Another Apothecary, this time in tactical dreadnought armor!
Like your standard Apothecary, the Primus Medicae allows for re-rolls on wounds, and Feel No Pain. As an independent character, they can join units the regular Apothecary cannot, for example terminators, making them even more killy.
Along with dreadnoughts and librarians, apothecaries have always been for me one of the coolest things in 40k. Tasked with ensuring their legion’s combat effectiveness not only in the moment but for future generations, apothecaries keep marines in the fight as well as harvest the genetic material that transforms aspirants into trans-humans.
I had a conversation about the fluff of heresy era Iron Warriors making much use of apothecaries giving their nickname “Corpse Grinders.” In my opinion, their predilection for attrition-style warfare emphasizes the need for a large contingent of apothecaries to make the most of the grunts.
For the 701st Grand Battalion, apothecaries are incredibly important. Largely cut off from resupply and unable to rely on combat replacements, the apothecary corps must perform medical miracles in order to stay a relevant battle force.
Professor Ished and Luigi nodded gravely as Artie Hosfer finished laying out his problems.
“And since then, Frouch has bitten two other theater students. I can’t let this get out. Tickets sales are bad enough. And of course, I worry about the boy,” he added hastily. “Poor fool’s convinced himself he’s a vampire.” Hosfer held his hands out. “Just get him off the street. I can pay you.”
Ished and Luigi shared a look. It was a theater student. How hard could it be?
Hosfer placed a battered instrument case on the table. Nestled inside lay a hand-cranked phonograph and a wax cylinder labeled APPLAUSE. “He might have the acting ability of plywood, but he’s still a thespian. This should be like catnip.”
Before leaving, Hosfer had informed them that due to his poverty Grontz Frouch, the student in question, had been renting space in a mausoleum to live in. Surely this did nothing to reinforce his mania.
Ished and Luigi decided that they had time to kill before setting off to search for the errant theater student. On the way to the cemetery Luigi felt the irresistible tug of a haberdashery shop. Differences in opinion between himself and the tailor resulted in a brief tussle in which Professor Ished was stabbed with a pair of scissors. Dragging the wounded teacher with him, Luigi beat a hasty retreat.
Recovering by a fountain, Professor Ished noticed a local street youth selling newspapers detailing the latest vampire attack. Both men noted the attack was near the cemetery and the dilapidated Castle Lanser.
As darkness fell, Prof. Ished and Luigi camped out a short distance away from the mausoleums. In the failing light, they noticed a weedy figure stalk out of a crypt, making for the castle. A cape billowed in the occasional breeze.
Closing behind him, Professor Ished lavished praise on Frouch’s commitment to his role. The thin, pimply faced boy sneered at them waving his hands in an attempt at mysticism. “Cower, cower,” he commanded.
The heroes blinked at him. “Well, it’s a good start. You have a respect, for, uh," began Ished. “Tradition,” finished Luigi. He deftly drew the phonograph and started cranking. Applause filled the meadow. Frouch wavered momentarily, drinking it in greedily. Then he turned on his heel and billowed away, disappearing into the nearby Castle Lanser.
As the night filled with the sounds of a poorly played pipe organ, Ished and Luigi made their way up to the theater students lair. The castles huge doors creaked ominously as they opened, and shut behind them. The main hall was strewn with cobwebs, candelabras and ceiling g to floor black velvet tapestries. On the other side, bent over the wheezing pipe organ, was Frouch.
Ished and Luigi drew up close, congratulating Frouch on his playing and his dedication to the role of vampire. He blushed, his face turning an unhealthy mauve under the white face paint.
“Join me at my table,” he invited, gesturing elegantly.
"I do not drink wine," Frouch declared after they were all seated.
"What?"
"I said I do not drink wine"
Ished and Luigi leaned in. "Look you’ll have to speak up, this is a long table. We can barely hear you down our end."
"I said I do not drink! Wine!"
"Well we aren’t either."
Frouch glared and clapped his hands. From the shadows emerged a muddled-looking undergraduate with a fake hump poking out from his top.
"Yethhh mathter," he groaned.
"Igor, Bring refreshment for my guests", Frouch commanded. He turned back to Ished and Luigi. "I never drink wine."
"So you’ve mentioned," Luigi muttered, downing his glass. He tried to get the servants attention for a top off, but the man was nowhere to be seen.
"Well I think this is really interesting," said Ished politely. He had produced a small pocket notebook and made a show of jotting things down. He had the idea of a newspaper article, no…a research paper. It would get him back into academia. He would call it Interview With A Theater Student.
Caught up in his plan, Ished did not notice Frouch draw closer to him. Suddenly the undergraduate was leering in his face, flashing poorly applied fake fangs. The theater student struck, biting at Ished’s neck.
