Dark Heresy: Ecto's Diary (1)

In the aforementioned Dark Heresy campaign, one of the players has agreed to keep a running, in-character diary of the events as they unfold. He's playing an Imperial Adept (one of two in the group of four) called Ecto, a fairly naive young Confero from the Imperial archive world of Antrocles, and it's therefore somehow fitting that he's decided to diarise each individual episode. The episodes are good for me to peruse as it gives me an insight into how the players are understanding the way that the campaign is progressing, but they're also incredibly well written and a joy to skim through. 


I'd decided to run the campaign in a slightly different way than the prescribed 'here is your mission, complete this, progress to the next level' model of Dark Heresy campaigns as that model seems a little forced for an event as traumatic as being drafted into the service of the Inquisition. Instead, the characters are drafted in their individual ways and then hit the ground running (almost literally).


About the author: Wace is one of my oldest and closest friends; we've known each other since we were about 10 years old. We met at the start of secondary school and became friends over a shared love of HeroQuest (the excellent GW/MB Games board game); twenty years later we still meet fairly regularly to play various different games. He's currently working on a Dark Eldar version of Necromunda, and so far it's awesome. Aside from this, he's probably one of the finest writers that I've ever met - he has an extraordinary and rare gift with language which I can only envy, and enjoy when he puts it to good use. 


Anyway, here's the first part of Ecto's diary; the group's first adventure together in the employ of the Inquisition:



DAY 1, MORNING:
A pox on the Abbot and a pox on this benighted world he has sent me to!  I enter these words while huddled on the back of a mechanical sled of some sort, riding through a barren landscape colder than the Antipodean Galleries in winter.  By the Throne, it is cold!  And woe upon woe has befallen me since I last wrote – our planetfall was a hell given life!  Unnerved by the journey through the void as I was, not even the wildest refectory tales could have prepared for the dire emergency of a crash landing.  I know not what so offended the machine spirits, causing them to abandon us at such a critical stage in our descent, but we were lucky to escape alive.  Our craft plummeted from the sky and, as the cabin filled with smoke and flames, my fellow passengers and I managed to haul the hatch open and scramble out into fresh torment in this icy wasteland.  There we beheld the most appalling sight of all: Officer Ephese had been killed in the crash!  We are nowhere!  This planet seems devoid of all civilised life!  Without Ephese, I know not even why we came to Syracusium!  I had expected to bask in the pious urbanity of a shrine world, to have my soul nourished by proximity of such worthy servants of the Emperor.  Instead, we travel towards some Throneforsaken town by the good grace of a barbarian who came to our aid, squatting in the back of her transport like trophies from the hunt!  And the wolves!  Free of the wreckage, I stood with these three strangers, my fellow survivors, as a pack of wolves drew near.  It was only by firing our guns at them that we managed to scare them off – a thousand blessings upon Alpha Dommis for presenting me with his revolver pistol before I left home.  There were some odd papers caught in the intake of the craft: remembering what little I know of the physical principles of planetfall, it seemed strange to me that they had not burnt up as we entered the atmosphere.  There is no time to inspect them now – indeed, I should cease writing as my fingers are so cold.  I pray to the Almighty God-Emperor that we may reach shelter of some kind before the cold, or some worse fate, claims us.

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