To Rise Above the Fall - Out of Character

What’s all this then? : this is a freestyle roleplaying-centered post by post game in which character decisions drive how the plot unfolds. As there are no dice rolls, success or failure is determined by the actions people take and their skill in choosing a useful course. I like good use of language, but not everyone has English as their native tongue so there will be no points knocked off for lack of finesse. What matters is what you want to do, and the intention will be judged rather than the exact words, though as you can see, I do love me some words. What I will ask for is that a post contains a minimum of three good paragraphs, as it is difficult to do much with anything less either as a GM or another player.

I have run many games, but never a post by post one, though I have roleplayed in GMless post by post games. Because of this, I aim to start small with a short game, followed by an option to link it to three more if it’s a success, so that there would be a suite of four in total, like chapters. These would be:

The First Dance (Artifact)
A Dream of Hunger (Knowledge)
Nocturne (Influence)
A Consummation Devoutly to be Wished (Power)


How Often?: I aim to make a GM post at least once a week. If you cannot commit to one post in seven days, please do not join. Of course life throws us all curveballs, so if you have to miss a deadline because of a problem (or a holiday!) then just let me know; an occasional lapse by force of circumstance won't be a problem, as the idea is to have fun, not have me shouting at you. Or you shouting at me for no GM post I figure as long as people communicate then this will work out. More posts in the week are both allowed and encouraged.

A note on language and gender roles: the Dark Eldar have a society that is noted in their Codex to be equal in terms of gender, opportunity being limited mainly by station, resources, political acumen and of course, luck. While there are no gender restrictions on who can take what role, there is unfortunately no easy word in the English language for “person of either gender”. So while it is technically poor grammar, I will be using the word ‘they’ as a gender-neutral term to convey ‘he or she’, because that is an ugly construction without flow or elegance. Ynneas Eladrith need flow and elegance.

The Evil Disclaimer: As you know, being Dark Eldar, characters are fully likely to be extremely evil in an evil world. But to me, being evil is not in itself very interesting. All right, so you are a soul-sucking, power-hungry malevolence fuelled by the suffering of others … now what motivates and moves you? How does this affect your interactions with others? Have you lost control? Are you rigidly self-controlled to the point of paralysis? Are you an escalating consumer of ever-new experiences? Are you paranoid? Do you care nothing for life and death? Are you ruled by instinct? Do you want redemption? Do you lust for power, more power, because you can never have enough? Do you want to be loved or feared, or just love being feared? … that's why I love exploring Dark Eldar. What does it mean to be living an evil life?

So a small warning /disclaimer: I mention this because a lot of people access this site at work, and we also have some minors. There is, given the subject of the game, a natural slant towards evil. However, I would ask that you keep your actions and descriptions as safe for work as they can be, given that casual violence, slavery and drug use are integral to Dark Eldar culture. One can say a lot with a little and graphic description of illegal acts helps no-one. I would also ask that you refrain from posting overtly sexual content as per the roleplaying section rules pinned at the top of the page. General site rules also apply. I expect and encourage the exploration of what it means to be a Dark Eldar, but I don't want to encourage the mighty Modhammer to fall on us all

Fighting and Death: though this is a roleplaying-centered game, there are likely to be fights, but usually it will also be possible to avoid these by diplomatic or other means. Characters can die, but as everyone knows Dark Eldar can come back from death. However, the price for this is high, and true death could happen. That's why one needs friends or at least, allies …

Working as a Team: Although Dark Eldar are masters of enlightened self-interest, I do not run games for solo characters. A solo character is a protagonist for a novel, not a character for a team game. After all we choose to roleplay with others; why make an alter ego who won’t play with anyone?

Some suggestions for working in a team: you can be temporary allies by force of circumstance, be watching the other one to gather blackmail material, seeking to learn a rival's weaknesses for later use, be watching a rival for someone’s affections, be trying to impress said object of affections, be driven by a desire to compete against others and come out at the top of the group, be a double-dealing, underhand, smilingly friendly person who secretly hates everybody and is waiting to gain enough power to manage without these losers, simply be too down on your luck to work on your own, be a recovering former Parched too scared to be back on the streets, be a determinedly power-hungry schemer at the start of their rise to power … well, there are endless reasons. Just have a reason to work in a group I can't stress this enough.

