In which Lelith confesses to a dark secret.
Story:
Aberration part 2
Author:
SemperFiTRex/WalkingMaelstrom
To begin with I want to issue a small correction. In Peregrination part 2, upon hearing Captain Karien had dreadlocks, I posted a picture of Xzibit with cornrows. So here's a corrective picture of Bob Marley with dreadlocks:
I still find the idea of a Space Marine with dreads unbelievably silly.
That being said, I am honestly starting to get a fair bit jealous of Overlord Vect. He gets all the parts with the fun and the gay, whilst I am stuck with reviewing parts that are only marginally less painful than plane-smoothing my nipples. Oh, alright, I admit, Peregrination part 2 was sort of funny at the end, but for all the wrong reasons.
When I met Vect at the slave auctions a few days ago I told him as much. I admitted that I had wilfully put Aberration part 2 off, because I frankly did not want to touch the damn thing. I said I would rather spend time fighting Orks in the arena, a species I find tedious to fight because of their lack of finesse and pain-receptors, coupled with their inability to lie down and just fucking die.
Vect smiled that peculiar smile he always gets when a plan comes together for him and I could feel my ears flattening against my skull.
"Then you will absolutely love Aberration part 2, my dear," he said and sauntered off.
Having got through this and standing ready to start my recap, I have only one thing to say to the Supreme Overlord of Commorragh:
Fuck you, Vect. Fuck you very much.
And we are immediately met with something that annoys the living daylights out of me.
The
"Kouncil o' Smart'uns" was immediately held upon the discovery, a
rather ramshackle gathering of Stokkpile and his 'trusted,' as far as orks go, associates.
Orks are a society, if that term can be used, of incredibly violent creatures. They solely believe that 'might makes right' (which I admit is a crude but interesting reflection of the society of the Dark City, but I digress) and any squabbles over leadership are resolved either with a gun or a "choppa"-blade. Simple.
The concept of them holding "Kouncils" to discuss "whenever some really interesting shit goes down" (to quote from WalkingMaelstrom's Artist's comment) is utterly ridiculous in light of that fact. The Warboss would simply decide what would be done and the others would have to follow suit or get their heads smashed open.
Outsiders
were a rarity if ever here, the last being a rogue 'greyskin' who somehow
managed to guile his way in along with a few of his comrades.
What the fuck is a greyskin? A tau? I have no idea, really, as tau are nowhere near the area around the Maelstrom where this takes place. It is never explained what a greyskin is either, and it's just left hanging there like balls in the wind.
The Orks in the Kouncil, which consist of Stokkpile the Mek and two other still unnamed ones as far as I am concerned, discuss what shall be done about the Chaos Marines. One of the two, the less smart one, contributes this:
"Why'z we gonna waste all dat time bringin'
'em out? Might as well just've fragged 'em while dey were
above."
He narrowly dodged a
swipe from the larger ork. "You dense or sumfin? Wot
did Stokkpile say before? Frag da ship and its 'splodey bits'll frag
us too! All of us!"
So we're going with the awful fakey Cockney are we? Really? Because there are few things more painful to read than purposely misspelled English so that it "sounds" like some British dialect, as written by an American. Well, one of the things more painful would be plane-smoothing my nipples.
But really!? Cockney? Why? I know Games Workshop do it too, but the thing is they do it for comedic effect and in small doses. The Orks, as soon as portrayed elsewhere, are made out as gruff, evil things with green skin and a lot of guns and sharp knives.
Either way, through the awful Cockney we divine that the Orks do not quite know what to do with the pink dildo ship full of Chaos Marines, which the Orks refer to as "spikey boyz". We do find out Stokkpile the Mek is the leader out of sheer force of charisma and that the other two, a Storm Boyz Nob (I think) and an 'Ard Boyz Nob (I think) are named Breaknek and Ledhed, respectively, I think. See, it is not made clear what they are or who is named what, so I have to assume a fuck-lot here. There is a time and place for writing between-the-lines, but this is not it. The mere fact WalkingMaelstrom doesn't tell us their names for nearly a page is maddeningly annoying.
Oh god. Only a page. And we still have no real idea what the Orks will attempt to do, beyond an un-Orky ambush, so the scene was fucking pointless.
