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For nearly fifty years, you spent your life in the manufactorum of Malfi, one of the pre-eminent hive worlds in the Calixis Sector. Like
your parents before you, you toiled long hours, giving your blood, sweat, and nearly all your time for the good of the hive. It was a thankless existence and one you were happy to perform since you knew that your efforts added, even in a small way, to the prosperity of your world. Popular with connections throughout your block, many of the other dregs looked to you for leadership, to represent their interests to the Administratum authorities that oversaw your collective labours. You proudly championed your people, instilling them with pride for the mind-numbing tasks and encouraged them to push harder. Many believed that you would go far, rising above the rest to perhaps become a foreman. You might have, but something inexplicable happened. One day, you enjoyed the friendship and respect of your peers, the favours of your masters, and the next, everything changed. The only explanation was a mistake, a mishap in the higher offices that confused you for someone else. You were accused of murder, theft, acts so fo ul that to recall them causes you
to shudder. Everywhere you turned, there were arbitrators and bounty hunters looking for you. You knew it was your duty to turn yourself in, to present your case, but deep down you understood that such a move would be hopeless and fatal. So you hid, losing yourself amidst the machinery that dominates the bowels of your world until you could find some way to escape. The only way you could live was to get off the planet and doing so was all but impossible in the depths. So you drifted upwards, creeping about, stealing food to survive, until you came to one of Malfi’s many spaceports. There you stowed away on a ship, the first ship you came upon, and
hid in the cargo hold. The lighter escaped the atmosphere and it seemed as if you had slipped free. At least until you learned you were  on the personal craft of Lord Inquisitor Anton Zerbe. You were found, clapped in irons, and dragged before the frightening Inquisitor. Being tossed out of the airlock was your fate, but somehow, the man saw something in you, perhaps your natural talents at leadership or maybe your familiarity with the dregs. He had you released in exchange for your loyal service. You agreed. Your slate was cleaned,
and you’ve been a loyal servant ever since.You are pushing fifty years old and a life spent in the manufactorum has left its mark. You have thinning brown hair and haunted brown eyes. Your dark skin is bleached white in places from exposure to chemicals and reagents and your bear the scars of toiling in the often dangerous environment. You have next to no possessions except for the stained and torn coveralls you wore on Malfi.

he podido entender más o menos que vivi en un mundo colmena en el que mi puesto era alguna especie de técnico o mecánico, fui acusado de asesinato y tuve que huir, y al colarme en una nave como polizón, me pillaron, me dieron algun que otro guantazo y después pasé a formar parte de la tropa del inquisidor Lord Antón Zerbe. ¿me he equivocado en algo? sólo hay algo que quisiera aclarar, ¿que significa el término "dreg"? ......cito:

Cita:

Correcto todo.

Con "dreg" se refiere a tu clase. Eres un dreg. El término dreg es un término más amplio, que engloba a todo tipo de gente: nobles caídos en desgracia, ladrones, timadores, desertores... Para concretarlo un poco se podría decir que se trata de tipos de la calle. Gente que sabe desenvolverse en ella con cierta soltura.

ok pues con eso ya está todo aclarado. por cierto dire, yo nunca he jugado antes a DH, así que agradecería que me fueras indicando aproximadamente qué tiradas hay que ir haciendo y cosas así. yo por mi parte voy a ver si encuentro algo en la red para empaparme un poco del sistema.

No te preocupes, cuando haya que hacer tiradas informaré de cómo va el asunto.