You know your playing rogue trader when the party installs enough planetary defense guns to one shot a battleship and then when a chaos battleship shows up they miss every shot for three rounds in a row. 

:-)  if your scared Adept is blasting away at someone in Powered Armor I believe that when things have hit the fan already anyways
 
But yes our gunslinger carries a pair of Talon III, which he uses for his sprayfire pistols against low level threats

Or this. (How could I forget Macross?)

So something like this???  Shinnakasu/Northrom Grumman VB-6 König Monster
 


 
 

and out of OW there is the Pryo Dream weapon, Pyrophoric Vambrace which uses Dried Chemical that ignite when exposed to Oxygen and has as it special qualities: Corrosive, Flame, Spray
 
Which I will use to Aim and spray on Morbid Don for that bad humor

ROTFL!!!

You know your playing Only War when
You roll up a regiment and end up with
the 81th Italicus Drop Troppers
Drop trooping cyber enhanched close combat potato farmers with the tranining of a guardsmen but close to the gear of a stormtrooper.
When you get a mono scythe as part of the bonus gear but everyone trades it in for other gear
When one of the players are a discount scarface.
And when everyone agreed on that our theme song is my combine harvester

"Fetch the combine, boys! There's orks in mah tater fields!"
 
Please tell me the GM let's you replace the dozer blades on the chimeras with some sort of argricultural harvester/potato hopper.
 

[This is mostly a post concluding things for my character in my last Dark Heresy campaign. Due to.... reasons, our campaign didn't have much of a chance for an epilogue, and I figured I'd write one up for my character.]
 
