Saturday, January 18, 2025

Traps, Cultists, and Questionable Choices: A Squad Story

 

Operation "The Emperor Protects, Mostly"

We rejoin our stalwart band of misfit mercenaries as they plod along the charred, demon-infested corridors of what might generously be called a "plan." Having survived two ambushes (largely thanks to Craig’s fondness for explosive solutions and Pascal’s fondness for running headlong into fire), we arrive at an intersection. Straight ahead lies a door, ominous and uninviting. To the right, a corridor leads to generators. Naturally, we sneak right—because the correct choice is always the one most littered with traps.

And oh, the traps! Disarming them one after another, Pascal mutters, "I think someone doesn’t want us here."

"You don’t say," Zaph replies dryly.

Once we’ve cleared the path, Pascal decides to violate the cardinal rule of adventuring—stick together—and pops open the door. Inside, cultists are dancing in a circle around a giant warp-thingy, surrounded by purple candles. What is it with cultists and their candle budgets?

Splitting the Party (Again)

We split up because, apparently, nobody remembers what happened last time we did that. Pascal, Lando, and Iria hold the door while Argenta, Reggie, Lemming Von Huffledink, and the Vegetable flank around the back. Argenta hides behind a conspicuously red barrel, leans out, and unloads a hail of bullets… directly into the barrel. It explodes spectacularly in her face.

"Right," she coughs, singed but alive. "Red equals bad. Got it."

Meanwhile, the Vegetable demonstrates the mechanics of cleaving by carving through two rebels like butter. Reggie, to everyone’s shock, actually lands a shot with his laser pistol, dispatching another rebel. We briefly debate testing Reggie for possession.

Back at the door, Pascal casually leans on his robotic arm, Lando snipes rebels with the casual confidence of someone who insists they were "definitely out of range," and Iria rubs her hands together like an over-caffeinated wizard, static sparks flying.




Enter the Big Bad

The cult leader stops chanting and advances with two blue demon bodyguards. "How bad can they be?" someone asks. Famous last words. They somersault toward Craig, who responds by cleaving them into next week. Myles, deeply impressed, orders him to repeat the move, and Craig complies, obliterating another demon.



Pascal, deciding the flames in the doorway are fake, runs through them and promptly sets himself on fire. Iria screams at the rebels to surrender, and one drops dead on the spot. "Note to self: buy earplugs if we ever find a shop," mutters Lando.

Chaos Unleashed

Once the cult leader is down, we examine his warp contraption. It’s covered in the same glass shards found near Theodora’s body. Argenta immediately accuses Theodora of heresy, leading to a heated argument with Iria, who defends her. Lemming, ever the diplomat, stands around awkwardly watching the drama unfold.

Downstairs, we stumble upon terrified hive workers. They beg for their lives, so naturally, we leave them and poke around elsewhere. Iria examines a cultist’s corpse, which transforms into a Herald of Tzeentch. Great. It mind-controls 15 workers and starts hopping around the room like a warp-infused Donkey Kong. After much screaming and shooting, we neutralize the threat—mostly. A few workers survive, though not our patience.

Rebel Redux

Back upstairs, Reggie finds a vox caster. Pascal launches into an unprompted lecture on the individuality of vox casters. "Every scratch, every antenna bend is unique!" he rants as we slowly back away from the deranged tech priest.

When we’re finally ready to move on, Reggie bolts ahead, climbs two ladders, and alerts a horde of rebels to our presence. Lemming mutters "traitor" under his breath as we climb after him. The rebels swarm Reggie and, predictably, kill him. Lemming, attempting stealth, points out nine rebels lurking in the shadows.

"We can take them by surprise if we…" he starts, but Craig interrupts by charging in. One rebel hoses Lemming down with a flamethrower, eliciting a shriek of "It burns, it burns!" in a disturbingly accurate Gollum impression.



Meanwhile, Iria electrifies three rebels, Craig cleaves another, and Argenta discovers the joys of suppressive fire. The sniper in the distance takes a shot, prompting Lando to grumble about "definitely being out of range."

Victory (Sort Of)

After much chaos, we defeat the rebels, loot their corpses, and hand Craig a grenade, despite better judgment. Lemming, still fuming over the lack of shops, blows up an anti-air battery with a melta charge for catharsis.

As we call it a night, someone mutters, "At least the Emperor protects… sometimes."

Post-Session Debrief

Our loot: minimal. Our sanity: questionable. Our teamwork: nonexistent. But hey, we survived another session. Craig still has his grenade, Pascal still has his rants, and Lemming still dreams of a world with shops.

Until next week, comrades, when we once again defy the odds—and each other—in the grimdark universe where the only certainty is that Craig will blow something up.




