D&D Beyond character: Vallos, half-eleven bard (Dark Sun)

     Vallos is a half-elf born a Tyrian to a human woman who dallied with an elf trader, she was his constant companion and taught him music and song. He was absolutely beautiful with perfect features, and was taken and sold at 12 to a cruel templar who used him as a servant, bard, spy, assassin and boy toy. She did beat him but never touched his perfect face. When Leeta did not have use for him, several other female templars availed themselves of his talents. He rarely lacked for female attention though he had jealous rivals, who he often turned aside with a pleasant jest. 

     When Leeta was poisoned by a rival templar shortly before the death of King Kalak, Vallos took the opportunity to escape to freedom; he may be suspected of her death but the murder was unsubtle and graceless and those who may wish to employ him could point out the real culprit, a swaggering, crude, unpopular man.                                             

  Vallos is strikingly handsome, a clever man with many skills. He is charming and friendly, remaining calm and seldom raising his voice. He is extremely likable and while this is his nature, he makes an effort to maintain this demeanor because of his dread of being alone. He was never by himself except when spying, and he hates the solitary life he led upon gaining his freedom. He often chooses cheap common lodging just to be near people, and enjoys performing and talking with even a small gathering. 

     Vallos will usually defer to a woman in authority, especially a templar and doesn’t particularly enjoy the company of other men, though he would never be so rude as to say it. He respects dwarves and goliaths, is indifferent to elves, and is fascinated by halfings. He met a group of mercenaries and was enthralled by their legends and tales of the forests. Maybe someday he will see them with his own eyes, and sing of the true history of Athas…




-Warning: sexual situations, strong language and graphic violence-

     Howie Parker smiled his gap-toothed grin as the whore went down on him.  She was too old, probably a teenager with her perky tits and dead eyes, but she’d do in a pinch.  He’d had a close call last week on the playground when that cute freckled slut told her bitch mommy he’d looked under her dress. He had to play it safe, even if it meant making do with the cunts who walked the street corners and back alleys.

“Hurry up, damn it!” he swore at the pink pigtails bobbing back and forward.  She ignored him, focusing on her twenty bucks.  The jazz filling the dirty van was interrupted by a news break about the Killer Smile, some vigilante asshole tearing through the drug dealers and pimps in the city.  Fucking pyscho.  Howie flicked cigarette ashes in a coffee can on the floor in the back.  He finally came with a grunt; the girl pulled away and he slapped her hard. His little babies didn’t disrespect him like that…

A thud sounded from the roof, rocking the van in defiance of the ‘don’t come knocking’ bumper sticker.  Howie angrily wrenched open the door, looking up into the cold drizzle as the cigarette dangling from his cracked lip fell to the pavement.  Someone was standing there, a thin man in a black hoodie, head bowed.  Howie had a few heartbeats to notice the combat boots, leather gloves and spiked belt glistening with beads of moisture when the hood snapped up, and Howie saw the mask.  A black smiley face with Xs for eyes and a too-wide smile… “No” he whimpered, before recovering some of his composure. “Get off my van, shithead, before I call the cops.”

The Killer Smile giggled like a schoolgirl.  He spoke, his voice thick and muffled.  ‘The cops? Not likely, pig.  That girl is only 13 and you’re a registered sex offender.  I’m sure the police would be thrilled to know your whereabouts, Howie. Tell you what? I’ll call them for you.’  He dropped off the van, landing in front of Howie and startling the girl back inside.

The masked man was smaller than Howie, himself the target of bullies all his life.  He shoved the wannabe away from the rear of the van, fumbling for his keys.   “Get lost, you-” a brutal side thrust kick sent Howie to all fours, followed by a series of punishing blows to his ribs.  He curled himself into a ball to protect the soft spots, a lesson learned long ago.  The kicks and stomps rained down on him until he was allowed a moment of respite to drag himself upright.  

