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About ColArana

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  • Birthday 10/09/1991

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  1. I'll add one point here, which is that the Scum's generalist nature REALLY makes them a power play character in smaller parties. In my first campaign, our party consisted of only three characters. For those saying: "well just get other characters to cover different niche's", in a two or three person party, it's doubtful you'll be able to cover the same breadth of niche's as the Scum does overall. Additionally, early game, the Scum gets some very good early game perception (Awareness+10 at rank 1 and Deceive+10 at rank 2), that few enough careers can actually keep up with. Plus in the early game, the Scum can start with an autogun which my group continuously struggles to balance encounters around, especially once the Scum gets access to custom ammo like Manstopper rounds and feats like Mighty Shot. Are they outdone in SPECIFIC catagories? Probably, so there's probably little need for a Scum in a party of 5+ players, and they'd probably be the fallback guy in a party of 4. But in parties of 2-3 players, they're pretty absurd due to their flexibility.
  2. I'm currently running a campaign in which Dark Eldar feature somewhat prominently. Only thing is I don't know where to find the statblocks for them. I know that there are profiles for the Dire Avenger in Creatures Anathema, but that's standard Eldar, and I'm wondering if profiles for the Dark Eldar Succubus are available in any Dark Heresy resources (or comparable source like OW or RT?)
  3. A powerful Psyker may be harder to detect using his powers, because they have significantly greater control over it. If they are only using 1 dice to manifest their power, they can use all the rest of it to minimize the ripple in the Warp that their power creates. If you looked for a balance to this though, you could argue that a PR6 Psyker has a harder time masking their actual psychic imprint though, so they're more easily detected by active searches.
  4. I'm using Fettered in this case, as shorthand for a Psyker using less than the required dice to cast a Psychic Power. Couldn't think of a better way of wording it. I might be completely alone in this, but I would absolutely allow a Psyker to use less dice than his maximum in order to try and make the casting of their powers less noticeable to Psyniscience users.
  5. Yes and no. While this is entirely up to the GM, I would say: -Rolling Psyniscience to detect you're a Psyker when you're not doing anything requires a conscious and active roll. -If you are heavily fettering your power, to deliberately avoid detection (imho, rolling less than half your Psy Rating in dice to manifest a power), then it should also require an active roll, or if it's a passive roll, at least should take a negative modifier (-10 for each level under half your Psy Rating seems fair to me). -Rolling Psyniscience to detect active Warp phenomena (such as using a non-fettered Psychic Power, Perils, Psychic Phenomena, a daemon's presence, etc.) should be passive, and be rolled for as long as you are close enough to detect it. This is personal opinion though and up to the individual GM.
  6. As Doc said: Psyniscience lets you detect Psychic Phenomena AND the use of Psychic powers, which are also a disturbance. It also lets you detect other Psykers, Daemons, or other Warp anomalies. Basically, if it involves the Warp in any way, it's a good bet Psyniscience can detect it. Something like Psychic Phenomena or Perils of the Warp are just a lot easier to detect since they're comparatively larger scale disturbances.
  7. Nobleborn Scum are ridiculous to the point I would personally house rule that the Scum income overrides the Nobleborn part. They're not as strong as something like a Templar Calix Psyker (or Psyker's in general) but they are VERY good, due to negating the Scum career's biggest weakness. Dual pistol Scum is solid. I'd argue they're just as good as a guardsman or an Arbitrator in small skirmishes, and are much more effective against single heavy hitting attacks like most Heavy Weapons due to their generally better agility. Not as effective in larger encounters though, as a dual pistol scum has to get a lot closer to the opponent and you can only dodge two attacks a round, which leads to them getting overwhelmed if you don't have decent threatening support (dual pistol scum in conjunction with a melee Guardsman or Psyker would be good though). Overall, Scum's shooting is pretty comparable to an Assassin. As for party face? Yeah, Scum are one of the best Party faces you can get. Clerics are the only ones that are as good as Scum, and they're probably the best in general. Adepts and Arbitrators can be passable second-placers.
  8. All the careers are pretty vastly different from one another. Cleric has all either 100 or 250 beginning, Tech Priest doesn't have Fel at all. Psyker doesn't have a 500 expert and veteran. Which is heavily balanced out by Psykers and Tech Priests having significantly more options than any other career in the game. Guardsman have two 500's imho, to balance out the fact that by endgame a Guardsman is basically a stat tank, as they have FAR fewer options than other careers for Skills and Talents.
