Corillia was a strange world. Technically classified by the administratum as an agri world, due to its rolling fields and large heards of strange cattle. The planet has only a short dry season, and a very long and aggressive wet season. While this all seems very standard, a surprisingly large number of pilgrims from nearby systems flock to the planet. This is due to the city of Acane, a city of towering steeples, grand cathedrals and the Graves of veritable thousands of minor saints. Recently, pilgrims have dropped of, mainly due to the inexorable approach of the Black legion, and those on the planet now have no way of leaving, but one force of the Imperium has no wish to leave the world. The Lamenters are a lone space marine chapter, charged with the defence of Corillia and it's people. The city of Acane, specifically, has been assigned to the fourth company. Due to the stressed nature of the chapters forces the 4th company stands alone, and virtually unsupported as the chapter can spare no resources to defend the shrine city. The 4th company is bolstered only by the cities garrison of 873 pdf, and 3 rhinos allocated for their use. As they prepare for the coming siege, the clouds above begin to gather, the invasion has fallen directly upon the beginning of the wet season. This season however, brings not only the life giving rain, but also carries the weight of innumerable traitors, who's true goals for conquering the world can be only guessed at... by most ar least.

As chapter master Malakim cut off the chapter wide vox, Vergil craned the face of his sarcophagus to the sky, watching as it became choked with growing gray clouds, which had long since obscured the sun. The abandonment by the Mortificators was still bitter in Vergil's mind, proud sons of Guiliman his ass, superstitious cowards more like. But, cursing their names would do nothing to help the 4th companies current situation, that required action. Vergil pulled his eyes away from the rapidly disappearing sky, and watched as small PDF guardsmen moved crates of ammo and weapons through the city, their white, gold trimmed armor somewhat obscured by the rain ponchos they each now wore in preparation for the coming storm. Vergil largely ignored them, they mattered very little to him at the moment, they would either hold when the legion arrived or they would break, it was yet to be seen.

Vergil began to move, making his way to the cathedral of the emperor ascendant that sat in the middle of the city. It was currently the company's base of operations, and soon a meeting would be held to discuss the coming siege, and the captains plan to fight it. Vergil also needed to locate brother Ferrum, a last maintenance was standard and if Vergil tried to avoid the Techmarine he would just be scolded for not caring enough about his sarcophagus.

As he entered the cathedral he looked around, hoping to not be the last of the command squad to arrive at the final planning.

Acane was enormous in the eyes of the local farmers flocking to its confines for refuge. In the eyes of men who had seen fortress worlds, fleets of battleships, and monasteries which housed entire chapters of astartes, the city was an insignificant dot on an even more insignificant planet, which had been all but abandoned, save for its local garrison and one chapter of the Emperor's finest. When the sky began to darken, the people flocked to the cathedrals in the thousands. They prayed for the Emperor's forgiveness, the Emperor's protection, the Emperor's mercy, and various other virtues they believed deserving of them. Some of the smaller places of worship had been altogether abandoned, with the evacuation having taken those who would normally be found there. Several of these buildings were used as stockpiles for ammunition, others for fuel, and one was being used as a military hospital, and so on. Acane had functional hospitals, but the majority of the staff had been evacuated, meaning that the people had to rely on the local military forces and a few volunteers for medical aid. The evacuation had left the majority of the medical supplies in the hospitals, so the PDF medical teams were amply supplied in their makeshift hospital. Several officers in the planetary defence force had suggested to their commander that they occupy the hospitals, rather than the cathedrals, but this suggestion was negated due to the positions of the hospitals. The cathedrals, and surrounding unoccupied buildings, were equidistant, and therefore allowed for structured lines of supply and communications, whereas the hospitals were far from where the enemy was likely to be and would therefore require substantial portions of the PDF to defend its perimeter, which could otherwise be engaged elsewhere. There was less than a thousand PDF personnel in Acane, many thousands less than would be needed to defend it against what was coming. However, they had no way to escape, and for most of them that was enough to keep working. Some had deserted and attempted to join Chaos cults, but were promptly disposed of by their more loyal colleagues. What few soldiers there were in the city were tasked with piling ammunition and supplies at equidistant locations in a defensive perimeter. Pairs of soldiers carried heavy green boxes bearing the insignia of the local planetary defence force, containing M36 lasrifles, lasgun battery packs, belts of bolter ammunition, explosive grenades, vox casters, and so on. Initially, they had been stored in one pile in a single building, but advice from an astartes sergeant reminded them that a single explosion would ignite their entire magazine, and that it would be wiser to split it equally among several buildings. The PDF was in desperate short supply of vehicles, mainly comprising a few dozen requisitioned civilian cars, with the doors pulled off to allow for quick access. They were not prepared. They were underarmed, underequipped, undertrained, poorly lead and lacked vital experience. It was unlikely that they would last long, but however long they lasted was time for larger forces to arrive.

