Among The Missing

After being singled out and inducted into the service of the Inquisition, things have not quite gone as you had imagined them. Removed from your past life, you have been tested and measured, questioned and interrogated, all in the name of the Inquisition. But aside from a few lectures given in darkened chambers that left you sick to your stomach and a seemingly endless stream of codes and ciphers given you to memorize and destroy, you have been left largely to your own devices. Lodging under a false name in an anonymous hab-block in Hive Sibellus, on Ascarvis, you have bided your time for weeks waiting for the call from your masters, and perhaps, their verdict.

The dataslate sits nearby, your mission briefing contained within. You have it's every detail memorized, The Inquisition’s attention has been stirred by the discovery of a body on the Sibellus transit rail. This is not in itself an uncommon occurrence; however the body, under forensic examination, showed extensive signs of surgical tampering and illegal organ-grafting indicative of heretical science. The Inquisition has kept the body and the incident under wraps, and has determined it to be that of a missing hab-worker called Saul Arbest. Arbest was reported missing over a month ago by his sister, from his home in the dilapidated Coscarla Division area of Hive Sibellus. The Inquisition is interested in just how this heretical biocraft wound up in the body of this otherwise unremarkable citizen and you are to await a briefing as to what is known before being dispatched to investigate. You have everything the dateslate offered memorized, for now you must destroy it. How you do so, is up to you. You only know you must, your mission requires subtly, and you know, the Inquisition would know if you failed to do so.

Almost as soon as you had dispatched the date slate. The call came, a blank-eyed courier delivered to you a note featuring the cipher of the Holy Ordos. The message within was simple and perfunctory, containing a time, a date and a location. The instruction to come prepared and expect company was signed off with a single epithet—“The Emperor Protects”

At the appointed hour, you made your way through the bustling faceless masses of the Administratum quarter to an unmarked service elevator platform set in the rear of a vast and imposing building covered in bas-reliefs of skulls, half draped urns and other symbols of death, crowned by an immense statue of a weeping saint. It appears that you are expected; the wizened face of the platform’s inbuilt servitor with it's stretched human face studies you, and pronounces “Pass” as you climb on board. As the note implied, you were not the only person called, and you make for an uncomfortable and diverse looking group standing in tense silence as the crowds throng by. The servitor control chimes active as the last one of you boards the platform and the elevator descends with a churning of gears as the hatchway closes above you all with a thunderous boom. The platform continues downward for some minutes through maintenance levels, deep into the bowels of the government district. Allowing our party to truly look upon one another for the first time.

'Why the hell did I get fitted into this pod with all these Wee Tykes?', Holand thought as the elevator descended to it's final destination. This Inquisition initiation process had not been kind on Holand, his remote origins a big factor in it. He had started to long for the crisp, familiar cold of Kilo II, and laid bored in his bed on numerous sleepless nights. The interrogations only added salt to the wound. If you hadn't already known, Holand despised mind games, and the Inquisition only further probed his poor memory.
Now, enveloped in a long trench coat that hid his scarlett Vostrayan uniform, Holand stood with the diverse crowd of Acolytes that could possibly become his future teammates. The disturbed face of the Pysker and metallic arm of the- 'What was he? A missionary? Yeah, he looks like he would be...'- Missionary caused Holand slight distress. Pyskers, as Holand believed, were warp distorted carcasses of their past lives. And any man that didn't take pride in his scars and maimings and covered them up with fake appendages was not a man at all. "Well, seems like this is quite a diverse crowd. Nice to meet the lot of ya' all.", Holand finally spoke, his thick accent booming in the small elevator.
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Actions

• Evaluate Future Teammates
• Speak

Having positioned himself near the door way of the now descending vessel, Rodrick would do his best not to stir. Having been born on a more natural and vibrant planet, the claustrophobic and metallic setting he found himself in did not sit well with the missionary. But, his new 'patrons' demanded his presence here, as did the Emperor; as such, he would not hesitate to do what was required. Still, he could've done without this deathbox, snarling under his breath at every subtle movement the machine made in it's descent. As time crept by, the man began to fidget with his armaments: the shotgun held aloft upon the holster on his back, the Stub-pistol tucked away on his left hip, and the heavy warhammer that nearly drug against the ground on his right. He did all this with his biological arm, his left sitting idle; the metal and golden etchings shining faintly with the passing of the lights in the corridor. Once everything seemed to be in place -or his unease subsided- his hand would sweep through his thick brown mane, swept back to keep from impairing the vision of the man.