The underage hooker looked scared, but couldn’t take her eyes off the beating.  Howie slumped against the van, and the Killer Smile cracked his neck.  The girl opened her mouth in warning when Howie yanked out a hidden pistol, but before she could find her voice the man in black lashed out with a collapsible baton, breaking his wrist and rendering him harmless.  The Killer Smile threw him to the ground and snatched his wallet, pocketing a credit card and tossing the cash to the shivering  teen.  

‘Get yourself something hot to eat.  Do you have someplace to stay?’ “Um, yeah… Yeah, a friend” she stammered.  ‘Good. Take a day off, then go back to school, Jessie.’ Her eyes went wide. “My name is Candie” she protested, shaking her head.  ‘Be good Jessie. And no drugs’ he said, wagging a bloody finger at her.  As she walked away, he called out to her ‘Don’t forget to smile!’ And she did, despite herself.

‘A smile is just a frown turned upside down’ mused the Killer Smile as he turned back to the van. He rummaged around until he found the inevitable digital camera, full of evidence.  He took a  selfie with Howie, tucking the camera in the pervert’s shirt pocket.  ‘Now, you are a very bad boy. And bad boys need to be punished… I know the things you did to those little girls.  I know you won’t ever be punished the way you deserve to be punished. And you’ll never stop. I’m going to help you with that!’ 

Howie tried to crawl away, but the Smile just chuckled softly.  He pulled the garden shears from under the back of his hoodie.  The child defiler started to cry, so the masked avenger smashed a fist into his mouth, shattering teeth. ‘You kissed them’ he said. ‘You touched them’ and he began snipping off fingers.  ‘You hurt them’ and his prey howled as his balls were crushed like a roach under the heavy boot. ‘You were always watching them’ and he retrieved the forgotten cigarette, relieving the pedophile of the temptation he felt every time he gazed on one of those little angels.

The man assessed his work, nodded to himself and plucked the sobbing wretch’s cell phone from the cup holder.  He dialed  911 and reported the location of the van and its occupant.  He washed the blood off his gloves and tools, then slipped down an alley, pausing to scratch a stray dog under the chin before merging with the shadows of the city.

Several blocks away, a teen named Jessie smiled sweetly in her sleep.  “Smile, and the whole world smiles with you…”


The Gentleman of Carcosa

It was dark in the city.  It seemed that it was always dark in the city.  The nights were claustrophobic, oppressive, the days marginally less so, streets swathed in a thick blanket of grey fog.  Still, the dreary rain had tapered off and the damp air was a bit less chill tonight.  The meager gas lamps lining the road were haloed in the mist. The grim-lipped dwellers of the city went about their business in typical fashion; hats slung low, collars upturned, downcast eyes tracing footpaths worn in the cobblestone streets.  Rarely was kindness or closeness evident, and the warmth of a smile would be precious indeed.  Pedestrians knew to keep their minds on their own business, even while casting the occasional wary glance at their fellows.
Noteworthy, then would the Gentleman be, if a citizen dared spare him more than a moment’s thought.  Clad head to toe in a three-piece bespoke suit the color of wet ash, crowned with a top hat and face masked by a long scarf of a startling goldenrod hue, his elegant shoes and walking stick eerily silent upon the  pavement.  The silent Gentleman looked out of place in such a drab locale, and his evident wealth marked him as a potential target for the district’s more desperate residents, yet none crossed his path nor peered over their shoulders as he passed.  

He was intent on his destination, unwavering as he crossed streets and strode down alleys heedless of detritus or shadows cast by the gibbous moon and pale dim stars.  As was oft the wont of men of means, he was headed for the Slummers enclave in search of pleasures of the flesh or some other secret vice.
Women huddled together against the chill and dark in twos and threes, chatting in hushed voices as they awaited their next patron. The occasional lone man could be seen skulking in a doorway or against a corner, though whether pimp or prostitute in was hard to tell in this area of ill repute. Speakeasies and brothels jostled with pawnbrokers and drug dens for a space free of the muck, reaching like weeds for the feeble light provided by lanterns marking the poverty and neglect afflicting the destitute and downtrodden of the city.

