grew stronger. Over his body burned a brilliant sun, speeding the fever along, and with a final rattling breath, closed his eyes, his dried lips moving as he pleaded for help. For that day, Jaizon both died and was finally born into the world. The being that rose days later looked much like the lost marine, thought much like the lost marine, and knew all the lost marine knew, but this Jaizon was finally pure. Within him toiled the works of the only deity to show true compassion for his, the very gifts that, once he accepted them, put strength in his tired and withered muscles and breath in his ravaged lungs. His eyes were open; he knew how close death had been, and it had only taken a whisper for help for the Grandfather to turn his hindrances into his strengths. He felt a joy in his breast that he had never felt before, and the gospel burned within his mind. He felt.. radiant.. with his rebirth. Never before had he felt such devotion, such compassion, such energy. He knew then it was his mission to spread his lord's story, his gifts, and everything that had been granted to him. It was not his place to horde strength, like the barbarians of Khorne, or to store away knowledge, like the elitists of Tzeentch, or even to keep his very joy to himself, like the hedonists of Slaanesh. Picking up the now pitted knife that had brought upon him his rebirth and his new found ministry, Jaizon set off into the world, ready to preach. That day was mere weeks ago. Jaizon has not yet felt the true changes of Nurgle, and is still fairly fresh for the walking corpse that he is. His armor has been stripped of its paint and markings, leaving only bare metal, with which Jaizon will paint a mural to his patron. His mind has been boiled and burned by disease and plague, and he has little to his name, for he has yet to make his mark on the world. Some day, he hopes that will change. Name: Father Jaizon Archetype: Plague Marine Pride: Fortitude Disgrace: Gluttony Motivation: Immortality WS 45 (30-5+20) BS 50 (30+20) S 50 (30+20) T 80 (30+20+5+10+15) Ag 17 (30-3-10) Int 27 (30-3) Per 30 WP 35 (30+5) Fel 50 (30+20) Wounds: 27/27 Infamy: 15 Corruption: 5 Skills: Athletics Awareness +10 Common Lore (War, Gospel) Charm Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War, Heresy) Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry +10 Intimidate +10 Talents: Ambidextrous Bulging Biceps Legion Weapon Training Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons) Unarmed Warrior Die Hard Bolter Drill Exotic Weapon Training (Plague Knife) Fearless Iron Jaw Hardy Hip Shooting Rapid Reload Deadeye Shot Blind Fighting Radiant Presence Unarmed Master Trait: Amphibious Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Special Abilities: Abominable Physiology: The numerous parasites and virulent diseases that eat away at a Plague Marine’s armour and liquefy his diseased flesh also make him unnaturally resistant to harm. A Plague Marine never suffers Damage or other negative effects from Diseases, poisons, or the Toxic Quality unless he chooses to suffer these effects (although he can still be infected by Diseases as normal, and can spread them to others). Hideous Resilience: Plague Marines have been known to walk unflinching through terrible fire and shrug off mighty blows that would cleave other Space Marines in twain. As a Reaction, a Plague Marine may make a Difficult (–10) Toughness Test. If he succeeds, he reduces the Damage from the next hit he suffers before the beginning of his next Turn by 1 per Degree of Success he scores on the Test. If he reduces the Damage to 0 this way, he gains the Fear (1) Trait to the foe whose attack he so easily withstood. Infectious Miasma: Plague Marines are revolting testaments to the horrific bounties that await those who embrace the Lord of Decay, their bodies dripping with foul pestilences and contagions that hinder their opponents in combat. A Plague Marine may spend an Infamy point to release the swarms of bloat-flies, corpse-gases, and other vile contagions housed within his bloated frame. For the next 1d5+1 Rounds, at the start of the Plague Marine’s Turn, each other character within 10 metres of the Plague Marine suffers a single hit for 1d10 Energy Damage with the Toxic Quality, ignoring armour that is not environmentally sealed. Equipment Legionnaire Power Armour Legionnaire Bolt Pistol Legionnaire Combat Knife Legion Boltgun with 2 magazines Plague Knife 3 Blight Grenades 2 Legion Krak Grenades Experience 5500/5500 Plague Marine Archtype 4100 XP T +15 850 XP Radiant Presence 250 XP Unarmed Master 400 XP John Dyne fucked around with this message at 01:02 on Aug 9, 2014 |
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Aug 8, 2014 21:28
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Victus of Iocanthos Get up before dawn. Service your arms. Praise the Emperor. Receive your orders. Carry them out. Live. Praise the Emperor. Sleep. Every day for the past 20 years, Victus lived by those words. A poor orphan 'uplifted' by the Schola Progenium, he lived every day of his life as if it were a military exercise. Every day they heaped lesson upon lesson on him, hoping to bury the long-lost freedom of his childhood, hoping to raise yet another soldier in the war against the enemies of the empire. They raised him because he was different - they found him on the world of Iocanthos, where even as a boy death and destruction followed in his wake. The warlords of Iocanthos did not dare to deal with him - while they could certainly overwhelm the boy with many warriors, they did not want to lose so many out of fear that it would take them out of the running for the next Ghostfire Flower tithe. They also tried to brainwash him because he was different - a dyed-in-the-wool killer who valued freedom over service. It took the Schola Progenium four Storm Troopers and a Commissar to restrain him - the Commissar lost his hand in the exchange. But he was useful in his difference. He was a tool that needed to be bent into its proper shape in order to serve the Emperor's Will where it was needed most. They were raising him to be an truly indiscriminate killer, a ticking force of terror placed behind enemy lines designed to rip and tear its way through the heart of the enemy. He would make a fine one, they thought. The latent instinct, the latent desire to rend and tear would make him a perfect offering to the Eversor Temple. But first, he must be tested. They sent him to some now all-but-forgotten battlefield near the Periphery, close to Severan Dominate space. It was the perfect test - could he kill men who were once Guardsmen, once part of the Imperium, and massacre them by the tens, hundreds, maybe even thousands? Setting down on the world, hellgun in hand, he enacted his gruesome triumph. After the 18th guardsman, his hellgun ran out of ammo. The 19th was a Sergeant, charging him with blood in his eyes and a chainsword revving. Like he did to the Commissar, he removed his hand efficiently, took the chainsword for himself, and applied it directly to the Sergeant's forehead. The first day became a blur of murder. As did the second, third, fourth, fiftieth - he lost count of his days, but he never forgot: Get up before dawn. Service your arms. Praise the Emperor. Receive your orders. Carry them out. Live. Praise the Emperor. Sleep. One day, he saw an unexpected foe. Eight feet high and clad in metal with runes all over, wielding a mace with the Star of Chaos, the giant led from the rear and commanded wave after wave of men towards Victus and his fellow men. Get up before dawn... Victus whispered in his head. Blood for the Blood God! bellowed the giant god. Service your arms... he said in his mind as men around him began to fall... Skulls for the Skull Throne! shouted the figure as he ordered tides of renegades to clash against their lines. Praise the Emperor! the voice in his head began to shout back. Pleasure is Pain, but the Pain is Pleasure! the warrior sang as a row of enemies unleashed plasma fire on them. Receive your orders... Victus heard as he began to dice through scores of foes. All beings shall wither and die! the god warned as he began his advance. Carry them out... the last of the traitors died by Victus' hand, only now he could not tell dead ally from dead foe. The only good is knowledge, and the only evil ignorance! at this point, Victus started to realize that this