That's No Mutant, It's a Xenos!

Ah, another day in the glamorous life of a Rogue Trader. By which I mean, another day of being shot at, lied to, ambushed, and somehow surviving through a combination of dumb luck, sheer stubbornness, and the fact that our enemies keep underestimating just how little we care for their narrative expectations.

After clearing the voidship of its latest infestation of unpleasantness, we took a well-earned break aboard the Rogue Trader’s command ship. This, of course, involved an exciting tour of the system, where we discovered precisely nothing of interest. Sir Lemming, being a paragon of strategic caution, noted that every possible warp route was marked either yellow ("dangerous") or pulsing orange ("suicidal"). Naturally, we were less than thrilled.

Enter Cassia, our ship’s resident Psyker. "Cassie, my dear," Sir Lemming inquired over the vox, "I don’t like these traffic signals. Is there anything you can do to improve our odds of not being torn apart by the warp?"

Cassia’s response was both reassuring and deeply ominous: "Let me meditate."

Twenty minutes later, a ripple of warp energy pulsed from the ship, and lo and behold, a safe (green!) route appeared on the holo-map. Because nothing says ‘trustworthy navigation’ like arcane sorcery warping reality itself.

Welcome to Janus: Now With 100% More Rebellion

Our next stop was the Telikos Epsilon system, where we were promptly greeted by three hostile destroyers. We dispatched them in the time-honored fashion (explosively), upgraded our hull and weapons, and then made our way to Janus. Janus, a key agricultural world, was meant to supply Footfall with much-needed foodstuffs. This was a simple supply run. How hard could it be?

Famous last words.

The planetary governor greeted us at her palace, and for once, the shuttle ride down was smooth. No attacks, no mid-air explosions, not even a minor hull breach. This should have been a warning sign. Sure enough, just as pleasantries were being exchanged, the rebels ambushed us. The governor’s guards fell swiftly, the governor herself fled into her palace, and we—hardened warriors, strategists, and masters of combat—dove unceremoniously into cover while returning fire.

A nameless sniper picked off two rebels, we slaughtered the rest, and just as we were beginning our victory dance, the north wall exploded. More rebels poured in. Sigh.

They had clearly never faced a foe as stubborn, irritable, and casually homicidal as Sir Lemming and his esteemed band of misfits. We cleaned up the last wave, then went inside to have a "calm and diplomatic chat" with the governor. (Read: Interrogate her for incompetence.)

A Mystery in the Garden

The governor, looking entirely too composed for someone who had just been ambushed, claimed there was plenty of food, but the rebels were shooting down any ships attempting to transport it. Oh, and also, there was a "weird mutant sniper" somewhere on the premises.

We located said sniper in a very serene gazebo. Yrliet Lanaevyss, it turned out, was not a mutant but an Aeldari ranger—so, an alien. Not just any alien, but the terrifyingly competent kind. Sir Lemming, recognizing talent when he saw it (and also probably not wanting her to start sniping us), offered her a job. Jae was sent back to the ship to mind the store, and Yrliet joined our merry band.

Rebels, Secrets, and More Explosions

In a nearby shed, some of the governor’s guards had cornered a wounded rebel. Upon investigation, the "ferocious insurrectionist" turned out to be a terrified kid who spilled the beans: the governor was the real villain, kidnapping people and conducting bizarre ceremonies. The rebels were just trying to stop her. So, we let the kid go and returned to the governor with our new information.

"Oh, how interesting," she said, clearly buying time. "Well, with the general location of the rebel base, perhaps you can scan the planet from orbit and deal with them?"

Translation: "Go kill them, don’t ask questions."

So, we did the scan, pinpointed the rebel stronghold, and executed a mostly successful campaign to break them. Of course, nothing is ever that easy. The final rebel outpost turned out to be another ambush, this time part of an Aeldari plot to retake their so-called "Maiden World." We survived, barely. Pascal went down, Vegetable and Argenta got separated from the group by warp lightning, and Lando—the great and mighty sniper—missed three shots in a row.

Let me just repeat that for emphasis: three. shots. in. a. row.

