Here continue the documentations of Magos Andreovich.
I know reactors. I repaired the ancient claptrap on that planet I remade myself upon, and I was singly responsible for maintaining the power supply on my berth away from that place. And yet, this thrice-cursed archeotech is an enigma. There is some essential part missing from it.. and I can’t seem to puzzle this out. I will require the original diagrams, it pains me to admit. This reactor needs the fine touch of expertise, not the eager hands of curiousity.
I delivered my report of the generatorium to our erstwhile figurehead (such as he is) and he said he take it under advisement. The smirk in that man’s eyes worries me. Skillfully brushing aside my statements of the urgency with which we must get the generatorium working, he informed us that he had made contact with that contemptible creature Vycraft. Apparently the man had some work for us, and before long we had the dubious privilege of his presence. He tasked us with butchering some mutants, in return for his official recognition of us (for whatever that will prove to be worth). We agreed, and I would like to note that the impatience of the traitor legionnaires (excepting that of the sorceror) could be a liability in the future.
Following our skillful massacre of the blighted wretches, we were beset by a Vindicare assassin. Noxias was dealt two nearly-fatal blows to the skull, yet by some mercy he lived. My ministrations showed that one of the rounds failed to detonate, and the other was a glancing blow along the man’s temple. Prodigious bleeding followed. The assassin was dispatched by the abominable arm-gun of that disgusting creature, Barak, and only his helm was salvageable. Both Photep and myself tried to examine the assassin’s weapons, but the wards were too strong, and I regret to say that in my anger I destroyed them. I must remember that in the proceeding weeks, evidence of long term damage from Noxias’ wounds might surface. One does not recover from a wound like that overnight.. a truth to which my form is testament.
Vycraft’s attitude did nothing to dissuade my suspicions that he had something to do with the assassin, but regardless, he seems a creature of structure, and followed his agreement to the letter.
Following some further ministrations for Photep, Noxias and myself, Noxias told us that he had a source that claimed they knew of a blast door that might serve our purposes. To seal the ziggurat from the vaults is no small feat, but stranger and greater things have happened. We were directed to the (relatively) recent crash of a nameless “Devastation” class cruiser-carrier. I procured some transport and we made best speed for the crash site.
We spent a few hours circling one side of the vessel, looking for a point of egress, and I saw (to my disappointment) that the neck of the great beast had broken with its planetfall. The entire underside seemed to have been stripped away in the long furrow marking the great voidship’s passage. It was in the broken neck that we found our point of egress. My not-insignificant experience with voidships left me the resident expert, and I pointed us on a course toward the ship’s bridge, Claudanis, Barak and Kynska in the lead.
It was shortly after we began our infiltration that the fear started. I do not know whence it came, but this ship is cursed. Whatever remains of the machine spirits do not welcome us to this place. The visions were like.. as if I was trapped in time, outside of myself, in a place of infinite cold, and dread. It felt like death, and I was not alone. I did not want to stay in that place. I could tell from the reactions of my comrades that they felt similar moments of, what I can only think to describe as time-displacement. Eventually we came to the ship’s bridge doors, sealed tight as a tomb. I failed to open them. While working on the lock I saw a, a flash, a vision, of this place as I suspect it truly is. There was a symbol on the door, something grand and terrible, something that speaks to me of a daemon beyond any of us. I do not trust this place. I do not want to stay here.