was more of a chant than anything... LIVE!!! the voice inside his head began to quake with fear... LET THE GALAXY BURN!!! With that, the ground erupted in red fire and cascades of blood. Only Victus stood before the towering man as the other renegades, behind the wall of flame, watched. Praise the Emperor! the voice in his head said, uttering one last gasp. He cannot hear you, worm. Aghast, Victus threw himself at the enemy in an unrelenting fury. Every blow clashed against his opponent's armor, doing little. His opponent stood there, implacable, and raised his mace to smash Victus into the dirt. At that moment, Victus struck a blow to his opponent's face. The Lord stopped for a moment, then peered through Victus' soul. He cannot hear you for he is already dead... But I know of four who can.. "What do you mean?! The Emperor protects!" But has he protected you and your men, who lie dead upon this field? Has he protected this planet, which falls ever closer into the Warp? Has he done anything that you could possibly remember? I see into you, Victus. I see that you were once free, and then shackled like a prisoner to the corpse-god. They attempted to unmake you in order to remake you into a device of their choosing... I offer you a choice. A choice to be free or to become one with your corpse-god... The Chaos Lord awaited his answer. Looking at the death around him, the sacrifices taking place, the daemons of Chaos winking into existence, and the blood-red ground upon which he stood, a voice long since dormant in Victus awoke. "I wish TO BE FREE!!!" it roared forth in conquest through the years of imprisonment. Then I shall teach you... I shall teach you through a pain greater than you have ever known. But when we are done, you will understand that none can stand before the truest power of the universe... The power of Chaos Undivided! The Chaos Lord's hand holding the mace fell over Victus' head, and the world filled with pain beyond pain... But he also saw the Empyrean and ever so slight shards of the Gods who now fought over his soul. Forever split between their whims and desires, Victus nevertheless follows the tenets taught to him by that Word Bearer Chaos Lord so long ago about the glory of the Chaos Gods united under one banner. He now lives as a free man... Free to pursue his desire to kill all who oppose him, free to pursue his desire to tear asunder the Imperium that sought to imprison him, to mold him, and to try to change the very essence of what he was. He would offer prayers to Khorne to help him rend his foe asunder, prayers to Slaanesh to speed his blade, offerings to Nurgle to embody the inevitability of death, and a prayer to Tzeentch to ensure that all of his plans came to fruition. Together, none could stop the Chaos Gods in their ambitions to liberate the galaxy - all it would cost is his soul... pre:Name: Victus of Iocanthos Archetype: Renegade (+3 WS, +3 BS) Pride: Grace (+5 Ag, -5 BS) Disgrace: Wrath (+5 Per, -2 WP, -1 Wound) Motivation: Violence (+5 CP, -3 Int) Alignment: Chaos Undivided WS 58 (+20+3+10) BS 28 (+5+3-5) S 45 (+15+5) T 40 (+10+5) Ag 60 (+20+5+10) Int 27 (+5-3) Per 40 (+10+5) WP 33 (+10-2) Fel 30 (+5) Wounds: 14 Infamy: 21 Corruption: 17 Movement: 12/24/72/72 Skills: Athletics Awareness Dodge+20 Parry Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis) Common Lore (War) Common Lore (Imperial Guard) Common Lore (Administratum) Operate (Surface) Intimidate Stealth Medicae Linguistics (Low Gothic) Trade (Chymist) Talents: Jaded - Terrifying but natural occurrences are all OK: Terrors of the Warp still a bit of a problem, though Quick Draw - Can draw and ready weapon as a free action Rapid Reload - Halves all reloading times Weapon Training (Chain, Flame, Las, Primary, Power, SP) - Self-explanatory Weapon Training (Shock) - Self-explanatory - didn't read the errata first and found I had a choice - because why would I pick Bolt over this? Catfall - Reduce distance of all falls by # of meters equal to Agility bonus: +20 to Acrobatics test if used to reduce falling damage Sure Strike - When making a called shot in melee, can reduce the penalty by 10 Disarm - Full action to disarm foes with opposed WS test. If three or more degrees of success, weapon is taken Ambidextrous - Can use either hand equally well - reduces penalties for attacking with two weapons Swift Attack - Score an additional melee hit for each two degrees of success beyond the first Lightning Attack - AT-TATATATATATATATATATATATATA! The Full-Auto Attack for melee, with one hit for every DoS beyond the first at a -10 penalty Precise Blow - When making a called shot in melee, can reduce the penalty by 10 (combined with Sure Strike, at no penalty) Hard Target - When performing Charge or Run, opponents suffer -20 BS to hit Preternatural Speed - Doubles speed when charging: that's right, the distance of my charge is 72. Two-Weapon Wielder - Can attack with both weapons at a penalty Blade Dancer - Can attack with both weapons at a further reduced penalty Step Aside- Can Dodge/Parry twice in one round Frenzy - Can spend a full-round getting super-pissed to get +10 to Strength, WS, Toughness, Willpower, and a boatload of immunities. Also take a -20 to BS and Int checks, but that's OK. Must keep killing things in melee combat as long as I am in Frenzy, which requires a WP check to snap out of or else I try to kill something (preferably NPCs) Trait: Quick and the Dead (+2 to Initiative) Unremarkable (Don't really stand out from the crowd, you see) Unnatural Agility (+6) Regeneration (6) Special Abilities: Adroit (WS) - Extra degree of success scored whenever a successful check is rolled for this stat. Equipment LuiCypher fucked around with this message at 22:13 on Mar 14, 2016 |
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Aug 9, 2014 05:12
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That's a cool background LuiCypher, just remember to find a good pic for Victus when you can, otherwise its perfect! The pic thing goes to everyone too!
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Aug 9, 2014 06:19
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 Most would consider being born the son of a Planetary Governor a blessing. Yet few know what it's like to be the sixth son. Born on the planet Delnar II to Ransig of house Agrorn, a family famed for heroic battlefield leadership and fearless tactics it was apparent Vatra was not like his older brothers. While they toiled away practicing bladework and marksmanship he spent his youth studying those around him and burying his nose in books. Over time each brother developed their own specific brand of torment they liked to inflict upon the weakest sibling. Ranging from the standard fare of beatings and batterings to the far more elaborate and cruel mental abuse and emotional exile. His father even encouraged the practices, believing Vatra only needed to be 'toughened up' in order to better fit the House Agrorn mold. It was during these years of youth that the whispers began. Vague and demure at first they grew in intensity and volume at an alarming rate until they melded together into a deafening chorus that echoed with a solitary command. "Take that which you desire." No one really remembers which brother died first, or what order the rest of them followed in. Only that each death seemed more accidental and tragic than the last. One fell down the grand staircase and broke his neck cleanly. Another choked to death on a small bone while eating dinner in his quarters. The eldest brother who had been groomed from birth to be the next Governor shot himself in the head while battling depression over the unexpected death of his wife. Certainly some had suspicions as the line of Agrorn dwindled down to nothing, but each investigation turned up no sign of foul play. No one so much as batted an eye of mistrust towards Vatra, for who would suspect a weak-willed man to be capable of such calculated planning and familicide? If only by the sheer fact that he was the only one left, Vatra's father turned a caring and protective eye on his last son. Seeing that he never wanted for anything and was always surrounded by loyal guards, knowledgeable tutors and skilled trainers. These years while Vatra developed into a man grown saw him become a trustworthy leader and valued council for his aging father. While the process had been started late in life, grooming