Meanwhile, on the flying pink dildo moored at the asteroid/planet/whatever the Orks call the 'Ard Rok Kasino,
"Why
are we still waiting here?!?" The Havoc snarled in front of his brothers
with obvious irritation. "If anything, being on this
Warp-forsaken rock should prompt us to free us from our shackles, kill the
aliens responsible, and get back up!"
Razorwire continues his streak of being a useless and moronic part of the Sick Six. Is it too much to hope for that he bites the dust at some point in the future? Preferably on New Badab? Preferably due to him pissing off Huron Blackheart? Please?
The Sixes are having a council as well, discussing how to deal with this situation and a new character is introduced to us: Ildi the Scout. Actually, he was introduced already back in
Egression part 1, but Lord Vect forgot to mention him, as his addition there made absolutely no sense and thus wasn't commented upon.
 |
| Without his mask he looks like a fucking chipmunk. |
According to Torture-Device, he is an Alpha Legion scout, which begs the question why he would join this bunch of losers and forgo any chance of getting the black carapace installed. I for one would never let Malexis near me with a scalpel, and I somehow think that Ildi doesn't either.
It should be noted that Zekkel still speaks in fucking sentence fragments, Malexis has had another heart-attack and Rakkes... what are you doing here? You contribute as much as Ildi to this conversation: jack shit.
After a page of talk, Torturer steps up and says he's in no mood for a vote (democracy amongst Chaos Marines, well I'd never!), so he decides they should follow Sergeant Ignis' plan. That plan?
"The
Siege Six should stay here while Stealth and Sick scout
ahead. Doubtless we'll run afoul of the orks but at the least the Engine will have some
guards."
Fairly solid. How does it fare?
Here's a clue in Torturer's final words before they leave ship:
"This
won't be easy, but remember, they're just orks. They're baseless and
stupid creatures that care only about how much harm they get themselves
into."
We switch to seeing Ildi infiltrating and being apprehensive, so at least the lad has some sense.
Wait, how old is he? 50? What the fuck? So, another middle-aged man treated like a teenager, and behaving like a fucking rookie G.I. I'm all for relativity of ages, guys, but this is throwing logic out the window!
So what sterling insights about Orks can this manchild share with us?
They
were unpredictable, volatile, unstable, messy, ignorant, filthy, and offensive
creatures who lived only for war and nothing else. There were no
truly fine pleasures amongst them or any higher calling except to fight for
power and some false deities they touted with superiority over the Dark Prince.
So, a bit like Chaos Marines then, seen from the perspective of someone who knows the Gods of Chaos to be false.
Ildi is apparently a shit scout, because he does not see, nor smell or hear, the literally DOZENS of Orks that suddenly pop up right the fuck out of nowhere.
The
rapid sounds of clicking and shuffling surrounded them. From out of
nowhere, from every corner and rooftop around the ship, dozens upon dozens of
orks had emerged. Inside oil drums, underneath canopies, from
once-closed windows, ventilation systems along the port decks, and from piles
of scrap, orks emerged with multitudes of shooters trained upon each and every
member of the Host. The Siege Six inside heard the awful roaring of
rockets and the subsequent stomping of hard boots upon the
hull. Ildi tried to train his rifle on at least one target but too
many were emerging. Torturer readied both of his sonic blasters
while Razorwire, seething with anger, readied his heavy bolter upon the closest
batch of orks.
Before you start clamouring "Fight! Fight! Fight!", remember what we are dealing with, Lords and Ladies. Do so and despair.
"Move an' yer dead, 'umies!" One of
the larger orks screamed from a wagon that had just sped up to a position right
below them, launchers fixed right upon the Sick Six.
"Oi! Dis
fing on?!?" A thunderous
shout emerged from the crude vox speakers. "Yeah…you'se surrounded ya tin can spiky
boyz! Yer fanzy gubbinz kan't see fru me jamma, so no senz in
tryin'! I suggest ya just lay down yer arms lest ya wanna be paste!"
"Low
Gothic?!? This rabble speaks our tongue?!?"