 Through the unkempt lanes and past the unwashed harlots and beggars plying their trade The Gentelman stalked, spurning both pleas and solicitations.  An observant person might have noticed a certain pattern to the jaunty swing of his cane, or perhaps the almost imperceptible… sniff coming from underneath the folds of that yellow scarf, like a fox catching wind of a henhouse. The Gentleman did not speak or turn his head as he stepped briskly in search of his quarry. With a sudden pivot on his heels, he turned to his left and closed in on a trio of ladies of the night warming their hands over a pitiful fire of scrap kindling.

“What’s your fancy, Sir?” inquired the oldest and most desperate-looking of the three.  The Gentleman gave no reply save the indication of his canetip at sweet Mary.  Her compatriots sighed… sweet, red-haired Mary, with sparkling blue doe-eyes and milky skin, was a favorite of the men with silver in their pockets.  Still, they didn’t begrudge her fortune; the girl never hoarded her earnings but showed an uncommon charity with her impoverished sisters.

Mary nodded, gathering her ragged black shawl around a shapeless grey dress. “I have a room,” she offered in a soft voice.  The Gentleman inclined his head, and she led the way down the street, behind a moldering townhouse and up the back stairs.  The Gentleman followed close behind, ghostlike in the mist.  She opened the rusty lock with a key produced from her bosom, and ushered her customer into the cramped and threadbare quarters.  

As she lit the nearly empty lantern, her eyes fell on the hideous broach a past caller had gifted her.  He’d been a beast, one of the rare sort who’d hurt her after; the fragile beauty which caused most men to show her kindness when the money changed hands instead driving him to cruelty.  She still bore the marks of his belt on her back… the pin, some sort of twisted ‘Y’ worked in gold on black, was clearly valuable in spite of the lack of craftmanship.

As the door closed, Mary sat The Gentleman in the only chair.  She began to disrobe, turning an inquisitive glance at the seated figure.  ‘Don’t you want to make yourself more comfortable?’ She padded to him on bare feet, the shadows dancing across her lithe body. 

The rise of a gloved index finger stopped her; clearly the client had some particular desire in mind.  “Sing for me,” he demanded in a flat, deep voice.  “Sing, Sir? What shall I…” He merely inclined his head, and she began to hum, searching for something suitable.  In her puzzlement, she could think of no words, nor had there been occasion to sing for some time.  As the silence lengthened, she recalled the song her mother taught her as she lay in her sickbed, before life had slipped from her.

She began, faltering at first, then in clear rising tones:  

‘I am a true and bonny lass, so fair and so gay/ my true love has up and gone, gone so far away/ he’s gone to sail, gone to seas, riding high upon the breeze/ and here I sit and wait for him, that marry him I may.’

Tears welled in her eyes at the memories, and the thought of a life that would never be hers; she sobbed rawly on the bed, unable to finish the performance as requested.  The man stood and wiped away the twin glittering streams upon her cheeks, cupping her chin in the silken glove.  He nodded slowly, and Mary smiled wanly.  She reached up to remove the elegant hat, unwinding the mustard scarf… and she froze as a mask of cold, polished ivory greeted her fingers and curious blue eyes.  The unveiled visage was of an entity all too familiar to the unfortunate girl: a naked, grinning skull.

The sight chilled her soul, and fear fluttered in her heart as she wondered what kind of dangerous fetish her patron might wish to indulge. “If you please Sir, might you remove the mask? It is… beautiful, but if you wish to make love, it is better, I suggest, to look on one another?”

She heard her heart beating like thunder in her ears as eternal moments passed.  She placed her trembling hands on his chest. “What do you wish of me, Lord? I will satisfy your needs, but the mask… it frightens me.”