the man into a worthy Planet Governor seemed to be going quite well. It would have anyway, had the whispers ever stopped. Promises of power, reminders of the painful past, and glimpses of the glorious future served to ignite the enigmatic mind he concealed behind a charismatic smile. Vatra knew what the whispers were, he had heard tales and read stories and done research and it all pointed to one thing. The oh so dreaded corruption of Chaos, so why was he so ectastic about the prospect, enlivened with each new whisper and command? Simple, chaos gave power, power gets you what you want, and what he wanted more than anything was to have command of something truly powerful. Not of a weak House on a tiny Imperial rim-world that his father seemed so adamant on living out his days protecting, however short they may be. When the first Chaos ships appeared on the edge of the Orbital Defense scans his father called an emergency meeting with all of the top generals and important leaders of the planet to discuss tactical options, predictable as always. Every figure of power sat around an ostentatiously decorated long table, arguing and yelling amongst themselves as they always did when gathered. Each believed them self to be more powerful or valuable than the others to the Governor, yet they all had the same look on their face when a squadron of troopers burst through the door and opened fire. Before a shot had even been fired Vatra grabbed his father and pulled him behind cover as the rest of the room was executed to a man. His father, the great and powerful leader of House Agrorn whimpered like an abused whelp when a trooper shifted the makeshift cover that father and son had been concealed beneath. The trooper lowered his weapon and spoke. "Lord Agrorn, the Astropathic communication to Terra was stopped before being broadcast as you ordered. We await further orders." Brimming with fury his father suddenly rediscovered his courage and began shouting back into the trooper's face. "Traitorous FOOL! I did not order any of this, what have you done? WHY have you done this? You've doomed us all, you've doomed our entire planet!" "No father." crept a sickeningly sweet voice from behind him. "I have doomed you and your sad little planet." As his father turned to face Vatra the heretic finally saw what he wanted; the wide eyed look of bewilderment, confusion, and betrayal across the face of Ransig Agrorn would make any follower of Chaos weep with joy. The mighty Planetary Governor being reduced to that of a cowering child was only made all the more delectable by his sobbing turning into a soft dull gurgle after the lead trooper slit his throat from behind. The Chaos assault of Delnar II lasted for less than 3 hours. Having no leaders to command, no outside help from Terra, and no communication system for the troops to coordinate with they posed only the meekest of defenses. The orgy of debauchery, violence, and heresey that followed the brief battle made up for the lack of fight. 8 days of indulgence and celebration in ways only a Chaos Warband can muster. And so did Vatra Agrorn become Vatra the Whisperer, the human who delivered a planet to Chaos without raising a weapon. 12 Years later Through careful manipulation and cunning the man once thought to be a failure of a son has willed himself into becoming third in command of the dreaded Warband that he unleashed upon his home world so long ago. Every raid they have undertaken adds to their treasury and infamy, along with Vatra's personal cadre of followers. For every man has his price, be it in money, women, drugs, or far more unpleasant addictions, even followers of Chaos want something. Something so bad they would do anything or follow anyone for it, and so Vatra used these weaknesses to plan out his Coup d'etat with ruthless efficiency. Collecting all the necessary pawns to make his game a success, each warrior tempted under his command made him stronger, each rival played against his enemies made them weaker. A few more years consolidating his power was all that was needed, then he could strike. Oh the things he would do with the Warband under his direct control. A true scourge against the Imperium would be birthed. Yet, even the most sound plans and careful people can't account for one thing, the Gods. All became unraveled in a single vision given to the Warband commander, Kazeer the Melder, a Chosen of Tzeentch. Apparently the Changer of Ways was not content to lose control of this armada to a follower of Slaanesh. And so Vatra was pulled out of his bedchamber in the middle of the night and taken to an unmarked room to be questioned and tortured. Physically and mentally they hammered him day after day, for how long he does not know for it all melded together in one giant nightmare of pain and anguish. They wanted a confession from him, an acknowledgment of his betrayal to come, most likely so Kazeer could publicly make an example out of him to deter further mutiny. They would never get a confession however, no matter how hard they hit him or how deeply they ripped at his mind. Vatra would not confess and betray himself or his plans, and so the day came that they gave up. His lead torturer walked into the room and pressed a blade against Vatra's throat before opening his pus-oozing mouth and speaking. "Kazeer is tired of playing with you, now go off into the abyss where you belong, boy." Vatra remembers nothing after those words, just all encompassing darkness. Then a shipwreck, sunlight, water everywhere. He did not know how he got here or why, nor could he so much as speculate a logical reason behind it. How fickle the Gods of Chaos can be, ripped away from his followers and protectors, his hoard of treasure and artifacts gone. Now abandoned on some unforgiving planet and left to die. But he wasn't dead, no, he still had his life. And his life was the only thing he needed to bring about his desires and his vengeance. Well, his life and his whispers. pre:Name: Vatra the Whisperer Archetype: Apostate Pride: Charm Disgrace: Wrath Motivation: Dominion Weapon Skill: 30 (25 + 5) Ballistic Skill: 40 (25 + 15) Strength: 25 (25) Toughness: 33 (25 + 8) Agility: 30 (25 + 9 - 4 Motivation) Intelligence: 50 (25 + 15 + 10 Char Advance) Perception: 50 (25 + 15 + 5 Char Advance + 5 Disgrace) Willpower: 45 (25 + 15 + 5 Char Advance + 2 Motivaton - 2 Disgrace) Fellowship: 70 (25 + 18 + 5 Archetype + 15 Char Advance + 5 Pride + 2 Motivation) Wounds: 12 (14 - 1 Disgrace - 1 Motivation) Infamy: 16 (15 + 1 Motivation) Corruption: 6 (5 + 1 Cold-Hearted) Skills: Awareness Charm ++20 Command +10 Commerce Common Lore (Administratum, Screaming Vortex) Deceive ++20 Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Heresy, The Inquisition, The Warp) Inquiry +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Logic Scholastic Lore (Bureaucracy, Imperial Creed, Philosophy) Scrutiny Sleight of Hand Trade (Chymist)+10 Talents: Air of Authority Addictrix Beloved Leader Cold Hearted Demagogue Hatred (Ecclesiarchy) Inspire Wrath Iron Discipline Mimic Peer (Planetary Governors or Warlords) Radiant Presence Total Recall Unremarkable Unshakeable Will Weapon Training (Las, Primary) Traits: Serpent's Tongue: Once per game session, the Apostate may make a Challenging Charm or Deceive check to gain the Peer Talent with one organization of his choice for the remainder of the session. If the Apostate has a Fellowship of (55) or higher then he instead gains Peer (2) for the chosen organization. Quick and the Dead: To survive in the Vortex, particularly as a human, one must be quick, both in wits and action. Sometimes fast reflexes can compensate for ceramite armour. All Heretics with this Trait add a +2 bonus to Initiative Rolls. Equipment: GC Laspistol PC Power Blade Mesh Combat Cloak Chaos symbol pendant Unholy Tomes Two laspistol clips Alignment Slaanesh Advances: 6000/6000 Fel + 15 = 850 Per + 5 = 250 Int + 10 = 750 Wil + 5 = 250 Demagogue = 400 Iron Discipline = 300 ColdHearted = 250 Addictrix = 400 Beloved Leader = 200 Unremarkable = 200 Deceive ++20 = 600 Charm +10 = 400 Inquiry +10 = 200 Scrutiny = 200 Dodge +10 = 200 Sleight of Hand = 200 Trade(Chymist+10)= 350 Korhal fucked around with this message at 19:59 on Aug 20, 2014 |
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Aug 9, 2014 07:06