As his self inspection concluded, 'Brother' Yorke would begin to gaze about the party. Surely, the Emperor had an eclectic taste in the matter. Not only did he see members of different members of the Imperium- ranging from Guardsman to Sororitas- but an assasin and a psycher as well. With a shake of his head and a subtle chuckle, the man could not help but find humor in the ones he was to rely on. However, the one that drew his attention the most, was the 'Sister of Battle'. It bode well for their mission that the Emperor saw fit to put one of the militant sisters in their ranks. Yet, when the guardsman spoke, his attention was redirected to the aging soldier and his heavy accent, causing the slowly forming smirk upon the missionaries face to take a harsh turn to a disapproving frown. He had begun to enjoy the silence.

"Observant one, you are. You must've played scout for your regiment." Rodrick's tone, though regal, did a poor job at masking the slight annoyance he was experiencing... Or perhaps he did not mean to hide it at all. Still, with a shake of his head, his tone would shift to a more cival note, "The Emperor calls upon many skills these days. The Inquisition saw need of our talents in his name, and -as such- we are here."

---

>Self inspection
>Group inspection
>Reply

Unlike most of his fellow Acolytes, the Arbitrator Atreides inhaled and breathed easy in the claustrophobic and packed city scape of a Hive World. Just like home, really, so the lack of space, personal or professional, was of no bother to the stern faced Arbitrator. The man had a respirator hanging around his neck, in case a rapid response towards unfriendly atmosphere or toxic gas attacks were made against the group, while a Shotgun rested on his back, one of the most iconic tools for his prior life and what they stood for, and what he still intended to stand for. A shock maul rested on the hip of his Enforcer carapace, the black painted armor another potent symbol of Arbites power and authority while the maul itself was a tool of control and, when the need was found, execution against the criminals and dissidents that he and his brothers in arms would face on a regular basis. A chrono, synced to the hive's time, ticked away on his wrist and would no doubt prove to be of some small, but vital, use in the coming days and weeks of work to be done. But now he looked to his fellows, the critical eye of an Arbitrator falling onto them.

A diverse group, some good, some bad. The psyker and what looked like some outcast of sorts did not sit well with Atreides, and no doubt that dislike would be mutual. The, what he assumed, was a missionary and a Sister of Battle also did not sit well, but for other reasons. They were no more above the law than anyone else, barring the Inquisition which was a fact that made the man uncomfortable, and they were just as corruptible, in his experience, as any other. So their arrogance and resistance to Arbitrator inspection that he had seen in the past was most unpleasant. Even an Assassin, of all fellows, was to be found in their ranks. Mostly bad, then, and the Arbitrator had to remind himself that they did not have to like each other. All they had to do was get the job done. His tone was civil and neutral for now as he addressed the party, arms linked behind his back as he spoke. "Right miserable lot wouldn't look much apart from gang raiders. Emperor willing, we'll see more success than they do."

---

*Inspect Surroundings
*Inspect Fellow Acolytes
*Speak

"May the holy God Emperor be my guide,
steady my hands and the hands of my companions,
for we do the work that you chose us to do,
the work that others dare not think of doing.

Burn the heretic,
kill the xeno,
purge the unclean.

For the glory and honour of the God Emperor."

Arkaeus' eyes were shut, his rosary clasped in one hand as he finished whispering his prayer to the Emperor. His other hand, wrapped around his staff, gripped it tighter as his last words left his mouth. He returned the rosary to where it belonged, around his neck, and opened his eyes.

He was no priest or holy man, he knew this, but his service to the Emperor was of another entity entirely. His mind and soul belonged to him, and he'd been sworn under the service of the Inquisition, after years of peace on his assigned world. Now here, in the confined space of the descending transport pod, did he feel at full ease. Being born on a ship did that to you. When all you knew as a child was the four walls of your cabin, and the outside world being nothing but a black, starry void, you grew to accept that as reality, not realising that beyond the black there laid worlds, planets, vast stations and much more. Aboard the ship, they worshiped the Emperor wherever they could, though there was a church within the cruiser built for such a purpose, he'd been brought up that prayers uttered before you did things of importance was okay too.

Here though, in the dingy, confined space of the elevator, he had the proper chance to observe his companions. Their group numbered seven in total, including himself, and had arrangements as high as the lofty Arbitrator Atreides to the Outcast, Adrianna Perdito. They even had a Vindicare Assassino, the mysterious man Warmund, a deadly killer no doubt, and an excellent addition to the team. The Missionary, if a part-mechanical man could be called that, Rodrick, was also a mystery to him. The last two of their team spoke volumes to him of the significance of their mission, however; as serious as the mission was, he knew that if the Inquisition had placed a former Imperial Guardsman on the team, it was for good reason, and the man, Holand, was to be integral to their mission. Last, but by no means least, the lone Sister of Battle, Helana. As much of a religious woman as he was, Sister Helana would have much to prove and even more to display come the time to act.

