Personal Log of Herodotus Dauchus
Ordo Scriptorum
4 056 005.M42

Orwellus Spire – Heavensreach Prime


In mere days, Heavensreach will be under siege. Despite my fervour for accurate and reliable records, my personal log may suffer in the coming weeks. Yet I will persevere, for personal accounts of such tragedy and calamity are forever far and few between, and it is the holy mission of this Ordo not just to preserve or quicken data, but to produce it.

My mission seems so simple, yet I believe it to be nearly impossible. This Ordo must recover and preserve the Imperium’s most sacred and sensitive documents in this system. While a few texts may simply be loaded into cryo-storage and shipped out of the Gulf, many others may need to be copied, deciphered, or restored. Others still may need to be rediscovered, protected, or even reclaimed from the enemy.

There is insufficient time to accomplish this mission, and I will doubtlessly be forced to choose between priceless manufactorum quota logs and the lacklustre but irreplaceable poetry of the Heavensreach aristocracy. While my loyal and elite compiler-militant stand at my disposal, they are few in number, and despite my Rosette, it is doubtful that the Astra Militarum will willingly give us resources to accomplish our most vital of tasks. Today I will contact Colonel Lukas Harlem, and ask (or demand) for his assistance. Hopefully he will be more agreeable than his inferiors.

Already there are terrible omens of the coming invasion. My second astropath died terribly, screaming of iron slivers and a great crawling and scuttling inside her head. Whether this beckons of the plague father or the great devourer I cannot say, but both are horrifying in their own right.

The whispers of Rogue Traders and guild merchants indicate that the dark denizens of Commorragh also seek to take advantage of this chaos. There is evidence that this is true, for as Imperial forces withdraw to the orbit of Heavensreach, the Anorheim Compact again becomes a hunting ground.

Even more worrying is the knife-blade confessions extracted by my brother Inquisitors. The screams of those heretics caught in their web reveals that the servants of the chaos already scuttle beneath our feet, undermining our fortifications and weakening our resolve.  Kriegsmarshal Macher and General Joffre have assured me that their soldiers will fight to the bitter end, and the Death Korp of Krieg are famed for their fanatic loyalty . . . but an Inquisitor always has his doubts, and my healthy skepticism fears what may lie under the death mask.

The disappearance of Inquisitor Argus heightens my suspicions of traitors within our ranks. His fervent protestations and assurances that any heresy would be swiftly dealt with were ill portent of this invasion, especially since whatever traitor he sought to eliminate has clearly gotten the best of him. Already my ciphers and data-arkeologists are searching through the coded transmissions to learn what befell his expedition, but I fear that any answers we discover will be learned far too late to save his life, much less gain some advantage over the enemy.

Despite all the ill omens above, the arrival of the Astartes Cruisers in Orbit put my heart somewhat at ease. However, I fear that we may need more than a handful of those warriors to defend this world, much less the entire system.

Emperor preserve us.


“A strong mind asks no questions.”


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