The Chronicles of Tuco Part 3:

Tuco in the Land of the Dead

Have you ever seen the dead walk? Seen them come to life and stalk the earth looking for victims to drag back to Hell? No, neither has Tuco Ramírez and trust me my friends he has no intention of doing so anytime soon! However, on my last job I came as close as any man can do to such horrors and remain alive to tell the tale. ‘How did it all go down Tuco?’ I hear you ask. Well, let me tell you.

I was kicking my heels on Shard, overseeing the training of the newly formed Palace guard. We’d just liberated the Varrick system from the evil influence of the Whisperer and its tainted minions, so were rebuilding planetary defences. Tuco finds that those inevitable lulls between the intense excitement of a pitched battle can wear a man’s spirit down. Organising duty rosters, setting up drill schedules and developing training regimen can only keep you occupied for so long. Anyway, an old associate of mine, a tramp steamer captain known as the Warder, came to pay me a visit with a money making proposition that piqued my interest. Over a glass or two of the good stuff he told me that he’d been involved in what’s known as the ‘cold trade’ since I’d seen him last. What’s more, he was on the verge of uncovering a large cache of ancient artefacts that would bring a very pretty penny on the open market. All he needed was a little help from his old compañero Tuco to realise the potential profits. Easy work, rich pickings. Sound too good to be true? Surely, there’s no such thing as an easy buck? Tell it to Tuco my friends, tell it to Tuco!

The Warder had engaged the services of a spy, or a trusted advisor as he liked to called him. I’ve never been one for fancy language and half truths. A thief’s a thief, a whore’s a whore and a spy is certainly a spy. Simple, there’s no room for confusion. Still, the Warder’s paying the bills so I suppose he can call him what he wants. Anyways, this spy, Paldron’s his name, gets himself taken by a group of slavers working out of Footfall and not just any old slavers mind you, but the dreaded Tutors. They do things to men Tuco can’t even pronounce! Well, a man gets himself taken by that bunch of space scum, he ain’t got no one to blame but his self. It’s has own damn fault and he should learn to live with the consequences. The Warder says though that he knows where this stash is buried and if we want to see a red cent of it, we better spring him double quick time as those Tutors have a habit of mind wiping new stock they are going to pass on for sale.

Well, it’s a tough gig and no mistake! Turns out they’ve got him holed up in their fortress on Footfall, a place called the Red Schola. No one that’s ever gone in there uninvited has managed to get back out alive. Seems, in addition to the regular guns, guards and gates, they’ve got some kind of fancy mind traps that’ll paralyse any poor fool unlucky enough to clap eyes on them. Ha! As you know Tuco’s never been much of the cerebral type, so he reckons that gives him a real edge over these slick bastards! OK, so I takes the job on. Now, we know we can’t just go in there blasting, the place is too big and there’s just too many of em. We’ve got to use some smarts on this one, but not enough smarts to get us trapped! We heard tell that some of the Tutors took time out from selling slaves to spin the wheels at a couple of gambling dens on the station. We also heard that the brother of some guy crazy enough to try and rob the Schola might be able to give us some inside skinny. He’d played the lookout while his brother tried to turn the place over. No one had ever seen the brother again but this kid had been taken by the Tutors and was regularly paraded around town on a leash to put the frighteners on anyone else who might come up with a bright idea. It was a starting point.

Old Tuco’s not one for overly fancy plans, so when he finally came across one of the Tutors carousing in a gambling den, well, he thought it was time to teach that man a lesson so to speak. Of course he was travelling with a minder but there’s no minder ever been hired that can put the brakes on Tuco when he’s got a head of steam built up. Needless to say, one grisly set of shootings and severe beatings later, the survivors were willing to tell us what we needed to know. Now my friends, this is where it gets a bit sneaky. This is where old Tuco employs a little of the aforementioned smarts. Why not sneak into the place pretending to be the Tutor and his minder? Of course it was a bit more complicated than that, however, with the aid of a bit of visual trickery and without giving too many trade secrets away, we actually made a decent fist of it. Never underestimate the power of greed my friends. The lure of a decent haul will always make the impossible seem a great deal more possible when push comes to shove. My only nagging doubt is that we busted back out of the place without introducing the leader of their gang to a hail of High explosive bolt shells. Never leave an enemy behind to regroup and take revenge. Still if this ‘Master’ knows what’s best for him, he’ll keep a good distance between himself and Tuco Ramirez!

Having sprung Paldron, we found that he’d been so badly tortured that he couldn’t even try to say his own name without breaking into hysterical fits of screaming. As much as I’m a compassionate and caring man, we needed to know where all that loot was before those slaver bastards made a try for it. After all, Paldron could have talked. The Warder said he was too much of a professional for that but who knows how far a man’s professional standards might slip when he’s having his mind fried on a red hot skillet! Anyways, I suggested we bring in a Psyker to burrow out what we needed before whatever he had was worthless to us. Sure enough we got the right intel. The crafty bastard had had the coordinates to the star system we wanted grafted into a sub dermal tattoo on the top of his head. Of course, we had to scalp him to get to the map but the Doc said it was very unlikely that the tutors had already discovered it given his level of hair growth. A real lion’s main thank the Emperor! Who’d be a spy eh!? Still, he’ll get his share like the rest of us. You sign up for a job, you make damn sure you finish it. Whatever it takes, that’s Tuco’s motto!