------
 
Darkness. Impenetrable darkness. That was what the Acolyte awoke to. His thoughts were laboured and slow. Confused. Then the pain struck. An agonizing pain that burned across every nerve in his body. He tried to scream, but found he was without a voice. Something was pressing on his chest, and stealing away his breath. What had happened? Where was he? His mind struggled to remember. Struggled to focus, but every moment he thought he had a hold on a clear thought it slipped away again. Instinctively he struggled against the weight on his chest, it shifted. Just a hair, before the effort became too much and the Acolyte slumped down again in the darkness. An acrid, burning smell was in his nostrils. Some part of him recognized it as the smell of charred human flesh. Who was burning? What had happened?   The Acolyte strained his ears to catch any sounds, but there was nothing. He strained his eyes to see if he could pierce the veil of shadow surrounding him. Dimly he could make out approximate shapes, but they were beyond his comprehension, and he could not be certain if he was truly seeing, or if his fevered and disoriented mind was crafting phantoms to give him hope. Still the questions circled endlessly in his mind. What had happened? Where was he? Why was he in such pain? He could sense the answers at the back of his consciousness, but they proved elusive to his worn and tired mind, distracted by the pain. He was certain he would have been writhing had he the room to move. Screaming had he the strength to scream. Trapped in this nightmare. Alone in the darkness.    At some point, the Acolyte felt something on his face. Stinging and wet. It was water. Dimly he could hear the sound of acid rain drizzling onto the rubble that held him pinned. That was a small comfort to him. Despite the pain it caused as it picked at his burnt flesh, it was a welcome relief from the monotony of the darkness and his own confused thoughts. It also meant that there was a flow of air to where he was, and that he wouldn't die. It gave focus to his thoughts; Allowed him to reach into the recesses of his mind. Who was he? Where was he? What had happened?   He began to find scraps of memory buried there. A face. A name. He saw a stone faced man who radiated power, a maul crackling with energy in both hands. He saw a woman, with long brown hair, clad in Imperial battle regalia. Bolt pistol in hand, he saw her battling as though she were a goddess of war. A soldier, with scarlet hair framing a breathtaking face; A pair of blades flashing about her like lightning, and crashing like thunder. Other faces came to him too. Other names.    Frost. Lanate. Utopia. Serenity.   His mind attributed great importance to these words, but he could not fathom it, even with his renewed focus. The Acolyte tried to calm himself, assured that he would recall in time. But with every passing moment, he felt his focus ebb, and the thoughts and memories slip away again into the darkness that surrounded him. Though he willed himself to be patient, frustration now eroded his mind. The ceaseless pain did not give him a moment's peace. Though the rain water which dripped onto his face gave him something to concentrate on, something with which to take the edge from the horrific pain wracking him, it was an ever present entity. A contant companion, mocking him and taunting him. A distraction which withheld the memories he so desperately sought from him. The Acolyte hated that pain now. Despised it with all his being. Hated it as he hated the great weight pressing upon him. With all his hatred he fruitlessly willed the stones upon him to move, and for a brief, fevered instant, the Acolyte swore he could feel the weight that pinned him to his tomb shift. He was near certain he had heard the creak and groan of rock grinding on rock. He at once gave pause, and listened further. Mentally willed his nerves to be as attentive as they might be, to detect the slightest shift in the debris that bound him.    The Acolyte heard nothing but the pattering of rain. The Acolyte felt nothing but the pain of his wounds and the weight of the stones. A rasping breath drew from his mouth as he slipped again into despair, and felt his eyes close. Perhaps if he allowed it to be, he might die in his sleep, and put an end to this monotonous and cruel hell that trapped him. An escape from his torment.    Sleep took him, and his mind wandered amidst a labyrinth of memories. More images flashed through his mind at a dizzying pace. A dark skinned scoundrel, a cocky grin on his face, and a pair of pistols in his hands. A hulking greenskinned beast. A raven haired woman, rifle roaring, a blazing fireball at her back. An old man, screaming in agony, his features twisting and warping. A huge, armour clad figure collapsing in an occult circle, his life torn away by the abomination that formed before him. Next a woman, youthful with flowing golden hair, a sharp gaze piercing through him. There was something he'd done. A promise he'd made.   Sacarius. Elizabeth. Valerion. Sylith. More names that struck a chord within the Acolyte's mind.    A final figure appeared in his mind. This was not a face that he had seen in person. It was a tapestry he had seen once. Long, long ago. A valiant knight, gilded in shining armor. Flowing black hair, a blazing sword in hand. A golden halo of power emanated from him. knight stood, stalwart and invulnerable against the encroaching darkness, the bones of his enemies broken to dust beneath his feet. There was no name that came to mind when this image surfaced in his mind, not even a word. It was a feeling. Not one that the dreaming man could quite grasp though. It was more than simply hope, it was more than obedience. It was faith. It was loyalty.    