From Goats to Grimdark: Our First Steps in 40k

 

Grimdark Shenanigans: Our First Foray into Warhammer 40k

As the saying goes, "All good things must come to an end," so we bid farewell to our Enshrouded game (except for Dave, who’s contractually obligated to milk the goats daily) and took a warp jump into the far-flung, grimdark universe of Warhammer 40k. It’s a place where there is only war, and conveniently, also suitable character classes for all of us.

Meet the Misfit Mercenaries:

• Dave: A "Sister of Battle" soldier. Yes, he chose to roleplay as a pious, armor-clad nun with a gun. As Dave put it, "Who doesn’t want to be a self-righteous zealot?"
• Zaph: The operative, a stealthy sniper who’s only in the room for cleanup. His strategy: "Shoot, scoot, and pretend you’re invisible."
• Myles: Naturally, the officer. This suits his love for giving orders, though our compliance is… inconsistent. "When will you lot learn that my plans are flawless?"
• Craig: The warrior, or as we call him, "Straight-Line Craig." If there were a class that didn’t require reading text or thinking about geometry, he’d have taken it.
• Two NPCs: A Psyker (a.k.a. witch) who can throw lightning, rupture the warp, and kill us all—and a second warrior to set a behavioral example for Craig. Spoiler: It didn’t work.

And So It Begins

We started aboard the voidship of Rogue Trader Theodora von Valancius. Myles’s character is distantly related to the von Valancius Dynasty, which made the rest of us his "trusty sidekicks," plus Craig. (To clarify, Craig is his own category.)

Theodora’s opening act? Summoning us for a test to prove our worth. Before we could bungle that, the peons on the lower decks staged a mutiny, the servitors went berserk, and chaos erupted. Typical Tuesday.

Betrayal and a Smidge of Flamethrower Justice

On orders to check on the navigator, we followed the ship’s Master of Whispers—a shifty sort who promptly stabbed us in the back, literally. He knocked us unconscious and dragged Myles off to the chamber of the Writ of Trade (the holy McGuffin of Rogue Traders). Myles, true to form, woke up mid-abduction, dubbed him "Skanky Pond Scum," and refused to cooperate. Luckily, the servitor lock mechanism recognized that Myles was being threatened. Cue flamethrowers and turrets annihilating the heretics… except the Master of Whispers, who legged it.

Assemble the Dysfunctional Avengers

With Myles rescued, our merry band regrouped and gained some reinforcements. Enter the Psyker and Craig’s new favorite toy—a chainsword. We slaughtered our way toward the navigator, who was hiding behind an energy shield. Surprise, the twisty Master of Whispers escaped again while we looted bodies and Dave performed a heroic solo act that left the rest of us scrambling to catch up. (Dave, the Emperor protects; but maybe wait for backup next time.)

Bridge Over Troubled Fire

At one point, we faced an infernal bridge through flames where our choice was "make a deal with the devil" or "burn." Myles opted for dogmatic zealotry, yelled, "The Emperor protects!" and dragged us all through the fire. We emerged singed but alive, while our NPC entourage became crispy critters. Rest in ashes, redshirts.

Detective Work (But Not Too Much)

After endless firefights and more straight-line Craig charges that hit precisely nothing, we found Theodora. Alas, she was dead, riddled with bolter fire. We poked around for clues but not too hard—our priorities were now firmly aligned with ascending to the Rogue Tradership. The Psyker failed to psychically read a corpse but did manage to get visions from some broken glass. Useless. We found a cryptic document detailing Theodora’s mission to an unknown destination. Cue ominous foreshadowing.

Climax of Chaos (and Craig)

The grand finale occurred on the bridge. The Whisperer was mid-ritual, sacrificing henchmen to summon a Chaos demon. Myles immediately declared we’d fight to the death, but Englebert Humpledink (a rival Psyker) decided to "help." Naturally, this resulted in him transforming into a Chaos demon. Because of course it did.

The fight was epic and chaotic:

• Myles gave commands, most of which we ignored.
• Dave went full Rambo, slaying three henchmen in quick succession.
• Craig charged straight into… thin air, missing spectacularly. Again, warp logic or Craig logic?
• Zaph and the Psyker took down the demon’s defenses.

After much bleeding and screaming, the demon chowed down on a henchman to regenerate. Myles, perched on the upper platform, assessed the dire situation below. The demon was regaining strength rapidly, feeding off the remaining henchman, and Craig’s last charge had connected with precisely nothing—again. Realizing the window to act was shrinking, Myles maneuvered to the edge of the platform, took careful aim, and fired, taking out the final henchman just before the demon could feast.