Himself? He was but a psyker, a mere mind sanctioned by the Emperor and the Imperium to work for the greater good of Mankind. Sure, not many like his folk, but without psykers, the Imperium would not be in such a place that it was today. Ark knew this without doubt or worry.

At the small conversation that had begun within the elevator, he piped up, his voice soft but firm past the noise of the lift.

"We will succeed in this endeavour, Arbitrator. This team is of many skills and much experience, yours included. I would have at least a little faith in the abilities of the rest of our teammates, aye?"

---

• Pray
• Inspect surroundings
• Inspect team
• Speak

While the cold elevator remained empty aside from himself and the servitor, Warmund had time to shift to the back right corner for solitude, before the steady flow of his squad began to come through the open metal doors. As they all entered, each with a different walk and mannerism about them, a unique mist of personality that he was trained to spot on individuals - he knew he could spot them in a crowded street without difficulty now.

After a glance at each Warmund remained reserved and silent, his gloved hand reached up and felt for the bead within his ear, the earpiece could be felt when he pressed on the soft flesh before the lobe. A low static hum vibrated through the silent comms and he took to checking he had all the equipment he had thought necessary for the mission as it was. Blades sharpened, combat vest tight against his chest, his rifle in its holster thrown of his back...

Pistol? Putting his hand to his concealed holster, hidden on the back of his hip beneath a drape, he spun the handgun around his index finger and caught it.

In a few flourishes and quick movements the gun was checked and re-holstered, an impressive gun show by many standards, but an unimpressive one to most Vindicares. As the others spoke he remained silent, a conversation was something he wasn't used to, although his social skills were noted to be improving - he'd save most speech for when its needed.

Though it would be rude not to talk at all "I speak scarcely and kill swiftly, I am Warmund. I am the sweet pain before the eternal dark. My greetings to you all." his voice was not loud nor quiet, but it demanded attention in such a way as a war cry demands a charge.

He found the servitor more appealing than some of those around him, they were strangers however and once acquainted would surely become treasured allies. The following days or maybe even months would prove to test them vigorously, but the inquisition hadn't picked them for anything but there ability, and thus Warmund instilled a drop of trust in the others for now.

---

Actions:
Assess others.
Gun show.
General internal thoughts.

With our party of Acolytes regarding one another and mustering as much small talk as they could, which consisted mainly of insults. The stoic sister of battle, even without her power armour remained an awe-inspiring sight in a stoic silence. As they descended further into the heart of the hive with an occasional groan of metal, the sounds of life above, quickly became replaced with the dull sounds of machinery. The Servitor steadfast and silent, simply observed the group with it's mechanical eyes, every turn of it's head sending the sounds of cogs at work echoing within the small chamber, until it's gaze stopped on Warmund who appeared to be be looking back at it.

Warmund makes a Perception check.
Warmund Needs: 41 (26+15 Awareness)
Warmund Rolls 16. Succeeds

Warmund, gazing back at the wizened Servitor, spots a small blinking light, illuminating a small spot of the wall behind it. A small light at the back of it's head blinks a red light. It appears to be recording.

Meanwhile, the Arbitrator Atreides and the Pysker Arkaeus ever vigilant, although undoubtedly for different reasons. Patrolling the streets of a hive city tend to make people just as cautious as those taken on the Black Ships. Observe the metal shell surrounding them. The elevator itself seems to be in working condition although rust covers sections of the metal walls and a skull adorns the top section of all four walls.

Atreides and Arkaeus make a hard(-10) Perception check.
Atreides needs: 48 (43-10+15 Awareness)
Atreides rolls 8. Succeeds

Arkaeus needs: 39 (34-10+15 Awareness)
Arkaeus rolls 26. Succeeds

Both Atreides and Arkaeus, as they gaze around the metal box they now find themselves in, manage to spot the glint of coins, hidden under a pipe that runs along the bottom of one of the four walls. The glint is that of 9 Throne gelt, someone must have dropped them. Both know the other has also spotted what could be considered a third of a mechanicum worker's imperial pay hidden there under a layer of dust.

At the end of the elevators slow decent, the Acolytes find themselves looking out at the end of a wide grey corridor, lit by pale lumen globes in the shape of cherubs holding torches. Only the first part of the corridor is lit and the rest trails of into darkness. As the Acolytes step off the platform, more globes illuminate, showing the beginnings of a path into the darkness.
"Walk into the dark, so that light may reign" The servitors voice chimes as you leave.