We Do Accept: Trueborn or Tubeborn, it’s all the same to me (though not to the Dark Eldar …)! Kabalite, Reaver pilot, freelancing Hellion, junior Scourge, low-ranking Wych, aspiring Lhamaean, riffraff, street scum, slumming highborn whelp, thrill-seeking posh kid, newly-minted Incubus, pilot, gunner, fixer, bodyguard for hire, alien tech specialist, former Corsair, junior Wrack, in fact most things except Mandrakes and Haemonculi. If you notice the amount of newness on this list, that’s because I am looking for Dark Eldar who are relatively new and inexperienced, at the start of their career, the better to develop and grow in wealth, power and influence in game.

Questions?: PM me if there is ever anything you are unsure about, or about which you would like to know more. I am happy to clarify. It might be useful if you had access to a copy of the new Dark Eldar Codex as this will be my primary source of information.

- Malys

The Character Template:

Please fill this in if you would like to play and post your copy below. I am aiming for four or five characters to begin a game, with (if needed) one reserve spot open in case someone has to drop out (real life happens).

Player: Your username, so we know who plays who at a glance.

Name: Your character name. If this is a tricky one, give us a pronunciation guide

Age: In Dark Eldar years, to a maximum of about 300.

Physical Description: What your character looks like; build, eye colour, hair if any, and so on. Feel free to get exotic; it is quite possible to have cosmetic work done in the Dark City … though you may be memorable.

Personality: What your character is like as a person, and what motivates them to do the things they do.

History: How your character came to be a Dark Eldar for hire.

Key Skills: Two major things your character is good at, plus one minor at which they are quite skilled; or, one major skill and four minor. Examples of these could be: being especially good at telling when someone is lying, having a knack for flying jetbikes, being good at improvised repairs, being able to spot how many opponents face you at a glance, having a gift for using the subtle body language cues of Eldar communication to seem more charming and charismatic, being adept at figuring out unfamiliar devices, a talented dancer.

Equipment: Stuff. More precisely stuff you own and carry, and anything else you may have access to with some time to prepare. There is no hard and fast value for this, as I would expect it to be appropriate to your character’s role. Owning a large vehicle is too expensive, unless it is owned by everyone (ie you are all in a Raider crew, or some such), but small vehicles like skyboards would be OK.

Sample Post: Please make a sample post here, to help give everyone a feel for your character

Player: Cavash.

Name: Daranúr Sselathar (Da-ran-newer Sell-a-thar)

Age: 182

Physical Description: Daranúr is a man of average height and a large build. Carring only for efficiency over his own appearance his shaven head is adorned with battle scars that run across the majority of his cranium.
Having noticed the intimidating effects of his appearance, Daranúr has spent a lot of his wealth on muscular stimulants, giving his dyed yellow eyes a far-off sheen and a well built stance that hints at his obsession with strength.

Personality: Daranúr Sselathar is a man driven by wealth accumulation, promises of power and he aspires for the fearful admiration of his subordinates. Even though he is not as cautious of other Dark Eldar as he possibly should be he is certainly not known for trusting anybody, or anything, as much as he trusts his own skill with a sword.
He is neither intorverted or extroverted and will gladly take control of the situation if there is nobody better for the job, even if it is somewhat resentfully.

History: In the lowest depths of T’llionoch the gangs would constantly squabble for control over the ancient crystal spires and walkways that the main palaces were built upon.
In these dark lairs of depravity Daranúr was born into a life of warfare and murder. With his parents and everybody he ever knew hooked on crude drugs refined by the territory’s Kabal, it was not easy keeping up with his kin in combat.
He had not always been strong; in fact, for the majority of his life he had specialised in ranged warfare and scouting, but this all changed the night he watched his parents die.
In his gang’s camp they rested in a near comatose state… such fools they were. In the dark Kabalites snuck in and torched their shelters to the ground. He watched his parents die in a blaze of pain. His mother was cut down, yet his father fought back, liquid flame sticking to his flesh.
His struggle was enough to by the child time to escape into the main city. Here he prowled for years attempting to earn a name for himself. Only through serving as a bodyguard to various scum of the lower city could he earn his fortune, but now he has come in search of a new adventure.

Key Skills:
Major skills: Intimidation and swordplay.
Minor skill: Drug knowledge.

Equipment: Duelling sabre (Close Combat Weapon), Splinter Pistol, Kabalite Armour, severed head trophies, Combat Drugs.