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Ariston the Hekatonkheir Not even Ariston can remember the exact nature of the events that set him on the path of the Renegade Legionnaire. His war against the Imperium of Man and its corpse Emperor is all that he has known for centuries, or perhaps longer, or possibly even less. The reason for this chronological uncertainty can be traced to a pivotal event early in the history of his rise as a warlord of renown. The battle against the Loyalists was had raged from the surface of one world into the void and onto the surface of another as Ariston and his brothers were hounded by the Emperor's lapdogs in a fighting retreat against overwhelming odds. One by one his fellow Legionnaires were slain around him even as they fought bitterly with boltgun and blade and their own armored fists until Ariston was all that remained. And there on that uncharted, unnamed world he might have fallen had a Warp storm not violently surged across the planet, swallowing it utterly...and within the embrace of the Warp, time fractured and shattered. Ariston relived the same day over and over a hundred, a thousand times, fighting the same battles again and again before being violently flung weeks into the future, then months into the past without warning. The Loyalists were thrown completely off-guard by the wildly fluctuating timeline, but he himself was quick to adapt and to take advantage of the unusual situation. He set traps and laid ambushes that intersected across various points in time and space, he honed his skills against an enemy condemned to repeat the same mistakes again and again, and in those fractured moments where time bent back upon itself he enlisted the aid of his past and future selves as history became a hall of mirrors repeating into infinity. At long last (or however long it took) the Warp storm subsided. When it passed, the Loyalists were all quite thoroughly dead and only Ariston remained...100 separate temporal iterations of himself to be precise. Though all of himself was initially suspicious and uncertain as to what would happen next, with some desiring to battle amongst themselves to determine which one of them was worthy of continuing their existance, Ariston (the original) was again quick to capitalize on the opportunity that the vagaries of the Warp had bestowed upon him. A single Legionnaire could only accomplish so much, he said, even one whose heart burned with unquenchable hatred towards the Imperium that had cast him aside, branding him a heretic and a traitor. But a hundred such Legionnaires all working in concert, all bound together by the same glorious purpose? No one would be able to stand against them. And so the warband known as the Hekatonkheires was formed, the Hundred Hands. They resumed his campaign against the Imperium with renewed fervor, ravaging Imperial outposts and colonies with unnatural coordination and precision, a hundred warriors acting in concert and hating with a single heart. The Hekatonkheires soon became a feared name spoken of in hushed whispers, Ariston's trophy rack weighed heavy with the tokens of his conquests, and legends began to grow around their exploits. With victory came many gifts, and many opportunities. So it was that when betrayal came for him it came by his own hand. One of his temporal brethren had slowly and inexorably been tempted by promises of power that the Gods of Chaos had courted him with. Ariston had thus far refused to swear fealty to any of the four, viewing such things as a weakness. Power was a means to an end, not an end to be pursued in and of itself. He had little interest in the bickering and wheedling of fickle Gods, all that mattered to him was his war. But one of his selves had found one Dark God's offer too enticing to resist and in the middle of a pitched battle against Loyalist forces the treacherous duplicate struck him down, mocking him for his weakness and lack of ambition even as the life ebbed from his body. With his last breath he swore vengeance even if he had to claw his way back from the Warp to have it. Now it seems as though he may have his chance after all. pre:NAME: Ariston the Hekatonkheir
ARCHETYPE: Veteran of the Long War
PRIDE: Martial Prowess
DISGRACE: Wrath
MOTIVATION: Vengeance
Weapon Skill: 60 (30 +20 +5 +5)
Ballistic Skill: 50 (30 +15 +5)
Strength: (8)40 (30 +10 [+20 in armor])
Toughness: (8)40 (30 +10)
Agility: 40 (30 +5 +5)
Intelligence: 35 (30 +10 -5)
Perception: 35 (30 +5)
Willpower: 43 (30 +10 +5 -2)
Fellowship: 45 (30 +15)
Wounds: 21
Infamy: 15
Corruption: 5
Skills:
Athletics
Awareness +10
Command
Common Lore (Imperial Guard, War)
Dodge
Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Codex Astartes,
Horus Heresy, The Long War, Pirates)
Intimidation +10
Linguistics (Low Gothic)
Navigate (Surface)
Operate (Surface)
Parry +10
Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis)
Stealth
Survival
Talents:
Air of Authority
Ambidextrous
Ancient Warrior
Bulging Biceps
Enemy (Adeptus Astartes)
Hatred (Adeptus Astartes, Imperial Guard)
Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight)
Jaded
Legion Weapon Training
Lightning Reflexes
Nerves of Steel
Peer (Traitor Legions, Warlords)
Quick Draw
Resistance (Heat, Cold, Poison)
Swift Attack
Unarmed Warrior
Unshakeable Will
Traits:
Amphibious
Unnatural Strength (+4)
Unnatural Toughness (+4)
Special Ability:
Spectral Haunter: Penalties to hit you/bonuses to Stealth Checks
that combat circumstances grant based on visual hindrances are
increased by 20.
Equipment:
Legion Bolt Pistol
2 clips
Legion Power Sword
Legion Power Armor (Sustainable Power Source, Auto-senses, Enhanced
Ceramite Plating)
http://orokos.com/roll/213101 Chain Loinguard
Legion Bolter
4 clips
Legion Knife
1 Legion Frag Grenade
1 Legion Krak Grenade
Alignment
Unaligned
Advances: 5500/5500
Veteran of the Long War 4100
Ballistic Skill (Simple) 250
Agility (Simple) 250
Swift Attack 500
Stealth 200
Survival 200
Kai Tave fucked around with this message at 07:29 on Aug 10, 2014 |
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Aug 9, 2014 07:53
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I thought that, given the bit about Equipment above, Chaos Space Marines technically don't start with their armor? (If this is false it'll certainly be useful, given how goofy it will be to fire a bolter with my mind.)
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Aug 9, 2014 08:19
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NGDBSS posted:I thought that, given the bit about Equipment above, Chaos Space Marines technically don't start with their armor? (If this is false it'll certainly be useful, given how goofy it will be to fire a bolter with my mind.) Check page 48 on Core Book. That lists stuff that every CSM gets, REGARDLESS of which CSM Archetype you choose, be it the original ones in Core book or the later Alternate Archetypes in the Tomes Starting Skills: Athletics, Awareness, Common Lore (War), Dodge, Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War), Linguistics (Low Gothic), Navigate (Surface), Operate (Surface), Parry. Starting Talents: Ambidextrous, Bulging Biceps, Legion Weapon Training, Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight), Nerves of Steel, Quick Draw, Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons), Unarmed Warrior. Starting Traits: Amphibious, Unnatural Strength (+4), Unnatural Toughness (+4). Starting Equipment: Legionnaire Power Armour, Legionnaire Bolter or Legionnaire Bolt Pistol, Legionnaire Combat Knife, four magazines for starting weapon ninja edit: unless my wording confused you
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Aug 9, 2014 08:33
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Also forgot to mention for everyone to get the Black Crusade Errata here since they changed a bunch of poo poo. Including starting skills/talents for the original Archetypes in core book!!!
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Aug 9, 2014 08:37
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frajaq posted:ninja edit: unless my wording confused you frajaq posted:Equipment and Starting Requisition: NO additional starting equipment based on Infamy Bonus. You only get the Starting Equipment of your career/archetype. And even that WILL be damaged/missing in some way at the beginning of the game (although not ALL items, I'm not THAT Hitler). The only exception to this is if you took the Wealth Pride in character creation.