Was that sass he heard?, Holand thought as Rodrick responded to his introduction. The awkward conversation took off from there, the calming voice of the Pysker was an odd surprise, and the horrible tone of Warmund sent chills down the Guardsman's spine. Upon the stop of the rattling elevator, Holand strode off confidently into the new gothic setting provided.
"What a peculiar set-up.", Holand said in awe of the self-illuminating hall. Striking up one of his 12 lho sticks, Holand casually smoked as he traversed down the monotone corridor, rings of smoke trailing behind him.
Inspection was Holand's first coarse of action. He was now in the (supposed) heart of the Inquisition base, best to make himself acquainted with the strange scenery and hidden cracks of the actual Imperium. Continuing to look around, Holand puffed another cloud of smoke from his lho stick before calling out to whoever was within the seemingly abandoned hallway. "Hello? Anyone? ^{Some hospitality... Tsk Tsk...}" His voiced echoed down the elongated chamber, the temperature of which suffered from many freezing drafts. Surprisingly, this only made Holand more confident and at-home.
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Actions

• Smoke 1 lho stick
• Inspect and Search Hall
• Call out to any entities in Hall

A faint red splash of light mixed with the still water of Warmunds eyes again and again as the servitors recording equipment circuit gave the light power at identical intervals. Taking a single round from the top left pocket of his combat vest the Vindicare turned to the servitor, and using the round as a grounding instrument as well as minor magnetic field - he disabled the recording powers of the servitor semi-perminantly. If he had learnt anything during previous mission, it was that unless you can see them, they shouldn't see you.

Returning the round to where it belonged Warmund took one final glance around the elevator then walked slowly out, the smoke.of an stick wisping up toward the cieling.

Before taking any further steps, the door to the elevator is closed once everyone is out and his rifle now hangs conviently by his side. It was rare that he felt uncomfortable, but at this second Warmund did not feel at ease
Striding forward Warmund assess' the surroundings and readys himself for any danger. "Do not trust the shadoes nor the light, though they are oppoites, both ice and fire can kill.". Such words had been spoken to him during training, although his voice brought a deeper and more chilling tone to the message.

---

Actions:
Disablr servitor recording (easily rebooted)
Shut elevator
assess surroundings

The wait had been long, and rather unusual for Sister Helana not used to being so enclosed without the presence of her sisters. The days of interrogation were the easiest for her having full faith in herself. Once in the hab block Sister Helana spent much time in prayer, and looking at her damaged power armor that was completely unusable after a training incident. She had been reduced to a simple carapace armor and it unnerved her to be without what she had earned. Though she knew that her true armor was her faith and that the Emperor Protects. Reading the dataslate over and over as she would then read the briefing over and over as well.

Upon arriving at the Elevator she stepped up among her new associates, the inquisitor’s retinue seemed rather ragtag to her, but she knew that was not her place to speak upon. She took each of them in looking over each of them in turn. She immediately stopped and stared at Rodrick both eyebrows raising before continuing on to inspect the rest. A grizzled Vostroyan, that was interesting one she usually felt disdain for guardsmen but usually Vostroyans were intelligent and spoke well for their status. She changed her mind about him as soon as he opened his mouth. She looked to the next, a psyker. narrowed her eyes slightly before looking onwards and waiting. When the arbitrator spoke up she gave a slight sneer and spoke aloud. “You speak as a child without respect Arbitrator. While I know that you and yours are the shield that protects the innocent on each planet, you and yours are also the most corrupt easily swayed by Gelt and Power. A more pathetic lot have I never seen. Nor have I seen so many purged.”

As the Elevator reached it’s destination she would step off and into the Gray dimly lit hallway. She moved in a slow, yet ready way. She slowly drew the hand flamer she had with her the end sparking to life with a small flicker of fire that was used to ignite the promethium inside the weapon should it be fired. She scanned the area ahead and looked to the others for a moment not finding comfort among those she knew so little of. Her teeth grit beneath her lips as she made sure to stay closest to the Missionary out of everyone finding that another with such strong faith as hers was an ally without debate. She spoke soft and low it would be loud enough for the rest to hear, but it wouldn’t travel much farther than that. “Love the Emperor, for he is the salvation of mankind, Obey his words, for he shall lead you into the light of the future.” The hymn had always given her a feeling of strength she could feel her faith almost coursing through her veins.