Sample Post: The hand removed itself imminently from his shoulder with the gaze he turned to the Pleasure House’s guard.
“So, we have a deal?” His employer asked the eccentric house-master.
He had no such interests in the dealings of his employer as long as he got his payment.
“Unfortunately I find myself lacking something…” The house-master replied, causing Daranúr to place his hand in the pommel of his sabre. Situations like this were often made much stickier than was required.
“What is it?”
“I find myself lacking faith in you. Sure, you say that you can deliver on time, but how do I know you won’t stab me in the back?”
“Because of the rates you will be paying me.”
There was a short silence.
Then Daranúr’s employer’s head rolled away from his shoulders.
The house-master laughed haughtily while drawing a deep breath from a chem.-inhaler.
“Good, Daranúr. I thank you for your work.”
He wiped his blade clean with his cloth before catching the bag of jewels thrown to him by the house-master’s guard.
Backstabbing was the nature of Commorragh, and often back stabbing was outshone by a good beheading.
“Got any more work?” He asked before being lead in to the Pleasure House.

So, a close combat specialist with a useful line in making his stature work for him! I like what you've done here. I look forward to seeing the sample post

Well, it seems that there is not demand for this after all. If there is such demand in the future, perhaps I can pick up the thread, but for now please consider it dead.

My apologies, Cavash, but unfortunately I needed a group to run the game - thanks for the character.

Am currently writing out a character or 2 at the minute, sorry for not mentioning it before. Will still work on them and post once done to see if anymore interest can be drummed up.


Again, sorry Malys

No worries, Malys. I am sorry that it didn't pick up and I am sorry for hassling you about making an RP.

Well, now that is awkward ... no need to apologise, either of you! I truly did think I'd either posted at a time of simple no interest or just not made a suitable pitch (my first such) - in either case the result looking the same, so I stopped by to close the thread and chalk it up to experience.

If there is enough interest, then I would be happy to run the game, and I am sorry if I rushed you - in truth I don't really know how long one should expect to wait to see if there are results, but I thought that it had been about a week which seemed like a long time on the internet

lol I cant believe I missed this thread!!! must of been around christmas when I was busy with family stuff... *checks date* yup, it was If you dont wish to end this so soon Lady M, I would more than be happy to write up a character sheet for you and play.

I am contrite Yes, I did indeed put the thread up over the holidays, in a fit of enthusiasm that people would see it more easily being off work or school or such ... I'm proved wrong!

By all means make a character; if we have two or three more then there will be the four or five I'm looking for to start, and then I will be happy to run a game

ok, will do!!! Ill post it once I get home

Edit: I will finish this later

Edit2: finished!!!

Player: Shadows Revenge

Name: Caethir Zoanar

Age: 87

Physical Description: The skull white mask of an Incubus. No one outside of his shrine is worthy to see his face. Wears a dark purple trenchcoat overtop of his Incubus armor with the symbol of The Guid on his back, three circles connected a triangle. Hieght is 6'5"

Personality: Caethir is cold and calculating. He always has a cool head and can quickly and calming sort the situation out. These traits make him great at being an Incubi. His devotion to the Shrine of The Cobra Strike is above all else, other than himself and his greed for power. Infact Caethir's talent and power hungry ways has caught the attention of the Shrine's ruling council, and the Master Incubus ordered Caethir to be sent as a tribute to The Guild, and organization that runs deep through the ruling structure of Commorragh. The council hope that this special "training" will either forge Caethir into a strong contender for the next Master Incubus, or break him.

Although he he is known for his cool head and speaks very few words, he has been known to get very violent when his honor is challenged. He is also quick to challenge someone, as it is the way that disputes are settled in the shrine. His tactical genius is also top of his class, and he constantly spends his free time reading strategies of war and politics gathered from many species.

History: No one knows about Caethir's life before the Shrine, as it is something he does not speak of. His mark was made when he defeated Klaivex Tarin of the Shrine of the Cobra Strike with only a small hand-made dagger. Ever since then he has become one of the Temple's most inspiring Incubi. A sort of mini-legend has started to form around him, as it seems wherever he goes, his team comes back with a single loss, the Klaivex. Although the rest of the team say the Klaivex died a noble death at the hands of the enemy, the rest of the initiates and Incubi alike speak rumors of Caethir killing them in one on one combat before the battle and taking command of the squad for the upcoming battle.