Lucius grinned a canine grin, his fang-like teeth bared in glee as he bounced from one foot to the next. He glistened with sweat and his monstrous physique was bared, save for a cloth around his waist, as his brother astartes watched him. He was standing in a makeshift training arena, similar to that found on many astarte warships, in a small corner of a grandiose cathedral, surrounded by six dead servitors. Their arms had been split and shattered and their torsos were cut open. Failed astartes has little value, even less than the local garrison, but he was certain he would hear about it from one of his superiors. Lucius' scapula length silver hair flowed around him as he danced from side to side, avoiding the blows of a brother marine's combat blade, as long as an imperial guard officers's sword, as he lunged towards him, bellowing a battle cry. Three astartes watched from the edges of the makeshift arena, clutching various injuries. One had a broken wrist, which would soon be healed by the company apothecary. Another had a scar across his right biceps which looked strikingly similar to an L shape. Others watched from outside the arena, clad in their full power armour as they performed equipment checks. There were dozens in the cathedral, which had been made the fourth company's headquarters for the duration of the invasion. Lucius' bared his canines, and the last thing his brother marine saw before being handily disarmed and knocked to the floor with a thunderous crash was Lucius' flowing silver hair. Lucius remained untouched, after near a dozen bouts. His body glistened and he basked in the glory of defeating his brothers, many of whom watched on in envy, others in contempt. Lucius was the company champion, undefeated by other champions or any brother in his own company, and he recognised his own skill. He was talented in the eyes of some, vain in the eyes of others, but he knew his abilities, his limitations and, above all, his purpose. His sole, and entire purpose was to defend his captain and to meet the enemy champions on the field. Not to lead, or to command, but to protect the captain from harm, and do harm unto those that would threaten him. After he received no more challengers in his improvised sparring arena, Lucius prepared himself for the upcoming meeting in the cathedral with the rest of the fourth company's command squad. He washed in sacred, scented oils and his long, silver hair shone brilliantly, framed by two enormous white wings flanking his backpack, reminiscent of the primarch Sanguinius. As opposed to the Emperor's aquila, the centre of Lucius' power armour bore two similar silver wings, with a single fist-sized red gem between them. His shoulder plates and waist were decorated with half a dozen purity seals, upon which his deeds were scrawled. At his left side he carried a bolt pistol, the size a normal man's head, in a leather holster of a rich brown texture. At the opposite side he carried a long sheath, almost half as tall as him. Inside the sheath he carried a relic blade, a venerable weapon of many centuries, master crafted by the chapter forge workers. The blade itself flickered with blue and white energy when drawn, and its pommel was crafted in the shape of two silver wings, a downscaled version of those carried on Lucius' back, in the centre of which sat a red gem with a black centre. Lucius, donning his full suit of yellow power armour, save for his helmet, gracefully strode into the centre of the grandiose cathedral, his silver wings framing his armoured physique, and met with his brother astartes.

Captain Marius Stood admiring the cathedral craftsmanship in grim silence as he thought about the situation he had found himself in. with less then a thousand PDF he had wanted to conscript the Locals as a trained militia, but knew it would buy them very little time. Knowing full well that Chaos would arrive shortly, Marius had spent all of his time split between Operational meetings and in prayer. "May the Emperor watch over us..." he mutters as he examines a small stained glass window of the emperor lost in thought. Marius knew the plan for when the enemy arrived, He would make the enemy fight for each and every inch. The PDF would support his Marines as they used hit and run tactics and urban combat, having the marines fight and have the PDF set traps and make fall back lines. As he stool looking thought the stained glass window out at the rain as he awaited his command squad.

The grand cathedral had been abuzz with energy since the Lamenters had landed. Of course that is always the case when the Astartes arrive at worlds like this but when it had become clear that not all would be able to be evacuated in time it sent many into a panic. The Ecclesiarchy did its part in cowing the masses but the damage had been done, many of the citizens were despondent and hopeless. However a great deal became emboldened, refusing to roll over and die on their backs. These volunteer soldiers did whatever they could to aid the PDF, gave up their vehicles, dug trenches, extended their skills be them medical, engineering, or labor, and promised to aid personally in the coming battle. The last vow will be tested soon enough but as it stood they had the fire of Guardsman in their hearts and that is all that the Emperor requires of them.