“I wear no mask.” intoned the figure in the grey attire.  It had an air of finality, of ritual.  

“You have seen the Yellow Sign.”

Mary frowned, then thought she understood. “The broach? Is that what you mean, Sir? It’s by the lamp… Is it yours? Was it stolen?’ She scrambled for the golden pin, relieved that what the client wanted his property, not to harm her.  

Impossibly fast, the man snatched her by her fiery tresses and lifted her off the floor.  The shape seemed to grow larger, swelling to fill the darkening room, which lurched drunkenly as if the world had turned on its axis.  The ashen attire sloughed away, revealing an emaciated form enshrouded in tattered jaundice robes.  Mary screamed in mortal terror and fought desperate against its implacable grip.

“You have seen the Yellow Sign, and I have come for you.  I am the King in Yellow. I am the Harbinger of Doom, the Spectre of the End.  I am Madness, and I am Death.” With those words, that part of Mary that might be deemed a soul was lost, borne for unguessable purposes to lost Carcosa, dread realm of The King in Yellow.  

When the poor girl’s friends overcame their fear and forced the inadequate flat door, they discovered the remnants of the prostitute who had been dear, sweet Mary. She was a broken thing, blinded and deafened, clutching an ugly piece of costume jewelry and murmuring over and over, “Have you seen the Yellow Sign?”

RPG scenarios

Warhammer 40K Dark Heresy plot thread


Clementus, a minor Shrine World in the Askellon Sector, is noted for its talented musicians and writers, performing lovely tributes to the Emperor of Mankind and easing the cares and woes of many a Hive Worker or Guardsman.  Within the last six months, the output of the musicians’ guilds have tripled and the surging influx of pilgrims has been surprising for such a lesser planet.  Perhaps a reason for this is the claimed discovery of a cache of writings by a famous long-dead artist?

These songs and plays have reached unprecedented popularity, to levels of obsession in numerous cases throughout the Sector; citizens often neglect their duties to enjoy the  transcendent works, and some even join the Choir, swelling its ranks where even novices somehow manifest skill with pitch and tone.  Indeed, it would seem that a particularly vibrant and perhaps extreme brand of the Imperial Cult is forming around the Clementus Choir in the city of Carmina.  Some in the ranks of the Adeptus Ministorum and the Adeptus Administratum have begun to mutter that these works of art are unhealthy and perhaps dangerous; certainly the descriptions of fell beings and dark deeds in the days of the Saints and Crusades touch on matters best left unspoken.

The Acolytes of Inquisitor Reye Orbys, Ordo Hereticus, are dispatched on their first mission, to aid the rulers of Clementus and discern whether this turn of events is a harmless fad, or the stirring of Heresy…


200 years ago a singular child prodigy, a singer and composer named Bendix Petrius grew to prominence in recognition of his majestic arrangements of traditional hymns and his own peerless devotional arias.  The soaring tenor of Bendix, proclaiming the love and warmth of the Emperor’s light brought humble pilgrim and hardened warrior alike to tears.  As his fame grew, he and his troupe roamed the world sharing songs of faith and inspiration with the visitors to Clementus, until in his 12th year he had the honor of a performance before the noble houses of the sector capital on Juno.

Fate can be cruel.  Enroute to Juno, a particularly nasty Warp storm flared up and a warband of twisted Chaos Marines attacked the ship, slaughtering and torturing those aboard in abominable ways in an orgy of sacrifice to the Prince of Pleasure.  Bendix, seeing his death before him, asked only to praise his Emperor one last time.  Amused, the Marine relented and even in his debauched, jaded existence he felt a surge of rapturous ecstasy as Bendix’s voice soared to unparalleled heights of beauty.  Sergeant Amduscias of the Flawless Host perceived the great irony of bringing a famed instrument of Imperial glory under the sway of Chaos, and seized him as a candidate for indoctrination into the ranks of the Noise Marines.  After months of torture and psychological programming, the sheltered boy from Clementus was broken and molded into a Chaos Marine, a worshipper of Slaanesh.