It was duty.   The Acolyte's eyes opened. A spark had ignited within his mind. His very soul. He remembered now. The memories came rushing back to him, some still foggy, others clear as crystal. Yes... he remembered them now. His comrades. Brothers and sisters in arms whom he had fought beside. Bled beside. In his mind's eye, he saw their final moments. He saw the stone faced man.... The Inquisitor. He saw him fall, betrayed by his closest ally. He saw the war goddess fall, a final grin on her lips as she expended her final breath to strike down the traitor who had slain their lord. The scoundrel... yes. He saw him as well, and the red haired soldier, disappear in a blaze of fire and shrapnel. His last memories in fact.   He was an Acolyte of the Imperium's Holy Inquisition. He had seen terrible things, and fought even worse, to find himself here.  They had fought their way through a Hive City. To the cathedral... They had staged a tremendous battle, against an enemy that had been the epitome of evil. He remembered. The beast had been bested. His blade had been at the monster's throat. The end was nigh. But the creature had used the last of its power to bring down the cathedral upon them. His fellow Acolyte had ended it. He remembered him stripping his grenade-laden jacket. Removing the pin. Hurling it at the demon. Calling at him to run.    It had not been enough. The blast had consumed everything in sight. He had been lost.    The Acolyte stared into the darkness, absorbing his resurrected memories. Though pain still seared through him, he was rapt in thought and did not notice. He remembered who he was. Perhaps. He thought for a moment. Perhaps he was still there. That this debris crushing him, was the cathedral. A single eye glared. Then it burned. The debris trembled, and shifted as the Psyker's will began what his scorched and useless muscles could not. But the stones pinning him were heavy, and there were many of them. For an instant, he almost doubted himself. The memory of the golden haired woman surfaced in his mind again.    "Stop."    That was what she had told him the last time he had second guessed himself. That was what she had told him when he had thought him lesser than the challenge before him.    The Psyker's eyes had been burning. Now it blazed, an ethereal, unnatural light pouring from the socket. His nose gushed with hot blood. Yet even this might not have been enough to shift the weighted stones from his body, had not this burst of power driven the stones at the top away. The weight lightened. Not by much. Not by much at all. But it was by just enough that the Psyker's final reserves of power could push the next uppermost rocks away. And the layer beneath that. And then the layer beneath that. Finally, at last, he could see the light. The triumphant, smog-coated skies of the Hive City. The acid rain stinging his face. Aggravating his burns. The bright azure flame that burned in his skull died down, as it drove the final weight from his chest, and the Acolyte breathed deeply. A deep, admittedly painful and hacking excuse for a breath, but it was as though it was the first breath of a new life. He paused a moment, after taking this breath. Contemplating.   New life.   Rather than the exuberance he had expected to feel after breaking free of his stone prison, there was a hollowness within the Acolyte. He drew breath as living men did. His eyes saw the world as living men did. He felt pain, as living men did as well. But.... for what? Was this really? Living? Was he alive? Or had his body simply failed to stop? For yes, life flowed through his veins, but for what purpose? Surely... surely his comrades that had accompanied him into battle were dead. The soldier... the scoundrel... To think that they would have survived the blast was unrealistically hopeful. The Acolyte's eye closed in a different kind of pain. What was left for him then?    Scorched limbs attempted to move. To find purchase on the nearby terrain. But they were weak. Very weak. His injuries were hardly minor. He could see now, that burns covered almost his entire body. What armor he had worn into battle had been burnt away, leaving the scorched flesh beneath exposed. Shrapnel had ripped out muscle and skin, leaving gleaming white bone visible in some places. He could not see his face, but he imagined it had suffered similarly. He briefly considered that perhaps the fire had seared his bleeding injuries shut, as they had formed.    The cleansing flame. It burns away the impure.    A few days ago, the Acolyte might have smiled at this macabre silver lining, but now found his lips unmoving from a grim, hard, line. Smiling seemed beyond him now, as it dawned on him just how alone he felt. A single phrase helped him to focus his mind. A single phrase lifted from some ancient Imperium primer he had perused in his old quarters aboard his Inquistor's ship.   "The only true fear is dying without your duty done."    Was his duty done? Truly? Had he finished all he had set out to do? The Acolyte thought on this long and hard, as he willed his agonized limbs to move. Inch by inch, they crawled along the ground, pulling him slowly, ever so slowly, free of the wreckage. Progress was agonizingly slow, but it gave him time to think. Time enough, that by the time he reached the top, he had reached a conclusion.   