Deep within the grand cathedral sat Petra Tantillus, Chaplain of The Lamenters. The abandonment of his fellow Astartes had set him into a deep melancholy, how simple superstition could one from their duty was beyond him. The room was as quiet as the grave, having finished sanctification of his arms and armor long ago. All that was left for the Chaplain was his thoughts. The coming battle was going to be hard fought, terrible, and with little glory. Petra could feel it in the very core of his being, it was if the Emperor himself had gifted him with the grim intuition. In the end it mattered not, resolving himself Petra began the process of arming himself. Each piece of armor was treated with the outmost care as it was put into place, with every plate came a litany and a promise. Eventually all that remained was the Skull Helm, a symbol of mortality and the Emperor's great sacrifice during the Hearsay. With a last hymn he placed it upon his helm and left the confines of his dark quarters.

The sky was heavy, much like the mood of many of his brothers. The Lamenters may be free of the Red Thirst but in its place was left a deep melancholy that could easily trap one from their duty. From the alcove normally reserved for the priests of the Ecclesiarchy Petra gazed upon his brothers. To a normal man they worked with speed and efficiency beyond what they could manage, but he knew. They were hurting, the abandonment of the Mortificators had been a large blow to morale and it would destroy them. With the assistance of a Servitor Petra was patched into the Vox speakers, spreading his message throughout the Cathedral.

"Brother Marines, the great enemy is at our doorstep. They would try to take, drag it into the Warp where their foul sorceries would corrupt the very ground we tread. I say no. They will not have this planet. The Mortificators have abandoned not only us but their duty as Space Marines, this dishonor will stain them until the end of time but it will not ruin us. We stayed while others ran, the 9th Crusade will not find a world they can raze for their dark gods. They will find the might of the Imperium, the fires of our hearts, the bight of our blades, and the fury of our blades! My brothers, the Emperor is with us this day, for all days, we will send these Heretics screaming back to the Warp for Holy Terra, for the Primarch, and For the Emperor!"

There was no outcry from the marines, no great hurrah, but the morale was restored and the melancholy banished. With a stoic gaze Petra appraised the marines before him and was filled with pride. Turning away he marched out in search of the Tech-Marine Ferrum Unguis, he would need his overseeing of sanctifying what little they had against chaos.

Ferrum had finished inspecting and performing the maintenance rites of the rhinos, commanding his servators to regroup with him. As they grouped up behind him, Ferrum took a quick look at the time indicator on his HUD. He had a few more moments before the meeting with the rest of the command squad took place. Giving a quick nod to his fellow marines who would use the rhinos in the coming battle, Ferrum made his way into the cathedral that housed their HQ. As he walked, he thought of his charge, brother-captain Vergil. Though the tech-marine was originally assigned to maintain his dreadnought-encased brother, brother-captain Vergil made sure that Ferrum's duties were to the whole of the company. Ferrum gladly accepted this and has only barked at a total of three brothers about their equipment or such. Ferrum was also asked by the brother-captain to make some necessary adjustments to civilian vehicles, as the local tech priests were few and didn't agree with the mutilation of said vehicles. Honestly, Ferrum hoped the machine spirits weren't in too much pain, but it was a necessary as the PDF lacked proper transports for both persons and ammunition.

That also reminded Ferrum that he needed to check on the company's ammunition supplies, to make sure everything is accounted for and ready for use. Though he may be given the charge of handing out said supplies for the company over the coming siege, Ferrum planned on letting his servators do that duty as he watched over brother Vergil.

Upon meeting the rest of the command squad, Ferrum gave a neural-command to his servators to wait a distance away. Ferrum didn't want to risk having them record or witness the meeting. If they were captured and their data-banks or minds read, the enemy could gain an upper-hand. When the servators had left, Ferrum gave a nod to Vergil as the rest of the squad prepared itself and the Govenor and PDF command arrived. Ferrum wondered if the local PDF knew about the reasons for the Mortificators abandonment, he was a bit suspicious that they might have similar views to the Mortificators about the Lamenters. How did they view these suspicions? Ferrum simply hoped the act of the Mortificators would fall back on their own heads as failure to do what they were bred to do; fight the enemies of the Emperor.

