About ZuriasStats:
Infamy: 35
Pride: Grace (+5 Agi, -5 BS)
Skills::
Acrobatics 40 Awareness 42/52/62 Charm 50 CL: Imperium 35 CL: Screaming Vortex 35 Deceive 50 Dodge 40 FL: Psykers 35 Interrogate 59/79 Linguistics: Low Gothic 35 Parry 37 Psyinscience 42/52 Trade: Astrogation 35 Talents::
Psy Rating 4 Heightened Senses (All) The character gains a +10 bonus to any test involving the selected sense. Jaded Dead bodies, xenos creatures and other terrifying but natural occurrences do not elicit Fear Tests. Terrors of the Warp still affect the character normally Sure Strike When making a Called Shot melee attack, the character reduces the penalty by 10 (so a -20 becomes a -10) The Quick and the Dead +2 Initiative Unnatural Fellowship (+2) The creature adds the number in parenthesis to their characteristic bonus. Weapon Training: Primary Weapon Training: Shock Warp Sense Can use Psyinscience as a free action. Can passively detect psychic effects and entities without actively using the skill. GM makes Psyinscience roll to passively notice stuff. Psychic Powers::
Acquiescence: (300) (+0) WP test, Half Action, Rng: 20m x Psy Rating; nominate single target. Target resists with WP. Every Degree of Success= target Stunned one round/Degree Delude (100) (+0) WP Test; Half Action; Rng 1m/ psy rating; Sustain: Free Action; Opposed WP test if psyker wins he adds +5/psy Rating to all Interaction Tests against that target Doombolt (200) (+0) WP test, Half Action, Rng: 20mx Psy Rating Doombolt is a Psychic Barrage that deals 1d10+ Psy Rating Energy Damage with a Pen of 8 (+1 bolt per 2 successes) Foul Cage: (400) (+0) WP Test, Full Action, Rng: 25m x Psy Rating, Sustain: Half Action, Blast (r: PsyR) 1d10+3R; Crippling (1d10), Snare (2) Tearing Lash of Submission: (400) (+0) WP test, Half Action, Rng: Psy Rating, Sustain: no; Single Target tests WP, if failed, Sorcerer determines actions for Psy Rating rounds (Target may only take single half actions, no concentration) Mindlink (200) (+10) WP Test; Half Action; Rng: 1km/ psy rating; Sustain: Free Action; Communicate with a number of (willing) creatures up to psyker's WP Bonus. Must have LoS to all targets at start of power only. Mind Over Matter (100) Sustain: Half Action; too much text, see next spoiler** Neural Storm (250) (+0) WP Test; Half Action; Rng: 5m x Psy Rating; Psychic Barrage deals 1d10+ TB Pen: Psy Rating; if character rolls three degrees of success, can add either Shocking or Haywire (5). If character rolls five degrees of success, may add both qualities. Phantom Parry (400) (+0) Opposed WP Test; Reaction; Rng 5m xPsy Rating; In response to enemy psyker using a psychic power, the character and the psyker make an Opposed WP Test. If character wins, psyker still manifests power, but must roll on Psychic Phenom table with a penalty of +5 per Degree of Success attained by the character. For the next 1d5 turns the enemy psyker also suffers a -5 penalty to WP unless he spends a Half Action to center himself. Precognition (100) (+10) Psyinscience Test; Rng: Self; Sustain: Free Action; Gain a bonus to all Evasion Tests equal to twice your Psy Rating
Psychic Scream (300) (-20) WP Test; Rng: 5m per Psy Rating; Psychic Bolt deals 1d10 X + 2/ Psy Rating; with the Shocking and Warp Weapon Quality. Target suffers penalty to Toughness Test to resist Shocking quality of -5 x Psy Rating. This power ALWAYS targets the head. Thought Sending (100) (+40) opposed WP, Rng 1Km/Psy Rating Free Action 1 sentence per Psy Rating to a number of individuals (no more than 2 per degree of success). Can be resisted with a WP+20 test Unnatural Healing (300) +0 WP Test, Rng: Touch, Half Action, heals 1d10+Psy Rating. Add'l uses on same day require an increasingly difficult Toughness test. 1st heal= no test, 2nd heal = -20, 3rd heal= -30, etc Warp Time (400) (-10) WP Test; Rng: Self; Sustain: Free Action; gain Unnatural Weapon Skill, Unnatural Ballistic Skill and Unnatural Agility with a bonus equal to Psy Rating.