I think it is meant to be Torturer who shouts the last bit there, but I find myself agreeing. It is one thing to try to illustrate Orkish language with awful, fakey Cockney, and another entirely to try to imply a bunch of degenerate greenskins on a rock in SPACE have somehow learned the common language of the Imperium of Man! Have they encountered humans before? And why would they try to learn the language at all?
I guess the Babel fish did it.
The fact that the Orks are speaking Low Gothic drives Torturer insane with anger. Insane. Not insensate.
Torturer
shook with anger. He already knew his plan was somewhat flimsy but
the vindication of such fears drove him insane. No lesser being
would be forcing a parlay on him, none. However, his idealistic
pride was starting to crumble around the cold face, or rather faces, of grim
reality. He knew he would take down many of them, but none of them
would be surviving soon afterward. If he were amongst loyalist pukes
again, he'd likely be forced into a suicide attack or some last stand that
would cut down whatever future glory he could have attained for the sake of
nothing. But he was not that. He actually cared for his
comrades.
I really hate how Torturer is made out as this democratic, empathic leader of his men, while he rapes children and murders expectant mothers for shits and giggles. It doesn't make a character complex. It just creates character dissonance.
The Chaos Marines stand down, sensibly enough, or maybe not, as doing so SHOULD lead to them getting killed by the Orks in a fury of blood and WAAAGH!
As we did not get a lengthy introduction to Ildi, we instead get one here with Stokkpile, Breaknek and Ledhed instead.
When
it was all clear, the large metal doors to the exit of the spaceport pier swung
open. There were three orks. One was a haughty-looking
greenskin with shiny metal bedecked all over a skinned leather jacket with some
strange tuft of fur along the brim. He wore crude flight goggles and
was happily chomping down on a cigar, a custom shooter at his hip with hand
impulsively ready to pull and and start blasting away. The second by
the side was a massive ork wearing a simple plate of armor but fixed with a
metal jaw and a rather imposing "power klaw" in his left hand, his
right wielding another shooter. His face was hideous and bore the
look of many a fight and judging by the spikes he had with the heads of orks
and helmets of loyalists and even his own Chaos brethren, he knew exactly who
he was facing. He was doubtless the enforcer of the group, thought
Torturer. But his real focus was on the ork in the middle. He
was a large alien, larger than the flyer but just about to the chin of the
bruiser. His appearance gave him the look like that of a mechanic,
or "mek" as the xeno tongue so crudely called it, his left arm
completely mechanical along with part of his face. The hat he wore
with the three letters was also the dead giveaway. He reeked of
promethium as he strode forth with his blaster surprisingly
lowered. Torturer could feel the brimming confidence of this one as
he approached with every bootstep echoing in the air. His comrades
hissed and snarled but could do no more with all the ork guns still trained
upon them. The ork finally met the Noise Raptor face-to-face, both
at about eye level. He took one big drag from his cigar, blew the
smoke in Torturer's face, and then spat down at the sight of
them. The human seethed with anger and insult, being forced so low
as to have to look at an ork in the eye just to talk.
That's it, unedited. Just one huge blob of text.
 |
| This is Ledhed as portrayed by its creator in 2008. Note the powerklaw on the RIGHT hand. |
I have two questions:
- Aren't all Ork shootas custom technically speaking? Unless we are talking about "kustom shoota", which is another can of worms entirely.
- How the fuck does Torturer suddenly know so much about Ork society? Experience fighting them does not equate to having actual knowledge about a culture.
What then follows is a full two pages of nothing but posturing. Now, I am not like Lord Vect. I will fucking water-board you in this shit so that you can get a feel for just how unbelievably dull and stupid this is.
I will make one concession though. I will intersperse the text with pictures of kittens, because kittens are a guilty pleasure of mine.
"Ya 'eard da mek, pale face!" Breaknek
screamed to Torturer while behind Stokkpile like a child taking verbal shots
behind an older sibling. "Start 'splainin'! Wot's ya
krooza doin' in our Kasino?"
"My Kasino…Break…"
"Um, yeah…dat's wot I sed…"
Torturer did not speak. His ego would
not let him. It was always good to be proud of oneself as a human
being, but the Noise Raptor possessed such to a fault. This situation
was particularly grim, not only facing potential annihilation but the initial
and rather superficial stain upon his status as a higher being of this galaxy,
lowering himself to explain himself to beings borne from a fungus.
