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I do not confess to possessing fear. It is not in my blood and it shall never be. It is not my duty to feel fear.
Yet the sense of foreboding, a wretched gut feeling within cannot go away no matter how much time I spend down here, scouring the filthy, diseased hives of this world.
0-5-6-4-D Gamma, as it is known within the byzantine bureaucracy of our empire. Yet for those living upon the surface of this world, it goes by a different name: Dragzhul. Literally “land of the dead”.
It’s hard to blame the population for giving their own homeland such a menacing title. From the moment they are born, of wombs not fleshy and warm, but cold and sterile, they are fitted with gas masks screwed permanently to their faces.
Nowhere, not even their own homes are safe. They suffer a stunted existence. The world spews cancers and other abominable genetic conditions on the majority of it’s spawn, as radiation comparable to the surface of a star is leaked by massive Prometheum seas that dot it.
And that’s not even touching on it’s acid rains, on it’s downright impenetrable weather, on it’s vast and deadly predatory wild life, in such places where such a thing is even plausible. This world seems to have been bred to kill any who step upon it.
And yet, I’ve shot and stabbed and tore my way through a hundred such worlds without a second thought. I’ve faced apocalyptic swarms of xenos filth that have blotted out
the suns I’ve nearly bled to death under. So why is it now, of all places, here upon this world that I face such doubt?
I do not know and I doubt I will find out either. As it stands, I will simply have to continue my duty as I always have. Those are who stand wanting are seldom rewarded.
Ave Imperator.
Introduction
After initially landing on Beta-3323D3T88, you get picked up along with your new teammates by a Corvus Blackstar. The Deatchwatch has brought you all here by clandestine means.
Whether it was through bulk cargo freighters unloading necessary supplies for the system’s defense grid, scout and Mechanicus Explorator vessels stopping for refueling, or Rogue Traders happening to have their travel routes cross through the system, it does not matter matter.
You now fly towards Watch Station Hecate, a massive collection of orbital docking bays and weapon placements spinning around the dusty brown orb of Beta-3323D3T88, with a cylinder-shaped main tower in the middle.
You have little information on the nature of your mission, aside from it’s designation of “Alpha Prioris”, so understandably the tensions seem elevated.
List of players
Here
Yet the sense of foreboding, a wretched gut feeling within cannot go away no matter how much time I spend down here, scouring the filthy, diseased hives of this world.
0-5-6-4-D Gamma, as it is known within the byzantine bureaucracy of our empire. Yet for those living upon the surface of this world, it goes by a different name: Dragzhul. Literally “land of the dead”.
It’s hard to blame the population for giving their own homeland such a menacing title. From the moment they are born, of wombs not fleshy and warm, but cold and sterile, they are fitted with gas masks screwed permanently to their faces.
Nowhere, not even their own homes are safe. They suffer a stunted existence. The world spews cancers and other abominable genetic conditions on the majority of it’s spawn, as radiation comparable to the surface of a star is leaked by massive Prometheum seas that dot it.
And that’s not even touching on it’s acid rains, on it’s downright impenetrable weather, on it’s vast and deadly predatory wild life, in such places where such a thing is even plausible. This world seems to have been bred to kill any who step upon it.
And yet, I’ve shot and stabbed and tore my way through a hundred such worlds without a second thought. I’ve faced apocalyptic swarms of xenos filth that have blotted out
the suns I’ve nearly bled to death under. So why is it now, of all places, here upon this world that I face such doubt?
I do not know and I doubt I will find out either. As it stands, I will simply have to continue my duty as I always have. Those are who stand wanting are seldom rewarded.
Ave Imperator.
-Last personal log transmission from Watch Captain Thanatos Cepharion of the Iron Snakes
Introduction
After initially landing on Beta-3323D3T88, you get picked up along with your new teammates by a Corvus Blackstar. The Deatchwatch has brought you all here by clandestine means.
Whether it was through bulk cargo freighters unloading necessary supplies for the system’s defense grid, scout and Mechanicus Explorator vessels stopping for refueling, or Rogue Traders happening to have their travel routes cross through the system, it does not matter matter.
You now fly towards Watch Station Hecate, a massive collection of orbital docking bays and weapon placements spinning around the dusty brown orb of Beta-3323D3T88, with a cylinder-shaped main tower in the middle.
You have little information on the nature of your mission, aside from it’s designation of “Alpha Prioris”, so understandably the tensions seem elevated.
List of players
Here
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