Now Brother Bendix is a perverted fiend who composes blasphemous orations mocking the Corpse-Emperor and glorifying the Ruinous Powers.  His attractive form and face is heavily pierced and brightly tattooed, ears pointed, his rainbow-hued hair long and braided with needles and hooks that catch and pierce the scalp.  Incongruously, his vox amplification customarily deepens his voice to a palpable rumble, his sweetly boyish voice only loosed in the throes of combat.  Though he partakes of the vices common to all devotees of Slaanesh, he is addicted to his own harmonious vocalizations over all.

He is indeed the secret author and conductor of these new compositions, each one a bit more complex in arrangements and execution, requiring greater talent and more players, working in obscure notations and novel instruments under the talented guidance of the Noise Marine.  The whisperings of Heresy are gradually worked into the lyrics and subject matter as the works grow in popularity and the listeners hunger for performances of greater length and extremity.  

This first scenario sets the scene for a campaign against the cult of The Word, the doctrines espoused by the Word Bearers Traitor Marines in an insidious plan to subvert several minor world seeded by the followers of Lorgar.  [Inspired by the novel ‘Dark Omega’ by Felix M. Bloom] The overall plan is to claim some of the worlds near the Warp Storms to as a launching point for plunder, recruits and harassing attacks, expanding influence until they can strike at the primary worlds of the Sector’s military strength and governance.  There will of course be red herrings and treachery on the PCs’ way to discovering this threat to the Imperium, with the possibility of a Genestealer cult, mutant Hive gangers venerating a curious xenos idol, and a pack of witches hunting them and their Inquitor patron(s) and allies as complications or side quests to the primary mission of stopping the cult.

The Acolytes may face the Space Marine at the end of the adventure as a sign they have uncovered the beginnings of something truly dire.  Aside from the enjoyment his role brings him, the GM may wish to ascribe motivations to Bendix for undertaking such a dangerous role.  Perhaps he is there to foster heresy and dissent as an end goal, a distraction, or a deadly trap for unwary Inquitors.  He is very likely in the employ of the Cult of the Word; possibly they know of tech or a xenos artifact he desires to reach new heights of depravity, or power?



You gotta have FAITH (The Sci-Fi RPG)

FAITH is an innovative indie science fiction roleplaying game (now crowdfunding through Kickstarter:
( https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/burninggames/faith-the-sci-fi-rpg/description ) that is distinguished by the use of cards rather than dice. The art is stunning and the production values are solid. The character board and replaceable tokens, coupled with Gear cards, make character sheets obsolete and save time and room at the table; a ‘paperless pen and paper RPG.’

If you follow me or The Redacted Files on social media, you’ve seen me spamming, er promoting, this game hard. I stumbled across an early announcement about a month before the Kickstarter and I was intrigued. Like many roleplayers, I have a few diehard games I support but I’m always curious about new games. @TRFPodcast is always trying new things, and has broadened my RPG experience; I thought I’d give FAITH a try.

The beta print and play is free to download, and is a great intro to the gritty alternate universe one thousand years in our future. The game is very simple to grasp and funto play, and probably a good intro to RPGs, especially if the prospective players enjoy boardgames.