Ledhed broke out with a heavy
guffaw. "Da 'umie's scared er sumfin? Ya best speak
up…boy."
"Boy?" He finally replied with the
hairs upon his skin bristling with the lust for immediate satisfaction through
violent murder.
Zekkel stepped forth with a rather uneasy smile
about him. "Um, Lord…not your realm in this situation,
yes? A better fit to parlay elsewhere perhaps?" He turned to
the greenskins, revulsion as apparent as ever but still maintaining a sort of
look about him less hostile than his brothers. The dog-like creature
the ork referred to as a squig growled madly at the demagogue, the demon inside
hissing back in foul tongues, eyes shifting to the purple hue much to the
confusion of the orks.
"Heh," Stokk coughed up a laugh before
spitting another wad of chewed up cigar right at Zekkel's feet, "seems
Growla's takin' a shine t' da funny-eyed one. An' 'oo are you?"
"Um, Prophet Zekkel, of the Sick Six,
eh…Stokkpile." He fought every urge to smash his crozius into the face of
the mek, remembering that he of all of them was the diplomat. Of
course, smashing the face of the ork would only bring him but a moment's
pleasure before having the large ork known as Ledhed rip him
asunder.
"Profit? Ya fink yer loot er
sumfin?"
Zekkel did not know how to respond to
that. "Prophet…a harbinger of the voice."
"Buncha wyrd gitz…why'z ya care more 'bout
some voicey box den some good fashun'd loot? Dat why'z ya tryin' da
frag me Kasino?"
"No business was to be had here among
your…" he swallowed a hard lump of what was figuratively further disgust,
"associates. Happenstance is more fitting? Our, eh,
vessel was en route elsewhere, surely not to this 'Kasino,' yes? Our
sojourn did not go exactly as planned, as you see. Freefall was
imminent and surely that would not benefit either one of us? We,
eh," the Sick Six as a whole looked as if their sentiments were with
Zekkel at this moment, "are certainly in appreciation for
the…effort."
The orks paused for a second then broke out in a
chorus of derisive laughter. Even the little runt called Oi started
pointing and snickering. Razorwire's teeth had grit so hard that
when some of the Chaos Marines turned to look, they could swear the scar tissue
nearly broke upon the Havoc's face.
Breaknek was more than eager to be the first to
jab at the somewhat humbled humans, hands clapping wildly, "An' I din't
fink dat wuz gunna work, Stokk! Ha! Dis is majikul…Chaos
panzee gits thankin' orks! Oh…iz gunna be a great ronkin' day."
Torturer snarled beneath his mask. He
knew if there was any greenskin he was going to personally flense first, it
would be that haughty "flyboy."
Stokk took a hearty swig from a rather large and
crude flask, his belch burning the nostrils of Zekkel who could only stifle the
disgust. "Hmm…akcepted! 'sides…as much as any real
ork luves ta poke at ded 'ard tin can 'umies when dey can, I'm an ork of a bit
diff'rent nature. Get yer boyz off da ship and come wif me."
"Wot we'ze not gonna 'sploit da
'ulnerabiliteez sum more?" Breaknek whined.
Ledhed slapped him upside the head with his bare
hand forcing him to stumble for about ten meters, "Quit yer' whinin' ya
posh git! In due time…"
Zekkel turned to Torturer with a sort of shrug
to his shoulders with the figurative and fatalistic question of what else they
could do in this situation.
Torturer did the same. "The
Siege Six does not leave here…neither will the Stealth Six at this
moment."
Stokkpile seemed to take
notice. "Feh! Didn't need all yer boyz anyway…just
you and yer puny lil' krew. Ledhed! Da boyz can go 'ome
now. Tell 'em it ain't ronkin' time fer krumpin' if deyz gonna
complain."
"Complaints?" The ork cackled while
cracking his knuckles with the sound of rocks breaking apart, "I'll krump
'em meself instead."
"Dat's da spirit. Right…now you
'umies come wif me."