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Aug 9, 2014 08:47
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 Opifex Diabolus It had been decades since the Fourth Legion turned traitor and Ferrum Mente became Opifex Diabolus. Though he held no particular hatred for the Imperium, he recognized the gods as the only way to perfect his craft, and thus embraced their new allegiance. After the heresy, while most of his kind retreated into the Eye of Terror, Opifex remained behind on Olympia, holed up in his fortified tower. He did not sit idly waiting for the loyalists to come. War machine after war machine emerged from his workshop, and it didn't take long until he started binding daemons into them. The success of the earliest attempts at creating what would come to be known as daemon engines urged Opifex forward, and he started looking more and more to the warp for inspiration over conventional designs. His grandest piece was shaped in the visage of one of the flightless birds of ancient Terra, the avian visage a homage to his new patron and the being that would inhabit it. Towering nearly as tall as the smaller of the sacred titans (despite his newfound faith in the chaos gods over the Omnissiah, Opifex couldn't help but find the machine spirits of titans something sacred), with wing plumes fashioned of melta nozzles, and on the end of it's long and flexible neck, a head with eyes embedded with arrays of lascannons and a beak formed of two sharpened bulldozer blades wreathed in power fields. Even the empty, lifeless hull by itself was gorgeous. Inhabited and brought to life by the spirit of a great daemon, it would be a thing of glory, the will of the gods made manifest on the material world. With the guidance of Argueritus, an Iron Warriors librarian turned sorcerer, a team of tech-adepts and thrall wizards spent days inscribing the hull with occult markings in honour of the Lord of Change. When the big day came, Opifex and Argueritus began the ritual to summon the daemon. Having foreseen its intended purpose and vessel, it didn't require much coaxing and a nominal sacrifice was enough to bring the great daemon into being. Almost as soon as the daemon had been summoned, an adept informed Opifex that the Imperial reconquest of Olympia had begun. Loyalist ships were engaged in the planet's orbit, and the weather forecast included sporadic rains of drop-pods. Eager to get his newest creation to a practical test, they began the binding ritual. Then there was a boom. Opifex was falling. His armour autosenses made it very clear with blaring alarms that so was most of his workshop. The Sisters of Silence had made it into the tower and disrupted the ritual. A void shield could withstand much, but it wasn't impervious against an air strike. Once the shield was gone, the roof of the tower wasn't much of an obstacle for a drop-pod. The Sisters assault team stood no chance of winning a battle against the machines defending Opifex's fortress-tower, air support or not, but they didn't need to. They had managed to enter the ritual chamber and injure Argueritus. It had been enough to break the ritual. The results had been catastrophic. The explosion had shattered most of the tower and scattered his work into the air in small pieces. He was pleased to note that his servitors seemed unperturbed by this and were firing at the equally airborne loyalists while they plummeted towards the surface of the lake, some 150 metres below. The psychic backslash was worse. The veil between reality and the warp had already been thinned by the ritual that had brought the daemon into reality, and the failure of the binding ritual had caused it to rip open. The Lord of Change, now incompletely bound to a rapidly dispersing cloud of debris, had dissolved into dozens of smaller daemons. It was raining blue horrors and ectoplasm amidst the remains of Opifex's cabal and workshop. Things changed as they fell. Some of them momentarily reversed direction and fell upwards, before gravity got its grip on them again. One of the Sisters sprouted a pair of wings mid-air and, with a confused yelp, glode away to the small island that had supported the base of the tower. Dozens of the minor warp entities that had been the greater daemon of his patron god were yelling at him, as if this was all somehow his fault. In other words, it had all gone to poo poo. Then there was a splash, and it all went dark. pre:Name: Opifex Diabolus Archtype: Warpsmith Pride: Craftsmanship Disgrace: Destruction Motivation: Innovation XP (unspent): 1400 WS:45=30+18-3 BS:45=30+18-3 S:30=30 T:55=30+20+5 Ag:40=30+7+3 Int:66=30+20+3+3+5+5 Per:30=30 Wp:45=30+15 Fel:28=30+2-4 Wounds: 18=20-2 Corruption: 7=5+2 Infamy: 18=15+1+2 Skills: Athletics Awareness Common Lore (War, Adeptus Mechanicus, Tech) Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, The Horus Heresy and the Long War, Adeptus Mechanicus, Daemonology, Warp, Archeotech) Linguistics (Low Gothic, Techna-lingua) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Trade (Armourer) Scrutiny Medicae Tech-use +10 Scholastic Lore (Occult) Talents: Ambidextrous Bulging Biceps Legion Weapon Training Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons, Fear) Unarmed Warrior Ancient Warrior Disturbing Voice Enemy (Adeptus Mechanicus) Mechadendrite Use (Utility, Weapon) Total Recall Rapid Reload Technical Knock Unshakeable Will Foresight Infused Knowledge Cursed Heirloom (Multi-melta) Traits: Amphibious Unnatural Strength +4 Unnatural Toughness +4 Unnatural Intelligence +2 Mechanicus Implants Equipment: Legion Power Armour -Spikes -Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer -Auto-senses -Sustainable Power Source Legion Bolter Legion Combat Knife Medicae Mechadendrite Mechatendril Good Cerebral Implants Good Mind Impulse Unit Fallen Magos Power Axe Luminen Capacitors Dataslate Multi-melta -Doomed heirloom Advances: Cursed Heirloom -250 Simple Intelligence -250 Foresight -300 Infused Knowledge -400 Forbidden Lore (Warp) -100 Forbidden Lore (Archeotech) -100 Alignment: Tzeentch Waci fucked around with this message at 02:52 on Aug 15, 2014 |
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Aug 9, 2014 11:10
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Man this recruitment is generating some sweet character backstories.
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Aug 9, 2014 15:13
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frajaq posted:That's a cool background LuiCypher, just remember to find a good pic for Victus when you can, otherwise its perfect! Thanks! I'm trying to find a really decent picture to put up at the moment - you'll see it soon. I know that Chaos Undivided is mechanically suboptimal in the base rulebook (no access to marks, no specific gifts from the gods during mutation) especially considering that the restrictions on skills/talents has been relaxed if you specialize, but drat son do I like the idea of worshipping the gods as a pantheon.
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Aug 9, 2014 16:25
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LuiCypher posted:Thanks! I'm trying to find a really decent picture to put up at the moment - you'll see it soon. That was my character in frajaq former BC game, made even more suboptimal by using a shotgun as my legacy weapon. Though he asked me not to, I might use veteran of the long war template to app him anyway for shits and giggles.
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Aug 9, 2014 16:49
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Werix posted:That was my character in frajaq former BC game, made even more suboptimal by using a shotgun as my legacy weapon. Though he asked me not to, I might use veteran of the long war template to app him anyway for shits and giggles. Regardless of suboptimality, I did notice that I managed to pull off a charge speed of 36 without a jump pack. Balancing Slaanesh and Khorne off of each other to prevent being aligned helps you make a specialized melee combat beast while still being able to drop some points into Toughness and other skills.
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Aug 9, 2014 17:06
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NGDBSS posted:Indeed. This was the bit I was referring to: yeah it was unintended, I edited it to include Race
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Aug 9, 2014 18:13
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LuiCypher posted:Thanks! I'm trying to find a really decent picture to put up at the moment - you'll see it soon. It depends on what you're trying to do. Unaligned isn't horrifically suboptimal depending on which class you're going. Heretek can do it easiest since most of their advances are unaligned anyways. Not being able to fail a god and not having obligations to your god help, and being able to roll twice AND apply infamy bonus on the mutation table is nice. FFG retconned unaligned demon princes but that's just horseshit.
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Aug 9, 2014 18:27
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Ballistics Weapons users (DWing Gunslingers or Snipers) can pull it off pretty well, too - the gun-specific talents are spread throughout almost all of the alignments when they aren't unaligned, though Tzeentch does get the lion's share of Sniper talents. And yeah, having two different rolls on the mutations table is pretty good - especially in a low-infamy game like this.
