“Read it back, Chuckles”
The servo-skull clicked and whirred a few times.
“*Sigh* For the Holy Omnisia and all that.”
A final click told Stiehr that the servo-skull was finally ready to read back the log.
While our latest fleet addition, Da Smasha, limped back to Footfall for repairs, Cleopatra made for Port Wander to inquire about a new hull for the Glorious Rose. We received a not-so-warm welcome at Port Wander, and were told to keep our distance while they hastily recalled some cruisers for their defence. Wonder what they think of us there at Port Wander.
Suddenly a ship dropped out of Warp in front of us, apparently abandoned. We claim it for our Dynasty, and tell those wonderers at Port Wander that we’ll wander off again.
“Hm, seems like maybe I also should mention something about all that carnage that must have taken place on that ship just moments before it appered before us? No bodies, all gone out of the airlock, but clear signs of heavy fighting, actual claw-marks on the walls, blood everywhere and a strange fresh painting of a strange clown-thing on the inside of one of the otherwise new and pristine drive-plates?
They demanded interviews and inspections…
“Which we graciously granted, while transfering The Rose’s Soul over on that rather suspect gift horse that popped up”- Stieher muttered under his breath.
…and apparently ol’ Lord-Captain what’s-his-name didn’t have sufficiently hard balls, and was admonished by the Admiral until he was just a crying wreck of a man.
“Hm, these tele-cast-logs sure have a way of sounding like an amalgamation of Thargul and… well, a proper human. Hm…”
It further appears that Orks do not fill the proper requirements for holding an Imperial Warrant of Trade, but that crazy pilot Stiehr has sufficient density in his balls to fill the Command-Throne.
His be the Warrant, all hail Lord-Captain Stiehr.
“Right, yeah, hooray. Like we would have survived 2 seconds had Thargul taken the reigns…”
Having settled all that we made to Footfall, and whilst our steadily growing fleet of wrecks remained there for repairs and outfitting, Cleopatra made a quick trip to that-place-with-da-orks to check on things and to collect more Boyz for a planned “rescue mission” to Yellow 45.
“Yeah, that place is creepy, I don’t want to set foot on that place any more than I have to. Oh, and that small moon orbiting? That’s no moon. We instructed them to point the canon outwards… as well as downwards too. That place better make us some profit soon… What was the name of that ork we set in charge of the thing…?
Then our glorious fleet set for Yellow 45 to rescue it from the attacking Orks (which we knew about, seeing as how we sent them there).
Great wonder then, when we found the Ork ship a smoking wreck, and the very powerful psyker we “left” there apparently running things. Word is he made sure the Orks had “an accident”.
“And that word came from the ethereal lips of that Lady in Red-dame. Phoar, she made me think of Empmas, let me tell you.”
The Servo-skull whirred in response.
“Yeah yeah, keep going then.
What to do?
Leave the humans in the obvious control of a corrupted, despotic, megalomaniac witch, who betrayed an Inquisitor of the Imperium of Man? Heresy!
Fight the Psyker for no other reward than the righteous liberation of humans who don’t even know they need liberating? Sounds like a bad idea with little gain.
Maybe we put down the mad Psyker for the good of the Imperium and Mankind, and then take custody of the system, seeing as how they’re obviously not capable of fending for themselves. I always did think that place needed better management…
“Good thing we have a crap-tonne of nukes then… oh wait…”
The servo-skull clicked twice, rotated towards the table and set down.
“Right, time to go out there and put on on my serious-face again. Seeya ‘round, Chuckles!”