The Unabridged Journals of Rogue Trader Hagar Remigius

++++Administratum Records circa M.41++++
++++Remigius Prime; Hive Hagarus++++
++++File Date; 844.M41+++
++++Record Begins; 102.M41+++

It is the year 102.M41 as best as our calendar can tell within a decade or so of variance. It is the date of my thirty-sixth birthday, a day that marks my ascension to the title of Rogue Trader after my father decided to retire with the help of some Ork raiders.

And if truth be told, the state of the dynasty is a poor one. My ship was even now under extensive repairs in the Trivarius Shipyards over Camae, the Orion Star Clipper Rapid Delivery was in poor condition, originally having been recovered from the surface of some dung-heap that had no name but the designation code DH-4940-X-10001010 that the Mechanicus team that surveyed it had given it.

"Adept, tell me there is some good news?" I asked as the Adept approached me in the observation bay.

"The ablutions facilities all work?" The Adept offered with a hint of humour, "In truth, the refit and repair work is largely complete. But you should have told us about her history. The machine spirit is old and when she was pried from the planets embrace she needed proper attention."

"My father wasn't a reputable man." I said without turning from the servitors crawling over the hull of my ship.

"The Lance and Macrocannons are both operational, all key systems are operative and the main cargo hold is ready with its lifters to accept cargo. Even the Teleportarium is fully functional... but." The adept paused, forcing me to turn and actually regard it's malformed mechanical countenance.

"But. What?" The words were edged with anger, but not enough to be truly disrespectful.

"The Luxury quarters are technically repaired. But furnishing it is outside of our obligations to the machine spirit." The Adept replied. I found myself simply staring until the Adept decided I had nothing to say, making the sign of the cog and leaving my presence. They had achieved the impossible, repairing the ancient hull and leaving me with an intact ship.

And, I was reminded, very little wealth and influence left.

This is where my journey as a Rogue Trader began, near penniless but with a pristine ship in the ass end of space. Segmentum Ultima in the Taravian Sector. But who am I?

I am Captain Hagar Remigius, owner of the Remigius Warrant, stemming back it is believed to shortly after the Heresy, scion of a dwindling dynasty. My closest friends and confidants are my command crew.

The Seneschal Sara Yelvin, a crone of a woman who served my father when he too was young.

Khaelesh Rex, the Explorator who served as chief engineer when the mood struck him.

Teimas, my navigator. The man had a sense of humour as wicked as a Dark Eldar Wyche, and was fiercely loyal to boot. His sister Cailie was the Astropath in charge of managing the small choir for the Delivery.

Void-Mistress Maya, the Master of Space and Void-Master Niceus, the Master of Gunnery served in their capacities as well and were key advisors on ship operations.

And then in the end, there were the arch-militants that served as my bodyguards. The four of them made quite the team, Rashae was a bitch up close and personal, a competitive duelist. Marcus and Gerdie were more well-rounded fighters. Then there was Gark, the man couldn't rub two braincells together without help from a medicae. But rifle in his hands and he could take the gonads off of a rampaging grox.

So where to begin?

Why. We're going to begin right here.

++++First Record Ends.++++

++++Administratum Records circa M.41++++
++++Remigius Prime; Hive Hagarus++++
++++File Date; 844.M41+++
++++Second Record Begins; 102.M41+++

The sights and sounds of Mercae were loud, bright and celebratory, a parade going on for the founding of another regiment of half-starved imbeciles to be sent off to fight the Emperor's wars. They'd all be dead before a handful of years had passed no doubt. But even so it was one of the reasons why I was here, contacted by a broker who was after moving a cargo, quickly.

"Captain Remigius, I am glad you came to see me. The Founding has provided such a disruption in trade." He was a corpulent man, wearing enough jewelry to no doubt advertise his wealth. And truth was, his wealth paled in comparison to a starship, but I needed more than that, thus I was forced to deal with this little man.

"Mercator Donaldson," Mercator, the title the people of this world applied to their merchant princes, "I was naturally interested, you have a cargo that you need to move and you need it moved quickly I gather? There is no irregularities that might warrant Inquisition entanglements or Arbites judgement are there?" The man paled a little even at the thought.

"Oh no Captain, the founding has wrangled just about every transport belonging to the merchant houses and has left us without much in the way of transport, and I have a cargo of continental harvesters bound for the Agriworld of Temmus." Donaldson looked like he was sweating the words instead of speaking them. Insisting on meeting here was bound to make him uncomfortable.

"Sara?" I said calling her attention to me.

Hunched over with her augmetics she began tapping commands into a wrist mounted cogitator unit. "Mercator Donaldson, what is the volume of the cargo units?" In response he shrugged and passed her a dataslate that she began to process. "We can handle the cargo sir with a little room to spare. But I will have the stevedores go over it anyway to ensure everything is in order."

Taking the dataslate I examined the data. "Mercator, I'm afraid this payment is insufficient." He stared goggle-eyed. "You want a priority express delivery, and there are no other Captains with vessels free to consider it."

"I'm authorised to do.."

"Triple it," I cut him off and he went white as a ghost, "I am the Captain of a fast, reliable, ship which is well equipped to protect itself, you have no other options if you want to meet your delivery contract."

"Good sir, this is ro..." He said flustered, stopping when I got up.

"In that case, good day." I turned to go.

"Wait, I agree to your terms." The Mercator said panicked. And just like that, I wasn't broke and had a Cargo.