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Aug 9, 2014 18:32
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Mercy Tempesta  Aramexas is a hot, brutal, sparsely populated craphole of a planet; its value mostly stemming from vast promethium reserves located under its deserts, oceans, and polar ice caps. The right of settlement and colonization was given to the Catachan and other death and feral world regiments who cleansed the world of the Exodite Eldar infesting it, and thus its population physically tends to be on the large and sturdy side. Which is a long way of saying the only things to do on the planet are drinking, fighting, shooting, and setting things on fire. Mercy was a firm believer in all four, and a hatred of honest work led to a skill base more suited to breaking fingers than turning a lathe. She continued the family history of men showing up to seedy bars to watch her do her thing, albeit in a slightly different manner than mom and gram-gram. The prize money from said fighting tournaments was okay, and things would've settled into a comfortable boozy haze of violence. Then the dumb motherfuckers decided to revolt. Mercy originally didn't care one way or another but then the planetary gov't tried to institute prohibition. There was never any choice after that and the ability to sneak up on folks and punch in their trachea proved useful in the coming months. Despite great tragedy, like the distillery burning down, the rebels prevailed and due to the weird way the Imperial tithe works, he who pays it is the loyalist faction. Unfortunately that included her and a bunch of the union workers who stormed the governmental palace. The new administration not being too keen on a bunch of people with experience murdering nobility. New and exciting places where the things trying to kill you had guns and claws and fangs was appealing, the dry regiment regulations less so. Only a close escape at the spaceport saved her from a life of gainful employment. It was time to move on to bigger and greater things, and she hopped the next outbound chartist ship to show. After a life of semi-functional alcoholism and bar fights, waking up in new and exciting places with no memory of how you got there becomes fairly comforting. Every day is a new experience, at least the parts you can remember. Mercy is kinda sure how she got here. Something about a martial arts tournament on some shithole island? Next thing she remembers is waking up on some kind of ship hold. Press ganged or cargo bay stowaway, it wasn't really clear. Either way popping the lock on the door, knife chopping the guards in the throat and working her way to the alcohol lock up was a matter of instinct. Aboard the S.S. Sodomy & Terror, this was considered as good an application process as any to join the crew. Although command structure and hierarchy was pretty hazy, Mercy managed to prove herself by the simple method of continuing to exist. Gellar field failures and ork boarding parties and such were best dealt with by hitting the first manifested thing in the face as hard as you could with the bottle in your hand and then going someplace quiet to pass out until it was over. The next few months were a series of punching people, both on purpose and accidentally, and stumbling her way up higher and higher through the ranks like an old man falling down an upwards-moving escalator until she was in charge. She came to, one day cycle, to find an entire fleet summoned and at her command, and someone telling her everything was ready for a warp jump. Sure, okay, why not. After about half a fifth (to keep her hands steady, you see) the idea of trying to bypass that huge warp monstrosity by sailing right into its mouth and out its butt started to seem like a good idea. Waking up on a piece of flotsam drifting in a Khornish ocean hell-world was both strange and very familiar at the same time. Less cool was reaching around to see if all your body parts were still attached only to find that crab claw that worked really well as a bottle opener was gone. You'd think of all the gods, Slaanesh would be the one most okay with driving under the influence. quote:Archetype: Renegade (+3BS, +3 WS) Ronwayne fucked around with this message at 07:48 on Aug 12, 2014 |
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Aug 9, 2014 20:01
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 After the loss of her sister, Justine turned to a life of crime. Little things at first, pickpocketing mostly (something Vanda was very efficient in), and eventually got to a point where she was effectively Moriarty (whoever that was) and used her powers to steal a crown. She got caught, and retaliated against her captors in response, killing several (this angered the gods). Now she's stuck in this dump with a bunch of other idiots. pre:Name: Justine Serkoff Career: Psyker Pride: Craftsmanship Disgrace: Regret Motivation: Arcane Characteristics: WS: 22 (25 + 0) [-3 Pride] BS: 32 (25 + 10) [-3 Pride] S: 27 (25 + 5) [-3 Motivation] T: 40 (25 + 10) [+5 Advance] Ag: 43 (25 + 10) [+5 Advance] [+3 Pride] Int: 43 (25 + 15) [+3 Pride] [+2 Motivation] Per: 55 (25 + 20) [+10 Advance] WP: 65 (25 + 20) [+5 Archetype] [+15 Advance] Fel: 45 (25 + 10) [+10 Advance] Wounds 13/13 Infamy 16 IP: 1/1 CP: 17 Skills: Awareness Common Lore (All) Common Lore (Administratum) +10 Common Lore (Imperial Creed) +10 Deceive Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Psykers) Linguistics (Low Gothic) Psyniscience +10 Scholastic Lore (All) Scrutiny +10 Stealth Trade (Soothsayer) Talents: Favored by the Warp Infused Knowledge Jaded Paranoia Psy Rating 3 Warp Sense Weapon Training (Las, Primary) Traits: Psyker Quick and the Dead Regret Disgrace (+10 to use Intimidate on this character) Psychic Powers: Blood Boil Fire Barrage Fire Bolt Manifest Flame Mind Over Matter Telekinetic Shield Gear: Common Laspistol Good Sword Flak Cloak Psy-focus Dataslate with arcane lore XP Spent 6000/6000 Perception +5 250 Perception +5 500 Willpower +5 100 Willpower +5 250 Willpower +5 500 Agility +5 250 Toughness +5 500 Stealth 200 Scrutiny 100 Scrutiny +10 200 Psyniscience +10 200 Infused Knowledge 400 Dodge +10 350 Fellowship +5 250 Fellowship +5 500 Fire Barrage 250 Blood Boil 300 Favored by the Warp 400 Paranoia 300 Mad Moxxi fucked around with this message at 01:56 on Aug 14, 2014 |
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Aug 10, 2014 04:58
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Edit: Made the name consistent, added Gift of the Gods.Zegasi posted:When you cry out for help against the blind insanity of the universe, and something answers…are you less screwed, or more screwed?  In a past life, Zegasi (his previous name now forgotten) had been just another Codicier of the Iron Snakes – competent so far as psykers go, but too inexperienced to be true officer material. As his duty commanded, Zegasi served with distinction for decades without particular incident. A rebellion here, some xenos there, nothing terribly special for an Astartes. Then Hive Fleet Kraken showed up like the galaxy’s second-worst mob of hooligans, and Zegasi was shipped off to the front quicker than you can say “Codex Astartes”. (Not as if the Iron Snakes cared too much in private, though they’d not say such around their sibling chapters.) And as one might expect in a war against Tyrannids, things went poorly at the best of times. If there was one thing troubling about these particular xenos it was that they learned, adapted, and schemed with frightening ease. While Zegasi managed to survive, several of his Battle-Brothers were not so lucky; corpses were made on Miral and other worlds besides. Even for a Space Marine, these were trying times. Eventually, the Hive Fleet’s back was broken over Ichar IV, though the world itself had paid the price of its own ecosystem and populace just to survive. Thus the Iron Snakes made to return home to the Reef Stars, in triumph and glory. But for a chosen few, something went horribly wrong in their hour of greatest weal – one transport slammed into the side of a Space Hulk. Thus did Zegasi and his Battle-Brothers made their ways through the murderous corridors of a vessel which should not be, to find some point of exit from the maddening halls. Orks were like a bad dream, all brutish and forceful but still tolerable. More Tyrannids, though? The waves came and crashed upon the Battle-Brothers, and one by one they fell. Eventually Zegasi was the only one left, desperately braining genestealers with his force staff before ducking down yet another lonely hallway. And so he cried out to the Emperor on his Golden Throne, to anyone – who might grant him aid that day? When you cry out for help against the blind insanity of the universe, and something answers…are you less screwed, or more screwed? A voice resounded in Zegasi’s head, offering a boon for a