No. The Acolyte had not done all he had set out to do. He had not yet done all that he could to serve the Imperium. Indeed, not only had he not yet finished his task, he realized, he had barely begun. This journey. This deadly journey, with so many near misses, so many losses, and so many harrowing experiences, had served only to set the stage for the real good he might do. When he had first set out on this mission, he had been naive. Inexperienced. Weak. Powerless. Through these trials he had gained power. Gained influence. Gained allies. Gained resources. Was it only now? Now at the very moment where he could begin his own battle against the darkness that his battle was to end? His battle. Not the battles of another.    The Acolyte stumbled as he removed himself from the depression, and leaned against a broken pillar, breath coming in short, whispy gasps, burnt lungs screaming for air after such a meager feat. His single good eye took in his surroundings. The cathedral was a ruin. Nothing was left of the second floor, save for some fragments of masonry, that had once been the outer wall. It was marked by battle. There was nobody here. No doubt, after knowledge of the abomination that had been summoned here spread to those who were worthy, and requiring of such knowledge it had been quickly quarantined. Perhaps it would even be razed, burnt and cleansed. That would be proper, and he knew that it was the same order he would have given, were he in a position to do so. The Acolyte was alone. A name came to his mind, as he rested, his strength expended by the climb.    Cole.    That was his name. No. No wait. That wasn't right. The Acolyte's eye fell back to the pit out of which he had climbed. But he hadn't. He hadn't climbed from the pit. His physical shell had, yes, but a piece of him was still down there, and not merely the pieces that had been blown off from his body by the grenades. The piece that had died, and left behind the feeling of emptiness in his soul. Cole was still in there. No.... that wasn't right either. Cole had never been in there. Cole had died in the blast. The Acolyte that had awoken was not Cole. He had Cole's face (scarred as it was), and he had Cole's memories, his experiences, and perhaps  even Cole's mannerisms. But these did not make up who Cole was. Cole had comrades. Cole had been whole. Cole had aspirations and dreams. Dreams tempered by the Emperor's cause, of course! But dreams nonetheless. Aspirations nonetheless.    The Acolyte had only duty. He was a tool. A weapon. A sword to ward away the Emperor's foes. A shield to guard its people. Personal goals and aspirations had been purged from him by the fire.    Speaking of swords....   Cole had wielded one. Forged in his own blood, and baptized in an Ork's throat, as any good blade should have. It was linked to him, and by extension, the Acolyte. He extended a hand. Cole had etched a rune into the blade. Marked it with his psychic signature. It had been his blade. The Acolyte called to the signature. Called the blade to him. He closed his eye to focus. A ripple passed through the Warp, and the ground beneath the Acolyte's bare feet grew cold, a chill wave clawing out from him and covering the ground in a frost, as the veil between the material world and that beyond, destabilized by the battle that had happened here, trembled. Then the Acolyte felt the hilt of the sword in his hand, and he looked down upon it.   Its blade, previously a gleaming silver, was cracked, and stained black with the blood of the devil it had pierced. The Acolyte remembered that well. Cole had run the blade straight through the beast's heart, marring the shining steel irreparably. Sparks sizzled on the hilt, as the machine spirits that powered the psychic matrix inlaid in the weapon whimpered in agony. The tip had been broken off, and it was streaked with soot and dents. The Acolyte looked at the sword for a time, and then into the pit one last time. His final farewell to Cole. Taking his former self's blade in hand, he then turned and began to walk away.   He would use Cole's resources. Use the influence Cole had worked so hard to gather, to pursue Cole's ideals. To destroy the darkness wherever it touched. To drive away the shadows that despoiled the noble Imperium of Man. To do his duty. And....   A final image came to his mind. It was the woman again. Long blonde tresses cascading down. Fair skin like porcelain, wearing a dress of shimmering blue silks. A look of mixed irritation and disappointment in her eyes. A promise had been made. A promise that would be kept.   The Acolyte focused on this image for a time, as he lifted his head. He would recover. Perhaps not fully. The burns were so viciously severe, that he doubted even his connection to the Warp, and the unnatural powers he drew from it would be able to completely heal him from this battle. There would be scars. There may be lingering damage, that would plague him the rest of his life. But he would recover. His strength would return. And he would set about a crusade against the darkness with unyielding tenacity and will. He would put heresy to the torch and heretics to the sword. He would not permit Xenos or the dredging scum that festered in the deepest depths of the Imperium to fluorish. He would destroy the enemies of the Imperium. Whether the Inquisition would take note of the Acolyte or not, he would serve his purpose. He was a weapon.   This purpose could not fill the void in his soul. It would not bring Cole back. Cole was dead. But the Acolyte lived. And he had inherited Cole's will. He did not smile as he limped from Cole's tomb, but his spirits were briefly buoyed. He could not dally here. He had to recover as soon as possible. Find some decent clothes. Make sure his power base was intact. Find a new name. A steel filled the Acolyte's eyes, and an ice covered his heart, growing harder with each clumsy step he took.    There was work to be done. 

