Fate 40k: Ink and Blood

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.



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