Key Skills: Major Skills: Hand to Hand combat, Tactics. Minor Skills: Agility, even in his Incubus Warsuit

Equipment: Klaive, Incubus Warsuit, a small pouch of bloodstones given to him for his asignments (holds 10, only has 3 to start)


Sample Post: Caethir stared in disgust as the two nobles infront of him discuessed the new style of the high class of Commorragh. This had only been the third asignment The Guild sent him on, and he already longed for the silent halls of the Shrine. Atleast there he could get a duel in or atleast be working on his attack form. But since he had been sent to The Guild to work as their mercenary, he had yet to even unsheath his Klaive in anger, much less be in a fight. He wondered why he had been chosen for this forced exile, but Caethir respected his Master descision, and would honor the Shrine with his actions.

His current contract from The Guild was to guard the son of a well off Archon, one of the nobles infront of him. The other was the child's "friend", if that word could ever be used to describe a relationship for any dark eldar. Their incessant prattle drones on and on. Who cares about how a particular wych is doing in the arena, or what drug is currently in style. They act as if they are the most important thing in the world, and Caethir smirked under the cold white mask at the thought of these two first realspace raid. When they realize how insignificant they really are, and how easily it is for death to rap at their door and take them deep into She Who Thirst arms.

A chill popped Caethir out of his thoughts. The temperature in the room dropped slightly. The two nobles were to interesting in their conversation, or were just too oblivious to notice the change, but there was no evident reason why the temperature should change. Caethir scanned the room looking for something, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a dark flash skip behind some furniture. He stepped up inbetween the two young eldar and slowly pulled his blade from his back. They protested at the Incubus intruding on their conversation, but Caethir payed them no mind. They knew not what was happening.

In a flash a streak of white jumped from behind the furniture and at the trio. Caethir was quickly able to parry the sickle sword and deliever a punch square into the gut of the would-be assasin. The assailant was thrown into the wall, leaving a decent dent in the wall. Caethir walked up and put his klaive into the mandrake's neck and drew some of the creatures blood.

"Why are you here daemonspawn, speak now or this breath will be your last."

The mandrake simply smiled in their sickenly wide grin, and Caethir felt a blade hit him in the back of the head. Luckily his helmet had taken much of the blow, but it left him dazed enough that the mandrake under him was able to wrestle the klaive out of Caethir's hands and kick him off. Caethir rolled into a crouching stance and was able to deflect another blow aimed at his head with his gauntlet. The two mandrakes stood inbetween him and his charge. Caethir had no choice but to end this quick, before his mark was hurt. He quickly reached into his pouch and pulled out a bloodstone and crushed it. The psychic shrieks of the tortured Eldar soul lashed out at the mandrakes, boiling one alive and throwing the second one up into the roof, only to crash down into one of the many luxurious chairs around the room.

Caethir stood up and picked up his klaive. He hated the thought of having a lowly mandrake disarm him, but it was through a ruse, and put it to the back of his mind as a reminder to train when he got back to his cell. Both children were curled up on the ground weeping. This must of been the first time they were ever in true danger, and it did not look well for them.

"Get up and act like true Ynneas Eladrith"

Caethir walked over to check on the two attackers. The one had fallen into She Who Thirst's embrace, while the second still had some life in him. The Incubus walked up and picked up the mandrake by his throat.

"Who hired you?"

The mandrake, coughing up clots of blood, started this gutteral, chittering laugh. It echoed through the entire house. The noise could chill the very suns themselves if allowed, until it was ended by a sharp snap of bone.

Caethir threw the pittiful shell of what was once a dark eldar against the wall. Very few have what it takes to get mandrakes for an assassination attempt, and even fewer survive such attacks. The Archon was right for hiring Caethir to protect his son, and for the honor of the Shrine he would do just that.

"Finally, some fun" Caethir smirked to himself.

I also missed this thread, but then i have missed every thread, as I have been away from the forum for a good while! I would like to throw my gun-hat into the ring, and should have my character profile up before the end of the night.

You are very welcome. Being away in realspace is no reason why you can't join in now that you're back

Player: CaptainBalroga

Name: Valarauka

Age: 50

Physical Description: Valarauka is a tall, wiry vatborn with a cheap, out-of-fashion genetic pedigree, one copy out of thousands. His face is pale and his demeanor calm, but a close observer can see the telltale signs of depravity, and his piercing green eyes are beginning to show knowledge of the Thirst that consumes his older brethren. He wears his black hair long and braided, with golden skull ornaments that match his earrings. His blue spiked Kabalite armor has been stripped of its insignia, and is missing a vambrace.