Happy New Year!
 
Hope people don't mind me putting this all around. Haven't been around these parts much lately, but to celebrate the new year, a new youtube video! I figure different people have different forums watched so I'm sending it everywhere.
 
A trip through 40k. Into space and back!
 
Now, to find some voice actors!
 

NECROMANCY!!! if this wasn't a black crusade forum I would cry heresy!

Guess who is coming to Town, why it is Santa Klaws and his big old armored sled
 

 
and to quote a classic holiday song
"But if someone's climbin' down your chimney
You better load your gun and shoot to kill"

Guess who is coming to Town, why it is Santa Klaws and his big old armored sled
 

 
and to quote a classic holiday song
"But if someone's climbin' down your chimney
You better load your gun and shoot to kill"

Guess who is coming to Town, why it is Santa Klaws and his big old armored sled
 

 
and to quote a classic holiday song
"But if someone's climbin' down your chimney
You better load your gun and shoot to kill"

Chapter 63 – Green Alert! Incoming Turbulence
 
The command crew faced a dilemma… the Roks needed to die but one of them was too far away for their conventional armaments (Macrocannons and Bombers) to reach in time… or, so they thought. Bazak had a conversation with the Lord High-Captain and then disappeared down into the bowels of the ship. Thelonious was soon inundated with complaints from the Tech Priests that the Ork and his Boyz had turned up and taken control and were doing ALL SORTS of things to their holy engines! Leaving behind the smoking wreckage of a Roks, which had been blown to pieces by Thelonious and Rolaine, the Hope in the Void surged forward towards the final one, Bazak and his Boyz having done something completely unsafe and reckless, but given that the engines didn’t explode Thelonious decided to apologise to the Adeptus Mechanicus at a later date. The fire from the Kill Kroozers intensified as they approached the final Rok, with shells coming within a few feet (or at least, that is what it felt like) of the Bridge…  but Isendark’s flying was up to the task, even with the extra oomph he had not been expecting!
 
As the Hope in the Void speared ahead, it came across the final Rok, just as it was starting to make its descent into the atmosphere of Elerius. A combination of Rolaine’s insane accuracy, landing every single shell that the ship fired, with Thelonious’s mastery of the Bombers, who hit all the holes that Rolaine had created and Bazak launching a Hit and Run raid on the inside, supported by their elite Stormtroopers, meant that the people of Elerius got to see an impressive meteor storm, rather than an Ork invasion. The space battle had, until now, been going entirely the way of the Hope in the Void… the Brute Ram Ships had been destroyed and so had the Roks… now it was just time for the clean-up. However, the Orks (or whatever otherworldly intelligence) had noticed the targets that the Hope had chosen, and the movement of their adversary had put them in the firing arcs (and thus ramming arcs) of 3 out of the 4 Kroozers. No matter how good Isendark’s flying, there was no getting away from the fact that he was piloting a 5km long ship and, whilst one of the Kroozers missed, the other two rammed into the Hope in the Void.
 
Alarms blared and the Hope in the Void shuddered under the massive impact of the Kill Kroozers, their armoured prow smashing through the Hope’s armour, causing immense damage. Luckily, the Hope in the Void had two things in its favour… one was a life sustainer that automatically locked down areas of the ship that were in danger of depressurisation and the other was Jonas Constantine. Directing the Medicae teams with a level of skill and ability that was almost unbelievable, he was able to keep most of the casualties alive and, even more impressively, get them back into the fight. However, even this could not disguise that the ship had taken two huge hits and, when combined with the damage they already had, their Hull Integrity was not looking good. Added to that fact was that the Kroozers were on the same trajectory as the Hope in the Void so there was no reason they could not attempt to ram them again and again, until they started suffering major damage. However, the crew couldn’t afford to forgo Evasive Manoeuvres, because otherwise the prow weapons of the Kroozers would rip them to pieces. For the first time, the Hope in the Void seemed to be outclassed.
 
Isendark, scanners giving him a good view of where the Kroozers were, came up with an answer… he hit the retro-thrusters and brought the Hope in the Void to a stop for long enough that the Kroozers zoomed past them, unable to keep up with his movements. A little turn brought the Macrocannons in line with one of the Kroozers and a devastating volley caused massive damage, damage that was further enhanced by the bombers and Bazak’s hit and run attacks. Bazak only just managed to get off before a cascading failure of almost every single system which consigned the Kroozer to the scrapheap… and Mistress Valentina managed to set most of the other Kroozer on fire, at the very least taking them out of the fight until they got them under control, as their scanners indicated, actually taking them out of the fight entirely as fire spread from component to component, overwhelming the Ork’s attempts to save their ship, finally going out the way all Orks would want to, in a big explosion. Thelonious then had an idea… he had Mistress Valentina jam the Astropathic space near the command Kroozer, hoping it would block whatever insinuations the Yu’vath were responsible for.
 
Unfortunately, whilst a good idea in theory, in practice there did not seem to be anything different about how the Orks were performing but at least that gave them information. The other issue was that, although they had managed to take out two of the Kroozers, they had pretty much stopped and that made them an easy target for another or the remaining Ork ships, which slammed into the side of their ancient vessel, sending men and material into the vacuum of space… the Hope in the Void was starting to creak in places, although their internal structural integrity remained solid. There was another Kroozer, but it had turned to avoid being snared by Elerius’s gravity and thus was further away than the Flagship of the Ork fleet, but it was closing fast and the command crew knew they had to do something to the flagship to take it out of the fight. That “something” turned out to be one of the remaining canisters that Yorke had created… whilst they wanted to keep as many of those back as possible, they were down to less than 25% of Hull Integrity and the situation was becoming relatively desperate.
 
