It began with Lazarus trying to impose some kind of logistical sanity. “It’s just a little camping trip,” he told Sister Argenta, confiscating an ammo case and chucking it aside like an overpacked tourist’s hair straightener. Argenta’s glare could have cut ceramite. Indira, meanwhile, was pleading to join the outing like a teenager begging to go to Coachella. “Please, please, please take me with you! I know my door is down there somewhere!” she cried, waving vaguely at the planet below like she was calling bingo numbers.
Lazarus, ever the paragon of command efficiency, folded like wet cardboard. “Fine – you’re on the shuttle. Argenta, go bake cookies or something.” Had her eyes had lascannons, he’d be a puddle on the floor.
Maze of Misfortune
The mission was simple: find the missing Winterscale. Thirty days out. Presumed dead. What could go wrong?
Well. For one, no one mentioned the planet was a labyrinth clearly designed by an Aeldari interior decorator with a flair for sadism. Following the sacred doctrine of “always go left,” we naturally bumbled into a sniper-heavy Aeldari party. Six Rangers. Two of ours. Zaph’s math-face turned pale.
Yriliet nobly fired first, injuring one. Cue guardians charging. Cue three Rangers entering Counter-Sniper mode and Yriliet getting removed from combat like a misbehaving file. Lanto was wounded. The snipers’ union had clearly voted for “No Mercy Mondays.”
Then Indira acted. Or… attempted to. Psychic lightning did strike three guardians. Unfortunately, it also summoned a blue horror. Right next to Lanto. Because obviously what this situation needed was a daemonic lawn gnome with murder in its eyes.
Sir Vegetable, not to be outdone by Ulfar’s historical murder sprees, thunder-hammered all three guardians. They politely declined to die.
Lanto ran for cover—straight into the horror, who promptly cut him down. It was now 4 vs 9. Things were going great, assuming your goal was to fail spectacularly.
Cue the Ulfar
Lazarus lobbed a grenade and vaporised three guardians menacing Veg. Then three Rangers returned fire, instantly downing Lazarus and Indira. 2 vs 6. Time for the Ulfar Show™.
Ulfar sprinted, kicked a Ranger to the ground, and shot another. Two Rangers fired back. One hit a guardian instead (friendly fire, classic elf mistake). Sir Veg was downed. One vs four.
Ulfar then casually:
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Shot the blue horror.
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Strangled a Ranger to death.
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Got shot again. Shouted, “Puny elf!”
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Sliced, kicked, and shot another Ranger.
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Found the final Ranger hiding behind a pillar.
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Lobbed a grenade to flush him out.
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Punched him mid-evade.
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Ripped his arm off and used it like a cricket bat.
The rest of us stirred groggily, badly wounded. Lanto had so many broken bits he was basically a maraca. We looted the corpses. Obviously.
Winterscale: The Shadiest Sidekick
Eventually, we found a village chief who offered soup and a side quest: find his sister the Shaman. Of course, she was with Winterscale, who’d been off playing Warhammer IRL. His party looked half-dead. Winterscale and his bestie were perfectly healthy. Suspicious? Obviously. Did we care? Less than you’d think.
We convinced them to return with us to the village. Lazarus, in his best Boy Scout voice, promised “just a short trip.” Three days of forest-maze meandering later, we arrived.
Shaman did her calming-forest-magic bit. Lazarus talked Winterscale into leaving most of his party behind to rest. We set off with just him and his #1 Fan to chase Aeldari.
Yriliet’s Family Reunion (with Flamethrowers)
Found an armoury. Lanto got a new gun. He drooled. Mostly because he could barely lift it. Then we met the Aeldari — Yriliet’s long-lost kin. Surprise! They’d been carpet-bombing the planet to flush out a hidden Humunculus. Also with them? Our Harlequin friend, who has the unsettling habit of popping up like Pennywise mid-monologue.
Turns out, the Aeldari had called another Craftworld to nuke the sector. Lazarus asked Yriliet for advice (a clear cry for help). She managed to talk her kin down and performed a solo psychic rite to negotiate with the Craftworld.
It worked. The Craftworld agreed to pick them up — and not start a galactic war. Ten points to Ravenclaw.
Burn Baby Burn
Back to the ship. Time for some good ol’ space admin. Projects completed. Trade contacts upgraded. Ship upgrades bought. Loot sorted. Excellent. Time to hunt the Humunculus.
We benched Lanto (too injured to hold a teacup), and brought Argenta instead. Lazarus only realised she’d brought a heavy flamer as the shuttle descended.
Sir Veg and Ulfar, naturally, were on point. Naturally, they triggered combat by existing. This time, however, we executed a Zen-like fallback to a choke point.
Lazarus, deadpan: “Argenta, set the world on fire.”
Argenta: “Burn baby burn!” She hosed the corridor. Nothing burned. Shrugged. Tossed a grenade. Corridor now on fire. Ulfar joined in with Melta-BBQ. Corridor: inferno. Lemmings (i.e., enemies): dead.
Then the Alpha Grotesque floated in like an Uber Eats delivery from Hell.
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Yriliet: chants, shoots, 280 damage. (New record.)
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Ulfar: melta, bolter, makes goo.
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Idira: something dramatic we forgot to write down.
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Yriliet again: before her turn starts — shoots, 252 damage. Alpha’s dead.
Beta Grotesque? Practically a mop-up job. Even Sir Veg landed a hit before Ulfar did his patented Slash-Slash-Shoot-Slash-Kick™ finisher.
Next Week:
Will we trap the Humunculus in its lair? Will Indira finally do something memorable? Will Craig accidentally become planetary governor again? Stay tuned.
Same warp-time. Same warp-channel.