The map led us to Capula, a desert planet in the Egarian Dominion. They’ve not come across my radar before but the Warder told me that the Egarians were a long dead species. They’d left vast structures on a score of worlds but nothing of any value in a single one of them! Not a promising start I must admit. I was beginning to think we’d expended a lot of damn effort for no return when the ship’s augury detected a crashed shuttle on the surface. Perhaps a treasure ship? Perhaps the Tutors had got here before us but screwed the job up and left us a clear run? Hope springs eternal when there’s a haul involved. We went in to take a peek and old Tuco got the surprise of his life! No money to be found but an old comrade in arms from my days on Luther Mcintyre. I remember young Lukas when he was knee high to a sand spider, caught out in the open when the White Scar Marines came hunting for young recruits. Well, stone me if he isn’t eight feet tall now, pumped so full of chems and implants you’d hardly recognise him! His parents would’ve been so proud if they hadn’t been cut down with bolter fire when they tried to stop them taking him. I’ll tell you something though, he can’t half catch you unawares for a man of that size! No wonder those White Scars have a reputation for silent incursions!

Once we’d recognised each other and exchanged pleasantries, we all sat down around a camp fire, cracked open a flask and he brought us up to speed with the latest developments. Turns out he’d parted company with the Chapter a while back and started working on and off with a Throne Agent called Gorian Debarii. More off than on at that point, as the bastard had double crossed him and left him for dead here while he caught a ride to the next location on this treasure hunt. Little did Debarii know though that Lukas had some information that he wasn’t party to and he’d have a real tough time breaking into the vaults where the artefacts were without it. So, I offered him a decent share if he threw his lot in with us. After all, we death worlders should stick together shouldn’t we? If we don’t look after each other who will? He agreed and we returned to the Warder’s ship in the hope of catching up with Debarii before he struck the mother lode. Hell, that’s when things really started hotting up!

I know these Throne Agents have some juice but we soon found out that the ride he’d hitched was on a full blown cruiser. The Warder’s ship is little more than a rusty old tramp steamer, so that made a stand up fight out of the question. Time for more smarts. Tuco’s never been a great thinker but when there’s gold on the line he’s got animal cunning! We deliberately dropped out of warp outside of their sensor range to assess the situation as best we could from a healthy distance. We found out that the cruiser had already jumped again leaving a task force working at a dig site on the planet. As we snuck in closer, we were able to intercept their comms transmissions, so we knew they thought they were on to something. I tell you Tuco Ramirez can smell loot through the cold void of space my friends and I knew the moment of truth was at hand! We came in by shuttle on the dark side of the planet to avoid detection. As we approached the dig site overland we became aware of a massed flock of flying terrors many thousands strong… migrating to who knows where? Thank the Emperor they didn’t catch sight of us, as we were lightly armed and few in number. When we got to within striking distance of the excavation site we knew that a frontal assault wouldn’t be possible. The terrain was in their favour and they had strength of numbers. Stealth was the name of the game here. I don’t mind crawling through the dirt as long as I come up smelling of roses and nothing smells quite as sweet as a saddle bag full of money.

Lukas and I made the final trek to the dig site, well camouflaged and ever so silent. We had a slight scare with a tarantula gun pod but nothing a seasoned old hack like me can’t handle. We sneaked past the defenders to get into the complex that the excavation team had been working on. As Lukas had predicted, Debarii had jumped the gun ditching his partner too early, so he hadn’t been able to figure out how to open the complex’s vault doors and was having to cut his way in. They say patience is a virtue but not when you have a key and an alternative entrance, so we took the back door in leaving Debarii on the surface twiddling his thumbs. What a site when we got down there! I’ve heard of the Necrons from mercs that managed to get off Damnos before they took it. Never seen them up close until now though. Legions upon legions of them frozen in time, weapons still clutched to their chests! It was a tomb robber’s paradise my friends, but we knew that we had precious little time before our Throne Agent friend and his storm troopers joined us. Worse still, we both had a really bad feeling that our undead companions in those cavernous tombs weren’t going to remain dead for very much longer! We were careful not to stir them too quickly but we managed to get a nice cache of choice items before making a diplomatic exit. I’m afraid the last thing I heard was a cacophony of bolter and las fire, so I’m very much afraid that our poor friend Debarii has woken up a city full of sleeping, extremely grumpy Necrons, all armed to the teeth with xenostech weaponry. I do hope he made it out of there safely!

As for Tuco? Well, he’s back on Shard with a glass of whisky in his hand, some pesos in his pocket and a story to tell next time he’s in the cantina. And what about the land of the dead I hear you say? Well, I certainly wouldn’t recommend it as a holiday destination any time soon!