---

Speak
Inspect other Acolytes
Ready Hand Flamer
Recite Hymns
Intimidate Arbitrator

"Heed his wisdom, for He will protect you from evil. Whisper his prayers with devotion,for they will save your soul," Rodrick's eyes cut to the sister as he utters the next stanza of her prayer, his words echoing in the corridor, "Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice. Tremble before His majesty, for we all walk in His immortal shadow." With power and conviction, he'd utter these words of faith, a hand resting idly on his warhammer as he continued forward alongside his sister in faith; his eyes now focused on the path before them. Something about being in this hall seemed didn't sit quite right with the Death World native, taught to respect and fear the shadows as the Assassin so adequately put... Wait, was that even something could happen? Shaking his head free of such foolish notions, he'd continue his path into the dimly lit darkness. Whatever trials the Inquisition had in store for their acolytes, Rodrick would walk with faith in the Emperor and ready to mete out his fury if need be.

---

>Follow the sister in prayer
>Ready to draw warhammer
>Continue walking into the shadows

The Arbitrator snorted at the response that the Sister amongst them gave, attempting to deride and besmirch the works of the Adeptus Arbites. He was quick in response, his tone cold and uncaring as he spoke in turn, noting the Throne Gelt and left it as is for now, allowing the psyker time to claim it should he desire. The man had far more pressing matters to attend to, and this high and mighty Bolter Bitch, a rare time when the gangers got something right in terminology, needed to realize the real workings of the world. "And you, good Sister, are a lot of arrogance and egotistically fueled pride second to none. I ask of you which lot has, through internal blindness and pride born, some of the greatest traitors and threats to the Imperium of Man? Who heads many rebellions and secessions, over all others? Why, your precious Traitor Cardinals and False Prophets, blindly crowned and further blindly followed. It is you, Sister, who follow a creed that blinds them to internal and external corruption, and as you yourself said. 'A more pathetic lot have I never seen.' And from no other group have I put down more ringleaders and law breakers than your own precious preachers who think their power is above Imperial Law. So guard you tongue, Sister, and stick to your prayers and holy incenses and tend to the spirits of men. Me and my own will actually get the Emperor's work done."

Atreides dismissed the Sister of Battle as the elevator swung open and he stalked forward, leaving the Gelt behind for the psyker, scanning his surroundings after his rebuttal to the sister and stand against her attempts to bully. He would not have his authority and jurisdiction infringed upon by the Ecclesiarchy. They had their place, to tend to the faith and spiritual well being of the Imperium of Man. And they can stay there and do nothing else, after all, it was his job to uphold Imperial Law. The job of all Arbitrators. And he would not have some high and mighty Sister trying to tell him off for an analysis honest and blunt. There would be no playing around the truth, they would need improvement to face the worst that the enemies of Man could throw at them. And as he continued his careful vigil of the surrounding metalwork of the Hive around him, he resisted the urge to turn to smoking Iho sticks. He was not a user of them, but they proved useful in trade and bargaining. So with that he resumed his vigil, disdain for the Sister higher than anyone else within the group, hand resting on the shock maul should it be necessary for use.

---

Intimidate Sororitas
Examine Surroundings
Have Shock Maul Ready

Ark watched as, one by one, their group exited the elevator. He saw the gleam of the coins within one of the elevator's reccesses, perhaps dropped by some clumsy worker. It was not for him. The Emperor despised dishonest men, especially men who were bound, soul and mind, to his service. There was no higher glory, except maybe within the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes.

He would be one of the last to leave, letting his tougher, stronger teammates forge on ahead. His body, though toughened by the years of service on Casia, was still more fragile than the others before him. He'd be content near the back.

As he left, he drew nearer to the Missionary and the Sister, who were reciting the Emperor's Prayer in soft, whispered tones. The verses were all too familiar to him, and as the Missionary trailed off into silence, he picked up on the prayer, adding the stanzas he'd learned aboard the Honour and Liberation, his home.



With the prayer finished, he released the hold he'd had on his rosary. The prayer rang especially strong for him; his ship had been quite fervently religious, and it had rubbed off on him. To utter another prayer for the strength and support of the team was the right thing to do.

The soft, rhythmic tapping of his staff on the cold, metal floor as he walked was almost like the chant of some forgotten religion that had been subsumed by the Imperium of Man eons ago. It calmed him, but then again, many things could.

He glanced at the Sister and gave her a small, grim smile. A semblance of support in the confined space, claustrophobic and cramped as it was. He drew slightly closer and whispered under his breath.

"If it makes you feel any better, Sister Helana, I do not share his beliefs. We are all men and women under His holy graces. The Arbitrator should be happy he hasn't been accused of the treachery he so sorely despises, and should be happy that he walks with warriors of the same, fervent faith. The Emperor he worships and works for is the same Emperor we worship, after all."

With that, he drew away, taking a position between the two and slightly behind them, staff up and ready, with his other hand resting gently on the grip of his laspistol that sat snugly in his thigh holster. The tip of his staff, decorated with the metalwork and sigils of the weaponcrafters on Terra, also held his psy-focus; a lone piece of bone, upon which was etched a single skull, a promise of death to all that dared oppose him or his team.