  9. [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.
  10. By RAW, no you cannot. However, I personally would say that you probably could, with a hefty penalty to either the Weapon Skill or Ballistic Skill test, on account of the target's own counter-grappling attempt (it would be very difficult to stab or shoot someone who's controlling your arms and forcing them away from themselves).
  11. The point being, that, in reference to his comment of: "What can my group do if they're stuck against an enemy that they can't hurt", finding a way to make them fall a distance greater than 3 meters, is absolutely a viable tactic, seeing how fall damage negates damage reduction better than almost any weapon in the game, and racks up extremely quickly.
  12. Damage from 6 meters is 1d10+5. Maximum damage from falling in DH1 - 1d10+20 from 25+ meters. Not too lethal for Astartes with his minimum TB6, 19 Wounds and True Grit. Bit of hyperbole on my part, the point being to emphasize how ludicrous fall damage is. Falling from the height of an average ceiling is likely to do more damage to an an Acolyte than the majority of weapons in the game.
  13. "Is there anything else my players can do if they find themselves against something their weapons can't damage?" There's a few things. First off-- until you get into power armor, or daemonic enemies, your PC's should ALWAYS be able to at least have a chance of damaging an enemy with their starting gear-- pretty sure the weakest firearm you can start with is a compact Las pistol, which is 1d10+1 if I remember right. Assuming a max damage role, even if you don't score righteous fury, that's still 11 damage, which is enough to at least deal some damage to basically anything in the game, short of end-game enemies (in short, don't fling T4 enemies wearing Carapace Armor at your Rank 3 party). And failing that, righteous furies are a thing. Additionally, there are plenty of ways of damaging enemies that circumvent damage reduction. Setting an enemy on fire (with flamers or the dirt cheap fire bombs), is all but guaranteed to kill any enemy that doesn't have Eldar-level Agility. And finding ways to inflict Fall Damage is another way you can do it, as fall damage is probably the absolutely most lethal thing in this entire game (Pretty sure you could kill a Power Armored Adeptus Astartes by making him fall more than 5 meters). Loot is a finnicky thing for Dark Heresy, however, you could give them Good/Best quality versions of gear they already have, or a modified version of a weapon. One of Dark Heresy's "quirks" is that when it comes to ranged weapons it's really more about player preference than any individually "best" weapon. Honestly my group actually found that the autogun (ie. The weapon that the Assassin and Scum careers START with), is cost-for-cost, probably the most efficient firearm in the game (though that's largely due to its ability to fire Full-Auto, in DH, where Full-Auto weapons are broken a/f). Do you have the Inquisitor's Handbook? I'd take a gander through the weapon tables at the back. There's a LOT of weapons in there that are basically just modified versions of pre-existing ones (with slightly superior range at the cost of lesser damage, or more damage at the cost of smaller clips, etc. etc.)
  14. Unless this is Legends Star Wars in which case they have Force Users that can wipe entire planets by themselves (Nihilus, Sidious, Naga Sadow, Vitiate/Valkorrian), telekinetically throw entire armies solo (Yoda), and generally, at upper tiers, move faster than Space Marines. Along with the whole "Turbolasers > Nukes" calcs that have cropped up. Also worth noting that the whole "choke people with their minds" can be done at ranges of hundreds of light years away, which to be honest, I have never seen a 40k Psyker pull off. Actually, now that I think of it, taking down entire armies solo is pretty standard fare for upper-crust Jedi and Sith. In the Darth Plagueis novel Sidious and Plagueis made training exercises of massacring armies on underdeveloped worlds. Mace, Yoda, Darth Bane, Darth Revan, Meetra Surik all have feats of that caliber easily. It'd be an unpleasant round for both Star Wars and 40k both, if it's Legends. Of course if it's Disney Canon, yeah, Star Wars better go get the lube.
  15. "or would their indoctrination, and service to the Greater Good curtail that?" Kinda sorta? The Tau seem to view individualism in a very negative light. While I doubt indoctrination is perfect (just look at Farsight and his cadre, renegades are not an unknown thing to the Tau), the average Tau probably isn't going to pursue personal gain at the expense of the Greater Good. Nothing stopped you as a GM from making one that shifts from the norm though, just as a player, were I in your campaign I'd probably need you to drop hints that this particular Tau is unusually self-serving for the species.
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