Pandemonium-9

Press Release on the Pandemonium-9 from the houses of Orthlack:

“Give ‘em the whole clip with the Pandemonium-9 light assault pistol, from House Orthlack!

The Pandemonium-9 is a revolution in small arms technology. Light enough to carry comfortably in civilian garb, the Pandemonium is perfect for bodyguard assignments or when you need a backup weapon with a little extra kick at no extra cost.

The streamlined design makes it a dream to use and the ammunition has been specially selected to reduce recoil, weight and muzzle flare for efficient operations – so you needn’t brace yourself before popping a heretic or gunning down recidivist scum.

Plus, fully-automatic fire options make it a great choice for sticky situations when one bullet just isn’t enough. The quality of this weapon will blow you – and your enemies – away!”

Footnote from Van der Teirzalt’s Arms and Armour of the Expanse, 3^rd Edition:

“... The Pandemonium-9 is a particularly old-fashioned model, out of production for centuries that has recently seen a resurgence in popularity in no small part due to the marketing efforts of its manufacturers, House Orthlack. Originally known as the “Jump-Pattern Secondary Soft Target Interdiction Device,” the noble manufacturers decided that snappier renaming was in order to boost sales.

And boost sales it did – endlessly popular amongst young gangers and terrified civilians alive, the Pandemonium-9 (often referred to in street parlance as a “Pan” or “Pannine”) offered a cheap means of acquiring a fully-automatic weapon to all but the most destitute. A handful of variations were made, including a “professional” model with higher-calibre ammunition and recoil bracers (the “Pandemonium-9 Hellfire”) and a semi-automatic version for sale on planets with stricter civilian weapons laws (the “Pandemonium-9 Sureshot”).

Regardless of its popularity, the Pandemonium-9 has not seen widespread military application due to the small clip capacity, short range, and (some would argue) overly lightweight design.”

Overheard in a Colossus gunshop:

“Man, you get those away from me. You come round here trying to flog Pans, for Throne’s sake?

Course you didn’t know they’re useless. No-one uses ‘em anymore, so I guess some fresh meat like yourself hasn’t heard of ‘em yet. What, you’ve got a press release? Oh-ho! Must be an antique. Give it here. Let me put my glasses on.

Hah! Streamlined design, yeah, that’s one way of putting it. Orthlack skipped on parts, see, jammed cheap autofire mechanisms into frames too small to take them. Didn’t bother weighing ‘em down, so they spray everywhere – and when they say “specially selected ammunition” they mean “specially selected any nine bullets we could fit in it.” Nine bullets! You tell me how long that’s going to last on full auto, especially when you can’t hit anyone with ‘em. Not very long, let me tell you.

Nah, I’m not interested, sorry pal. Only an idiot would buy a Pan these days.”

Rook, Missionary, in a gunshop just down the road a week later:

“Pandemonium-9, eh? What a great name. I’ll take it.”

The Chronicles of Tuco Part 2

Well my friends, where has old Tuco been since last we met? Heh heh, into the gates of Hell and back, that’s where! And at last with a pretty penny to show for it! The crew of the Vengance have been up to their midriffs wading through the blood of our enemies. Those that were corrupted by the Whisperer have paid dearly for their betrayal. We began with the liberation of Silence, a moon inhabited by artists employed by old man Varrick to proclaim the glory of the House. If there’s one group of people that Tuco doesn’t trust it’s artists. Well, artists and priests, they’re pretty much one and the same. Too lazy to work, too frightened to steal. If a man can’t earn a living through making something useful like a weapon of war, or through honest thievery, then he’s not of much use to his comrades is he? Paintings? Statues? Ha! Well, we soon showed them our appreciation of their art. They animated the statues they’d made to rise up and kill us. Clearly no stomach for a fight themselves. We left only rubble.

Once we’d returned Silence to a state worthy of its name we left for Cog, the system’s forge world with its colossal moving city. As readers of these chronicles well know, being men of peace we tried reasoning with the rebels first. As Tuco always says, be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. But sadly this was to no avail. They met our generous offer of unconditional surrender, fair trials and quick executions with vicious anti aircraft fire. Taking the ships in at this stage would have proved unwise, so we assaulted the city with drop pods. Not my favourite way to travel, that express elevator to Hell feeling that you get on the way in always disagrees with my delicate digestive processes (coping with a belly full of rot gut whisky, a couple of raw eggs and a dash of Tabasco), so old Tuco didn’t arrive in the best of moods. We brought a multi-melta along for the ride though, which went a long way to reviving my sagging spirits. I learned to use one of those fire breathing dragons fighting Orks in the Black Reach campaign. Of course, the marines took all the credit for that ‘glorious victory’, they always do. They couldn’t have pulled it off without walking over the corpses of lot of mercenaries when they first made planet fall though, let me tell you. We held the Ghospora Hives against Zanzag’s hordes for more than two months before those brave Boys in Blue arrived. No terminator armour or dreadnoughts to keep us out of harm’s way, just raw guts and the promise of a pay cheque if we made it through.