---

• Finish prayer
• Support Sororitas
• Ready staff
• Ready laspistol

As the party make their way forwards into the darkness, their chants and prayers echoing throughout corridor, more Lumen Globes in the form of more cherubs flicker to life before them, while those behind them extinguish. There is but one path, the corridor is featureless bar the cherubs, and smells faintly of chemical disinfectant. As Holand, being a good few meters ahead of the rest of the party, but still visible via the Lumen lights next to him, leaves behind a trail of lights extinguishing only to be lit up again by the groups passing and rings of smoke from his Lho stick in his wake, his shouts simply echoing around the corridor with no reply.

Meanwhile, with tensions beginning to rise within the group and lines being drawn while silent alliances of faith form. How deep these fissures would grow between certain members of the party. Between those that would have to rely on one another to hold the line with them, to fight by their side. Only time could tell. But one fact was certain, they would be tested in the crucible of war.

The party, cautious and with weapons ready, proceed further down the corridor, the lumen cherubs guiding their way. After a few minutes, the corridor ends with an armoured metal door, which unseals and unlocks with a hiss of pressurised air and opens with a loud grinding of heavy gears before the Acolytes. The room beyond is bathed in a clear and crisp white light, a jumble of dusty metal crates (branded with unintelligible symbols) are stacked against one wall, while a hospital gurney complete with restraint straps has been left toppled over on one side against the other. The room’s most striking feature is a wide mirror which fills the upper half of the opposite wall from the entrance. The mirror slowly clears to a transparency to reveal a glittering steel chamber beyond. Inside the chamber, looking out is a tall, thin-faced figure wearing white medicae robes with (rather incongruously) a red leather coat draped over his shoulders. Behind him, covered by a mottled grey sheet, is what looks like a body on some sort of frame raised upright. While above them in the air, a pair of white enamelled skulls, encrusted with a variety of brass instruments and long hypo needles, hover expectantly.

"Ahh... Now what do we have here?", Holand wondered, eyeing the metal door that seemed to materialize in front of the party. Laying his entire body weight into the oversized doorway, Holand clumsily fell as the entry was flung open unexpectantly, due to either a mechanism or omnipotent force. Even for an older man, Holand was able to bound up to his feet once again to look into the white-lit chamber that expanded from the entrance's maw. "Hmm... Well... Some First impression, hmph.", Holand said, smoking well into the middle of his lho stick with one hand, and with the other feeling the bumps and smooth textures of the abandoned metal boxes lining the walls (the symbols adorning the crates really caught Holand's eye). With another puff of smoke, Holand whipped the fat lho stick in the air to get a more vagrant whiff of the drug, then turned to face the robed man in the window. "Oh, this most be our warm host. Holand Tzofiatien, Vostrayan Firstborn of Kilo II, at your service.", Holand greeted the inquisitor, kneeling down on one knee and tossing aside his lho stick and trench coat to proudly display his vibrant Vostrayan uniform, multiple medals adorning it's proud crest. Looking back to his comrades, Holand was disgusted to see them standing idly as the prominent Inquisitor looked back upon them, they were blessed to even be the subject of his most holy gaze! "Aye! Get down on your knees, too.", Holand scolded his teammates, like a grandfather scolding his grandchildren.
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Actions

• Fall into chamber
• Survey crates (try to discern symbols)
• Kneel to Inquisitor

Clearly this room was some sort of medical storage area, from how it was internally pressurised and sealed. As the group stepped inside, he took a good long look around the whole room, slowly turning in a full circle as he walked in, taking in the full extent of the room and what lay in it.

And behind the glass, a Medicae worker, possibly a doctor, and a corpse, along with two Medicae-modded servo skulls. Perhaps they were performing some sort of experiment on the body? Was this body the reason why they were called to this world?

"By the Emperor..."

He muttered to himself, upon seeing the body. Corpses were not foreign to him; he'd been around them during his time on Casia, but this...felt different. The whole thing, how surgically clean and impersonal it felt, it was like they were intruding on something private, meant for the eyes of the Medicae only.

He'd leave the introductions for the Arbitrator to perform. For now, he was content to stand with the Missionary and the Sister, just slightly away from them, wherever they stood.

As the Guardsman called for a general kneel, Ark took a quick glance at the figure before them. Certainly, he did kind of fit his memory of the Inquisitor Hadrax, but just to be certain, he lowered himself to his right knee, head bowed in respect.