Wednesday, January 08, 2025

Lemming Von Huffledink and the Chaos Brigade

 

Lemming Von Huffledink and the Incidentally Heroic Chaos

The dim, grimdark expanse of space once again proved that bureaucracy is alive and thriving, even amidst the never-ending war. As the newly self-appointed Rogue Trader (because reading the instruction manual is for heretics), I, Myles Von Huffledink, decided that our crew needed adventure—or possibly therapy. With a confident finger jabbed at the nearest ominous symbol on the star chart, I declared, "What's this? Let's go there." The starship’s automated response was less inspiring: "Unidentified void ship. Intercept initiated."

Cue Dave's panicked shout: "Abort intercept! ABORT INTERCEPT!" while Craig's more practical approach was to scream, "Man the guns! Prepare to repel boarders!" And, like clockwork, I innocently replied, "It’s not my fault."

After narrowly avoiding a high-speed introduction to the afterlife, the crew gently suggested we tackle something less apocalyptic for our first mission. I found a planet with a starport. “Starport equals market equals shopping,” Craig announced gleefully.

“No shopping,” I countered.

“I quit,” Craig replied immediately.

To which I calmly responded, “Fine, number one on our to-do list: replace Craig.” Thankfully, our ship’s Master-at-Arms was efficient. “Release the prisoner,” he commanded, and moments later, a newer, marginally fresher Craig joined the crew—equally irritating but slightly less defiant.


The Shuttle That Couldn’t

Our descent to the starport was a study in how not to land a shuttle. Anti-air fire lit up the sky, and Craig was already halfway out of his seat when I yelled, “Deploy chaff! Launch flares! Get us on the ground!” By some miracle—or possibly a glitch in the targeting system—we survived, slamming down on Pad 3 like a sack of grox dung.

We were greeted by a squad of guardsmen who immediately questioned our presence. "Don’t you know who I am?" I bellowed, slipping into character as Lemming Von Huffledink, scion of an illustrious Rogue Trader lineage.

“Forgive me, my lord,” their sergeant grovelled. “We didn’t recognize you.”

The sergeant explained the local rebellion situation, and I reassured him with my finest false praise: "You’re doing a stellar job. I’ll sing your praises to the governor." Just as I finished my condescending pat on the metaphorical head, Zaph and his Psyker sidekick arrived with their usual impeccable timing.



Ambush 101: Laser Bolts and Demons

As we advanced across the starport, rebels emerged from behind shuttles, yelling "AMBUSH!" and showering us with laser fire. Craig took the opportunity to flank the enemy (read: disappear to the other side of the battlefield), while I heroically shot a guardsman in the back. “Why aren’t the rest of you doing anything?” I demanded as the remaining guardsmen edged toward the nearest exit.

Zaph sniped a rebel, the Psyker did some psychedelic light show, and Craig eventually reappeared just in time to help us mop up. Then, because the universe hates us, the Psyker accidentally tore a hole in reality, summoning a Chaos demon.

“WTF?!” we collectively exclaimed.

After a chaotic battle that involved fire, screaming, and Craig maybe saving the day (the warp corrupted the video evidence, so there’s no proof), we looted the bodies, questioned the sole surviving guardsman, and marched toward the city.


Enter the Tech-Priest

On the way, we encountered a lone Tech-Priest obliterating heretics with an exploding machine. Impressed by his practical application of firepower, we kicked out one of our gunners and invited him to join the crew.

“He has grenades,” Craig noted approvingly.

“Exactly why we should confiscate them immediately,” Dave countered.



Righteous Looting in the Emperor’s Name

Our first stop in the city involved a frenzied looting spree across rooftops and elevators. “It’s for the Emperor,” I assured the team as we stuffed our packs with gear of dubious legality.

Finally, we encountered rebels attempting to override defense turrets. They failed spectacularly, activating the turrets, which shredded them into confetti. The Tech-Priest took the opportunity to prove his worth by securing the turrets for us just as 15 more rebels arrived. It was a bloodbath. We applauded.


Stairway to Betrayal

The guardsman led us to the site of his patrol’s ambush. After his third round of evasive answers, I suggested shooting him. Democracy prevailed, and we spared him—right before rebels attacked us again. The guardsman, bless his incompetent soul, was promptly stabbed.

The battle ended with Craig, once again, being suspiciously helpful. “Could we have been wrong about Craig all these years?” I mused.

Dave, ever the grudge-holder, replied, “We will never forget the gold dragon. No amount of heroics will redeem you, Craig.”


The Verdict

In summary, we survived—barely. Craig is still Craig, the Tech-Priest has grenades (God help us), and I remain the only thing standing between this team and utter chaos. Just another night in the dim, dark future where there is only war… and the occasional loot-fueled shopping spree.