I’m afraid to say that I shan’t be making it off this pitiable ship. It may sound melodramatic, but there’s simply no way around it. The provisions are just atrocious and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it! The crew attempted to have an inaugural feast for the captain and crew when we finally arrived on the Collateral Damage. I shudder to think what the culinary staff would have struggled to pass as provender before I intervened. Gracious. As it is, the best they could muster off what I believed to be VERY EXPLICIT INSTRUCTIONS was some frozen poultry in a sort of viscous liquid they claimed was gravy. Honestly, it’s as if these people never tasted proper food before.
To add insult to injury, the captain seems to be under the impression that I’m to directly interact with the unwashed masses of the empire. Just the other day he had me interrogating refugees at the Temple Gate. Can you believe it?! Me? Refugees. Unbelievable and completely below one of my rank. Naturally, I obliged. Familiar as I am to the droll nonsense of politics, this did not seem a battle of wills worth dueling. As luck would have it I ran into Miss Victrix and the a few of the ship staff by the name of Burne and Goat on board the station. They seem to be a bit rough around the edges, but are not altogether intolerable. In an a charmingly misguided attempt to welcome me into their ranks, they saw fit to take me out for drinks and to equip me with a weapon. A weapon! I mean, really. It’s one thing to train with a rapier or a dueling pistol, but the size of the device—a “hellgun,” I believe—rendered it nearly unusable. I’ve no idea why the vendor would even sell a weapon that massive and unwieldy. Surely the market in novelties can’t be that prosperous? And besides, it’s not as if I’m to see any combat in this position. Still, it was a lovely gesture on their part.
Oh! I’ve nearly forgotten to tell you about my new comrade, Triox. As it turns out, I completely misjudged the fellow. He may be a bundle of wires and circuitry, but he has far better manners than nearly anyone on this crew. Once again, Draque insisted on sending me on some menial task looking for star charts on Footfall. Speaking of dreadful locations. It reminds me of that awful time when we were on holiday on Okeanos Prime. The simulated ocean was down for repairs, and we were forced to amuse ourselves on the beach for the better part of a week. But I digress. As we perused the stalls and queried the locals Triox and I had an absolutely lovely conversation. He inquired after the family and seemed to be the first person who has genuinely taken an interest in my opinions. In fact, we took tea together just a few days ago. The poor chap desperately needs a new set, which I shall endeavor to acquire posthaste.
Well, that’s all I have for now, Diary. If I survive the continued assault on my epicurean sensibilities I shall write again soon. If not, farewell, and I pray justice is rendered unto the chef.