The plan was set and carried out in their usual efficient fashion. Rolaine stripped the shields, Bazak teleported over and set the canister on a time release, caused some damage to the ship so as to not tip their hand to the Orks and then teleported back… the Kroozer was coming on fast, aiming for the heart of the Hope in the Void. The command crew started to worry that the canister had not worked when the Kroozer started to behave erratically, lights going off all over the ship and it started listing along… they now only had one Kroozer left to kill… and Bazak and Isendark combined to send the Hope in the Void spearing through space to gain some distance… they wanted to get the Kroozer in a “death spiral” so they could avoid being rammed and avoid its prow weaponry, whilst subjecting it to their own withering fire. However, to get the trajectory needed for this arrangement, the Hope in the Void had to pull two, hard 90 degree turns to bring themselves opposite, but alongside, the last remaining Kill Kroozer. The first 90 degree turn was done to perfection, with Mistress Valentina batting away the shots from the Kill Kroozer.
 
However, this display of power had drained Seri, who had been utilising her choir more and more as the fight increased in intensity and when she tried to bat aside some of the incoming projectiles on the second 90 degree turn, she wasn’t able to stop them all. The first few shells were deflected by the Hope’s Void Shields, but the number of them finding the target overwhelmed the generator and the shells started finding their targets. Even given the fact that the Hope in the Void was currently turning into the fire, it was still bad luck that an offshoot of one of the larger shells smashed directly into the Command Bridge of their ship. Explosions rocked the cogitators and numerous members of the crew were sucked into space, before the automatic bulkheads were deployed. Luckily, none of the command crew (who were all in fully sealed armour anyway) were injured by the scything debris or the explosions but the Hope in the Void had taken critical damage… one more hit like that and the venerable ship wouldn’t be going anywhere… it would be flotsam.
 
Thelonious turned to look at his command crew (those who were on the bridge anyway), who were looking back with a degree of disbelief at the amount of damage the ship had taken, and started giving orders to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Isendark was to remain doing evasive movements to the exclusion of all else, but to also turn in enough that they could get within range for Bazak to mess up the Kroozer. Yorke and Rolaine were to keep firing on the Kroozer (and had done some significant damage of their own) and Thelonious was also directing one of his bomber wings towards the Kroozer, knowing that would cause serious damage as well. The fact was, whomever could land the next major hit would win this fight and Thelonious was determined that it would be the Hope in the Void that emerged victorious… he had not defeated the Optimus Nemesis and the Eternity of Pain to be brought low by an Ork Kroozer

Balthazar stands shoulder to shoulder with the Novices with the slightest hint of a smile on his face. "Well said, Ariel. Officer Lemont, we are visiting this planet under orders from the highest possible authority; we answer to people who serve none but the God-Emperor Himself. We are not here to disrupt the peace on your station, but rather to ensure that it stays intact.
"Today, you and I have the unique and fortuitous opportunity to solve each other's problems. There is no longer any need to waste valuable man-hours investigating us. Your office can instead spend its resources on maintaining its vigil over Port Gyre. Thank you for your thoroughness in screening visitors to the station. Your diligence is commendable, and your efforts to keep this station's residents safe will not go unnoticed.
"Your position as Chief Security Officer gives you singular insight into events in this station, and this insight will be very useful in our investigation. We want to collaborate with you to stop a new potential threat before it can cause any real damage." Balthazar's voice begins to take on the same rousing, fiery tone he uses in his sermons, and strides slowly but purposefully towards Lemont. "Everyone in this room wants Port Gyre to remain safe, but certain seditious elements in the station seek to ruin that safety. I, for one, will not accept that outcome and will do everything in my power to preserve the Emperor's realm.
"Officer Lemont, are you a man of loyalty and conviction as well?" Balthazar extends his hand, palm open in an invitation.

No news yet other than the owner is aware and is looking at trying to get it back up. I'll post updates as I get them.

I actually curtailed Fate Point recovery in my game; it's not each session, but each day.  It's a little more effort, sure.  But it means when the players go all out in a short period of time, their resources are exhausted later on until they can get a break.  It also prevents things like a pause mid-fight and full Fate Points when they return.  