Each player and the GM in FAITH has a gorgeous custom deck of cards (the standard box set comes with four) but a standard poker deck can be substituted- a nice compromise, and the updated core rulebook will be free to download. Characters are from one of three distinct races (more may be added as stretch goals or future expansions) and possess Attributes from 1 to 3. The attribute in play (say Dexterity to shoot a gun) determines how many cards from a hand of 7 cards (8 for Humans) the player can lay down in one action. Skills from 0 to 9 (in the previous example it would be Ballistics) are added to the cards in play to determine the Action Value, or who wins in a Confrontation. The Confrontation is one of the core elements of FAITH gameplay. Actions mostly automatically succeed unless the GM wants to challenge the PC or thinks it would be interesting for story purposes for there to be a chance for failure (or dramatic sucess.) -This is a concept familiar to the Cypher System, where the rules get out of the way to focus on building the narrative, and come into play for brief periods of excitement. Confrontations are any opposed action, whether a firefight, hacking a network, or piloting a ship through a storm. Be forewarned that combat is extremely lethal, and a key part of success in any Confrontation is to convince the GM you have an Advantage, for example hidden from view/behind cover, or that your foe is at a Disadvantage (also known as Inferiority) to avoid death or drastic failure.

The really fascinating thing about cards vs dice is that the randomness of dice is gone, and it becomes less about luck and more of a resource management like GUMSHOE. Do you spend some low cards now, and hope to succeed or possibly draw a high card next, or do you throw down cards that ensure success this Confrontation and risk failure later in the mission?

In a nutshell, that’s all you need to know! I ran through some combat simulations with my seven year old; he enjoyed it, could follow the rules, snd is eager to play a full game!

So while the game is easy to learn, there is a still good deal of character customization available even before you add the high tech gear to include stealth suits and plasma rifles (special shout out to the ‘Diaperer’ gun- read the beta!)

The spin, and the reason for a sci-fi game to bear the name FAITH, is that in this game of amazing technology there is a yet group of Gods who exist within their followers and seek to expand their influence; follow your God’s rules and you may be blessed with powerful divine gifts, but know that your fate is in the hands of the God you follow. Failure to uphold the faith can cost you the favor of a God, often at the worst time. The Gods are also of course at the root of much of the sentient races’ struggles for dominance in the universe. Of concern for the PCs are the entropic goals of Ledger and its desire to bring about chaos and destruction.

The game of FAITH is open to any sort of high-tech adventure such as social intrigue, exploration, or military avtion but lends itself particularly to black ops infiltration, hacking, and espionage. The two powerhouse races, the Corvo and the Iz’kal, are locked in a cold war for control of the Labyrinth, a naturally occurring nexus of wormholes that is key to mastery of the known universe and expansion beyond. Humans are second class subjects, but respected for their strength, resilience and skill as mercenaries. We are wildcards and the ‘wookies’ of FAITH!

I enjoyed the sample beta materials that Burning Games provided on their website, and while it is notably very well written for a team whose first language is Spanish, I found some areas that were unclear or awkwardly worded. I contacted them offering to do some proofreading, and a collaboration was born! I’ve had the chance to make some small impact on the background and it’s been rewarding. The creative team is amazing; they are really eager to succeed, with a strong social media presence, and they are very responsive to questions or suggestions about their product.

From the revisions and evolution of gameplay I’ve seen, a great beginning is already shaping up to an excellent product that I am happy to back at the basic game level, which includes a box with 4 player decks & boards, NPC deck, Gear deck, a pile of tokens and the core rulebook for $70. I’ve never spent more than $15 on a kickstarter before, so this should signify that I really believe in the game!

There’s no customs fee in the EU, and shipping is free in the US!

Please chip in and help a new company launch an awesome game
so we can play (I promise a game on The Redacted Files Actual Play Podcast) and not only see FAITH get funded, but become a successful product line for the future!

As of this writing they are a little over 35% funded with 20 days to go; we can do this!

Thank you for reading

(Known to have aided the ‘Human Liberation Front’)

Some links:




Youtube: http://youtu.be/2b_CS_XmJtg

Playtests podcasts:
@therpgacademy (features Carlos of the Burning Games crew!)