---

• Walk in
• Inspect room
• Observe room behind glass
• Stand nearby Missionary and Sister
• Kneel

An almost smile broke across Warmunds still face as the foolish Vostrayan pushed against the heavy door, it was clear to his trained forge world eyes that the hinges were automatic, the hissing that came next proved his theory. As the Vostrayn stumbled forward Warmund stepped out and held his arm to steady him, giving him a stable object to push down upon to stand.

Bright lights had never agreed with him, or in fact the majority of his order, preferring to be hidden in the darkness, or in the crowd. As he entered the medically smelling room he noticed he others checking its interior and chose not to copy - if anything was going to happen, it would have been done already. Though Warmund did closely inspect what was on the other side of the glass, especially the servo's and the body - the man was of no harm he was sure.

Suddenly the Vostrayan was kneeling and asking the others to do the same, but no such action was sought after by the individual, and Warmund was not one to do that which is unnecessary, but his masters at the Vindicare Temple had told him to conform to some of societies and his squad mates beliefs and actions. Thus Warmund bent took down his right knee and rested a clenched fist in its place, looking up to the figure instead of down - as is disrespectful within the Temple and not at all what an assassin should ever do.

Instead oh blindly throwing himself forward as the Vostrayan did, Holand he believed was his name, Warmund spoke to the figure in his metallic tone that took the listener by the throat and bent their ear to his voice. " As presumptions go, I believe I am correct in thinking you called us here, and that that is the body of Arbest?" falling silent for a moment, Warmund stood back up and strolled over to the window as he would to any other in conversation and crossed his arms to get comfortable.

Upon laying eyes on what was before them, Rodrick merely grimaced. As scenes of his surgery to replace his arm went racing about his thoughts, the priest truly believed that this was the stuff of his nightmare. Still, his faith steeled his nerves as he began to look about the place, drawing forth his pistol- though it remained aloft in his grasp and at his side. As his eyes skimmed the room for any other indicators or markings, his vision would settle upon the servo-skulls hovering above; hypo-needles exposed.

"Get up guardsman!" Rodrick spoke plainly, "Stand ready! Nothing here bodes well." Not long after his voice subsided, the assassin would make his way to the glass before them. Feeling this action was ill-advised, the priest drew up his pistol, aiming it at the one of the skulls above.

---

>Inspect Room
>Speak to Guardsman
>Aim at overhead skulls

The figure behind the glass, clearly male silently regards the group of Acolytes as they walk, or tumble their way into the room. An amused smirk crossing his features as a number of them bow and at the priest drawing his laspistol and aiming at the glass before him. With a gloved hand he beckons the Acolytes up to the glass as his voice issues forth from a grill set into the ceiling.

"There is no need for that Firstborn, nor from you. Priest. For your masters are also my masters. Now to the matter at hand... Greetings Acolytes, I am Medicae-Interrogator Sand and you are the new blood, are you not? Worthy additions to our holy war? Well we shall see, far be it from me to doubt my betters' judgement, eh?"

Warmund, Atreides, Rodrick, Helana, Arkaeus and Holand make a Routine (+20) Perception check.

Warmund needs: 76 (41+20+15)
Warmund rolls 95. Fails

Atreides needs: 78 (43+20+15)
Atreides rolls 6. CRITICAL Success

Rodrick needs: 50 (30+20)
Rodrick rolls 9. Success

Arkaeus needs: 69 (34+20+15)
Arkaeus rolls 80. Fails

Helana needs: 55 (20+20+15)
Helana rolls 53. Success

Holand needs: 64 (39+15+20)
Holand rolls 72. Fails

As the group of Acolytes move closer towards the glass window, Atreides, Rodrick and Helana notice the man's leather coat conceals armoured panels in it's construction and the distinctive bulge under his arm can only be that of a gun of some sort. For Atreides however, the unmistakable shape of the gun through the coat brings to mind that of a bolt pistol.

Arkaeus makes an Ordinary(+10) Intelligence check.
Arkaeus needs: 51 (41+10)
Arkaeus rolls 15. Success

With Arkaeus correctly identifying the two hovering skulls as medicae servo-skulls, Machine spirit controlled drones, fashioned from preserved human skulls and fitted with sophisticated medical systems, takes note that these two are of the highest quality whose secrets are restricted to the highest orders of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Meanwhile, Holland has taken a special interest in the crates stacked at one side of the room.

Holland makes a Challenging(+0) Intelligence check.
Holland needs: 27
Holland rolls 19. Success

Holland, visually inspecting the boxes and it's previously unintelligible symbols recognizes said symbols to be indicative of a distinguished and famous order of Scholars, the Hetaireia Lexis. He also notices the same marking of a stylized raven and scroll insignia on the figures robes.