History: From his first moments he has known a warrior's life, dragged from his tube to have a pistol placed in his hand and sent in the direction of those who would invade the Kabal of the Ninth Tower, to kill or be killed. He killed that day, and for years afterward, paying his Lordship for the gift of his life by giving death to his enemies with no thought for himself. His prowess was such that he was made a full Warrior, and sent into realspace as a harvester. The raids were easy and the spoils were delectable. Greed began to stir in young Valarauka's heart as he enjoyed the fruits of this lifestyle, the taste of souls and drugs and flesh ever on his mind. Higher pay was required. His very first plot was to engineer the death of his squad leader and to promote himself to the vacant position. His squad-mates were given incentive not to protest. Life was good.

Then, recently, disaster struck. A lover spurned by the Archon two centuries ago had finally acquired the means to revenge the slight after dancing her way into the good graces of the Supreme Overlord. The petty Kabal was helpless against this sanctioned reprisal, and the Ninth Tower was slaughtered wholesale within minutes. A record of the Archon's look of disbelief at the sight of his old flame and her splinter cannon made the rounds of the highborn dinner parties, then the entire Kabal was largely forgotten the next cycle. Valarauka only survived because, at the time, he was indulging in a payday binge at his favorite fleshpot. Now he finds himself homeless, unaffiliated, broke, and off balance. He was lucky to survive the purge, but luck does not last for long on the streets of the Dark City.

Personality: Valarauka delights in all of the typical Commorite traits: short temper, cruel humor, self-indulgence, and, most of all, pride. Now, though, he is in shock from losing all he had in life. Survival is his motivation. He knows he must find a safe place to rest before his stims run out...but would not be a beggar. He lived a Sybarite's life, and to give up the pay and little power that gave him would kill him as surely as any Mandrake's blade. That is what he says to himself now, but he grows more desperate by the hour, wandering the city and injecting himself with everything he can to stave off two fatal things: panic and sleep.

Key Skills:
Major Skill- Gunslinging
Minor Skills- Leadership, Poison Use, Athletics, Deceit

Equipment: Kabalite Armor, 2 Splinter Pistols, Recreational Drugs (Valarauka's Blast Pistol was in the Kabal shop for repairs, a shop that is now a smouldering ruin. He would kill for a replacement)

EDIT: Sample Post

Let it never be said that Commorragh is not a city of feelings. There is an awful lot of feeling going on in the city at any given moment, some of them new and interesting, but the emotional range of the Eldar is so vast and their language so powerful that an incredible number of nuanced feelings have been catalogued into concise rune structures. Valarauka felt as though he had a single rune emblazoned on his forehead, a sign that he was dealing with a powerful feeling that in its most blunt form would be expressed as 'Bitter Envy For Those Who Have Died Before They Knew Their Fate'.

"All of those insects...those dim-witted warriors...those cross-eyed gunners...those speed-addled pilots...those half-cocked, inbred, pox-ridden, impotent, slack-jawed, pretentious trueborn" he said, spitting out the last word as if it were a piece of rancid meat.

"ALL OF THOSE IMBECILES GOT TO ENJOY A SWIFT DEATH, AND LEFT ME OUT IN THE LURCH!"

Valarauka lifted his face out of his hands and looked around once he realized how loud his voice had become. No one in the bazaar seemed to notice, or at least none deigned to show him the least bit of attention. A single ex-Kabalite, sitting and raving to himself, without enough sense to keep his guard up? He was already dead. Worse still: there was no profit to be had by his death. He had no riches but his soul, which must be a pitiful thing indeed. Valarauka thought he heard a chuckle, and sought its origin. His hands went to his brace of pistols, their familiarity infinitely reassuring. A single hint of a threat would have set him off like a shuriken trap, and the market would descend into an orgy of blood-spilling for a few, brief moments. That would be the end of him.

"No...I will not give them the satisfaction." he whispered, and he eased his hands off of his guns. They were sweating ever so slightly, a sign that his stims were still active. After they were gone, all he had left of his stash were those which warped the senses and took his mind to better places. They could be his last comfort, to take the edge off of the cold emptiness that comes from knowing you are about to die. Valarauka stood and and started walking through the cluttered, affecting a detached visage. A helmet would hide his terror better, but then he would be marked as someone who had something to hide. No, better to keep them guessing, to keep stalling, to keep playing for that lucky hand. Warriors had followed him willingly into death because they thought he knew what he was doing. Bluffs could not be called lightly in the Dark City...had not Vect triumphed each time his rival thought he was bluffing? Thus could Valarauka use the preservation instincts of Commorragh against itself.