Torturer huffed again in frustration being
brought so low. Walking with Zekkel, he could also see the burning
shame on the face of his demagogue, intensity never before
seen. Fume followed along with Ignis and then Malexis who had been
keenly eyeballing the orks, fascinated already by their
physiology. Razorwire was last to follow, the anger not leaving his
face for one minute.
"Sumfin' da matta, boy?" Ledhed with
noxious breath muttered to the Havoc. "Oh I seez it…I do."
"Warpshit greenskin filth…I'll feed you to
the beasts I will." He muttered back.
Ledhed turned to face him. "Wot's dat,
boy?"
Razorwire felt as if he was staring into the
snarling gaze of a beast, but he wouldn't back down, not to an
ork. "I said that…"
"Razorwire! Enough!"
Torturer screamed back.
His body convulsed being denied wanton violence,
mind and muscle praying to Slaanesh in harmoy for the opportunity to exact his
anger upon the mistake called a sentient being, "Feh! We're not
done with this, ork! We are not done at all!"
"Razahwire, eh? Didn't fink so
eitha, ya tin can 'umie! Yer 'ead's gonna fit
nicely…" Ledhed cracked his neck as he watched the Chaos
Marines walk to Stokkpile's scrapyard, waving most of the orks to leave but keeping
the trukks trained on the ship and then catching up to Stokk. The
other Sixes were left there, almost helpless, as their leader was now forced to
parlay with the most unpredictable batch of aliens this galaxy so callously
dared to create. The real question however, was what they wanted from
them.
Tedious and stupid. Why would the Orks not know what a prophet is?
And the word "warpshit" returns. I was going to complain about how this is such a hilariously awful word but after some research I have traced the source to a work which I had been interested in examining: Steven Savile's Lord of the Night.
Without further ado, we switch scene to the people on board the
Falchion of Fail. Or to be more precise, Andres Lakoff.
He
was amazed by the utter calm that Dessal seemed to possess. He was
one of the few that were actually consciously aware of their surroundings, most
either passed out or simply willing themselves to not see or hear around
them. It wasn't a bad assumption to think most were indeed used to
travel in the Warp, but mayhap under such rushed circumstances the conditions
had them less than prepared. It was by the Emperor's grace they were
not torn asunder but thinking about such fortune too much made him anxious of
what was to come. Continuing to watch the Navigator move and
concentrate with such focus, he lost himself in the trance, the light humming
echoing into his mind and imagining the waves of the Warp crashing over the
ship taking over his imagery.
Though once again, you don't know it is Lakoff until a few paragraphs later. Also, the word "mayhap" makes an appearance, so take a shot if you are playing the drinking game. Though you might be in a coma already from the whole sequence with the pacifist Orks up there.
Lakoff hasn't slept for the entire journey, but is never stated anywhere for just how long these schmucks have been travelling the Warp. And here's a funny thing: while the mortal crew of the Engine of Obscenity must travel the Warp in stasis, this is not the case with the people on board the Falchion of Fail. He talks some with a Corporal Alesky and drops this nugget on us:
"All
right, well, keep making the rounds, corporal. We should be hitting
our rendezvous point in a short while according to the
Navigator. I'll take care of things up here. Be sure to
check on the Lady as well. She above all is paramount to this
success."
Since when is the Lady Tina paramount to the success of ANYTHING in this series? She is as useful as the teats of a male pig.
Lakoff spends some time washing the blood off the face of the sleeping Lt. Xin, as this is very important. This segues over into a flashback. Not a flashback of Lakoff's life, oh no. A flashback of the SLEEPING LT. XIN!
And it is entirely in italics. For... let's see... 3 pages. Wow. Just wow.
"This fucking heat…" She moaned under the
rather unforgiving sun of Arloca Hive. It was her turn to make the
rounds, find some easy money where she could get it, how she could get
it. Slinking herself through the alleyways, leaping from ledge to
ledge where she could, her time to 'play the hawk' was never a fun
one. Alas, it was the only way for her to survive in the merciless
hive city. Above her was her "brother," Qued, who was
charged with overseeing the young woman's work and making sure she took what was
for the gang and what she could keep. He was to make sure she could
handle the jobs on her own, helping only in dire circumstances. Qued
had shown her the ropes since she was picked up as an orphan around seven years
old or eight, maybe? She couldn't remember, didn't want to
either. That part of her life was a haze.
