The constant chirping of the wildlife only registered at 34dB, according to Warns auspex, but in the absence of other sounds in the night it felt like being in the front row at a pound-concert at the “Cursed Twist” back home. Sleep in this place was impossible. “Focus on the silent voice of your own zi, and close your minds eye to the sounds of the material world” was what Havelas had said on the first night, but the only thing his Minds Eye would see when he closed his worldly ones was the cackling Dusk-Hag as she exclaimed the price he would come to accept for her aid: his soul.
Damn this place. Damn this place to the deepest hell in all the planes of the non-existence of the warp. Then again, that place would probably be like a high-spire garden compared to this hole. Perhaps he was the one who was damned, and this was the deepest pit he could be banished to. 3 weeks in this place, and Brutus was starting to think that using his last shell to blow his brains out all over the swamp might be a good idea.
3 weeks of hiking through a hostile swampy forest, discovering an endless variety of lethal dangers and hostile wildlife. And the only sentient beings they had met were some savage mutant cannibals that had tried to drag him off during the night for food. They didn’t stand much chance against their superior firepower, but now they only had 10 shots left between the 4 of them, and the constant damp of this cursed swampland was causing all manner of problems with what still functioning gear they had. They spent more attention on camp security after that incident. Not that there was much left to eat, he thought, as his fingers stroked his protruding ribs. Hardly enough left to feed even a little cannibal boy, he thought an a little laugh formed on his lips. It turned into a rattling cough.
3 weeks with no food and no sleep, suffering from all sorts of infections and parasitic growths. Warn and Havelas were keeping records of new biological discoveries for a while, but now nobody can muster any enthusiasm for anything save basic survival. Castus shot something that looked vaguely edible last week, and almost died from the toxic venom infusing its meat when he tried to eat it. The few medical supplies that had survived the arduous trek through the Tesseract had been spent, and the few experiments to create poultices and ointments from local flora had proved less than successful. He absently rubbed the rash that currently covered the left half of his head and torso, and tried to recall the face of his wife. It seemed like in another lifetime when he last saw her.
3 weeks. At least, he thought it was three weeks. Hard to tell, as there wasn’t much difference between night and day in this place, constantly bathed in a twilight further darkened by the foliage of the never-ending forest. His chrono had broken down after 3 days, and Warn wasn’t sharing any knowledge his machine-body might hold. He suspected that Warn had problems of his own, but the grim Tech-priest would hardly say anything these days. The best estimate of the passing of time now was the ever growing level of pain from the hunger in your stomach.
Thinking back on the spider-human hybrids they’d encountered during their first week he almost regretted leaving their bodies for the cannibals. Heck, he already regretted leaving the dead cannibal for the other cannibals. He was so hungry now, that even Havelas was starting to look like a juicy morsel of veal, his pale flesh tantalisingly displayed above his makeshift loincloth.
Havelas was complaining about this place being somehow dangerously close to the realms beyond. Something about a veil so weak and torn it was a wonder the world hadn’t been swallowed whole. The first time he tried to bolster his weak flesh using the power of the immaterium to fight the fatigue and diseases of this place, he collapsed in a shrieking fit as the forest around suddenly grew icicles. Now he keeps his own minds eyes firmly shuts, and whines about how if he’d just been somewhere normal, he’d fry all these primitives and fly home in an instant.
Just what’s needed to complete this misery: a whining, naked egg-head rambling about daemons, sundered realities and the all-you-can-eat buffet at Lady Beatrix IV of House Catallus manse.
And tomorrow’s just the first day of the rest of his life