Dark Heresy - Ecto's Diary (2).

The group's second adventure, diarised by Wace (as Ecto):

DAY 1, EVENING:
Solace, or something approaching it.  We have arrived in a settlement not unlike a remote Wild Riding village.  Only it is blisteringly cold still.  I give thanks with all my soul for the reviving warmth offered by this modest inn.  But now of my erstwhile travelling companions, of whom I have learned something.  Two hail from the same world: Yousef Silvanus, not only an adept of similar rank to mine, but also seemingly as bewildered and out of his element as I find myself.  He showed an alarming turn of speed when confronted by the wolves.  And from the same planet, Quint Cilon, a Justicar, no less, though I cannot guess why an officer of such standing would be travelling in the company of three menials, with no entourage of his own.  Regardless, Cilon sustained grave injuries in the crash.  None of us having the knowledge to treat his wounds, we are hoping a night’s sleep will be of benefit to him.  Then there is Garvel Nicodermus, a disciple of the Cult of Mars who has shown all the oddity and wiliness one would expect from a techpriest.  I doubt it mere coincidence that we were all on board Ephese’s craft, and must pay close attention to them.  We are all exhausted and shaken by the day’s events – perhaps in the morning I shall ask them more and see if we can piece together the nature of our mission.  A blessing from Him though this humble inn is, we cannot rest entirely easily tonight: the locals are a strange folk, unwelcoming and apparently in the habit of wearing masks at all times.  This curious idiosyncrasy puts me in mind of the Tappers back on Antrocles, and their skullcaps.  Though I made some crude attempt to cover my face upon noticing this quirk was ubiquitous, our battered visages - not to mention our rapacity when given welcome vittels – seemed to cause some disquiet.  I was convinced there was someone listening at our door earlier, as Silvanus and I consoled our archivists’ instincts by poring over the (in fact innocuous) papers from the crash.  Still, how did they become lodged in the engine?  No matter.  Perhaps the noise outside was simply Nicodermus, as erratic behaviour appears to be typical of him.  As a precaution, we are setting a watch through the night. The events of this day lie heavily upon me and I can hardly keep my eyes open.  Silence, but for the rhythmic ticking of Nicodermus, who is on watch.  Slumber shelter me from the unknown for a spell! 

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