Sir Vegetable and the Case of the Flaming Incompetence
Another week, another perfectly good Warhammer 40K session derailed by our collective inability to function as a coherent unit. This time, the highlight reel included Craig—henceforth known as "Sir Vegetable"—accidentally saving the day, Dave continuing his long-standing tradition of vanishing at key moments, Zaph prioritizing his imaginary pub crawl over our survival, and me, well... standing in fire. Again.
Act 1: The Pub, the Pyromaniac, and the Lost Nun
The mission was simple—get in, locate the high-value target, and not get horribly killed. This plan lasted approximately 37 seconds before Dave disappeared into the ether. One moment, our pious Sister of Battle was preaching about righteous fury, and the next, he was nowhere to be found. We considered the usual possibilities:
- He wandered off to collect lore.
- He got distracted by loot.
- He was, once again, trapped in a staircase.
- He simply ceased to exist.
Meanwhile, Zaph decided that stealth and strategy were overrated, electing instead to head straight for a bar, despite us reminding him that the "pub" was a smoldering ruin. His only response: "Yeah, but it’s still got chairs."
As for me, I spent a significant portion of the session pausing the game at critical junctures, mostly while standing in a jet of burning promethium. In my defense, I was "thinking." The problem is, my thought process did not extend to "moving out of the flames." A small oversight.
Act 2: Enter Sir Vegetable
With half our team either missing or mentally checked out, it fell to Craig to, somehow, be the functional one. This is normally a sentence that heralds disaster, but fate—or more likely, sheer accident—decided otherwise.
Craig, whose primary skill set usually involves charging into battle without reading mission objectives, found himself in possession of a control panel that could shut down the death-traps scattered around the area. He didn’t intend to interact with it, mind you. He was actually trying to loot a nearby corpse. But in the process, he pressed something important, and suddenly, the security turrets stopped vaporizing us.
"Uh. That was intentional," he said, nodding sagely, while the rest of us stared in disbelief.
Act 3: Dave Returns, Craig Ascends, Myles Burns
Dave eventually rematerialized, possibly from an alternate dimension, having accomplished something only he could explain.
"I found a scroll that details the ship’s entire history!" he declared, proud of his efforts.
"We were supposed to disable the bomb," I pointed out, still slightly on fire.
"Ah, but knowledge is power."
At that moment, Craig, still riding the high of his accidental competence, activated a final console that—surprise—completed the mission. Technically, he didn't know what he was doing, but that’s hardly relevant. The end result was victory, and Craig was hailed as the hero of the hour. Sir Vegetable, the savior of fools.
Final Thoughts
Was it pretty? No. Was it dignified? Absolutely not. But through a combination of blind luck, poor decision-making, and Craig’s unwavering commitment to unintended success, we managed to scrape through another session.
Next week, we’ll see if we can function like actual professionals. Spoiler: we can’t.
Another take on what really happened that night...
Flavius? I Hardly Knew Us: A Market, A Funeral, and A Fire Hazard
As is tradition, our session began not with heroics, but with a shopping spree. Unfortunately, our fine collection of intergalactic tat was not met with enthusiasm by the local vendors. Apparently, nobody was interested in purchasing a box labeled "Miscellaneous Crap & Assorted Nonsense." Outrageous. Fortunately, we had Dave to lead us to better financial decisions—by purchasing a collection of Xenos from a circus. Our prosperity factor promptly plummeted by one point.
"What?!" Myles protested. "I didn't even get to haggle!"
"You are a shit trader," we all declared in unison.
A Funeral for Some Guy (Possibly Flavius)
While looking for a merchant dumb enough to take our wares, we stumbled upon a funeral. The ceremony was waiting for someone named Flavius to arrive.
"I am Flavius," declared Myles.
"Yes, he is Flavius," we all immediately backed him up.
A round of suspicious glances from the mourners confirmed that we were, once again, off to a great start. The chaplain gave a eulogy about what a great fellow 'such and such' had been, and the ceremony ended on a resounding note of "meh."
"Who the f#@k is Flavius?" Myles finally asked.
"No idea," said Dave. "But they have food and drinks."
Pasqal wandered over, only to detect that all the drinks were poisoned. Instead, he found a conveniently labeled "Goods" box. Naturally, it exploded, nearly launching him into the abyss.