RPG Characters

Rottex Vyle, Black Crusade Space Marine

“Rottex was recruited by The Tainted warband of the Death Guard Chaos Marines in the aftermath of the Seige of Vraks. In one of his early sorties, the warband was caught in a deadly ambush by Thousand Sons Marines loyal to Sekoth on a former Eldar world while relic-hunting. Rottex was mortally wounded, and was promised a cherished role as a Dreadnought; yet in their pursuit of their foes, he was left to his fate and abandoned. He slipped into hibernation and woke alone some months later, sustained by the plague powers of Nurgle and the need for revenge upon all Space Marines. The gaping wound in his chestplate has healed, scabbed over and encrusted with pus as a proof in his sound constitution and the favor of the Lord of Pestilence. He has cast aside the Tainted belief in Nurgle as lord of despair and mortification, emphasizing his role as god of rebirth. He never leaves an ally or minion behind, believing it to be the ultimate act of cowardice and betrayal.”

Rottex Vyle, Forsaken Chaos Marine

Pride: Fortitude, Disgrace: Hubris, Motivation: Vengeance

Weapon Skill 47, Ballistic Skill 46
Strength 60 (80), Toughness 66
Agility 54, Intelligence 44
Perception 51, Willpower 54
Fellowship 51, Infamy 24, Corruption 0

Traits: Amphibious, Unnatural Strength (+4), Unnatural Toughness (+4), Resourceful

Talents: Iron Discipline, Disturbing Voice, Sure Strike, Ambidextrous, Bulging Biceps, Legion Weapon Training, Heightened Senses (Hearing, Sight), Nerves of Steel, Quick Draw, Resist Heat/Cold/Poison, Unarmed Warrior, Iron Jaw, Blindfight, Combat Formation

Skills: Common Lore (War, Imperium), Dodge, Parry, Charm, Scrutiny, Linguistics (Low Gothic), Athletics, Awareness, Acrobatics, Survival, Operate (Surface), Navigate (Surface), Security, Forbidden Lore (Adeptus Astartes, Horus Heresy, Long War)

Gear: Legion Power Armor (auto senses, sustainable power supply, vox link), Legion Bolt Pistol, 2 clips, Legion Power Sword

RPG Characters

Kylia Raddox, Black Crusade Psyker

“Kylia was born in a quiet farming village of Tolt on Sisk, a fuedal world on the periphery of the Segmentum Obscurum, Callixis Sector. Her mother, Jaella, was a minor psyker who’d hidden her gifts to protect her family. When Kylia was 12, the Black Ships of the Imperium came; they took her mother, who shouted [Run, child, run! Never look back!] into her mind as to her futher shock the Arbites came for Kylia. When the men of the Black Ship grabbed her, Kylia’s terror awakened her own latent pysker powers and she unleashed a psychic scream of such magnitude the Ship was destroyed and she was able to flee. Sadly, her mother was also killed and Kylia revisits her loss often in her nightmares. Only 15, yet grim and purposeful, she has travelled to the edge of the Screaming Vortex, honing her powers as she searches for the one thing that can assuage her guilt: her mother’s soul.”

Kylia Raddox, Chaos Psyker
Pride: Craftsmanship (psy powers)
Disgrace: Regret (mother’s death)
Motivation: Arcane (resurrect mother)
Weapon Skill: 32, Ballistic Skill: 37
Strength: 32, Toughness: 30
Agilty: 38, Intelligence: 40
Perception: 40, Willpower: 50
Fellowship: 27, Infamy: 23
Wounds: 13
Corruption: 7

Psyker Powers: Thought Sending, Precognition, Mind over Matter, Doombolt, Psychic Scream

Traits: The Quick and the Dead, Chaos Psyker (unbound)

Talents: Psy Rating 4, Jaded, Weapon Training (primary), Weapon Training (laspistol)

Skills: Common Lore (Imperium), Linguistics (Low Gothic), Trade (Remembrancer), Awareness, Psyniscience, Forbidden Lore (Psyker, Warp), Deceive, Dodge, Warp Sense, Survival

Gear: Common craftmanship Laspistol, one clip, Common Neural Whip, Flak Coat, Psy focus, dataslate full of arcane Lore