The red and yellow tech-marine shoved these thoughts aside, they were the kind that could bring doubt. He did his best not to think of such things in general, he was a tech-marine, not a captain or even a sergeant. Ferrum would not think more than his charge unless asked, or there was something that needed attention.

"Nature," the tall, robed astartes said while looking at the sky, his smile apparent in his voice. He inhaled deeply, but suddenly his face distorted and he let out a short coughing fit. "Haha, the cold gets to you, eventually, with age."

He smiled down at the EMTs who were exiting one of the makeshift warehouses with him, after a careful inventory check of medical and other emergency supplies. They smiled back, uncomfortably. He was not a doctor, but his experience was just right for planning the best evacuation routes, supply mobilization routes and guidelines, and proper warehouse inventory distribution throughout the area where the forces on Corillia were to make their stand against Chaos. He also knew his presence alone gave these people their spirits back. They were no longer fighting against the inevitable, prolonging a highly volatile and temporary existence just to choose between a fast or a slow death. It gave him great pride to have this part in the upcoming battle, but deep down he wished none of them were here. These battles are best fought as Space Marines versus the Black Legion. Astartes could be fixed, could be saved. He had little to no tools for saving humans.

Which is why he silently resisted cursing the name of the Mortificators as he made his way towards one of the warehouses where his gear was stashed. The death of any human on this planet is on their hands. Directly. They had no real reason to leave. He couldn't decide if it was cowardice or apathy that could've guided such an action. His glaive, a long-shafted modification used for piercing the armor of large enemies, was meant only to protect the lives of men. What were the Mortificators' swords for?

He felt this melancholy creep into his heart, and forcefully shook it off. The last piece of his armor auto-bolted into place, he gave the glaive a few powerful swings to get the blood flowing while a full systems test was running, then proceeded to manually check his medical gear. It wasn't heavily modified, but heavily personalized, as the Apothecary was a firm believer that the extra time and effort to make everything fit just right was worth the countless hours of comfortable use afterwards. He followed this rule in all aspects of his life.

When he was done, he brushed his fingers through his wavy gray hair before bolting on his left gauntlet. Now comes the truly exciting part. A short walk later, he entered the cathedral, his multi-sensored helmet under his arm and his weapons and medical gear folded on his back and sides. A wide smile stretched his face.

Marian and Yoheva slowly made their way up the long steps to the Cathedral. They wore no markings that would indicate their intent. Yoheva was dressed in a suit of Power Armour with the Adeptus Arbites logo on it, whilst Marian was dressed in an outfit befitting that of a Commissar. "It is a glorious testament to the Emperor's Will, is it not, ma'am?" asked Yoheva.

"Indeed. It is but another reason for us to despise Chaos in all of it's forms. Nothing else would be so heinous as to destroy a work of pure goodness." she replied. As they reached the top of the steps, a Lamentors Space Marine approached them.

"Identify yourselves." he ordered. Yoheva did not move, but Marian approached him.

"Lord Space Marine." she began "I am here on business of the utmost importance from the Officio Perfectus, I must speak with your commander at once." she reached into her coats inner pocket and retrieved a letter, wax-sealed with the Officio Perfectus logo pressed into it, handing it to the Superhuman soldier. He opened it and read it through several times, before looking at her.

"Very well, Lord Commissar." he replied, handing her back the letter and stepping aside. As they entered, they both stepped to one side to a row of candles. They each lit one, before getting down on one knee and uttering a short prayer that the Emperor grant them eternal strength and the will to carry out their mission. Marian held the letter over the naked flame and dropped it onto the floor, allowing it to burn to ash. She then got up off her knee and walked through the building to where the Space Marine commanders were gathering in preparation for the coming of the Black Legion. She approached and stepped up to the Space Marine Captain. "Captain, I am glad to see that you are in fine health. I have a letter to inform you that I am taking command of the Auxilliary Guard." she said to him, handing him a letter. It too had the Officio Perfectus seal on the front, but inside told a different story.

Commander at Hive City Acane

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY! BURN AFTER READING!

The courier of this letter is a Lord Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, performing a mission of the utmost importance to the Imperium. However, this mission is also non-existant. None of your men are to know their true identity. You are to cooperate fully with them and inform your men that the courier is Lord Commissar Marian Prall, sent by the Officio Perfectus to ensure the loyalty of the Conscripted guard that defend the city with you. If Chaos forces were to learn of their true identity, then countless lives could be put at risk.



signed:
High Lord Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov "Pyrophant Judge of Salem Proctor"

"I trust that there are no problems." she said, staring him directly in the eye with her usual penetrating gaze that had reduced many war-hardened veterans to blubbering wrecks.