"I have only to fear the insane. But, who doesn't? Vect I suppose, since I heard he removed his fear surgically centuries ago..."

And so the ex-Kabalite walked through the streets muttering to himself, and anyone who had similar apprehensions for dealing with the insane gave him a wide berth.

That looks good to me

If we get characters from KinghtSeerValkia and Shadows Revenge then I will start with four (I like to run at a minimum of three and maximum of five).

I'm not sharring my Combat Drugs with you, Captain.

Nice Character, great backstory. I am very much looking forward to this.

Awww haemonculi are not an option? How disappointing....

Well, Haemonculi are all stated to be very old and thus a bit out of the power level of a starting character. A Wrack who aspires to become a Shaper would be fine

Player: Noctus Cornix

Name: Excision

Age: 103

Physical Description: Brutality. That is the single word that can describe the monster that has come to be known as Excision for little else remains the nameless monster. Like so many of his kind, the wrack is a creature that no longer resembles anything remotely Eldar in nature. A patch work on stiching and flesh-weaving, his body has become a sinew of leathery pale flesh and twisted dark metal. Where once had been two spindly arms, now there is four, the severed limbs of some poor forgotten soul grafted into the wrack’s shoulders and spinal column. Of his two original hands, they remain largely unadulterated, the right forearm reworked and implanted with a flensing gauntlet for better access to retracting needles and sharpened blades to preform the duty of his master. The two newer arms are both completely integrated with crude bionics from the elbows down it two black metal claws to better flay his ‘guests’ and the left housing the integrated liquefier gun. Like all of his kind, the creature’s face is hidden by the featureless mask of black metal, only the vertical vent slits of the face giving him any sort of identification. He wears very little in the way of clothing or armour, wearing only a simple waist tabard of blood-stained skins and a few metal plating upon his thighs and stomach. He leaves the upper portion of his body bare however, for lesser beings to marvel upon his former master’s horrific work.

Personality: There is very little that can be said to mark out Excision from any other Wrack. He is virtually silent unless absolutely necessary, calm and stoic in the face of even the few most obscene and horrific atrocities that would make an average Commorite shudder. He is desensitized from the carnal desires of his people, seeking few pleasures of the flesh or those offered by drugs. Instead his mind is fixated almost solely on the art of flesh-weaving, eager to learn more and more of the arcane arts of the Haemonculus shapers that rule Commoragh behind the scenes of it all. There is, however one subtle difference that allows him to stand out against his silent comrades, and that is the deep burning sadism that flows through his veins and goes beyond that of your average Dark Eldar. Patient and brutal, he falls into an unparalleled state of euphoria as he tortures his victims, cutting and tearing and ripping for months at a time. He drinks deep from their suffering and anguish, savoring all the nuances of agony and the cacophony of screams he creates with his work. It is truly the only thing that fuels him on, even his own ambition. For one day he dreams to aspire to the status of Haemonculus and unlock the secrets of their art so that he too may inflict the greatest suffering that even damnation falls pale in comparison to.

History: Life before he put on his mask was meaningless. His past as a worthless street rat that fed on the scraps and struggled desperately to survive meant nothing. The name he bore in long days past was tossed aside and forgotten. And that is simply the way things are. Though he may be a trueborn, his blood bore no inheritance and his ‘parents’ died long before he could even grow to care about them. And so he lived the life of a petty thief for decades, forced to steal to survive and preying on petty animals and vermin that scurried through the twisted alleyways of lower Commorragh. The child was born with an innate lack of basic understanding, his mind quick to learn the laws of survival and stealing yet impossibly slow for even a Dark Eldar to understand the meanings of desire, fear, and ambition. Already not quite right in the head, the child quickly found a dark pleasure in preying on those weaker than him, beginning to slow ease his way into a meal and savoring the act of killing all the more enjoyable. When he learned of the skin-walkers that made art of that which he sought, the young child still ventured into the dark underbelly of the city and there he would find his home.