There is one major problem here, and it is sitting in the room like an obese elephant that has just overturned a priceless Ming vase.
It's that somebody who has spent the better part of her youth a Hive-slum runt is NOT going to end up an Inquisitorial Storm Trooper. The Imperium is not a place to act out the Great American Dream. It is harsh and oppressive.
But let's go with the flow here. How did Xin end up a soldier? Well, she is off to rob some person to "proove her worth" or someshit, and goes after what she thinks is an old lady. She corners the old lady and starts fighting her. It is about as jumbled as you can guess with this author and two people of the same gender, where we don't know name, rank or station of one half.
"You're pissin' me the fuck off,
lady. Just stop this and make it easy!" With her fists
clenched, she ran full speed and swung her leg toward the woman's head to which
she had also dodged, but allowed that to happen to get an opportunistic thrust
in. Thinking she finally bit into the flesh, she pushed forward but
suddenly found herself off balance. The blade simply slashed through
her robe and she was forced to roll and turn to recover, but as she turned and
slashed again, her forearm was cause in a vice by the woman's hand, a left hook
meeting her face and a hard boot to the chest. She landed flat on
her back, stumbling to get up.
The woman did not attack, instead standing there
and smirking with smug satisfaction. "No respect whatsoever…"
"Who
the…fuck are you lady?" She ran at her again with a flurry of quick kicks
and slashes with her knives, but the only hits she could register were
well-timed blocks. As she dove to tackle her, her throat felt the
grip of the woman's hand, like iron, and the air suddenly felt itself pushed
from her lips. The wind was knocked out of her further by a hard
knee to the stomach. She couldn't move, blood trickling down her
lips as the woman stared at her from the hood, eyes barely visible but with outright
disdain. She was flung back to the ground, gasping for air and
desperate for purchase.
Seriously, this is a horrible, horrible mess, and it is so common I am willing to call this a hallmark of WalkingMaelstrom's awful writing. The fight is badly edited to begin with, but no one can re-read this after writing and go: "Yup! This cannot possibly be confusing!"
So, the two fight-fight-fight and eventually the old lady gets the upper hand on Xin, because seriously, you don't need that much skill to best a 15-year-old girl. The old lady throws off the hood she has been wearing and reveals herself to be
She revealed herself from the robe, long flowing hair
with greys and browns mixed in. The face however looked like that of
a woman only thirty or forty years more. In her hand she carried an
ornate golden chain with only one pendant displaying a solitary letter, the
letter "I."
Some female Inquisitor. Oh who am I trying to fool? It is the Lady Inquisitor Tina. Which is bullshit.
Why is it bullshit? Because this woman, albeit not up against the most stiff competition in a teenaged girl, is obviously quite a capable fighter. Lady Tina is a useless twat who can't fire a lasgun. They are clearly two different people and why aren't we reading the story about the vaguely competent one?
The flashback ends though after the Lady has decided that a young Hive-runt is JUST the thing she needs in her warband.
So maybe it is Lady Tina after all.
Gasping
for air, she finally woke up from the dream, or past recollection in this
regard.
Look, WalkingMaelstrom, for something to be a "past recollection", you have to be awake. Remembering things sort of demands it. Dreams are something we do when sleeping, though they can be influenced by memory, true. But they are still called dreams. Why are such basic premises of English so incredibly hard for you to understand? Or do they hand out free lobotomies to all visitors of Purple Prose Town?
Anyway, after Xin wakes up, some talking occurs between her and Lakoff, and Lady Tina who has just shown up too. Pillock is sleeping in a chair nearby and luckily stays asleep through the entire scene. With the Lady arrived, discussion turns to Tenepht and how they apparently have nothing to pin the obviously EVIL Inquisitor who is usurping his power, with.
Here's a suggestion: How about you link up with the local sector's Ordos and INFORM THEM THAT TENEPHT TRIED TO APPREHEND YOU WITHOUT CALLING AN INQUISITORIAL TRIBUNAL!