Anyway, I digress, where was I? Oh yes, multi-meltas. I tell you my friends, there’s nothing like the smell of burning rebels in the morning to warm the cockles of your heart. It smells like victory. We soon silenced the anti aircraft batteries, were able to bring in more reinforcements via shuttle craft and cleared a path to the city’s central control room. We found that the chief engineer had avoided the taint of corruption and was able to help us secure the rest of the complex. When I suggested shooting him in the back of the head, just to be on the safe side mind, young Darius gave me a stern warning. I tell you that boy is too trusting. One of these days his sense of ethics and fair play is going to get us into real trouble.

With Cog pacified we decided to retake the refining station orbiting the system’s gas giant, Installation 23. On the way there we got into a scrape with a group of angry void wasps. To be honest, I’ve never really thought of the Vengeance as anything other than a tramp steamer, like a hundred others I’ve bunked on. Let me tell you though my friends, this old bitch has teeth! Heh, heh, those void wasps were swotted double quick time! The tainted ones had moved the station to a new orbit but that didn’t stop us finding her soon enough. We had trouble boarding her and the Vengeance took a beating bringing us in but she’s got a thick hide as well as a mean attitude. Once on the station we made short work of isolating the majority of the crew in their habitation quarters. Thank the Emperor! There were a hundred thousand or more of the bastards and bolt pistol ammo doesn’t come cheap in these difficult times!

We encountered some serious resistance on the way to the central control room in the form of rebels with a heavy stubbers, assault rifles and shotguns. I did a job a while back for an old acquaintance and picked up a decent las pistol for my troubles. Well, Tuco’s quick draw of choice has always been a bolt pistol in the past (hard to those beat high explosive, armour piercing rounds) but I can certainly see the attraction of speed and accuracy when someone is sat behind an armoured shield blasting away at you with a heavy stubber. I burned that man’s eyes clean out of his head with my first shot. Say hello to my little friend! Mind you young Darius has a plasma pistol and those things certainly aren’t to be argued with.

We finally made it to the central control room to find some freakish mutation posing as old man Varrick. I thought the boy might lose his nerve under the strain of it but no, he cut that filthy creature down where it stood. That set the cat among the pigeons, let Tuco tell you! The loss of Installation 23 finally drew the beast from its pit to confront us. And what a beast! The monster was the size of a starship! A huge, writhing mass of tentacles and hatred bent on the subjugation and destruction of mankind. It came screaming out of the center of that gas giant with the intent of killing us all. However, it found Tuco waiting in command of a half dozen macro batteries. Its corpse is spread through half the system. Thank the Emperor; we’ve finally made some money off of this job! The death of the creature has allowed us to fully retake the system and begin to get the factories, refineries and dockyards running again. Money, money money! In the wake of the battle Darius also made me Chief Bosun on the Vengeance. I’ve never had it so good! Old Tuco might not die a penniless peon after all!

The Journal of Nathanius Scaurus, first entry

The dreams are back.

I realize that there are members of the Ecclesiarchy that would do all sorts of unscrupulous things for "evidence" such as this, however I feel that refraining from discussing this somewhere would be more dangerous for my stability.

It seems that every few weeks now, I'm having visions - or is it memories? - coming to me in my sleep. The things I see… If I had eyes, I might have clawed them out long ago. The subject of these dreams is never the same, sometimes it may be a crew member, an old memory of a previous mission, or some such triviality. My memories play out as I remember. Until they change.

This evening for example.  I was reflecting on a recent mission to reclaim one of the moons in our Lord Captain's system.  A factory of some sort used to operate on it before production ceased and the "Whisperers" began to infiltrate.

On our first attempt to land, the crew of the gun cutter consisted of me, the Lord Captain, and the Arch Militant (Note - I must discuss with the Captain the wisdom of having an intellectually and emotionally crippled bandit as the combat specialist) along with some minor ranking crew members.  Soon after entering the atmosphere (if you can call that corrosive murk atmosphere), we were reminded that we were not welcome by a battery of AA fire, which nearly took us to pieces. Luckily thanks to some clever piloting, we made it back to the ship in one piece, and Tuco and Lord Darius decided on a much more…..definitive approach.

Once the smoke had cleared and the crew had the factory mostly under control, it was my turn to find out why these Whisperers had been so adverse to our presence. 

We took a prisoner - Phlyzik I think it was - for me to interrogate.  Thankfully Lord Darius was there to keep Tuco on his leash, and allowed me time alone. 

For the most part, the interview went uneventfully.  Phlyzik wasn't being very forthcoming and was (rightly) scared witless.  It didn't take long before I had the chance to probe his mind for all its secrets.  

It is this that worries me of late. What was in the past, a useful tool, and one that I enjoyed honing, has more recently become something to look forward to.  When I peel back the layers in his mind and feel him silently scream, it triggers something, a memory of the Warp… 

This needs further research, but my theory is that the raw terror and hate that subjects project during the process in some way harmonizes (For lack of a better word) with the Warp. This would not be an issue, however due to my…experience… I find myself eagerly awaiting the next foray into someone's mind. 

