Absolutely nothing suspicious here. Just a humble recap of one of our most restrained sessions yet. Naturally, it began with us surrounded by Drukhari—because no plan is truly complete without an ambush by sadomasochistic space elves.
🚨 Tactical Brilliance and the Flamethrower Ballet
We opened with what some might call a strategy and others might call “everyone yelling until someone charges.” Lazarus (that’s me, the voice of reason and also the man with a monocle and death wish) ordered a surge rightward to deal with three enemies in tight formation, clearly hoping sheer kinetic enthusiasm would substitute for actual cover.
Vegetable charged the front like the wall of meat and justice he is. Pascal, in his usual techno-glory, lit up the battlefield with strategic overlays and righteous violence, knocking one foe prone. Argenta—bless Dave’s need to always overachieve—ignited the heretics with a flamer and then, upon request to “do something heroic,” performed a cartwheel and a pirouette. In power armour. While roasting enemies. Somewhere, the Emperor clapped politely.
I, meanwhile, ducked behind a pillar and asked the obvious: “Why is that one still breathing?” Pascal obliged by plasma-blasting the prone fool in the skull. No notes.
The Sylth slithered toward Vegetable like a rejected Mortal Kombat character, but Sir Veg met it with hammer and howling fury. They responded by ignoring him completely and firing poison at literally everyone else. Rude.
🐙 Tentacle Monsters and Flaming Fur
Enter the Khymerae—large, extra-planar puppy nightmares with tentacles. Naturally, they went straight for Argenta, egged on by the ever-encouraging beastmasters. Yrliet shot one, missed the other due to phasing out of reality (classic), and Argenta responded with another glorious immolation. Lanto and I joined in the suppressive fire, not out of sympathy, but because it was objectively cool.
Sir Vegetable executed a fleeing foe with all the subtlety of a freight train. Pascal, having tasted the power of leadership, barked for everyone to converge and squash the Sylth like a team of righteous garbage compactors. Miraculously, this actually worked.
With the battle won and the stench of sizzling Drukhari wafting in the air, Clementia burst in to report our army’s victory and the enemy’s retreat. How dare they flee before Vegetable could hit all of them.
👑 Victory, Debris, and Diplomacy
I emerged to a palace that could best be described as postmodern ruin chic. Blood-soaked carpets, shattered marble stairs, and just enough surviving civilians to cheer me back into another crisis.
Naturally, I declined the celebration with a heartfelt, “Frack, that’s for a joke.” Which in Rogue Traderese translates to: Fix the rugs and then maybe.
Next, I did what every noble lord does when his house is on fire: held a TED Talk about poor defensive architecture. Pascal, of course, suggested we commune with the machine spirit of our flagship. After chanting things that sounded suspiciously like dial-up modem noises, we met Nomos, the ship’s possibly-sentient AI. Not evil, just chatty. And best of all, it silenced Pascal. Praise be.
🌌 Warp Jumps and Wanton Violence
We jumped to an uncharted system—because clearly, peace was making everyone nervous. Awaiting us: five eldritch xenos frigates and a light raider. They immediately torpedoed our poor support frigate, which valiantly managed to blow up one of them before limping off like a wounded duck.
So we did the sensible thing and rammed the largest ship in existence. It worked. Our own ship got hammered, but we pivoted like a majestic space whale, redirected shields, and blew a second frigate to space dust. Our dorsal and forward batteries were less effective—thanks to holograms. (Zaph swore one of them flipped him off.)
Then Lazarus ordered a Warp Wave from the psykers, who promptly turned the enemy flagship into a spinning heap of shredded alloys. One shot. Demolished. We earned new toys: triple torpedoes, flamethrowing boarding parties, and an improved ram. Which we immediately ordered. Because what could possibly go wrong?
🎉 Party Time, Inquisition Style
Back to Dargonus for a recognition ceremony. I brought Pascal and Heinrick—because what’s a celebration without mutual suspicion?
I gave away free batteries (very on brand), drank wine, insulted nobility, tried to seduce a nobleman’s wife (mild success), and met Heinrich’s boss. So far, so very standard.
Then I went to bed and walked straight into an ambush from the Inquisition. Plot twist: Heinrich sent a report. A damning one. Featuring every questionable decision we’ve made stitched together like a heresy quilt. They sat me down for a little chat.
Luckily, Lazarus is as good at talking as he is bad at emotional regulation. I convinced them that my actions, while bizarre, were all part of a master plan. They agreed to “keep an eye on us.” Translation: Try that again and we’ll vaporise your face.
Still, gifts! A plasma-spitting ring for me, a sniper rifle for Yrliet, and a future court-martial for Heinrich. Win-win-win.
Thus ends Chapter 2.
Lessons learned:
-
Cartwheels are viable combat maneuvers.
-
The Sylth are rude.
-
Our ship might be haunted.
-
And Craig is surprisingly effective if you point him in the right direction and yell, “Hit that.”
See you next week. Bring snacks. And maybe a backup palace.
