Editing Story:Warhammer 60K: The Age of Dusk (section)

==Excerpt of Transcript: Log of Captain Trechous of The Magella, Flagship of The Pentus Grand Relief Fleet==

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'''[Day 50]''': [section missing] but there is news from Armageddon, in the form of the man from Hades. He calls himself Iacob; some menial no doubt, but he and his entourage seem well-meaning enough. They have a mandate from the five Primarchs themselves it seems, though I suspect only Vulkan truly cares for the plight of the refugees and those who suffer in these wars. His brothers are warriors and heroic as no mortal may be, but they are not humanitarians. If the death of eighty five percent of humanity was needed for them to achieve victory, I am sure they would pay that price gladly. What is man but a statistic to the gods of battle anyway? 
[Section missing] along with all necessary provisions. This fleet is perhaps the largest I have ever commanded, and what is more amazing is that it is, technically, on a mission of peace. Of mercy.
[Section Missing]
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'''[Day 1,899]''': [Section Missing] which is beyond all reasonable expectations. We are not a gyptic caravan for Pentus’ sake! I am not sure this was the mission agreed upon by our masters back in civilized space. This Iacob is earnest, I’ll give him that, but he doesn’t understand that we cannot keep accepting these refugee fleets into our own. Our force is vast now; several million ships. I have been forced to forbid any deep warp translations, in case our fleet gets separated. At this rate, we shall be slowed to a crawl, and become a sitting target for the terrors of the galaxy. I would ask for guidance from the Primarch, but no communications are forthcoming. No one is answering, and all I get from the seers onboard is weeping and ranting! Ultramar’s gone quiet; I hear of a daemon king marshaling for some great war there. The North is on fire; a hundred thousand worlds consumed by infighting and Pentus-knows what else. The southern rim is just as bad; I dare not search out Braiva’s Best, lest I get this fleet embroiled or recruited in some damn-fool expedition against the Sorcerer-King. I cannot allow[Section Missing]

'''[Day 17,273]''': I must open this report with an update on the refugee situation. Fifty thousand Covegan skiffs, nineteen thousand Tau seeder ships, primed for terraforming, countless colony hives of Q‘orl and Norkla wasp-men, five Kroot spheres, Exodite solar sailers numbering in the millions. Broken merchant vessels from human empires across the galaxy have come too. Their innards are gutted of cargo space, and their holds are filled to the rafters with billions of humans, filthy and scared out of their minds. Most must be scarred, if not physically then surely emotionally. 
We are out of supplies. We are relying upon what passing worlds can offer us when we stop in their systems. We are become beggars! Vulkan’s grand relief fleet; beggars! I’d have us return to Armageddon, if it weren’t for this menial clerk, this damned official. Iacob is a glorified medicae of average ability, and yet the refugees love him, as he tries his best to organize medical teams to tend to all the countless sick and the wounded. He’s got no supplies, but is running on sheer willpower and luck more than anything.
As for naval maneuvers today, I instructed under-helmsmen Griegor and Clavin to correct our course to[Section Missing]

'''[Day 39,283]''': Rendezvous with the ‘Micarno’. The ship was part of a picket fleet entering the basin; the great wilderness that forms the underside of the galaxy. Deep below the habitable worlds, are worlds scoured to the bedrock tens of thousands of years ago, and left abandoned and cold around their orphaned stars. Their Captain, Trenkin, tells me his fleet detected something. A dead spot, at the heart of the basin. It is a black mass, where no warp traffic travels. If we enter this region, warp travel will be painfully slow. But we must investigate; we have been sent by[Section Missing] a great sphere at the heart. It blinds all who[Section Missing]like a god’s skin almost...
[Section Missing.]