It is here that my memories change. Instead of peeling Phlyzik's mind away to show me his innermost thoughts and fears, I actually push. From there, this…drone's mind shatters completely and he offers to do my bidding. It's so simple. I could do this almost without trying. I could have an army of Phlyziks, empty husks with which I could complete any end. My research, it could be taken to new heights, using never before attempted trials on puppets. I could overrun the Vengence, take it deep into the Warp, and stay there, in the torment and the ecstasy until I see fit to return. And more…

This all runs through my mind in mere seconds, before I wake with a start. But what I find most alarming about these visions, is my reaction to the realization that they are just dreams.

I am disappointed.

The Chronicles of Tuco Part 1

Some say I’m a violent man, a very violent man. I disagree. However, there are two kinds of people in this Galaxy my friends, those with a loaded pistol and those who better do what they’re damn well told! Well now, you can bet your last dollar that Tuco is a man that always carries a loaded pistol! I’ve spent many years eking out a living across the Koronus Expanse and you can trust your old friend Tuco, he’s had to learn a few hard lessons. I certainly know that a kind word and a gun will get you a lot further than just a kind word. Bank robber, pirate, gun runner, prize fighter, mercenary, bounty killer and body guard, I’ve been them all in my time. I’ve never killed a man unless I’ve had to but death is my business and I have to admit that business has been brisk. A man with talents like mine can always pay for a meal, a drink, a bed and a woman to warm it for me.       

I was born on Luther Mcintyre, a world so deadly that even the gods of chaos would want to travel in pairs when paying a visit. There were only two ways to get off that hell hole, either to become a bandit or a priest. My brother Pablo, he went in to the Adeptus Ministorum. He was always the studious one, the big reader. Where’s he now? Hell, I don’t know I haven’t seen him for twenty years. I bet he’s in line to be the next the Ecclesiarch or something. Just imagine that, Tuco Ramirez’s brother the Ecclesiarch! Heh heh, He always was a big reader. I bet he wouldn’t give an audience to Tuco though. No, too embarrassed to see his own brother now he’s got his new, fancy friends. Dirty Tuco with his guns and his scars and his outstanding arrest warrants. He became a priest because he was too much of a coward to do what I do! Tuco read books and pray to the Emperor for salvation? No way my friends! Books are for fools! When did a book ever save a man from a hail of bolt shells, or the embrace of a Tyranid? You want to survive? Want to make some money? Pick up a gun or a knife and carve out a future for yourself. The Emperor helps those that help themselves!

So where did old Tuco end up after a lifetime of killing and robbing and stealing? Serving aboard ‘The Vengeance’ a House Varrick ship as chief strong arm to young Darius Varrick, heir to what remains of that once proud dynasty. He’s impetuous and stubborn but he’s got guts and the Emperor knows, you need plenty of those in times like these. His father pulled my fat out of the fire on more occasions than I care to remember. Daddius Varrick, now there was a man!!! He played a mean hand at poker, drank enough whisky to knock out a mule and could still out fight any man I’ve ever met. Bar room brawls just aren’t the same without him around anymore. Tuco never forgets a debt so I look after his boy.  He’s not an easy one to keep out of trouble though.

Young Varrick is trying to revive his family’s fortune. At present we are liberating one of the systems lost to his house from the clutches of chaos worshippers. Let me tell you my friends Tuco’s done a lot of very bad things in his time and seen plenty more, so he’s not one to shy away from blood and gore. But if there’s one thing that turns his stomach it’s the work of chaos worshippers. Those madmen commit crimes so terrible even he feels sick when he sees their victims. A good, honest crook you can bargain with. A good, honest crook only kills people if they are preventing him from pulling off a job. Those freaks torture and kill for no good reason at all. You can’t negotiate a deal with them, or pay them off. You can’t reason with them. You just have to kill those crazy bastards before they kill you. It’s that simple. Tuco didn’t learn that from a book. He learnt that from a week spent aboard a Saynay slaughterhouse ship. I managed to make it out alive but the rest of my crewmates didn’t. I made those Saynay bastards pay for every man they took though. Those sick pigs will remember the name of Tuco Ramirez for a very long time to come. That he can promise you!

Anyways, as I was saying, we’re currently taking Varrick’s planets back, one nest of chaos worshipping scum at a time. I’ve told Darius we shouldn’t take any prisoners but He balks at the idea of killing everyone we find. I don’t. I suppose he stills feels a sense of responsibility to what were, after all, his father’s men. Hopefully, he won’t come to regret that decision. These ‘Whisperers’ as we now call them have been corrupted by the taint of the warp and are being driven by some greater, darker power. So far, it chooses to remain hidden from us. As we continue to interfere with its plans though, I know that this won’t remain the case for very much longer. Tuco fears no man, Ork or Eldar living, but demons from the warp? That’s a different matter! I‘ve seen their handiwork and have no intention of becoming another one of their countless victims. Old Tuco has a saying, ‘Courage, above all things, is the first quality of a warrior’. The second is a loaded bolt pistol...