"Anyway, I represent the Holy Ordos of the Imperial Inquisition that we all serve, so you would do well to holster your weapon... Our masters have called you here, to assist us in the investigation of a matter of interest that has recently and unexpectedly come to light."

"Oh yes, for your information priest and of those concerned, you are now in the depths of the Templum Mori, the house of the dead where the Lords Perfecta Mortem hold court and the fallen and lost of the great city are named and counted. It will not suprise you then, to know that you are here to view a corpse, I doubt it will be your first, but it is shall we say, quite singular!"

With this, Sand pulls aside the grey sheet to reveal a dissected and eviscerated body of an adult human. As he continues to talk, the servo-skulls dip and bob out of sight to reappear again with messy looking organic specimens in test tubes and jars, clutched in their dexterous brass calipers and in turn displaying them before the Acolytes.

“Now if you will kindly attend and pay heed, I will take questions afterward. The body has been positively identified as that of one Saul Arbest, male, 23 years of age, hive worker, unskilled labourer certified. Formerly of the Tantalus Indenture, registered habitation: chamber 6/23 stack 717# Coscarla Division, southern zone, Hive Sibelius. Subject found dead on the midhive transit rail three days ago as the car returned to the main depot. Preliminary examination at the scene suggested death by drug overdose. Post mortem performed by the biologis forensic, however revealed certain anomalies that necessitated our involvement. The cause of death was in fact total systemic failure brought on by tissue rejection of an implanted synthetic graft organ. Said organ destroyed his central nervous system while attempting to overcome the immune response. In short this…”

The servo skull displays a sample jar containing a ten centimetre long whitish cord of waving glassy tendrils, still in motion, still alive.

“…crushed the life out of him from the inside. What’s it for? Unknown, but my opinion would be, in a word, ‘control’—neural and synaptic override, perhaps worse. There were other grafts and surgery of a less singular kind also; one lung replaced by a concealed storage cavity, possibly for his use as a courier. Also, one optic nerve removed, skin flayed from his stomach, I’ve no idea why. His system’s awash with alchemic traces, clotting agents, panimmune and the like. The surgery was expert, but by the lesions and tissue stresses, I doubt any care was given to whether or not it was painless. In fact, by the damage to his vocal cords, my guess was that he probably screamed as long as he was able to. But this little monster is what concerns us. Oh, you don’t need to know the genelore or the Omnissian edict, just that this is not only illegal, it is forbidden, it is heresy. Merely tampering with this kind of dark tech is enough to warrant a death sentence from the Holy Ordos, the Arbites or the Mechanicus. And I’m sure that you, as well as I, am wondering how such a rare and vile thing ended up wrapped round the spine of some anonymous habprole from the dusty end of the stacks. The man has no prior criminal record, he was rendered invalid by indenture—laid off if you will, some sixty days ago now and was reported missing thirty two days ago by his sister, one Lili Arbest, resident of the same habstack. More than enough time to get himself into all sorts of trouble, I’m sure you’ll agree. He pauses for a second, regarding the group before continuing.

"These grafts are no more than eight or ten days old at most. We have nothing else on him. This is to be a shadow investigation, no open official involvement and no notification of the local authorities, and no one knows he’s here either. Coscarla’s down hive, so a covert approach will draw far less attention than a boot through the door, and be far less likely to kill any leads to our heretic. Find out why and where if you can, better yet, find out how. Best of all, find out who is responsible. Go with the grace of the God Emperor, oh and additional samples would be a blessing if you can procure them.”

"Now, any questions before you leave?"

Holand, a little startled by the Rodrick's outburst of command, turned to face the disgraceful missionary. "Well you could at least voice yourself a little quieter, you-", Yet, he was soon cut off by the garbed Interrigator. More of a startle did it come to Holand that he was kneeling to a medicae rather then an actual inquisitor. Is this how they did it on Terra? The higher ups send their servants to greet new bloods, rather then bestowing the right of introductions straight to the younglings themselves? Something seemed a little backwards in the Imperium, or at least to Holand it did.
"Oh, well, yes. Of course, Interrogator.", Holand replied, a little embarrassed of his blind actions as he stepped back into the main group. He listened intently to the Interregator's speech, tempted to smoke another Lho stick as the long faced official rambled on, but did not do so in the process. Once it came the time to propose questions, Holand was fast to ask. "Any personal information on this Saul character? Anything that could've lead to his specific Implant of this... This 'Death Worm'? Maybe some ties with the heretic who personally did this?", Holand asked, Referring to the white, whip-like organism as the 'Death Worm'. Personally, that small creature disturbed the firstborn terribly, to think THAT crawled up people's spines and feasted on their nervous system. It just gave him chills.
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