Record+-+Argos+Jaeger+03

So... Master Dallas has informed me that we have narrowed down our whereabouts to an uncharted system among the ghost stars. It seems my caution in surveying the system has proven to be the wiser course of action. We shall leave no record of our passing through in this sector. The administratum need not know of our being here. In the event of our receiving a full Warrant of Trade, we may yet return here to claim this system's resources, but for now, knowledge of this system must be kept secret. Having spent the necessary time to make the necessary repairs to resume our voyage, we will return to known space immediately, and resume our course from there.

Meredith... Why do you haunt me, girl? You died ages ago, and half a Galaxy away! Why is it your face that haunts me? I know that you are not real. Just more of the warp's tricks. I don't care what you want, or what you're here for, I will pay you no further heed.

Damn you, leave me be!

Despite our geller field, we now have chaos beasts rampant aboard our vessel. With Myrmidon deacon out of contact, I have organized two forces of guardsmen to deal with the situation. Roland will take the first twenty to retake the engines, while I take another twenty to reclaim the habitation decks. Master Dallas has also informed me that he will be joining with my force as well. Once those threats have been dealt with, we will retake the lower dregs.

It is in times such as these that define a Lord Captain. The crew looks to me to be their salvation, and I will answer them. I personally lead my men into battle and drive these demons from our ship! I will not suffer allow my ship to fall victim to chaos. Never again.

Cowards! Stand with your captain and defend this vessel! Dallas, Roland, focus fire on that one, I have this one preoccupied! Keep firing! Damn, my arm, it feels... Cold...

Copper. That’s the smell. It wouldn’t be so bad, if you didn’t know what it truly is. The face in front of me... I know it. Etched with heritical geometry and equations that if studied would lead to madness. I know not his name, only what he did, what I failed to do to him, and he did not do to me. They emerged from the eye without warning and fled just as fast. We gave chase as best we could, matched them ship for ship, coordinating our fleets with the greatest of precision, but we were decimated just the same. When they boarded, I did not fight with my soldiers, trying to coordinate my men from the bridge. I sent squad upon squad against them, but only succeeded in sending them to their deaths. I remember, at last, when they board the bridge, dragging me out. My ship is now a slaughterhouse. I am forced to watch. To see my crew, being sorted by rank, and slaughtered in succession. The process takes weeks. The tatooed man is always there. I demand for him to kill me at that time to save me the torment. The tattooed man's response is always. Not yet. Wait, and watch. And so I wait. Wait for my time to die. Finally, comes the last day. Men and Women whose names I know. Men and women whose faces and names I know, some of them friends. It is finally their time to die. I continue to watch, enduring the pain, only through knowing that my time will soon come to join them in death. At last, I watch as my first officer's head rolls to the floor. It is my turn. Once more I ask for death. The traitor laughs. His tattoos seemingly twisting and contorting into such a spiteful sneer as if they moved across his face of their own accord, or perhaps of the accord of a greater being of malice. Kill you? Why would we do that, captain? I mean sure, we killed off your entire crew down to the last man woman and child, but you? Surely not, captain. That would just spoil the numbers. No, captain, you will live... According to plan, and you will know that it was not your Emperor that spared you. Then they leave me. I, the only living soul on the rotting carcass of my ship. Days, weeks, centuries? I cannot tell the time anymore. It is all as a single eternal moment of living death to me.

Never again.