After the initial difficulties of entering the Warp and more of Balthazar’s downright childish antics, we settle down to space travel. I feel at home with this, surprisingly. Well, as at home as I can be in the middle of a Chaos warband, pretending to be one of them. I hate this place. I hate this crew. At least I seem to have them convinced that I am an asset and not an infiltrator. This could work, and perhaps I could gain some more knowledge concerning Xenos or at least my own powers whilst I am here. To aid me in my tasks, I start to make myself a cameleoline cloak; moving unnoticed would strongly work to my advantage here. I ask Mott if he could make me a suppressor for my las weapons, to which he obliges. Surprising, but I will not complain at that.
More reverberations in the Warp. Balthazar, childish as usual. I do not know why people fear Chaos Sorcerors and their apparent powers; if Balthazar is anything to go by, as psykers they are pathetic. I shake my head and continue my work. Mott, however, seems perturbed by Balthazar’s antics. I cannot blame him. This is getting rather tedious and were I affected, I would also be rather annoyed. The days pass without much else, until the last day. Sigmar, who had been training the men, had neglected to use blank rounds during training and reported eighteen injuries that required medical attention.
“And you didn’t tell me at the time, because…?” I ask, shocked at this man’s incompetence. He tells me that he did not want to disturb me. I honestly remain speechless for a few seconds.
“I can’t believe the shit I put up with,” I mutter to myself as I walk briskly out of the room. I pass by where the troops are staying; there is no way I can treat all eighteen patients alone.
“You fifteen. With me,” I point at a group of the troops who oblige, though not all willingly. I hate being the only medically trained crew member on this ship, but equally I do not want to teach the regiment’s methods to any of these people. That knowledge should not be shared with the heretics and traitors that we fight against in the God-Emperor’s name. Some may view us as renegades, due to the Inquisition’s modus operandi, but any Kyrallian who turns his or her back on the God-Emperor… I curse to myself as I lead fifteen of the men towards the medical bay. We treat the injured, I work over time to make sure the men are combat ready as to not irritate the Chaos Space Marine. I would rather not be turned into a fine paste in his rage, so efficiency is in my best interest, for now at least.
We eventually land on Berun-Asphodael, after a brief encounter with Sigmar where he asks me whether he is a disgrace to the Imperium. I sugar coat the truth, telling him simply that he is, without speaking my mind. A disgrace to the Imperium? He defaced his armour, spent years fighting against the servants of the Emperor and is now a part of a Chaos warband. Did I really need to answer that question? He is not like me, he is far too dense to be like me. When we disembark, I scan the horizon, wearing the hood of my cameleoline cloak as opposed to my helmet. I hate being on yet another feral world, though this one is also inhabited by disgusting greenskins. I have seen enough Orks to last me multiple lifetimes, so I am not really pleased with how this situation turns out. Sigmar takes a bunch of the troops, Mott heads off into the settlement and I decide to go for a bit of reconnaissance, see what we are dealing with here. I walk around for a few minutes to find the settlement mostly deserted. Mott’s servo-skull follows me around, but I do not mind too much. If I was going to do something in privacy, I would take measures to ensure that I was not being followed, but this is just harmless reconnaissance. Upon finding nothing of note, I head back in the direction that Mott went to eventually find what looks like a tavern with a few locals inside. He seems to be finishing his interaction with them, so I casually walk up to one of them.
“Hello, I was wondering if you had any form of commerce in this settlement,” I ask curiously. He tells me that there are some areas, but not what I want. “I am a collector of sorts. I specialise in alien items, so if you have anyone who specialises in these goods, could you point me in the right direction?” I elaborate. I do not wish to share what exactly I am searching for, the knowledge in itself being dangerous. He tells me to seek out a Madame Rosie, an apparent expert on these fields. I catch up to Mott as he goes on his way to find a Guard veteran named Red, but swiftly depart to find this Madame Rosie. Mott’s servo-skull follows me for a while, though then it peels off, shortly after I feel more reverberations of Balthazar’s. That man is making my job so easy. I smile as I reach the shack and knock lightly on the door. “Hello?” I call. A woman’s voice replies, telling me to come in. I open the door and instantly my jaw drops. This is not what I meant! Last I checked, alien artifacts was not synonymous with sex implements and toys. I clear my throat and resist the temptation to just turn and walk out of the door. “Excuse me, Madame Rosie? I was told that you were the person to talk to concerning items of alien origin. I am a collector, you see,” I explain, hoping that this detour has not been a complete waste of time. She responds with her stock of whips, chains, leather clothing and other fetish related gear. I grimace under my helmet until she mentions a set of runes that had been discovered on the planet. I instantly perk up. “Runes, you say?” I inquire, taking a step closer, “may I see them? I may be interested.” She produces some runes that I am unable to make complete sense of, however they seem familiar. The iconography is different, but I swear that I witnessed Eldar seers wielding such items in battle against the Orks and Daemons on Kyral’s surface, albeit through magnoculars or a rifle scope. The uneasy alliance led to a great many things being learned and is a likely reason as to why we were declared renegades in the first place. “What do you want for them?” I ask, rather keen to get my hands on them. The woman looks at me and explains that my cameleoline cloak would be an appropriate trading item. “Deal,” I immediately respond, taking off my cloak and placing my helmet back on my head. A cloak that can be made in a few hours for priceless Eldar runes? Yet again I am beset by the ignorant and the stupid, and it pays off. I stow these runes into a pouch on my webbing and leave after saying my thanks to find Mott. I will study these later.
I catch up to him, now with a grizzled Guard veteran as well, when we hear the sounds of combat. The sound of ordnance rings out and we head to the source. When we arrive we notice that Sigmar had engaged a large horde of Orks. I immediately take up a concealed position in one of the building and begin sending accurate, single shots into the Ork horde, targeting any Weirdboys that I notice. On the vox, I tell people to target the Meks, priority on the larger ones, but my advice is largely ignored. Idiots. I am the one who has spent years fighting these greenskins, and whilst my objectives in killing off the Weirdboys are my own… I sigh and just continue to send quiet, accurate shots into the Ork horde until it is largely blown apart by the sheer amount of firepower possessed by our troops.
Our guide, Red, the Imperial Guard veteran, was ready to take us to the mines, our vehicles were prepared. We were ready to depart to the mines until we discovered that Balthazar had departed for the mines by himself. When I think of it, there was a lack of massive psychic influences and general immaturity during the day and I come to realise that he is nowhere near us. I head into the ship to catch some rest while I can, but I sense that something is about to happen for the better.