And now we come to the time where he placed the mask upon his face and his once meaningless and worthless life now found something of value. The now nameless young man gave himself body and soul to the Coven of the Black Descent, greedy to learn their ways and use it for his own addiction. At first, none would take him, the Flesh-Weavers disowning the boy for his sheer lack of ambition. However, there was one who would accept him with open arms, seeing the potential of one with nothing to lose. To those back on the streets of Commorragh, he was mocked for being ‘slow and stupid’… But to the Haemonculus Vaeghex, he was seen as pure, unadulterated. Unlike those who came before who seeked only the political power the Coven held, instead he was seen as something greater, a true disciple of the flesh…

And so he was bestowed the name of ‘Excision’, given to him by his master for his ‘beloved pet’. He followed his master everywhere he went, drinking deep the knowledge given to him and unlocking the secrets of the Skin-Walkers. He was a loyal subject who obeyed every command, eager to inflict pain upon his master’s test subjects and earn the adoration of the only being in the galaxy he ever loved. When his master fell in real-space, his body torn asunder and his soul devoured by a Slaaneshi Sorcerer, the wrack was broken. Devastated by the loss of his father figure, the Haemonculus-to be departed from the Coven after no other Haemonculus would take him. Homeless, and Masterless, the Wrack roams the streets of Commoragh, selling his skills and talents to those in need of such services yet too poor to call upon the aid of a real Haemonculus.

Key Skills:
Major Skills- Torture, Flesh-Weaving
Minor Skills- Close Combat

Equipment: A hand sickle attached to a long barbed chain several meters long. At the end of the other chain is a large ring to which is attached three other chains each a meter long and end with long crooked meat hooks. Both the sickle and the hooks and bathed in a virulent toxin only those who served the Coven of the Black Descent have been given the antidote to (Counts as two close combat weapons), Liquifier Gun, an assortment of smaller knives, blades, and syringes.

Sample Post: “Remember, my child, that pain is the secret of life. Without pain, there can be no measure of existence. Without pain, there can be no worth. Without pain, there can be no joy…”

The youth stood at the edge of the operation slab, his chest of leathery flesh and patchwork stitches heaved up and down at a ragged and uneven pace. He tried to control his intake, gasping for air as his hot breath vented into the frozen room as a thick fog. Another of his kin lay beneath him, or what had once been. The splayed and eviscerated ruination stretched before him had come in a fit of frustration, a need to stay off the withdrawals of his incessant addiction. The body had once belonged to a Kabalite, some nameless and worthless child of the birthing chambers that had earned the ire of her masters and was given to him as a token of ‘good will’ as they called it… Good will or not, her worthless life ended as it was born, quick and filled with utter agony.

He could not savor this delight, no not this time. The blurring pain in the back of his skull ached more than it had ever before. He could not take the time to savor his drug, to relish the suffering he inflicted… He required a more blunt approach and it was just enough to stave off his own burning agony. His arms, all four twisted claws of dark metal, were coated in blood. Long arterial arcs of crimson decorated the exposed flesh of his chest and arms, a visible recognition on his own body that he had made quite the mess. But that hardly seemed to matter… Instead his thoughts were elsewhere, the curious and longing question creeping into the back of his mind once more.
Where was he to go next?...
The question puzzled him as he fingers fumbled through the pulpy meat that lay before him, the warm life-fluids comforting him, easing his mind for a time. It allowed him a moment of clarity. The creature whimpered as his thoughts turned to his master… If his master was he, he would show him the way. He would not be so lost and confused… His thoughts were torn back to reality as he heard the opening of a door behind him, his heady jerking backwards to face the Kabalite warrior in dark crimson armour standing there. “The Archon will see you now.” The raider said to him, but the Wrack was hardly listening.

Instead he was sizing up the raider, his thoughts running through exactly 168 ways to kill the warrior in a span of ten seconds. But this was only natural, his instincts to kill coming to the forefront. He didn’t trust these Kabalites… And they didn’t trust him…

With a simple nod, the Wrack turned away completely from the body he had only moments ago eviscerated for his own pleasure as if it no longer even mattered to him. He had work to do.

That's a perfect example of a Wrack I just have a small amount of concern about how he's going to interact with others if he's so silent though, so maybe you might look at that when you tweak. I can see what his motivations are for going on the mission, so that's not a problem, but just make sure he can work with the group.

Your team may be all you have to rely on where you're going

Oh he can work perfectly fine with a group, he just doesn't talk much. Being a Wrack, he's very good at taking orders and following them to the letter.

OK, that makes sense now I suppose he would be used to taking orders, but I wasn't sure if he still would. But actually, I can see how he would indeed.