Before the captain even had a chance to speak, the little war meeting was interrupted. Two humans, one apparently and Adeptus arbites, and the other appeared to be a commisar. Vergil's mind burst with alarms, it didn't feel right, why was there suddenly a commisar? Why was she attended by one of the Adeptus Arbites? There was one more thing, how she addressed the captain. Vergil had met many commissars, and without fault they had talked to the space marines like any and all humans should, as their superiors. Always it came with my lord, or lord space marine, or sometimes lord captain, but this commissar spoke to the captain as if... she was his equal. It rubbed Vergil the wrong way. And he intended to voice his concerns.

"A lord commissar? I was unaware the Imperial guard would have any presence here," Vergil stepped forward, approaching the commisar and Arbiter, "When did you arrive on Corillia? And by what right is an Arbiter present? I was not told the Adeptus arbites were providing military support on Corillia either." Vergil's sarcophagus stood quite close to the commisar now, some would say slightly to close. "The forces of the Archenemy approach this world, and they have agents that could be attempting to subvert us from within as I speak," He turned to face his captain, "Captain Marius, does the human speak the truth? Or shall I crush her and the Arbiter with my claw?" His Dreadnought power claw opening and closing as he spoke.

Striding in from the far end of the cathedral, Lucius saw many of his brothers entering the room from different entrances. The dreadnought had lumbered his way through the doors and seemingly filled the width of the floor space of the cathedral. The fourth company's captain, apothecary and chaplain were also present. Lucius kept a relatively slow pace as he walked towards them. His head was held high, as it always was, and his silver hair flowed behind him, framed by his wings. His thunderous steps echoed through the cathedral, despite the present noise of many astartes moving to and fro in their suits of power armour weighing many tonnes, foreshadowing his arrival. Technically, Lucius, as company champion, was outside the normal chain of command. He was outranked by astarte sergeants, but took no orders save from the captain himself. His input in battle plans was unlikely to be called upon, unless the captain was taking everybody's opinions and thoughts into consideration, but Lucius believed it necessary to be present to hear what his contemporaries were discussing. Aside from his brother astartes in the command squad, other figures were present in the cathedral. Many officers from the local PDF were arranged in small clusters. Lucius' figure cut a neat swath through crowd, parting as he neared them. Young, inexperienced officers, having never fired a shot in anger, stared up at his nine foot stature and were overwhelmed by the beauteous magnitude of his wings and silver hair.

Other astartes were present in the room, but none looked so grand as him. His brother marines were sullen and despondent, and had hard, scarred faces. Lucius was the poster image of Imperial propaganda, as a tall, proud hero. While his brothers looked grim and furious, he looked glorious and radiant, and his yellow and silver armour stood out amongst the dull, neutral-coloured uniforms of the PDF officers congregated near the astartes. The fourth company's apothecary caught Lucius' eye and caused him to smirk knowingly. He was certain he'd hear furious comments from him in time, when he discovers that brother marines had been injured sparring. Their astarte physiology would allow them to heal rapidly, but a broken wrist would impede a marine for days at the least. Lucius, having waded through the PDF, made his way to the rest of his command squad.

“Brother captain,” he began respectfully, presenting the sign of the aquila. Before he could add anything else to his introduction, the cathedral was graced by two additional figures, neither astarte nor PDF. Both of whom women, one a commissar and the other an arbitrator, and neither of whom were supposed to be on Corillia. The commissar marched up to the captain in a manner most unusual for someone outside the Legiones Astartes. Having handed him a note, the woman seemed to stare intently at the captain. The venerable dreadnought, Brother Vergil, appeared perturbed by her demeanour. Lucius was interested, but had no intention of confronting the commissar or her companion. His purpose was to protect the captain from physical harm, and two women, not possessed of astarte superiority, were unlikely to pose any threat to a venerable captain. Nevertheless, Lucius' brother dreadnought saw fit to give voice to his concern, offering to dispose of them. Lucius gave voice to sweet laughter in return in the form of an amused chuckle. His laughter caused his silver wings to sway and his scapula length hair to bounce on his shoulders. He held his left hand on the sheath of his sword, more for practicality, as the sheath was likely to obstruct his movement, than any form of threat, but he imagined the image was clear enough. A more subtle reminder of astarte superiority than outright offering to kill the women.

