From the Diary of Alfried Hanley Vodorson, Royal Volpone 9th Cavalry, Book 2

Small Book.pngThe following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.


Dear Diary,

By the Emperor. And I thought that Valkyrie was unsavoury.

A day's journey in a violently shaking airborn contraption certainly trounces my current situation. As we left orbit (and the contents of my lunch swiftly left my stomach) I experienced... weightlessness. For a few brief moments I felt myself cast adrift, as though I was slowly being swept away by the sea that was the universe - before promptly falling back on my rear end for the second time is as many days when the artificial gravity kicked in. Once again the subject of the mocking of my moronic peers, I took my seat in silence... which is why I now find myself writing to keep my mind off just about everything.

I have never left Valpone before. Father has left occasionally on interplanetary business - I believe he had attended one or two social gatherings in Praetoria, where he won his favourite sword in a duel. Or was it a drunken bet? Come to think of it, was it not that a

The ship just shook. Apparently we're now shifting into "warp travel". Just- w~h--_~- By the thr~_-/|

...Apparently, it is possible for one to continue projectile vomiting even when one's stomach is altogether quite vacant. Noted. According to the ever-shifting predictions of the naval staff, travelling like this to our destination could take anywhere from two days to a month.


Dear Diary,

It has been a day, I think, though I honestly do not know. All passage of time seems to be slowing down. Or is it speeding up? Ten minutes ago could be a fortnight's time, for all I know. Bah. Putting my thoughts on a page does not seem to be making them any clearer.

Warp travel sickens me to the very core, even more so than these disgusting rations. There is something inherently wrong about this, I think. The priests assure us as they travel down the many, many corridors of this ship spreading about their incense that the Emperor will protect us on our journey. Can he perhaps provide us with some better sustenance?

... A thousand apologies to the Emperor and his servants, of which I count myself prominently. This "warp" disturbs my mind more than I had thought possible.

Perhaps I should retire for the night. I am somehow under the impression, looking up the hundreds of blank faces to either side of me, that I am not going to find comfortable bedding arrangements.


Dear Diary,

I find myself becoming bored at an accelerated rate. The rest of the soldiers seem to be amused enough making idle chatter amongst themselves, though I honestly do not know what they can talk about for so long. Certainly not discussions of a gentlemanly nature, I seem to find myself thinking as they take long drags of their foul Lho Sticks, chuckling over some form or another of a long-passed-around joke of an infantile nature.

Guardsman Jallus - the individual who had helped me off of the floor a few days ago after my "incident" with the explosive lance - is currently passing along photos of his wretched spawn, the others tittering as they no doubt ask in explicit detail just how much refuse they spread up the walls of his shack.

On the subject of refuse, I fear this boredom shall kill me before I even have the chance to see a greenskin that is not fashioned from it.

Dear Diary,

The Sergeant made a speech today. By the Emperor, I did not know he had it in him.

I have recorded it here for posterity:

"Men, I shall say this now for fear that the warp shall spit us out before I would otherwise be able to do so.

I have known you all for mere days. I will not lie - you are not the best soldiers I have ever had the pleasure of training, but you most certainly are not the worst. The Emperor has put you under my command for a reason, and I shall not fail Him. We shall not fail Him. By all that is good and glorious under the mighty gaze of humanity's' holy watchman, we will visit death upon our attackers and revenge for those who have been attacked.

No matter what may happen in the coming days, we shall not take one step back as we face down the enemies of man. We shall stare into the mindless, savage eyes of the greenskins and we shall show them quarter.

We are Royal Volpone - true to the Emperor and hard to kill!"

To this there was a roar of approval, to which I could only contribute. A wonderful speech - I always said that the Sergeant was a good man.

Dear Diary,

We have left the warp... oh thank the Emperor... we have left the warp.

We will be descending to the planet's surface in a few hours or so. Jolly good... perhaps I can stretch my legs when we finally touch base on this "Armageddon".

I have just been informed around twenty minutes ago that the surface of the planet is highly toxic with poisonous gases and low visibility ash in the atmosphere. So there is that.

I was not graced with a response when I asked if it would be harmful to the sheen and gloss of my horses' coat. Pah. Perhaps it does not qualify amongst their petty concerns how many hours of labour it takes for Chancer's mane to sway so gracefully in the wind.

The Sergeant says we should sleep now while we have the chance. Perhaps he has a point. I can rest and ensure the orks see me at my best as I cut them down. Good thinking, that man.