Yrliet, however, decided that betrayal was not on her agenda today and turned against her Aeldari brethren, proving invaluable in our fight. We took down the enemy psyker with a well-timed grenade (hard to dodge when you can’t see the future through an explosion), made Vegetable run around smacking things, and secured some nice loot.

Now, just one last rebel outpost to clear before we have a long-overdue chat with our suspiciously untrustworthy governor.

Because let’s be honest—we all know how this is going to end. 

This Is No Time to Manage Your Inventory

 

If you recall, we wrapped up last week’s adventures with a return to our Rogue Trader’s ship, intending to enjoy a bit of well-earned rest, shopping, and endless conversations with every self-important NPC within vox range. Every single one of them had a crisis requiring immediate attention—because, apparently, our impending doom wasn’t sufficiently motivating.

Naturally, we decided it was time to take our shiny new ship for a spin. “Take us out, Ms. Navigator!” ordered Sir Lemming with all the authority of a man who only recently learned what half these buttons do. “That way, warp factor 9, make it so.”

First stop: a nice, safe green route. Predictably boring. We discovered a planet, found some fancy rocks, and set up mining operations. Riveting stuff.

Then, in a moment of inspiration (or possibly boredom), Sir Lemming declared, “Let’s do something daring! Take the yellow route!”

Aye aye, Captain. Straight into the arms of a pirate hideout.

“Man the guns! Run out the barnacles! Ramming speed! Shoot something!” Sir Lemming barked.

We managed to obliterate two pirate ships while the third made a hasty exit, leaving us feeling victorious—if a little underwhelmed.

The Void Ship: Where Dreams (and Sanity) Go to Die

Then our resident heretic, never one to pass up an opportunity for “adventure” (read: looting), pointed at a derelict void ship floating nearby.

“It’s bound to have lots of loot,” he said.

It did not.

Instead, it had an abundance of raving lunatics, inexplicable traps, and hostile servitors. As we bravely pushed forward (read: flailed about like toddlers in a haunted house), we reached the core of the ship and, against all wisdom, decided to power it up.

“What could go wrong?” someone actually said out loud.

Reality promptly blinked in and out of existence.

Lunatics flooded in, tech-priests began chanting ominously, servitors revved up, and eerie psychic speakers started pushing the warp to the breaking point.

Amidst this delightful chaos, we realized something crucial:

Sir Vegetable—Craig—was missing.

“Craig, get up here now!” bellowed Sir Lemming over the vox comm. “How can we fight these guys without our designated test dummy out front tanking?”

“I’ll be right there,” Craig replied. “As soon as I finish sorting my inventory.”

Yes. Inventory. In the middle of a pitched battle against warp-corrupted horrors.

Meanwhile, Sister Agenta was down, Pascal was pinned behind cover, and Lanto and Jae were valiantly trying to hold the servitors back. Sir Lemming, having no one to order about, was contemplating the meaning of leadership in a universe where his subordinates have the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel.

“ENOUGH!” he roared. “Get your arse in here and do something heroic, or you’re walking home without a spacesuit!”

Craig, realizing his life expectancy was at risk, suddenly sprang into action. He moved 30 squares in one turn (normal movement being a mere 6 or 8), then charged another 6. He burst into the doorway, triumphant.

“TA-DA! I am here!” he declared.

“Great,” we said. “Now go in there and be heroic.”

“Oh. That was the heroic part,” Craig admitted. “I’m exhausted now. Nap time.”

After much gnashing of teeth (both ours and the servitors’), we managed to claw our way to victory. The next encounter, now that we understood how the psychic speakers worked, should have been easier.

Except instead of two speakers, there were four. Instead of carefully controlling the battlefield, Jae and Lemming were bounced around like dice in a Yahtzee cup by grenade blasts. Craig, sensing an opportunity for redemption, charged into the room to save the day, while Lanto sniped and Pascal and Sister Agenta fought back-to-back against the servitors.

Somehow, despite—or perhaps because of—our own incompetence, we pulled through. We neutralized the leader, took out the speakers, mopped up the rest, and did what we do best: looted everything that wasn’t nailed down.

The Moral of the Story

Check your inventory before we start the mission.

Or, failing that, maybe—just maybe—don’t reorganize your gear while we’re actively being murdered by warp-speakers and homicidal cyborgs. Just a thought.