++ ROGUE TRADER LOG: 000001 ++

++ ROGUE TRADER LOG: 000001 ++
++ MESSAGE BEGINS ++

I admit it; I’ve never understood the need for these wretched logs until now. An exercise in vanity is all I thought they were and it’s all my father thought they were too… but I’m a big enough man to admit I was wrong and by the Emperor’s teeth I wish I wasn’t.

You see, I find myself compelled now to write these logs in light of the fact that my father refused to do so. It’s because of his disdain for these periods of captured thought, these “exercises in vanity and self adulation” I’m left sleepless at night, endlessly searching my memories for clues to his past that might aid our voyage and save us wandering perilously from system to system hoping to make sense of the madness left in the wake of his passing. There may be no apparent heir to the Varrick dynasty as yet but I’ll be damned if I’m going to inflict this same fate upon whoever follows me into this seat of power so knuckle down and prepare to read… I’ll be damned if I’m writing this for myself.

I’ve a lot to recap so I’ll try to be brief in what follows, you can consult the ships archives ++REFERENCE FILE NOT FOUND++ for technical specifics relating to our voyage since we left the core systems several months ago. Emperor help you if they’ve not survived this long.

It was something of a relief to finally leave my widowed mother and all the bureaucratic fallout from my father’s disappearance behind us as I took what was left of our wealth and headed back out to find my father’s body and reclaim what was rightfully ours. Once our friends in the administorum had ensured the safety of our dynasty and secured my mother’s position there was nothing more I could do anyway. Leaving was the only real option before me and as it turns out, the one that would prove to be the most worthy.

Once back out on the rim I met with one of my father’s old “friend”, Hiram Salt. Let me say now that I know Hiram well enough to say, that nobody will ever know him well enough to say much at all one way or the other. So when I tell you that he informed me the Varrick system had recently re-emerged from the warp - I was less than confident he was telling me out of any old remaining loyalties to my father. Regardless, at the time it was only a rumour and we spoke no more about it.

What was not a rumour was the location of a supposedly derelict hulk – ripe for salvage. My contact in the planetary guard ++CONSULT REFERENCE FILE SIGMAR341F ++ essentially set us up with a significant gain in both profit and crew for very little reward. If you’re reading this and have the chance, remember his actions and reward their family duly.

Taking the hulk was no cake walk however as time in the warp had left it tainted. Despite precautionary measures the taint affected our ship and on the return journey forced us towards a crystalline Xeno planet the likes of which has never been recorded by imperial forces, at least to my knowledge. Sensor readings and crew logs of the encounter have been stored in the family archives but not handed over to the xenophobic and somewhat fanatical central command.
The crew affected an escape from the planet and destroyed (we think) the chaos entity’s link to this plane while at the same time rescuing the crew of several stranded vessels and one freight ship – now in service to the dynasty. This was a good day.

We then headed to a supposed “Death world”, deposited our rescued shipmates and blasted our way through dense jungle until we found what we were after – the downed wreckage of a centuries old hunting ship my father once piloted. A ship that would eventually lead us to the Varrick system. Note: Hiram Salt’s pipe was found still warm on board the vessel before we vaporised it from orbit. I’m hoping we caught the man in the blast but news wires have been silent so I suspect not. Regardless, his involvement is worrisome.

The series of events that followed next were unnerving but I suspect all too common and only to be expected from now on; I think the crew and I will just have to get used to it.
Firstly we were attacked in the warp by impostors from another reality ++REFERENCE FILE KAPPA9J++
Then we encountered some Space marines ++REFERENCE FILE KAPPA9K++
Assisted them in battle with some impressive macrobattery blasts and a devastating boarding action ++REFERENCE FILE KAPPA9L++
And were rewarded with an incredible and sacred chapter relic ++REFERENCE FILE KAPPA9M++

All this has been documented elsewhere – meticulous records are being kept, I assure you.

Which all means I’ve ended up where we are today… the Varrick system, not currently as incredible as my father made it out to be seeing as it’s a place likely to be in or under the thrall of chaos. I believe however that it is going to play a key role in the success of our dynasty; to get this system up and running again, to purge it of the cultists laying it to siege and to once more make it a shining light of humanity in the dark cold recess of space must be our first priority… bold words indeed. I only hope that my crew and I are up to the task.

All of which brings you up to date dear reader. You find me about to head off to a state banquet in honour of our return home and despite the pomp and worthiness of it I can’t take my mind of the worries that seem to haunt my every waking hour - and it’s something I didn’t think I’d end up mentioning when I started this entry. It’s that I’m beginning to grow tired, incredibly tired; and much faster than I thought I would. I find myself issuing so many orders to so many people. I’m micro managing the whole affair and I’m afraid of what that could mean. That not only is it a symptom of me not wanting to endanger the ship – of losing the last jewel in the crown of my father’s legacy, but also…. I’m still deeply shaken by the battle in which I lost my father.
Everything that’s happened since that first encounter with the Eldar farseer... the burden that’s been placed on me. This destiny… this supposed purpose seems too important for me to entrust even a part of it on anyone else. But the truth is I am beginning to realise; if I don’t share the path with others the pressing weight of the task will surely damn us all before too long.