**M.o.M.:
Constant Motion Focus Test +20, move any object within range and LOS that weighs no more than 10kg x Psy Rating, slow moving, dropped objects drift to the floor Rapid Push Focus Test +10 Opposed by Str Test, single target, must have LOS, if Target fails they are thrown backward Psy Rating meters, plus 1 mtr / degree of Success Forceful Throw Focus Test +0, lift object weighing no more than 5kg x Psy Rating and throwing object at target for 1d10 Impact Damage +1 for every 5kg of the object's weight Gear::
Neural Whip 37 Rng: 3m Dam: 1d10+5 R Pen: 0 Clip: 6 Reload: 2Full Special: Flexible, Shocking Wt: 4kg
Psy-focus +10 to Focus Tests Wt: -- dataslate Wt: 0.5kg Torture Tools +20 to Interrogation Wt: 2kg Light Power Armor H/A/B/L: 7 Wt: 40kg
Alignment: K: 0 N: 0 S: 10 T: 1 U: 8 Gifts and Mutations:
Mark of Slaanesh
Appearance::
XP Earned/ XP Spent:
Acrobatic (simple) 200 S
History::
I am 21, and I am damned. I cannot fathom the depths of depravity that yawn before me. I cannot go back and be what I once was. I was a chartist. I used to plot courses for voidships, frigates, and traders. So simple. So...banal. You start where you are. You determine where you wish to be. You use math, charts and a map to mark your path. You account for the eddies of the Warp, hearken to the time and plot your points. Day in and day out, the same thing all day. Every day. Until it happened. A buzzing in the back of my head, a sharp pain above and behind the ears. This lasted for weeks. Then a dull roar washng over my brain. The pain is in my head and has nowhere to go. Sometimes I'd hear voices in the roaring. Nothing coherent, just the tell-tale meter and tempo of words, joining into sentences. Forming new thoughts. Horrid thoughts. Blood and torn flesh. Rusted knives ringing off bones. My bones. My hands. My knives. I thought it was just an illness. I sought out the deck chirurgeon. He said my humours were imbalanced and gave me ampoules and a needle to administer them. Tinctures, plasters and salves, but the howling voices never left. The buzzing resolved itself to a constant grinding that played in the background of my consciousness. I knew it serious when the voices called me by name. I told the Master Chirurgeon and he had me clapped me in irons and chained in the brig. He said it was for my own good and as he turned I saw him make the sign against evil magic. The deck Chaplain came to see me and made me stand naked with my arms stretched out to my sides. He jabbed me mercilessly with a needle. He held a heated iron to my feet til I howled in pain and rage like the voices in my head. In my rage I saw the needle lying on the small silver table. If I could...if I could just reach...it. The howling resolved itself to a frigid gale that pushed the table over. The needle came to me! I touched it, and saw a flash and knew no more. I woke to excruciating pain and a hot brand on my face. In the back of my mind a voice said "Not long now..." and I repeated it aloud. I tried to move but found I was lying on a metal table. The left side of my face felt swollen and ached. My torturers had me strapped to a table as they branded me with the mark of a mutant. All who see me will know at once. "Soon my love, soon..." But I don't know how soon. Only that I am in pain, and I have been promised to the Emperor, whatever that means. I am delirious with sickness. I waver in and out of lucidity. The swelling in my face has resolved itself to a dull ache. This is now my existence. Pain upon pain. If that is all that is left to me then I will accept it. I try to think that I will like it, but I know that is wrong and I shouldn't think it but that is what they have left for me. When I think this sometimes I see a feminine face smiling. The features are hazy and indistinct, but I know that she is beautiful. Haunting. I lie on the table, a hood over my head. Sometimes they beat me with batons of wood and metal. There are two of them and they laugh while they work. They beat me, and they laugh. Sometimes I laugh with them. When I do, they stop. And then they use the shock prods. I cannot laugh then, but I can smile. Warning klaxons. Battle stations. "Reporting for duty m'lord! hahahahahahahahahaha" but