I guess our cover just wasn't deep enough. It's one thing to come up with a cool alias, but another to have investigations throw up the appropriately doctored files. Something to learn from in the future?

((This area is sectioned off, you don't see anyone besides the aide and the chief of security, you may make an Awareness test at -10 to try and notice anything about the area if you'd like.))
 
"What seems to be the problem?" he almost seems hurt by the question in some manner, "The problem is you. Your existence on this station is the greater part of some enigma that I am not allowed even a hint of. As soon as I mention anything I am denied the avenue of pursuit."
 
He moves his neck and it makes a cracking noise but doesn't move anything else.
 
"Who are you? Yes I know your names, I know the ship you came in on, but who are you? Why are you here? When are you getting off my station so you are no longer an issue I need to spend resources on?" He states very plainly.

Hi all,
 
Thanks to those of you who have contacted me regarding the roll for heresy website being down. Apologies for not getting back to you sooner, I've been busy with some exams before I head home for Christmas and my attempts to contact the site owner haven't been successful.
 
Thankfully one of his group have mentioned what's going on over on reddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/40krpg/comments/5h36ji/what_happened_to_rollforheresynet/
 
 
The website isn't up at the moment so I'm presuming he hasn't had the time to get it up and running yet. Hopefully it will be resolved soon, this time of year is usually a busy one. If I hear anything soon I'll get back to you, unfortunately right now I'm in the dark as much as you are.
 
Until then, may you burn many heretics to keep warm this Christmas.
 

The answer would be : depends of your dynasty, the way the Warrant is transmitted, and the current state of the lineage.
 
For instance, in the french campaign I've mastered, the RT was in her forties, yet she went immediateley to look for a wedding in game, in order to have heirs in short order. She got some of her genetical material safeguarded in iscreet places, should something happen to her. She married on Scintilla downward volontariliy to someone of good fortune yet not a peer, to be sure to keep him under her control. All of this because she was the last of her line.
it was a good idea of sake-keeping as she became sterile after a cybernetic ressruection thanks to warp-tainted poisonning. Less so when a rival manage to find one of such cache, and use it to create five thousands copies of her in order to sell them as cheap prostitues as an insult on Footfall...
 
Anyway; considering the existence of vat-grown babies, cryo-tubes, one could conceive an heir very soon, kept them frozen and put them out of the ice when deemed suitable for instance. Of course, you have to ensure they are kept safe, not pulled out of cryo-stasde too late or too early.  Too much potential heirs is as much trouble as not enough for a noble lineage.
 
Basicallty, this is a great question of concern of any RT worth his gelt, full of potential drama and plot twist, considering any device they use to try to safeguard their line.

Please forgive a slight case of thread necromancy. Reading the above posts inspired me to share the moment when I used a Callidus against the character group to create one of the strongest scenes I’ve ever GMed and convey plot-central information.
 
Background: The group have gone rogue together with their closest Interrogator and is acting in direct opposition to Inquisitor Tivendar because they believe she is mind controlled by the tyranids or just crazy. That is certainly not the case, but rather she has a Grand Plan that uses carefully placed and nurtured Genestealer Cults to lure a huge Tyranid fleet into a trap. During the previous chapter the team have received hints that suggests they are missing vital information, and that maybe they are not exactly acting in the best interests of the Imperium. They are getting nervous over this, but keep pushing. In this chapter I wanted to make it absolutely clear that they messed up and are in deep trouble. So I sent a Callidus.
 
Because I wanted to leave some hints for the group, I decided she has a team to help with recon and support. That team arrive on planet and spend a month mapping out the character group and their activities. During this time I let the players roll random Awareness-checks now and then, and on exceptional results they actually notice alarming things: An advanced, unmarked and very well hidden camera overlooking their home (no one ever retrieves it after it is found), a street kid hired to spy on them that they threaten, beat up and force to disclose the contact point (no one shows up into the ambush they prepared), and so on. All this adds up to "competent opposition" and plenty of nerves.
 