I must learn to let go. I have an excellent crew; all trusted and tested men who have sworn their allegiance to the house I lead. They are the best of the best and despite showing it every day and although I’m never short for examples of how true it is I find it hard to let go – to trust my … nay our fate in anyone else’s hands


++MESSAGE ENDS+++

PHILEUS DASTHON JOURNAL 04-05-10

PHILEUS  DASTHON  JOURNAL
00:01:01
Today  I  have  yet  again  side  stepped  fate  from  a  life  on  a  miserable  transport  that
can  go  about  as  fast  as  the  emporer  at  a  sprint,  onto  a  new  and  fancy  ship  with
guns  all  over  it!  Should  make  the  whole  surviving  thing  a  touch  easier  in  the  long
run  I  forsee.  Not  only  have  I  been  traded  up  onto  this  hoofing  gun  rack  on
rockets,  I  get  to  bomb  about  on  their  gun  cutter,  which  I’m  glad  to  say  stays  in
theme  with  its  mother  ship,  and  appears  to  have  limitless  ammo  and  guns,
strapped  to  more  rockets  to  make  it  move,  with  me  strapped  in  the  middle
making  the  whole  behemoth  go!  It  means  I’ll  have  to  get  used  to  not  pushing  that
button  on  the  top  of  the  control  column  for  the  intercom  at  the  risk  of  releasing  a
healthy  whack  of  its  arsenal  down  the  range,  but  the  controls  seem  basic  enough.
Anything  seems  simple  compared  to  the  ‘touch  screen’  disaster  that  was  the
Elyptic  Sonic-­‐Returnomator  I  had  to  test  ages  ago.
00:01:02
Not  so  hot  though  was  selling  a  whole  bunch  of  our  mutie  crew  to  slavers.  Most
unhappy  about  this  and  I  shall  be  having  words  with  our  captain  at  a  later  date
about  it  I’m  sure.  His  slightly  hypocritical  manner  unnerves  me,  but  so  long  as  he
makes  sure  I  have  a  gun  cutter  strapped  to  me  a  most  times,  I  can’t  see  myself
not  being  fond  of  him.  The  rest  of  the  crew  seem  likable  enough;  there  are  no
church  wackos,  the  mech-­‐head  is  quiet  and  so  long  as  he  doesn’t  get  me  to  ‘test’
things  I  can  se  us  getting  along,  and  shooting  and  blowing  things  up  seem  to  be
the  method  of  choice  here,  so  I  should  be  right  at  home.
00:01:03
Visited  a  death  world,  t’was  nice,  must  summer  again  here  some  time.
Apparently  the  local  fauna    are  big  and  hostile,  but  I  never  saw  any,  so  I’ll  have  to
pencil  in  a  safari  next  time  I’m  on  a  break.  Must  remember  my  umbrella.

Journal of Malachai Orden 19-05-10

+++The journal of Malachai Orden.+++ FILE RECOVERED+++
Another few chronosegments spent chasing the commander’s past. I had privately wished that he would leave me uninvolved – I have little regard for my own family ties, but I owe Darrius my loyalty and have pledged to follow that man into the Eye of Terror itself. Not that our current trajectory puts us in that direction, but then he is a man ruled by impulse and prone to make a decision with little regard to the safety of the ship.

We travelled to some backwater death world after an obscure hint about some relic or other belonging to his father. Now there was a man to respect! The very name of Daddius Varick conjures such images in my mind. As close a thing to a hero as I can conceive. Although I never met him, he is practically a legend of the Imperium. And I expect he would never have asked me to run the entire ship in the way that Darrius does.
I was forced to sit quietly by as he brought on yet more strains on the ship’s resources and my patience in the form of a new seneschal and a pilot who’s as likely to take us into an asteroid field as lose us in the Warp. Emperor’s name, why does Darrius find himself so unable to simply say “no” to people? And the heresies that Seneschal committed! Tearing that valuable information from the wreck on the planet without so much as a litany to the Great Machine (who must be thought of in all things)! A lesser man would have abandoned the work there and then as futile but I admit that my… indoctrination on Mars no longer holds the sway it did. I even find myself occasionally skipping the summary use of incense when making minor repairs. In fact, I find myself less attuned to the Great Machine and his work in the universe just as even the Emperor himself no longer fills my thoughts. I wonder if it is some function of interstellar distance from the Sol system.
Suffice it to say, I had to repair the ship’s gun cutter again. Apparently damaged by the planet’s corrosive acid rain. I do wish that Varick would take greater care of my equipment. Hmm, this marks another journal entry edging dangerously close to heresy. I shall have to delete it like the others and replace it with more praise for the commander’s actions. I wonder, am I too free spirited for this ship too? I know my… lack of regard for, shall we say, conventional mechanical thinking was enough to bar me from the Mechanicus and it was only House Varick’s intervention that saved me from facing death or… conversion to work as a servitor. I can never risk my blasphemies facing the light of day for even out here there are many spies and there will always be those who will ignore true mechanical talent instead simply chanting and bashing damaged equipment with hammers. Innovation has no place in my line of work. I must continue to hold my peace, even with Varick and the others. And I must delete this file.

