Fate 40k: Ink and Blood

Lt. Tsunade: Current Thoughts

Ragnarok Raiders – Lieutenant’s Log

Ironic that I remember my days as a Psyker Hunter more vividly than I do the day of my incorporation in this Regiment. May Commander Satoshi forgive this transgression, but I am starting to believe not all things spring from coincidence. And yet “believe” is such an unrefined word. Why else would I find myself amongst such men and women, why else would I end up in the same platoon with not only one, but two living reminders of those days?

The medic, Brezi Hosvic is one of them. He’s just as uncouth and destructive as I remember him. I wonder how the Commander deals with the thought of having him in the Regiment. Ragnarockers should keep to their own. Despite the lack of discipline and rigor, I am seeing their use. It takes graphite to make diamonds, as they say. It’s our duty to apply the pressure and to forge them in the heat of battle. With no shame I confess having my skills honed training with Hosvic in the past. One cannot measure the efficiency of his blade unless it deals with brute force. Now is my turn to shape his understanding of discipline.

I vividly recall one of our fights. I always kept to his right, always ready to charge that part of him which was still human. There are few who have seen a power fist from up close and fewer still who survived. Hosvic is only half man, as I see it. There is nothing more rewarding than to spar against the perfect calibrations of a machine completely linked to the human brain. Every fluid move has a chance to not be anticipated, every charge can be an unexpected one.

“Dash, parry, dash, strike!“ I remembered the yonkoma my first training partner drew for me years ago with this exact title. It worked like a charm every time and against the medic it was no exception. Yet I wonder. Had I moved a split second later out of the way, would I still have my original shoulder now? I knew then that I made the right choice. As much as I loathed the idea that there was something I could learn from sparring with Hosvic, I made sure no second was wasted whenever we met in the training grounds. It never came so easy for me to find a reason to attack. The moment he opens his mouth it makes me want to sew it shut. And now we meet again.

Lt Tsunade: First Encounter

… I clenched my teeth to stop the chattering and focused on the trail ahead instead. When I left Nagaro (Sensou’s Capital) I had my full plate on, skillfully enhanced by Master Shiroku to withstand the corrosive effects of the Ragnarokian snow, and five of the best Psyker Hunters throne gelts can buy. Two half moons later I found myself alone, without a mount. The thermosuit does little for me compared to the full set. I lost most of the armor too. The light-weight fabric should help me move faster, but snow has already corroded the ankle grippers and the tights up to the knee. My skin feels scorched and frozen at the same time. My palms are twitching, not from the cold, but to grip the sword and to slash. I envision the head of my target rolling into the snow, staining it with filthy Ragnarokian blood. Worse than a mongrel is a mongrel with psychic energy.
My duty lies in tracking down these völur, descendants from Widening Wolf. Once thought a fruitful chase beyond the tundra, now it’s just lonesome and vulgar without my retinue. Should I perish in this blizzard, none may carry these bones to my commander. I will not condone such an unfitting death. Amongst the cold induced hallucinations I picked up her trail. Not far…less than half a day away and the blizzard heightens. She’ll have to find shelter and so will I. More than likely 13123.359 walking steps in this direction according to the data slate.

Filename “R Anon 32” proves the most troublesome yet. Background details are mostly unknown and no living relatives on the chart. What’s your story, Ragnarocker? It’s only natural that the Warp affects the plebs, but you must be the lowest of the low in order to become such a welcoming vessel. I will not waste another thought on this, I care not for your past. Only for your future which is death and it will pave the way for my advancement.

I felt like my breath froze inside my lungs. According to the data slate it should be there. I couldn’t see anything further than five steps ahead. Walking ahead could only bring me to the core of the snowstorm anyway so I was forced to search for the entrance, hoping the data was right. My feet found it for me as I stumbled on the end of the flagpole. Every underground bunker has one. The entrance was close by and she helped me find it. Rather, the tracks she left behind. There are signs which even the blizzard can’t hide from me.

I’ve found her. She had cost me more days, more men and more sweat than I initially accounted for. “Dead or alive” they said, but I had no intention of wasting more time to drag her back to Nagaro. Her head is easier to carry, I thought then. I almost became a murderer that day, no better than the filth I was chasing. The Ragnarocker was no psyker. Twin sisters. Similar DNA, yet not identical. I believed that would be the last I see of her. I was wrong.

Now that I’ve placed my mnemo-quill aside, I can safely think about the rest. How I wish to erase her features from my memory. Her face reminds me of my failure, for I did not found the psyker’s location even to this day. Naders Icles, the only link I have to finish that mission. Unbidden, other memories resurface along with her image. Her warm breath, her petite frame. These thoughts remain unsettling.

A Blood Debt

diary fragment found on a wiped dataslide:

“damn them, all of them. the medics, the enginseers, the commander and the greenskins.
and most of all that young one, that punk, this ‘helstag’. he should have left me there, should have let me bleed out and maybe take another one down with me.

but no.

bastard had to notice my bleeding, broken body. and he had to investigate. tried to tell him to leave, but it’s hard to talk with a tongue missing and your body in such a state. idiot dragged me back or what was left of me with half a orc tribe after our ass.

so here i am, half my body ripped of by a warboss’ axe, what’s left of it plugged into half a dozen machines i’ve never seen before and the is idiot sleeping in the next bed over, trying to recover from the shock and the blood transfusion. because he was a perfect bloodmatch, of course.

regardless, i’m stabilized and waiting to being augmented, gonna be a big job. you can tell by the number of them arguing. i have seen the limbs they are going to use. they look sturdy, strong and a bit oversized. those are going to be useful. i’m going to hardwire a powerfield generator into the arm, the biggest one i can fit into it.

but for now i have to wait for these damn fools to rebuild me, for me to regain my strength and for me to learn my new body.

and after that, a great many …

[file corrupted]

… and this ‘helstag’? he’s going to regret ‘saving’ me. and i’ll make sure his stupid ass lives long enough to do just that.”


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.