A Rogue-Trader chronicle by Lazarus, who is still scrubbing charred elf-bits off the hull
We spent ANZAC Friday knee-deep in pointy-eared misery, battling “elves” of the Dark Eldar persuasion—the kind that gift-wrap your spleen rather than toys. They specialise in three things: torture, pain, and villainous monologues long enough for intermission popcorn.
1 ⸺ Scan, Sail, Sucker-Punch
Following established laziness-as-procedure, we glided into a rumoured Xenos system, ran perfunctory augur sweeps, and pottered about like tourists until two Dark Eldar destroyers and a frigate decloaked right on top of us. Fortunately, we’d brought our own friendly frigate as a plus-one. The xenos ships flickered behind distortion fields—think Vegas magicians with worse dental care—so our gunnery crews needed an extra mug of recaff.
Dave-as-Pascal fiddled with his recalibrated plasma coil, Zaph plotted firing arcs, Craig repeatedly asked if ramming counted as “tactical finesse,” and I (Lazarus) channelled my best captain-voice. Distortion fields or not, the score ended “Us 1, Sneaky Space-Elves 0.” First blood, pass the loot.
2 ⸺ Planetfall & Gladiator Diplomacy
Touchdown revealed a butchered population and survivors herded into live-streamed gladiator arenas—think Reality TV by Clive Barker. The Dark Eldar hosts opened with a 700-word soliloquy on inevitable despair. That was long enough for me to whisper to the would-be gladiators, “Fight with us and you might live; fight for them and you’ll headline tonight’s barbecue.” They switched teams mid-speech.
We prevailed; the villains legged it; we stripped their fallen kin like bargain hunters at a Black-Friday sale. Zaph bagged a sniper-rifle upgrade, Pascal harvested suspicious tech-fetishes (“for research,” he claims), Craig pocketed anything not fusion-welded down.
3 ⸺ Home Improvement: Rogue-Trader Edition
Back aboard, we fenced the swag and played Ship-Sim Tycoon. A quick hop to our planetary holdings let us inspect the civic projects we’d commissioned (spaceport expansion, public-works statues of me, that sort of thing). Payouts collected, new contracts signed, and a Navy supply run netted us fresher weapons, engines, and force-fields. Pascal cooed over the power-draw readings like they were newborn servitors. Craig asked if we could attach cup-holders.
4 ⸺ Twelve Ships of Oh-No-Mas
Rescuing Yrliet’s remaining kin sounded simple: slip past a Dark Eldar patrol. Narrator voice: We did not slip past the patrol. Three distorted destroyers pounced. Mid-brawl, they squealed for backup. A second trio warped in. We were still stubbing out the last of those when another triad arrived.
“This sucks,” said Lazarus—verbatim—“I hope no more of these Xenos arrive before we finish charging the laser cannon.” Naturally, a final set of three pirates dropped in right on cue.
Good thing our upgraded force-fields soaked the opening volley, armour shrugged off the rest, and that brand-new warp-lighting array flash-fried any boarders. We finally nailed the combat sequence well enough to let Craig actually ram one pirate hull (“Achievement Unlocked: Aggressive Parking”). Torpedoes boomed, our escort frigate played decoy, and the final scoreboard read 12-0. Zaph logged the kill tally; Pascal logged the reactor temperature; Craig logged onto the shipwide vox to replay victory guitar riffs.
Post-clash bonuses: a cargo bay of Xenos scrap, crew XP in spades, a shiny “Crush Fleeing Ships” manoeuvre, and a repair protocol efficient enough that even Dave approved. We now fear absolutely nothing… provided it’s smaller than us and outgunned five-to-one.
5 ⸺ Spy-Vs-Elf on Gaston
Cue my spy network piping up: more Dark Eldar mischief on Gaston. Planetfall revealed their standard festivities—torture kiosks, disembowelment booths, and of course the inevitable stand-up monologue. Their leader offered the classic super-villain handshake: applause for tracking him down, verbal fencing, then a “settle it in the arena on Cormorant—our warp-soaked home world.”
Yrliet, being the voice of reason, politely declined on our behalf (translation: she threatened to shoot him in the kneecaps). He fled—again—leaving us knee-deep in hostile elves and eager civilians.
And that’s where we park the adventure: war-gear prepped, torpedoes loaded, Craig practising thunderhammer swings in the cargo bay, Pascal tweaking force-field harmonics, Zaph fine-tuning his scope, and yours truly drafting ominous motivational speeches. The Dark Eldar think they know pain; wait until they meet a Rogue Trader crew fuelled by caffeine, loot fever, and Craig’s questionable life choices.
Closing Vox-Cast
Next time on “Grimdark Shenanigans”: Will Dave’s plasma rifle explode again? Can Zaph maintain his sarcasm-to-headshot ratio? Will Craig read the instructions before initiating hand-to-hand with a spiky hover-bike? And will I ever finish a monologue before the enemy does? Stay tuned—same warp-time, same warp-channel.
Emperor willing, we’ll prevail. If not, remember us fondly… and salvage the torpedoes.