'''[Day 200,345]''': [Section Missing] Damn these dregs! Ruins of society! They struck from the warp like thieves in the night! There must have been men on the inside; perhaps some of the cruder refugee ships tipped these pillagers off? If I do not complete tomorrow’s report, know that I abominate all pirates, and when judgement comes in the next life, may their souls be rent asunder, and their[Section Missing]

'''[Day 200,346]''': Thousands are dead, and we are dead in the water, as it were. If the flagship does not cruise, then the fleet must stop; we haven’t enough warp beacons left. If we stop in this system, this fleet will starve.
It is small comfort that we captured their Pirate bitch and her sloop. I shall reap a just reward on this ‘Lady’ Cassion’s flesh. 
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'''[Day 200,347]''': There are no words. Iacob... let her go. He had kept her alive all through our interrogations. He fought and bled to keep her alive. In return, all he asked of her was “Why? Why did you do this to us? We were willing to give you supplies, and to provide you with whatever you needed on the way. There was no need for conflict; there needn’t have been a battle this day.”
The vile pirate Queen looked at him, glaring. Her expression... I couldn’t read it. It was hateful, but not towards him. She held his gaze for what seemed like forever before she replied.
“It is the nature of things. I am sorry for your losses, but it is ever the way of the galaxy. In this grim darkness, there is only war.”
“No! No that is not good enough!”
This was the first time I had seen this small, unimposing man get angry, or even so much as raise his voice. This time he was loud and clarion clear. “For too long we have heard this. ‘I must be monstrous, for that is the tradition’, or ‘We must destroy you, lest our enemies see this as weakness, and strike us down’. We are not machines, built to slay! I will not be a tool of murder and destruction. Look upon this fleet; we should all have been enemies, and yet, though we are afraid, we have not made this relief fleet into an armada. We could have used this fleet to conquer all who stood in our way; this fleet is larger than the greatest Krork navy. There is too much death now. How many die every single day, for no purpose whatsoever? On the whims of people who do not deserve their loyalty? The more we fight and suffer and die on behalf of brutes, the more that black parasite of chaos feeds; suckling on our misery. We will find salvation, and we will do it through peace.”
“This is insanity. Your cowardice will kill you all,” the pirate hissed, in a curious mix of dismay and perhaps awe.
“I am not speaking of cowardice. What we are doing is what goodness is, and what is just. To let a foe strike you, so that that foe may realize their errors, is the bravest thing one can do. It is braver than a war, where one side desperately tries to kill the other, before their foe destroys them in turn.”
“You consider your pompous self sacrifice to be good? Then you, medicae Iacob, are the Last Good Man in this galaxy” scoffed the pirate woman.
Iacob responded by letting her go, and forbidding his men from impeding her, as she fled to her sloop and escaped our clutches. Our weapon stores are depleted (''because we stripped out our guns to fit in more space for our building cargo of living refugees''). I could not destroy her before she went to the warp. Truly, we are doomed.
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'''[Day 200,499]''': All correspondence with Armageddon is lost. The Primarchs had rode out to meet the Imperium of Travesties in open war, fleet against fleet and Primarch against Primarch. 
We are alone. My ship is still damaged, and our situation is bleak. I only hope that[Section Missing]

'''[Day 200, 500]''': The pirates returned. I recognized their vast, dagger-shaped prows anywhere. I readied my empty guns, and marshaled my nearly non-existent soldiers for the coming massacre. But as I spoke to my absent gods, something unexpected happened. The pirates moved into formation with us. My Promethean Cultists say the engines they have supplied us with will help the fleet leave the system, and head towards the Dyson Sphere at long last.
Once again, words fail to express my astonishment. I head into an uncertain future, and I am filled not only with dread, but, dare I say it, hope? A treasonous hope which whispers to me ‘perhaps he is right? Perhaps there is hope for us yet, even as the universe consumes itself? Just perhaps...’
[Section Missing- Significant amount of data corrupted. Salvaging closest remnants...]

'''[Day 378,893]''': Gods alive no![Garbled]... he’s walking on it! No! No! NO! NO! [unintelligible]d’s skin; it lives! Oh ch-[garbled] there-[unintelligible]- opening up! All stations, prepare for evasive-


'''[Transcript Ends]'''
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