"All clear! Craig, distract the demon.," he quipped with a self-satisfied grin, lowering his weapon. Below, Craig grumbled audibly but reluctantly shifted focus to the Chaos demon, muttering, "Distract it? I’m not a chew toy!." The rest of us wisely opted to keep our distance, offering support from as far away as possible.

Finally, we took down Demon Englebert. Myles plopped himself on the Rogue Trader throne, ordered us to "get this ship back to reality," and declared victory.

Post-Battle Wrap-Up: A Litany of Woes

As the session ended, we received grim reports about the state of the ship:

• The navigator needs replacing. Apparently, they don’t grow on trees.
• The engineer is dead.
• The tech crew is dead.
• Craig remains alive.

Myles, as the new Rogue Trader, endured a 15-minute debrief that involved more talking than shooting. It was well past midnight, and no one could feel their legs. But hey, the prologue was complete, and victory… sort of… was ours.

Closing Thoughts

If this is the prologue, we’re doomed. But at least we’ll die heroically—or in Craig’s case, hilariously—in the grimdark future where there is only war. See you next session, warp willing.

A Cautionary Tale of Patience, Puzzles, and Pathfinding

Where’s Dave? A Cautionary Tale of Patience, Puzzles, and Pathfinding

It began, as these things so often do, with a sunken stone temple complex rising from the mists of the valley. Equal parts Montezuma and Petra, it was the sort of place designed to bring adventurers to their knees in reverent awe or simply trip over themselves trying to interpret obtuse hieroglyphic warnings about imminent doom. Naturally, we blundered in like caffeinated raccoons at a campsite.

Getting to the temple complex was no small feat. It lay hidden in the fog-of-war, its location hinted at only by vague map markings and an overwhelming sense of "we're probably going the wrong way." We began our journey by gliding from a high tower, landing in an unknown expanse, and then hoofing it on foot through treacherous terrain. It was somewhere along this arduous trek that Dave, true to form, decided to split from the group.

Dave’s Solo Adventure

Dave’s plan, if one could call it that, was to take a bold detour through the Shroud, a dangerous, fog-enshrouded valley to the north. His reasoning? Something about efficiency, exploration, and possibly finding better loot. On paper, it sounded daring and innovative. In practice, it was akin to navigating the London Underground with only a Ouija board and a vague sense of foreboding.

For those unfamiliar with the Shroud, imagine a landscape where teleportation is disabled and every hostile creature in existence has unionized against solo adventurers. When Dave inevitably succumbed to overwhelming odds and died, his respawn point was, of course, back at the start of the valley—still firmly in the Shroud. Without a teleport-to-safety option, Dave had no choice but to try again. And again. And, well, again.

Meanwhile, Back at the Temples

While Dave was busy reliving his personal Groundhog Day, Zaph, Craig, and I had a delightfully productive time solving the three temples. Zaph handled the precision challenges with his ranger-sniper finesse, Craig solved jumping puzzles by doing what can only be described as chaotic parkour, and I, as always, carefully mapped the place while trying not to trip over my own good intentions.

Dave's Grand Arrival

Hours later (in both game time and actual human lifespans), Dave clawed his way to the gateway and activated the shrine, moving his respawn point to the temple complex at last. The man was battle-worn, grouchy, and “humming with the quiet fury of someone who’d just lost their entire inventory at least twice,” as Craig put it.

“What took you so long?” Zaph quipped as Dave finally emerged. This earned a glare sharp enough to shave with.

After a quick orientation session (read: Zaph and I patiently explaining puzzles), we moved on to the final temple. Surely now we could triumph as a team.

The Chest Incident

The final chamber loomed before us. Inside was the grand chest, a prize promised by all the architectural grandeur and puzzle-solving torment of the last few hours. We approached, eager to revel in the treasure and victory.

Zaph, ever the optimist, reached for the chest first. He opened it and froze. “What… why is the chest open and empty?”

“I haven’t stepped foot in here,” I said, immediately sensing trouble. Slowly, we all turned to Craig.

“What?” Craig said innocently, wearing an expression that could only be described as suspiciously angelic.

“Craig,” Zaph growled, pointing at the now-empty chest.

Craig shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “Okay, fine. I couldn’t wait.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Not the kind of silence born of awe, but the kind that screamed, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

Wrapping Up

With the final chest prematurely looted, there wasn’t much else to do but leave. “Well, I’m glad you finally made it here, Dave,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But it’s time to go.”

“What do you mean, time to go?” Dave asked, incredulous.

“It’s done,” Zaph said, shooting Craig another withering look.

Craig, naturally, was already halfway up the nearest wall, scouting for more chaos to cause. As we exited the temple complex, leaving behind a trail of solved puzzles, looted chests, and frayed nerves, one thing was clear: the greatest treasure wasn’t the loot. It was the friends we made along the way—and the remarkably creative insults we’d now have for Craig for the next several decades.