Not quite so grimdark.

(This is supposed to be like a story, or multiple, about the MC being obsessed over by a bunch of characters, most of them individually attracted to him for one reason or another.)

One day or another....

I bumped my head as i rose from my makeshift bedding, cobbled together from rags, plastek and perhaps s couple of scrolls. I take off my robe and change into another, cleaner one. A luxury i allow myself. After a nice mug of recaf, and a bit of bread with whatever i had on hand, can't quite remember, i make my way to the office. Before i can even open the door i can hear the constant scribbling. I sigh, and open the door.

The first thing to greet me is the visage of OPAL, the first scribe under my charge. The servitor's one milky eye regards me, the many metal appendage's on its misshapen torso continue to put down endless amounts of data onto scrolls noone will ever look at again, other than me of course. Someone has to sort them after all. Walking past the mindless pile of meat and plasteel i make my way through t rows of shelves that bukle under the weight of the records piled atop them until i finally find my way to my desk.

Sitting down on my creaking chair I take a moment to appriciate the monotomy. *What a life it is. Simple, mindnumbingly mundane and boring but stable, and very much not perilous. Taking a look at the data slate in my left hand i was once again reminded of the privalage of my position. Another four thousand manufacturum worker's lost in the grind of his most holy gears, churning out munitions four the imperial war machine. "One, fifteen, thirty five. Owens, Christian..." I begin dictating tags and names for OPAL to write down. It must have been no more than ten minutes as a knock tears me out of my monotone ramblings. *How...odd.*

The door slowly falls open, and in steps someone way too important looking to be here. From the long fiery-red mane reaching down to her waist, the fine red and black leather suit that looks like it would belong to a naval captain to the plasma pistol and the saber strapped to her hips. Everthing screamed royalty. Her purple eyes fix upon me, and her lips curl into a bemused smile making the beauty mark above the corner of her mouth dance like a will-o-wisp.

I, of course, wasn't to happy someone like that was here, considering that always means trouble...or even more tedious work and that was even before she spoke with that grating overconfidence of someone that knew damm well they were in the presence of lessers. "Greetings servant." She adressed me with feigned politeness "I am Rogue Trader Olivia Cloe val Macencia, and i have come to **aliviate** you of some of your logistic personel. You see, recently my beloved great uncle, Persival Osiris val Macencia, had passed during a tragic accident involving a certain Winterstark..."

*Winterstark? Inquisitor Winterstark?*

"The very one." I felt my blood freeze at the sound of another voice, a soft voice, almost ethereal in nature. From behind the Rogue Trader steps out the suspected abomination...a psyker. Its skin was unnervingly pale, almost translucent, so much so the visible veins beneath seemed like painted rivers. Its eyes, a red see marked with only white veins. With each step, its hair done in a braid flung from the back over her shoulder had strains of blue. Its garment was a robe of purple and gold layers. Held in its right hand was a staff, its top in the design of an eagles claw holding open a massive tome. I am ashamed to admit that i was unable to discard the abomination's feminine appeal. Its hips were wide, i could even tell through the robe, just the same was its chest, how shall I say? Well developed. As I tried to banish these vile thoughts, the psyker began to blush, because as it has demonstrated, my mind is as open to it as its is to the immaterium.

"Xavia, how lovely to have you here...disobeying me yet again." The Rogue Trader sneered, but i caught the playful undertone. "How could i not?" The psyker replied coldly, its unnerving gaze still locked on me. At least i think so, there are no pupils in its eyes. "I wouldn't want my mistress getting lost." I wanted so badly to get the conversation back on track, to get this over with an have them gone. But it was not to be. "It seems you are understaffed.": Val Mancencia says after scanning the room, finding only myself and the servitor "I suppose you are studied in manner of logistics?"

I stare at the noblewoman for a couple seconds, trying to find my bearings before i finally reply with words that souded much more crude than i wanted them to "I have been taught in matters of management, yes, i suppose I best come in connection with your High Factotum for the transfer?" "My what?" The Rogue Trader responds, much to my suprise "Your High Factotum, Rogue Trader. You know, your senior officer for precisly that." I repeat. After a short pause, Olivia laughs and waves her hand dismissivly "Ohh, of course. Well, i dont have one, i would just have my Seneshal deal with that, something I lack as previously stated."

"However I believe that that problem might have just fixed itself. You are coming with me.": she states. Just like that. "What-? Excuse me Ro-": I couldn't even get the sentence out before she interrupted me. "You heard me, you are coming with me. You are now my Seneshal, and the other thing too...What was it called?" "High Factotum." The abomination chimes in, its voice running a chill down my spine. "Ahh yes, come on then, chop chop time is money. More importantly money not in my pocket."

So now i find myself being escorted from my eversung home an wisked up into the stars. *Who would take my place? Where would i go? What is my future looking like? Do i even care?* All those thoughts wirl around in my head, making me almost dizzy. This feels unreal, utterly unbelievable. Packed between countless armed guards, with the abomination uncomfortably close behind me I am driven to the maw of the beast: the hangar bay of the Val Macencia Flagship, the "Whiskfull Comet".

A guard calls out "This way." He commands and of course I follow. The ship is immense, and decorated. Even in the lower decks the floors are spotless and the lights shine like miniature stars, the difference between those and the dim lights of my old office is blinding. Literally. I see the menials of the lower deck going about their duties, loading and unloading boxes or talking to one another, another odd thing to note. People seem happy, almost jovial. Up an elevator, and again a march over ling bridges and hallways. Until we stop, and the guard nods to the door. Engraved in cursive black upon a gold plate is written "Quin Webber." The guard gave me a wierd look as i read my own name out loud. Its been years since I have seen or heard it. I dont even know how they found it, considering that kind of detail usually is either unrecorded, or logged away is some forgotten corner. By the throne I almost forgot it myself. The armed man turns to leave without any more words spoken. I place my hand upon the skull doorknob and head inside.

I feel like a fish out of water as the reality truly hit me. Me, just some random fialant, had been chosen to be the right hand of a Rogue Trader, a position of importance so great that generations of men and women are groomed to such such a role. And I got it out of flippant chance? Ridiculous. The room is spacious, almost altocelarophobic, but that is most likely just me not being used to such places. My gaze falls upon the bed, an actual bed with a pillow and a blanket. I wonder if i can even sleep on something like that, I'll just have to get used to it. Opening the wardrobe i find whole sets of clothes. Perhaps left from the previous owner? Most likely not.

But also on the inside of the door is a full body mirror, allowing me to see myself the first time in ages, grey eyes peering back at me. My brown, dirty looking hair snakes down my head over my shoulders, my beard, short but unkempt on my gaunt face. I reach up, spindly fingers pushing a lock of greasy hair out of my face.

As I do I see a figure staring at me from the hallway throught the open door...