“I hardly think these two pose a threat, venerated brother. Not worth your time.”

[REDACTED]

Caellus' smile wavered a little. The meeting hadn't yet started, and already interruptions best left to the end were probably interfering with the Captain's line of thought. And by Imperial Guard personnel, no less. He was slightly ashamed to admit he was sharing Vergil's feelings on the subject, though perhaps his were not as intense, and stemming from entirely different reasons.

This would be best treated as entertainment before the briefing, he finally decided. There won't be many opportunities like this, and the men's spirits will be lifted if it was to be properly harnessed.

To prepare the grounds, he began snickering quietly, though not quietly enough.

[REDACTED]

Marian approached the Dreadnought. A being that had served the imperium well for many centuries was one to be respected and revered. The pair of them bowed before him, before she stood up and clicked her heels together, saluting him. "My Lord, we have a message, straight from Officio Perfectus Headquarters." she said, the Servo-Skull that had been floating behind her flew towards the giant, tank of a coffin and plugged into a small port in the front. On the Dreadnoughts H.U.D. the Inquisitions stamp appeared in front of his eyes, before a short video message played, audible and visible only to him.

"Captain, my name is Lord Inquisitor Marian of his holiness' Ordo Hereticus. I am here on urgent business. This is an off-the-books mission, nobody is to know who I am and what my mission is. For this reason, not even you will be made privy to the mission specifications. All that I will inform you is that this mission is of the utmost importance to the Ordo Hereticus, and that, if failed, many Human lives will be put in danger. You are to inform your men that my name is Lord Commissar Marian, sent to take command of the conscript Planet Defense Force." She then unbuttoned her blowse and revealed the glowing tattoo of the Inquisition seal on her stomach, just under her right breast. "If you require further authentication, please ask behind closed doors."

As soon as the message finished, the Inquisitions seal appeared again on the screen, before the message deleted itself from his battle-processor. The Servo-Skull let go and it's glowing red eye flashed yellow, before turning green, before turning back to red, indicating that the Servo-Skull had just done much of the same. Now, the only copy of the message was left, was held within the Dreadnoughts human mind. "I trust there are no problems, my lord?" she asked.

Corillia was a strange world. Technically classified by the administratum as an agri world, due to its rolling fields and large heards of strange cattle. The planet has only a short dry season, and a very long and aggressive wet season. While this all seems very standard, a surprisingly large number of pilgrims from nearby systems flock to the planet. This is due to the city of Acane, a city of towering steeples, grand cathedrals and the Graves of veritable thousands of minor saints. Recently, pilgrims have dropped of, mainly due to the inexorable approach of the Black legion, and those on the planet now have no way of leaving, but one force of the Imperium has no wish to leave the world. The Lamenters are a lone space marine chapter, charged with the defence of Corillia and it's people. The city of Acane, specifically, has been assigned to the fourth company. Due to the stressed nature of the chapters forces the 4th company stands alone, and virtually unsupported as the chapter can spare no resources to defend the shrine city. The 4th company is bolstered only by the cities garrison of 873 pdf, and 3 rhinos allocated for their use. As they prepare for the coming siege, the clouds above begin to gather, the invasion has fallen directly upon the beginning of the wet season. This season however, brings not only the life giving rain, but also carries the weight of innumerable traitors, who's true goals for conquering the world can be only guessed at... by most at least.

But captain Vergil had more important things on his mind than the seasons of an agri world, he had a city to defend. Vergil had left the isolated cathedral only twice since their arrival. He had been so bogged down in logistics he had been able to speak precious little with his own men, and with the Mortificators abandonment of the world had only increased his workload.

Suddenly, a commisar and Arbitrator walked into the cathedral, but with a strange gait. Since the Dreadnought could not hold paper myriad cherubs and servo skulls carried documents for him to read and brought pict docs to be interfaced with his hud. The servo skull with the commisar told a very different story. The Inquisition? Why here and now? Vergil hated to keep secrets from his men, but he knew better than to disobey the Inquisition.

He tilted his sarcophagus toward the Inquisitor, "Well met Commisar Marian, I shall relay our previous plans for tge PDF to you for briefing. However I wish to speak in private to you... I have questions regarding your assignment here

With that he looked to his command squad, "We will re-convene shortly for final planning" and moved to a room that had been appropriated foR the massive Dreadnought, making certain the Inquisitor followed suit.