While the group goes along with the obvious part of the chapter the Callidus arrives. She studies, kills, and takes the identity of the most trusted contact to the character group: a local enforcer officer. She even meets once with the team in this disguise to study her targets. As the group finally kills an Interrogator that is loyal to Inquisitor Tivendar, they believe they are pretty much done with this chapter. As part of the loot they receive a half written letter from the Interrogator to the Inquisitor, where she claims that that she has things perfectly under control and that the rogue agents (aka the character group) will be taken care of Soon . - As the players read this part they laughed and jeered over their victory. The letter continues with the Interrogator claiming that the Inquisitors request of assistance from the Assassin Temples to solve the same problem will surely prove to be a waste of the Imperium’s resources. - As the players read this part they alternately turned pale and shouted rude things at me.

At this moment, I was very glad over the reputation of the Temples. One of the characters managed a good lore-check so he could inform the other characters. And the more lore-savvy players explained the seriousness of the situation to the other players. This lead to the actual players panicking. Still high on adrenalin after the boss-fight and the bad news, they wanted to arrange transport off-world, asap. And where better to do that, than with the help of their most trusted contact, the local enforcer officer! So they commandeer a Valkyrie and fly there.
 
After they have told a not too detailed version of their bad situation to the Callidus-in-disguise-as-enforcer, she agrees to help and lays out a plan where she will disguise them as prisoners and transport them into the space-port. They gladly accept, stash their weapons and armor into the storage container she provides them with and let out a collective sigh of relief. Then she instructs them to “play along” and escorts them one by one into the cells where she C’than phaseblade stabs them. The look on my players face as I describe this and roll the absurd attack and damage dice was priceless. After the first character goes down, the Callidus retracts the blade and returns to pick up the next character. And the players know exactly what is waiting, and the characters know nothing. That was a glorious moment.
 
My expectation for this scene was that it was going to cost them a permanent fatepoint each, acted out by the competent medicae team of the enforcer station finding them just as the Callidus leaves the building, believing her job well done. Then I would use the potential threat of a Callidus to keep the characters moving and nervous for the rest of the campaign. Indeed, the two first targets go down like wet paperbags. I did give them the option to spend a permanent fatepoint to keep standing at 1D5 HP and fight back, no one accepted. But it turns out the third character (our blessed mechanic that once one-shotted a Genestealer using only a plastic table leg), she rolls a heroic string of dice rolls! First an opposed awareness to even see the stab coming, followed by an excellent series of dodges so in the end she only requires the use of a temporary fatepoint to keep standing. In addition, she has a concealed bolt pistol that she promptly crits with after the Callidus fails a dodge! The likelihood for this string of results is so very slim, and I’m actually feeling a little betrayed by the dice, fearing the story will suffer.
 
The badly wounded Callidus escapes through the window. I figured, that way I could at least keep the threat alive. The characters gather themselves and takes pursuit in the Valkyrie. They are absolutely terrified to let the Callidus hide, regroup and strike again. I realize then, that this is a golden opportunity to shift the tone of the campaign a big step further away from the heroic and into the grimdark, so I let the Callidus run into the crowded market bazaar district.
 
As the players rolls their Awareness checks with increasing desperation and negative modifiers I let them have a glimpse of her at a far distance as she shifts her body shape and dons a neutral hat to blend in. The sniper asks for the modifiers of a shot at her right now, and looks absolutely crestfallen at the answer. That’s when I suggest that maybe they can use the Valkyries heavy weapons, as they have better range, hardly require any precision aiming and unarmored human bodies will not provide any significant cover bonuses against the shots. I take a short break to find the classic Ride of the Valkyries music and to give the players time to worry about this. With very bothered expressions, they decide that they will indeed fire heavy weapons towards the general direction of the assassin. So I play the music, and the players shoot heavy bolters and lascannons at a tightly packed crowd of citizens.
 
They do indeed hit the Callidus as well. As her polymorphine drugs wreak havoc trying to replace chunks of flesh and lost limbs, she crawls into cover. The characters blast the entire building with lascannons, storm the burning ruin with guns blazing, slash her apart with power weapons, and flame the remains. I let them trace her communications equipment because I want them to catch her rapidly withdrawing support-team, just as they are nearly done destroying all traces of the operation. Enough documentation is left to confirm that they were indeed the intended target and that the hit was approved by the Lords of Terra.
 
There ended that chapter with my players scared and a very different outlook for the rest of the campaign.

Estella and Ariel, I want to let you in on a secret

HERETIC!!!...*BLAM!*