As I feared, Draylock could not be trusted to provide the basic services expected of a hotelier. For a start, not being a complete fucking moron. We were awakened in the middle of the night by a couple of goons trying to break into our rooms. The Bearded Lady very gently inquired as to whether they’d lost their way. I would have asked that question of their corpses, myself. In any case, they weren’t the problem – they were just a couple of thugs Draylock had subcontracted to rob us. We chased them downstairs where we were met by something more somewhat more fearsome.
These were the things the locals call bodysnatchers. I’d assumed bodysnatching was more of a hobby than a state of being, but now I know better. They were some sort of dead man encased in iron bands, a tech heretical zombie I suppose. (In fact, the dead men were the local guardsmen that we’d encoutered earlier.) Cruellus and Rat Boy blasted them fairly badly, astonishingly to little effect, and Cruellus somewhat lost it for a while upon discovering that the massive weapon that he can’t keep his hands off wasn’t as impressive as he’d dreamed. I must say, the things were intimidating, I found my own legs turning to jelly every time I tried to approach them. However both barrels of a shotgun demonstrated that they could indeed be stopped. Cruellus’s grenade was also effective, and we managed to see them off with only a little damage to ourselves.
It’s my hypothesis that these things are the love children of the infamous Mr Moran, with whom we have an appointment in a few hours. They are also exemplars of the tech heresy which we’ve been sent here to root out. Mr Moran will have some explaining to do. I’ve taken some samples of the things to return to Medicae Sand, and also ruined their metal frameworks in case the damnable things decide to get up again. I don’t think Cruellus would cope if that happened, he seems to be somewhat faint-hearted when confronted with tech heresy. At least that shows that his heart his pure and he draws his strength from faith in the doctrine of the Golden Throne.
Oh, how I wish I could sleep! I can’t get out of my mind the thoughts of Rat Boy skulking around in Draylock’s office, no doubt stealing his stash of etchings of naked mutants or some such perversion. His room is next to mine, so I hope he’s quiet about whatever he’s doing. I think I can hear the Bearded Lady snoring. Emperor save me!
Oh yes, Draylock is dead. I’m quite dismayed by that, as I wanted to kill him myself. And the corrupt magistratum officers are dead as well. Won’t there be anyone left for me to work out my frustrations on? Mrs Draylock was a miserable mewling moronic creature, but it won’t be satisfying killing someone who was so barely alive in the first place.