my only duty is to suffer. My playmates left so I cannot even do that. My hooded world throbs incessantly with the impact of boarding pods and explosions. Here in the depths. In the bowels of the ship I am reasonably safe from immediate danger. But if my playmates are dead I will not be able to fulfill my function. Time passes and the throbbing sensations fade. I hear chains rattling and smell something sweet and enticing. The chains rattle all the way up to where I lay. Something like a knife traces a path from my crotch to my chest and stops there. Something feminine mutters something but I cannot hear clearly. A hand on my chest clenches and I feel claws digging into my skin. I seize up slightly and coo softly to the voice. The hood comes off suddenly and I am blinded by the light of sodium lamps and a hazy indistinct figure standing before me. I see one green eye and one large red eye, blasted black all around it. "You belong to me now worm...seek my satisfaction and you will live." I am finally home. Background 2:
This is a desolate and inhospitable chunk of rock. It’s unsurprising that the followers of a dead god would want to live on a dead bit of stellar flotsam. What I wouldn’t give to be lounging on the soft cushions of Lady Myrsabelle’s “Seventh Circle” comfort house. Sipping a chilled flute of Eldar brain wine, nibbling on confections of indescribable flavor, and sampling the very best willing (and unwilling) soft flesh. I ought to have known that wouldn’t last long. I was taken by Lady Myrsabelle in a raid as her personal slave. She thought it rather risqué, a dangerous mutant psyker, taking an unpolished weirdling as a slave and attendant. She visited me that first night, and as I lay on the cold stone floor of the Lash of Torment she took me, and I became her property. We shared flesh often early on, and she taught me to control my weirdling ways. Always at the back of my mind I heard a voice saying “This will not last forever. Nothing ever does.”
As the years passed to decades, I became aware of the distance between Lady Myrsabelle and I. Our vicious couplings and Warp lessons dwindled to once a week, then once a month, then after 30 years once every other quarter. She slowly grew to despise me, and I her! I loved her for the freedom she gave me to explore my new abilities, and the new sensations and cravings she awakened in me, but how I hated her for abandoning me. I should have seen it coming. The voice told me so over and over. I got the message loud and clear when her newest paramour came to challenge me. Scizore Cheval was her name. Pretty enough in a brutal, hairy sort of way. Apparently Lady Myrsabelle prefers her females bereft of psychic powers. Poor thing. She danced to my song for a while, then sated my hunger for fleshly pleasures. I joined her mind to hear her screams of outrage as I used her. So delicious! I gave her over to the dregs on the lower decks. Her shrieks of terror and pain as she was used by them; then devoured alive made a suitable accompaniment to a stolen bottle of vat amasec. Now that my previous patron was in the mood to eliminate me, I had to act fast. This was her ship, and her word was immutable law. I had to escape. On a brief stop for trade in the Ragged Helix I escaped by deluding the loaders into thinking I was part of their crew then slipping away. There was another craft making ready to take off, so I used the same small deceit to board their ship. Unfortunately for me, once I settled into a small dark corner, I was approached directly by two Magister’s Immaterial who claim they “saw not only my entrance, but my ultimate exit 5 days hence”. Claiming they were no more in charge of their fate than I was in charge of mine, they made for the Deep Vortex and deposited me on the Gates of Moment. I can hardly recall the mind-blasting experience of the Gates, but I do remember waking up here. In this place. This stultifying dredge of filth-covered pipes. Howling lunatics and depraved gangs of scum. All useful minions of one sort or another. They speak of wealth and luxury up-hive. Perhaps it’s time to let my ambition drive me where it will…
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