"What the hell?" he shouted. "It's like someone is trying to kill me!"
The Crematorium Caper: A Hot Situation
While trying to blend in, we met a very nervous clerk who revealed that he had been swapping out body implants for fake ones, storing the real ones in the crematorium for later retrieval. Unfortunately, "later" had arrived, and he needed a few chumps to retrieve the latest batch before the body went into the furnace.
"Chumps?" said Craig. "We’re in. For 50% and some documents proving Myles is Flavius."
So off we went to the crematorium, where Craig rushed ahead to open the loot box.
"Hey, it's empty!" he said, just as the crematorium doors slammed shut and the incinerator ignited.
"Oi!" Fake Flavius yelled. "We're in here! Let us out!"
"Oh, right," Pasqal muttered. "I might have forgotten to mention that someone is trying to kill us."
"YES!!!!" Myles screamed. "You TOTALLY forgot to mention that!"
Panic ensued. Myles repeatedly paused the game, demanding a plan. Dave repeatedly unpaused it, declaring, "Move out of the flames!" Pasqal finally took action, smashing the floor open, and we all tumbled into the sewer—still on fire.
Sewer Survival and Clerk Conspiracies
The local sewer-dwellers were kind enough to extinguish us with their soup (the less we dwell on that, the better). After some bribery, we got directions out: crawl through the sewer, pull the lever, climb the ladder.
Pasqal refused to crawl through filth, citing "circuit damage." Sister Argenta did it instead, because someone had to be competent.
In a warehouse above, we overheard two clerks arguing about their plan to cover up embezzlement. They noticed us.
"Do you know who Flavius is?" Myles asked.
"No, why? Did you overhear us?" one clerk demanded.
"Didn’t hear a thing," Myles said, adopting his best Fake Flavius voice.
"Oh good. Carry on, your lordship."
"Just kidding," the clerk added. "We have to kill you now. No hard feelings."
Battle Against Middle Management
The fight began. Pasqal got to the front, planning to axe the clerks in half. Instead, he got stun-grenaded and spent the first round as a very expensive statue. Craig took on two servitors, while Argenta and Hecata discovered that servitors are annoyingly durable.
Myles, in his new role as "Master Tactician," unstunned Pasqal just in time for him to get stunned again. "Oi! You stunned him just as he woke up!" Myles protested, slipping into full Monty Python mode.
Craig eventually cleaved two servitors, Argenta stabbed a clerk in the back, and Zaph (in absentia) sniped the other. Victory.
Promotions and a Sudden Change of Heart
We hit level 16 and picked our new archetypes:
- Pasqal: Grand Strategist, now capable of drawing lines on the battlefield and calling them "frontlines."
- Craig: Vanguard, now tankier but still allergic to reading instructions.
- Myles: Master Tactician, which mostly means pausing the game more.
- Argenta & Hecate: Arch Militants, which means "more shooting."
- Lanto: Unleveled, pending Zaph’s return.
We returned to the funeral, where everyone was surprised to see us alive. Naturally, they decided to try killing us again.
"Stop!" Myles shouted. "I’m not actually Flavius!"
"Of course you would say that," one of them replied. "Flavius is the heir. If he’s dead, we inherit."
"This will be easy," Myles scoffed. "They can't even count. There are thirteen of them."
"Actually, there are fourteen," someone corrected.
"Craig, cleave the one who can’t count!"
"Sure," Craig’s voice called—from somewhere far behind us.
Pasqal, now in full "Grand Strategist" mode, designated official battlefield positions.
"This is the front line," he announced, pointing to the open killing field.
"This is the back line," he continued, pointing to us.
"And this is the rear," he concluded, pointing to where Lanto was setting up a sniper nest.
"None shall pass!" he declared—while standing in the open like a buffoon.
Myles, ever the tactician, picked a corner and ordered us to hold the line.
And that’s where we left it: cornered, outnumbered, and pretending to be an heir to a fortune we absolutely did not inherit.
Next time: Will Fake Flavius survive his would-be murderers? Will Pasqal ever learn the benefits of cover? Will Craig be there before the fight ends? Tune in next session to find out.