trifling price. “But what price might you consider a trifle should be far greater for me? That sounds to be a fool’s bargain?” Hiding from one more pack of genestealers, the librarian was trying his level best to remain calm. What price is too great if it means the endless swarm is to be stopped – for eternity? And in that moment, when only a mote of hope shone in a city of darkness, Zegasi reached out. “I yield – I accept.” Good. Warp flames shot out from Zegasi’s hands, from his staff, from his mouth, to consume the oncoming horde. Trouble was, it consumed him too. When he came to, the Space Hulk was nowhere to be found. Instead, the librarian – no, he was a sorcerer now – found himself on an unfamiliar beach, near the wreckage of some equally unfamiliar voidship. “If I am to be damned that others might be saved, so be it. But do not think I shall trust you for one microsecond.” Already you grasp the ways of the Immaterium. Do not forget to call! pre:Name: Zegasi Career: Sorcerer Pride: Grace Disgrace: Regret Motivation: Ascendancy Alignment: Tzeentch Characteristics: WS: 60 (30 + 20) [+10 Advance] BS: 25 (30 + 0) [-5 Pride] S: 40 (30 + 10) T: 40 (30 + 10) Ag: 45 (30 + 10) [+5 Pride] Int: 50 (30 + 15) [+5 Advance] Per: 40 (30 + 10) WP: 65 (30 + 20) [+5 Motivation] [+10 Advance] Fel: 35 (30 + 5) Wounds 18/18 [-2 Motivation] Infamy 15 IP: 1/1 CP: 11 [+5 Disgrace] [+1 Career] Skills: Athletics Awareness Common Lore (War) Dodge Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes) Forbidden Lore (Daemons) Forbidden Lore (Horus Heresy) Forbidden Lore (Psykers) Forbidden Lore (Xenos) Linguistics (Low Gothic) Logic Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Psyniscience +10 Scholastic Lore (Occult) Scrutiny Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Legion Weapon Training Lightning Attack Meditation Nerves of Steel Quick Draw Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poison) Swift Attack Unarmed Warrior Warp Sense Traits: Amphibious Psy Rating 4 Unnatural Strength +4 Unnatural Toughness +4 Illusion of Normalcy Psychic Powers: Mind Over Matter (Free) Precognition (Free) Precognitive Dodge (Free) Precognitive Strike Precision Telekinesis (Free) Warptime Gear: Legion Power Armour 8 All, Careful Maintenance Auto-senses Osmotic Gill Life Sustainer Magnetized Boot Soles Sustainable Power Source Nutrient Recycling Legion Bolter Legion Combat Knife Legion Bolt Pistol Force Staff XP Spent 5500/5500 Forbidden Lore (Daemons) 100 [T] Forbidden Lore (Xenos) 100 [T] Intelligence +5 250 Lightning Attack 750 [K] Logic 100 [T] Precognitive Strike 300 Psyniscience +10 200 [T] Psy Rating +2 1500 Swift Attack 500 [K] Warp Sense 200 [T] Warptime 400 Weapon Skill +5/+10 750 Willpower +5/+10 350 [TT] Alignment Advances: Khorne: 2 Tzeentch: 7 NGDBSS fucked around with this message at 13:37 on Aug 16, 2014 |
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Aug 10, 2014 06:04
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 Struck down at the pinnacle of his success by one of his co-conspirators for leadership of a warband of Black Legion Chosen, Haze was left for dead by those who once feared him and his strength. Wandering the wastes of the screaming vortex, the last thing Haze remembered before awakening on this godforsaken world was the gellar field failing and fighting in the tight corridors of a void ship against screamers of tzeentch before being incapacitated. Haze awakens to the sight of this and the moans of a wounded Astartes whose neck he snaps and whose body he loots for repair paste for his ravaged ceramite plate, nutrient paste so he could get something in his system that wasn't his own recycled waste products, and ammunition for his rusting bolter. Admiring the orange sky that dawn has brought to him on this alien world, Haze looks around for any more survivors before going onto the hunt. How he will get back in the favor of the gods and Lord Abbadon, he would think of another day. The hunt awaits him whilst the day is young. One week later Haze returns to the crash site after hunting the wastes for mutant tribesmen or whatever this world has to offer. He takes off his helmet and washes his face with the polluted water that surrounds the crashed ship. He then even takes a drink of the dark green water, for though its polluted, its not enough to kill an Astartes. And its about as good drinking water as he would get anywhere. Quenching his thirst for the moment, he goes and hides out within the wreckage of the voidship and disassembles his bolter to try to clean it as best he could. While he's cleaning the barrel he starts to recap the events that had brought him down this low. 50 years ago, his warband was dispatched by Abbadon the Despoiler himself on a mission of great importance to the Black Legion. An Iron Warriors warsmith by the name of Conrad apparently had become a thorn in the Warmaster's side. Normally these things could be handled by lending support to any number of contenders for the warsmith's place, however the spies apparently have determined that this would be the best way to handle things. Causing a war between champions in the warband would cause too many casualties for the warband to be worth anything to Lord Abbadon, it would be better to just exterminate them outright. Also not all the champions were useful to the warmaster's vision should they rise to his place. So it would be best if a surgical option was available. And so Haze and his brethren defected to the Iron Warriors. They ensured this deception by being cast out and then raiding Black Legion forces throughout the Eye until they came under the eye of an Iron Warriors warband who sought their services. They fought amongst champions until over the years, they would end up in Conrad's warband. They fought in his army until they each gained such renown that they lead squads of their own despite their outsider status. But an Iron Warrior warsmith would never trust those who were bred outside the legion, especially those of Horus. Their mission didn't require that trust though, only that they be placed closed to the heart of the beast. Attrition during half a century of war whittled the number of Chosen from 16 who originally were sent on the mission to 4 by the time the day came to exact Abbadon's will on the upstart. Each survivor of the compact took the forces loyal to him alone and brought war inside Conrad's keep. Haze lead a band of 20 Havocs in the middle of the night to secure Vindicators and Predator tanks to lay siege to his citadel. The Sorceror Aetius summoned Flamers of Tzeentch to set fire to the Iron Warriors who attempted to plug the breaches that Haze's Havocs made. With Conrad's Iron Warriors englufed in warp fire and pinned down by artillery they could not see, only hear, the screams of Ramius's Raptors and Warp Talons as they struck from the sky and indeed the warp itself to cut them down. Iron Warrior fought Iron Warrior at the beckoning of the Wolves, the Luna Wolves of old, the Black Legion of today. It was exquisite. Soon Aetius was able to divine the location of Conrad within the keep and the 3 went forth in search of their prey. They were doing good on secondary objectives, most of the champions that were to die this night have fallen already in defense of the citadel, the only ones that were of any importance to their mission would be with Conrad himself. Linking up with a squad of terminators lead by the 4th of their number, the Berzerker Hassan, they went forward into the attack. Haze lost track of how many bolters and plasma guns he's picked up off the bodies of dead Iron Warriors, before discarding them as they ran empty fighting from pillar to pillar in the basilica that was the centerpiece of the keep. Dedicated to Perturabo, he might be the only thing that Iron Warriors believed in. Haze took pleasure drop kicking a Iron Warrior off the railing overlooking the statue of Perturabo and seeing his head impaled on his sword. Within a minute, any significant resistance was destroyed and before he knew it, he was burying a meltagun he took off a dead body into a terminator's chest and pulling the trigger. The last time he felt this anything close to this was on Terra during the siege. Combat up close and personal, brutal, and pure. Off to his right he saw Aetius dueling with Conrad, Force Sword against the gauntlet of his Lightning Claw. To his left, he witnessed the spectacle of Hassan breaking through a firing line of terminators to gut the biggest of them with a Chainfist. Ramius was engaged with the warpsmith, ducking and dodging a giant power mace and the warpsmith's servo arms at the same time. By the time they were finished, Ramius and the warpsmith were dead, Conrad was dead, and it was just Haze, Aetius, and Hassan victorious amongst a pile of bodies. Then Aetius and Haze looked to Hassan with predatory glee. Hassan was useful but