+++ MESSAGE ENDS+++

Lazarus' Journal - 23-05-10

Having received the co-ordinates of the Varrick system, a system that our rogue trader dynasty had a claim to as our rogue trader's birthright, we entered the warp for what should have been a short hop. However a phenomena struck after a few hours; crew members started complaining of headaches, some even collapsing and entering a catatonic state. During this, I detected a psychic phenomena nearby, that of a mirror ship of ours. A double of myself entered telepathic conversation with me, confirming their ship was too in jeopardy. The situation of there jeopardy was different; murder servitors gone berserk, attacking the tech priests. Also, whilst there crew held similar names to ours, most people seemed to be in different roles. A parallel universe perhaps ? We may never know.

The Navigator was the first to detect an additional peril, a "false reality" shard that would spell doom for our ship. With our chief helmsman down, the Pilot Philleus took control of the helm and with a judder and a groan the ship steered clear of the phenomena. My "double" protested that the opposite approach was the advice from their navigator, but the supposition here was that such an action would annihilate us and leave them undamaged. Perhaps our actions caused the opposite effect, and I have just doomed a copy of myself by saving ourselves. But such is the universe - survival of the individual is key, even above the potential life of other versions of "me".

Dropping out of warp for checks or repairs, I sent a communication to nearby systems to see if other ships had picked up similar disturbances in the warp. A reply came back from a nearby system, only a few minutes later from a ship that turned out to be an antiquated Blood Raven vessel run by Brother Helix. With engine difficulties, we decided to respond to the distress call and offer assistance, seeking profit from the situation as always. The marines who greeted us were bluff and accepted the parts offered. Meanwhile, our new Seneshal got "lost" around the ship, and acquired a data slate detailing the relics the marines had uncovered - some dreadnoughts, one of which had shown malfunction of an unknown kind. Further information on the slate was encoded, but applying the cryptology knowledge gleaned in my imperial training, I managed to apply a trap-door algorithm and decrypted an image of one of the dreadnoughts with the armor plating burst through FROM THE INSIDE...

We dropped from warp into the Archonus Prime system, and straight into a war between the inhabitants and a cluster of Space Ork "Rokks", planets turned to vessels and driven into violent conflict. Our vessel changed course and shot down at the main planet, using suppressing fire to cover our broadside maneuver. Pulling around to the opposite side of the planet, Darrius led a hit and run assault, piloted in by Philleus and sent in waves of servitors and guardsman to disable the Ork sensors and start fires. Returning from the hit and run maneuver, another battery round tore a large chunk from the Rokk and left in crippled. Shortly, the orbiting smaller planets collided into the ruined and fragmented central Rokk, and with Ork bodies drifting out into the steller void, the Ork vessels were destroyed.

We continued to the final destination, where Brother Helix thanked our forces for the assistance, and resumed our journey toward Varrick Prime. As reward, we received a relic shaped like a eagles talon, part of a power armour suit and of an item of great value. Arriving at the Variick system, vox traffic greeted us and a older, bald bearded man known as Tal greeted us. He recognized Darrius' face as familiar, thinking him to be his father and bidded us to come to the moon "svard" and meet with the council. This council - the crystal council - were to meet us for discussions. The planet overall was quite poor, hungry beggars trying to get scraps of food or heat from our resources. At the council, Speaker Tal told us that they had been cut off from trade and trapped out here, and were in a state of despair. The council told us of several people in the populous having dreams of a massive presence, huge and dark. All those who had this vision awoke somehow altered, murderous - a "whisperer" as they were known. This condition had struck on all of the other moons in the last month, to the extent that svard had lost contact with all of them. Alone, the Icy worn planet were struggling to survive, and requested aid. Initially this would take the form of food, but shortly we would try and regain control of these moons, get to the bottom of the whisperer outbreak, and restore the system to it's former economic glory.

An interrogation of one of the whisperers yeilded he was crazed and uncooperative. Using a mental probe, we discovered his name was Tok, and he had murdered friends and loved ones all thinking he was doing the will of the God Emperer. Before I could dig closer for hidden memories, an outside force pulled the grip away, and robbed me of my chance to explore further. Tok gasped from what appeared to be a coronary attack, and his life was perhaps saved by Darrius ordered the geller field made active, breaking the link from whatever entity may have caused it. With Tok passed out, no further investigations could be made. We then proceeded to a banquet in our honor, to meet other members of the planet council and to further understand the extent of the whisperer problem upon the Varrick system, and the moon of Svard...