Luigi sprang into action, polishing off Ished’s glass of wine and placing the would-be vampire into a chokehold. Clasping a hand to his gushing wound, Ished brought his knee up into Frouch's groin.
There was a soft wheeze and a crumpling. Professor Ished and Luigi cast about the room for something to restrain Frouch with. Bundling him up in the tablecloth, they made for the exit.
As they pulled the heavy wooden doors open, a sharp crack filled the air. Behind them Igor stood holding a pair of pistols, one smoking.
"That wath a warning thot," he growled. "Put my mather down."
"Piss off, weirdo," hurled back Luigi, diving through the door with Frouch over his shoulder.
Ished scrambled after him as the second pistol went off.
Within the hour Ished and Luigi were beating down Hosfer’s door. Bleary-eyed, he opened the door wide enough for them dump Frouch unceremoniously on the floor.
As Luigi pressed the case for more money, Hosfer cleaned the bite on Ished’s neck. The professor muttered his thanks, distracted by the strong pulsing of Hosfer’s jugular…
As a fan of the Iron Warriors, nothing highlights their dour spirit better than the Iron Havocs, grim gunners clad in gunmetal and hazard stripes, marching irresistibly towards their foe, autocannons in hand.
Well, began Luigi, do you have the names?
Yes, of course, grumbled Professor Ished. Of course I do.
The two stared at the words, a leftover from the buildings tenure as a prison, carved above the double doors. Learn From Your Mistakes, it read.
Still works, thought the professor.
What are the names, then, asked Luigi.
Oh. Rudolph and Hubert.
And their last names?
None provided.
They convinced the drug-fuddled resident advisor that the Professor was showing Luigi, posing as a transfer student, to his dorm. There were three Rudolph’s the RA was aware of. The first lived on the top floor, and was caught in flagrante delicto with a teacher. Professor Ished and his semi-nude counterpart stared daggers at each other, looks fraught with tension and loaded with questions about tenure. But this was not the right Rudolph. The heroes did manage to squeeze some hush money out of the wrong Rudolph’s lover.
Two floors down, still in search of the right Rudolph, the two men found the Dean of Engineering had rented all of the rooms out to construction workers and their families. Luigi was shocked. Professor Ished was nonplussed. Dean Hoog was clearly an old hand at supplementing his meager income.
Another floor down, and the right Rudolph. However, the right Rudolph was umpiring a match of the Bayern University Dueling Society. Lacking protective gear and not expecting trouble, Luigi walked face first into an errant hurled bomb. Sensing trouble, Rudolph took flight, but Luigi drew upon the training of his profession and nimbly dove through the air, landing a swift chop between his quarry’s shoulders.
It was time for a conversation.
Rudolph knew immediately that these two were from the Bursar. He was quick to assure them that he had the missing tuition money, he simply did not have it currently. As he was umpiring the Dueling Club matches, he was using his position to help himself and some select members of the wagering public. He assured Ished and Luigi that he would have his tuition by the evening, offering the pair to make a bet on the sure outcome. Scanning the meager room, Luigi’s eyes settled on an urn with the word Mum, written on it.
You have till seven, Luigi growled, Mum’s coming with us in case you try to skip out on us.
And that was half their list mostly sorted.
They met back up with the RA, now gently snoring in a hammock. They waited patiently as he struggled out of it.
Do you know a Hubert, asked Professor Ished.
I’m Hubert, said the RA. Or is there another one?
Is there another one?
Another who?
Another Hubert.
Like a clone? The RA seemed very concerned. Like they cloned me?
Yes, they assured him. Most likely they have. Whoever they are.
What do you want to see me, or him, or is about?
Tuition.
Did he not pay it, asked this-Hubert.
After more confusing conversation, the three of them agreed that If that-Hubert had or had not paid his tuition was not their concern. This Hubert was on the the list, and it was this Hubert’s tuition that needed paying.
But I did pay it, he insisted. I mailed it.
This was of course, not the case. In this-Hubert’s desk was a large manila envelope, stuffed full of coins and covered with stamps.
Well, perhaps I did not mail it.
Ished and Luigi collected the money, dropped it off at the Bursars, and sat around drinking tepid coffee on the broken chairs of the waiting room.
Well, Ished said after a while. Bout that time? Luigi filled a pocket with soot from the cold fireplace. Ished shot him a look. In case he needs convincing, Luigi explained.
He did not. With barely a word, Rudolph shoved a pile of gold into their hands, snatched his urn back, and showed the door as politely as he dared to two men from the Bursars office.
Back in their rented rooms, the two of them looked at the small pile of money in front of them. It was nearly a thousand pounds. Logic dictated that they should turn it over to their creditor. But it was not often that they had spare coin. Maybe they would keep it around for a while.