Inquisitors have a lot of power, yes, but when one of them steps out of line, a tribunal is called and the person in question is tried in due process. It is the one place where the Inquisitors play fair. With each other. And even then it is a game of cloak and dagger and intrigue. The Lady Inquisitor Tina is of equal rank to Lord Inquisitor Tenepht and the Sector Ordos would have just as much reason to listen to her, as him. Unless they're violently misogynistic- oh wait!
But, they need something to pin Tenepht with? How about they capture Torturer? How about the Lady Inquisitor informs the Sector Ordos that she, through investigations, has found out that a chaos warband is about to attack a high-security Imperial prison facility, to attempt to spring one Rael Haask (remember him?) and that this is a prime chance to stop a terrible menace against the Imperium?
 |
| The plot is seriously beginning to resemble this. |
Back to the story. The Lady Inquisitor derails the discussion about why she doesn't know jack fuck about anything, by asking the rather pertinent question of who the fuck Lakoff is and who does he work for again?
"K-…ma'am,
the classification I carry, if revealed, can jeopardize this right
now. I'm sorry, to both of you. You'll know when the time
allows, when my 'employer' feels it right to do so."
Actually, I think the real reason Lakoff can't tell you is because WalkingMaelstrom doesn't plan that far ahead. I claim this and present this entire series as proof of concept. It is pulled out of a bodily orifice of your choice.
Another "mayhap" happens, and this umpteenth repetition causes Pillock to wake up. Well, shit. You talked loud enough to wake the moron. Thanks.
Xin
was left to ponder on what exactly the Lady Inquisitor was talking about with
"mistakes and decisions." She wondered just what had
happened while she was captured, just what that fiendish traitor did to her,
and just who this Lord Inquisitor really is. Despite the two decades
under her service and many battles fought together, sometimes she felt she
never really knew her Lady Inquisitor as much as she would have
liked. Mayhap it was the circumstance of status that prevented
such. After all, as the Lady went about her business with
Inquisitors, planetary governors, and even the Adeptus Astartes, she was always
playing the role of guard, she and the rest of her platoon. Only the
Chaplain was immediately at her side while the others played their
part. Moerchen…she wondered if what she had told the Lady gave her
hope. Of course, she was in near hysterics finally seeing her
passing by, but it must have worked. The internal musing was
abruptly interrupted when the loud groaning of Trooper Hallock emerged from
right next to her.
Note the "loud groaning". Everything Pillock does sets me off in some way, and this is just the beginning. She doesn't have many lines of dialogue in this, thank the Muses, but it is enough to get my blood boiling.
"They're all right. They're just
off elsewhere…have been for a half hour now. We're still in Warp
travel."
"Oh…huh,"
she analyzed her arms, noticing no mutation. "I don't feel
strange at all. That's a miracle."
Like the fact that Pillock doesn't seem to have EVER traveled by Warp before.
You mean you work for the Ordo Malleus and you've never traveled the warp, never been involved in a post-Gellar field cleansing, never seen a Space Marine, never killed a daemon -- you've never done anything vaguely useful that would warrant Schola Progenium training to become an Inquisitorial storm trooper?
You know what, fuck it. I will call it here, because Pillock pisses me off so much and nothing much happens apart from Xin "lamenting" over how she fucked up royally in the "so
fast, so blinding, and so chaotic" fight that was Symphony of Chaos.
And that is it.
____________________________
In closing, this entire part is a case study in how to best fuck up the core canon of a setting, such as the Orks. I know I said Games Workshop themselves strike a fairly inconsistent tone, but in the past ten years the tone set in the Codexes has been one of Orks being very bad for human business, mortal or Astartes.
So seeing a return to the Rogue Trader LOL-Orks is not a funny thing, especially in a series that so obviously want to be taken seriously.
But all in all, this part was more tedious and dull than stupid and lore-breaky. It just goes on FOREVER, or at least feels like that, as both the whole ordeal with the Orks as well as the scenes on board the Falchion of Fail are nothing but needless padding.
And there will be more of that down the line. More padding and more stupid, fakey, horrible Cockney.
Why?
Because fuck narrative consistency and pacing, that's why!
//L