long before this day came, Aetius and Haze decided he would have to die. He would seek leadership of the warband now that their champion was long dead. Between the two of them, they cut a swath through their own squad to ensure their places when they returned to the Legion. And since Hassan was gifted the Mark of Khorne and the Collar of Khorne for his service to the Blood God over the years, he would be immune to most of Aetius's tricks. Aetius fired an overcharged plasma shot to earn Hassan's ire and drew Ramius's powersword. Hassan accepted the challenge and they began to fight. The fight didn't last long with Haze's intervention. At first he stood back to watch the fight and then when Hassan was clearly lost to the butcher's nail, completely focused on Aetius, Haze struck. A meltagun to the spine puts a terminator down, or so he thought. But Hassan was so filled with rage that it did not stop him. Death wouldn't deny him his vengeance it seemed as Haze looked down a screaming Chainfist aimed at his head, grazing his helmet. The powerfield encased chainblades in the fist cut his helmet and his right ear half off. As Hassan prepared to swing, Haze dove low underneath him and landed on his back, vaporizing his assplate with a meltagun blast that cut from in between his buttcheeks through his lower back. That brought Hassan to his knees where Aetius decapitated him. Then Aetius fired a plasma pistol into Haze's chest. Don't trust, don't beg, and don't fear was the creed he sought to live by. Now here he trusted another Marine, a Sorceror at that, in a scheme that involved the utmost trust and betraying most of their squad for power. And somehow he thought the Sorceror would be one that would be ok with being a #2, not a #1. How ironic Haze thought as he was shot again, and again. Then he blacked out, left for dead. When he awoke again he was without weapons, his shattered power armour was his tomb, and he was staring down the barrel of lasguns pointed at his head, held by the tribesmen who were allowed to live. They made for good slaves and breeding stock to make Chaos Space Marines. And now he was their prisoner, now he was their slave. Haze grabs a handful of sand into his armored hand and squeezes it hard, as if he was trying to turn that poo poo into a diamond. A diamond of pure black hate. Those mutants mistake was pulling him out of his power armour to try to put chains on him. He strangled them to death with the chains they tried to bind him with and then broke free. He bashed their skulls in with their lasguns, their rusted axes, anything he could get his hands on. And then he roamed the wastes again aimlessly. No warband, a disgrace to his legion, and a disgrace to the title "Chosen". Haze shrugged and broke the stock off the lasgun and broke the trigger guard off. He slung it over his shoulder and picked up a heavy stubber, carrying the ammo belts for them on his body bandito style. Haze opened his palm and there was barely a speck of sand left to fall out of his palm. A fitting representation of how glory has slipped his grasp time and time again. But he made it out of the Eye of Terror and into the Screaming Vortex. He spent most of that time as a mercenary fighting with arms meant for humans, not space marines. He took contracts with pirates of all sorts, hell he even worked for a xenos at one point, an ork freebooter captain. He had no respect for greenskins, having slaughtered many during the great crusade, but now he couldn't be picky about where he got his work. The ork found it funny to have a "space mareen" under him, even one of the spiky ones. He got paid in "shiny bits" from which he was able to cobble together his own suit of power armour again and got his hands back on a proper bolter. And to be fair, it was an interesting experience. War every single day of his life, something to kill every minute, including his own "friends". And he was insane enough to find Ork culture loving hilarious. With the orks help, he was able to capture his own ship. He did have to kill most of the orks infesting it afterwards because they had the misguided notion they were keeping the loving thing. A notion Haze certainly had no desire to contradict until it suited him, namely when he put the captain's funny hat on after cutting his head off. That and killing the biggest of them got them to consider him "The Boss". Until things went to hell again. See this was a real voidship, it had a human crew, a geller field, and all that. And now a good part of the crew were orks who thought they knew how to do poo poo. Go figure the mekboys wanted to try to take the gellar field apart in their attempt to make everything go faster, by painting it red all over. While they were in the warp. See normally when you have a critical mass of orks their latent psychic ablities keep warpspawn the gently caress out, but there weren't enough of them on board to make this happen. Cue a loving nightmare that lasted until they crashed down. The second to last memory Haze had before blacking out came to him and he started laughing. The look on that mekboy's face when he choked to death on a spanner that Haze shoved down his throat, priceless. pre:Name: Haze Archetype: Veteran of The Long War Pride: Martial Prowess (+5 WS/-5 Int) Disgrace: Betrayal (+5 Corruption/-10 Situational Charm Modifier) Motivation: Violence (+5 Corruption/-3 Intelligence) Alignment: Undivided Special Abilities: The Eternal Enemy (Chosen Special Ability/Legion Chainsword) Abhorrence Unchained Characteristics: WS 50 (40 + 5[Pride) + 5[Advances]) BS 60 (50 + 5[Archetype] + 5[Advances]) S 40[60] (40) [Power Armour] T 40 (40) Ag 40 (40) Int 32 (40 - 8[Pride/Motivation]) Per 50[60] (50) [Autosenses] WP 60 (50 + 5[Archetype] + 5[Advances]) Fel 30 (30) Inf 15 (15) Infamy Points: 1 Corruption: 15 Wounds: 20 Experience: 6,000/6,000 Advances: Veteran of The Long War Archetype (3600) Simple BS Advance (250) Simple WS Advance (250) Simple WP Advance (250) Combat Sense (250) Tech-Use (200) Trade (Armourer) (200) Armour-Monger (500) Swift Attack (500) Talents: Ambidextrous Ancient Warrior Bulging Biceps Combat Sense Disturbing Voice Enemy (Adeptus Astartes) Hatred (Adeptus Astartes, Imperial Guard) Jaded Legion Weapon Training Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight) Nerves of Steel, Peer (Traitor Legions, Warlords) Quick Draw Rapid Reload Resistance (Cold, Heat, Poisons) Unarmed Warrior Unshakable Will Skills: Athletics Awareness +10 Common Lore (War) Dodge +10 Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Codex Astartes, Pirates, The Horus Heresy and the Long War) Intimidation +10 Linguistics (Low Gothic) Navigate (Surface) Operate (Surface) Parry Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis) Survival Tech-Use Trade (Armourer) Traits: Amphibious Unnatural Strength (+4) Unnatural Toughness (+4) Starting Equipment: Legion Power Armour Legion Bolter w/4 Magazines Legion Bolt Pistol w/2 Magazines Legion Chainsword Legion Combat Knife Legion Frag Grenade Legion Krak Grenade Trophy Rack Armor Mk. 5 Heresy Power Armour AP 8[All] Customization: Horns Weight: 100kg Enhanced Strength: +20 Auto-Senses: +10 (Option 1) Life Sustainer: Offline Biomonitor: Offline Pain Suppressant: Empty Vox-Link: Offline Magnetised Boots: Offline Recoil Suppression: Offline Dexterity Modifier: -10 Nutrient Recycling: Online (Option 2) Sustainable Power Source: Online (Option 3) Viva Miriya fucked around with this message at 13:24 on Nov 2, 2014 |
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Aug 10, 2014 07:07
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Holy balls that's a lot of apps.  So as of right now, no more apps are allowed. Jesus people. People that need to finish their PCs please do as quickly as you can. Christ I'm probably gonna need to make 2 threads 
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Aug 12, 2014 08:01
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NGDBSS I believe your +2 Psy Rating should cost 1500 xp total instead of 1000 xp
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Aug 13, 2014 03:34
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frajaq posted:NGDBSS I believe your +2 Psy Rating should cost 1500 xp total instead of 1000 xp Edit: Meh, to hell with trying to be a two-weapon blender as of yet. NGDBSS fucked around with this message at 04:19 on Aug 13, 2014 |
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Aug 13, 2014 04:15
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NGDBSS do you plan in finishing your sorcerer? I'm picking in 6 hours
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Aug 15, 2014 22:16
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I do. Edit: When did that little square appear for Plat?
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Aug 15, 2014 22:46
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