Lady Malys wrote:

OK, that makes sense now I suppose he would be used to taking orders, but I wasn't sure if he still would. But actually, I can see how he would indeed.

As I stated in his profile, ambition just simply isn't his thing. He's a Dark Eldar that has what in human terms would be a form of autism. He has an extremely one track mind and cares only about inflicting pain on others in the most brutal ways imaginable. As such he really has no problem following orders, though he will only follow it from someone he either respects or someone who is paying him.

As far as conversation goes, he's not completely silent. Though most of the time he won't say more than a word or two to get the point across and shut up again. He's most social when he's killing things... In which case its hard to get him to shut up!

Hello, this is my first attempt at joining a forum based RPG. With that being said I do enjoy my table top, but i want to get a taste of different methods of playing. I have a good idea on how i want to do this character, but i don't know if i am conversing the idea clearly enough. any comments and/or critiques would be helpful.

thanks.


Player: Psycheer.

Name: Chy’ier

Age: 5yrs from the tube.

Physical Description/ Personality: Chy’ier is of normal height and build for a Dark Eldar vatborn. He is uncharacteristically naive and prefers to work with a group, but will to listen to his intuition to defend himself. He wears worn and ill fitting armor bearing the colors and markings of the recently late Kabal of the Many Faced Bear.

Chy’ier is curious to see the galaxy, or for that matter, the whole city!

History: Chy’ier was born into his Kabal during its last gasping breaths, he was being delivered when it was exterminated by multiple rivals. Somehow Chy’ier survived, not only the attack on the delivery raider, but also the 20 story fall with the wreckage.
The first cycle was particularly rough on Chy'ier, constant pang of hunger and not really understanding why he is constantly having to fight for his life. Surviving ended up being a side effect of understanding his environment, and preventing the repetitive cycle from ending his existence. The first lesson was that the victor to a fight got the spoils, namely food (corpses at times), clothes, and weapons to help defend himself.
Chy'ier's most favored possession are the trinkets that dangle from his rifle, odd sort but when caught in the light of a fire or a glow from one of his grenades he can be transfixed for a time, sometimes listening or talking to them as if in a deep conversation.

Key Skills: Major: Luck, Survival Instincts Minor: Splinter Rifle/Carbine

Equipment: Battle Weary and ill fitting Ghostplate Armor, Splinter Rifle, 2x Plasma Grenades, a knife, and some trinkets of various colors shapes and sizes.

Sample:

While walking down a narrow passageway deep in the underbelly of the city that he recently learned to call Commorragh, something didn't seem to be right. Initially he thought this was a good path to wander through, hoping to see the ladies dancing with the kymerae before they leave the city again. Now that he had gotten this far, he wasn't so sure.

Em'eyeth are you awake?

I know, I know, do you sense it too?

yes, yes, are they going to hurt us? Oh good idea!

Chy'ier quickly moves closer to what he later finds out is the wreckage of a raider. Curious to all the doodads and pieces but also as if on a mission, he quickly finds something he can use. With the once inaudible buzzing quickly getting louder Chy'ier realizes that his time is short, he prys his new yet ruined club from the blast shield that was cradling it during its prime and moves into the little cover he could find. Sporting the weapon as best he could, he waited for the Reavers to close in him he had watched the spectacle of their races and fighting matches, so he knew that they would come at him fast and hard.

Chy'ier swung the mass end of the weapon as hard as he could around from the cover he was hiding behind as the first Reaver flew past. A satisfying tremor came through the shaft of the weapon, as he made contact with the second Reaver, causing the weapon to be torn from his hands. The weapon went flying and fell with the mass end closest to him, interestingly as the weapon hit the ground it activated with a pop and a single black beam shot out of the shaft where his hands were not a second earlier, cutting the first Reaver in half.

Chy'ier listened for a moment while everything stilled, then began walking to the first Reaver's corpse and wreckage, then moving onto the second.

I know, I know. Hot food, I get it.

The first one looks like mush. I don't want any of that one, everything is broken too.

I have no idea, it cooked our food though. If it were smaller we could take it with us.

No

No

Lets get a quick bite from the cooked one, so we don't need to worry about it at the games.

I know you like seeing the ladies, that's why I'm hurrying.

As Chy'ier approached the second Reaver's corpse, he slowly drew his knife and checked its sharpness.

Dinner's served

finished my character for you Lady M, just let me know when you want to start