@Kratesis@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity

Taniea Primus was a planet not unlike that of Ancient Terra in geographical composition, a planet made up of several continents, with expansive oceans and varying zones – from temperate areas where the rains fell often, to scorching hot deserts and two poles of frozen ice; the planet also had a population of some five billion souls spread across it, most living in miniature hive-cities, mostly unlike the cavernous and immense bee-hive cities of other planets but still able to house millions of loyal Imperial citizens, just as many choosing to dwell in the wide open spaces of the Taniean Steppes or elsewhere away from the cities.

It was in one of the planets mountain ranges that the Preceptory of the Order had been constructed centuries ago, one side of the mountain hollowed and out and consecrated as hallowed ground by members of the Ecclesiarchy who accompanied the Sisters on their crusade of flame and blade across the sector during its earliest days. Within the range was created the Orders headquarters in the sector, a titanic series of halls and chambers beneath arching ceilings and towering spires – the pointed tips of which brushed roof of the highest caverns – combining monastic and Gothic architecture with a military installation defended by a veritable army of highly trained warrior-women and numerous missile silos and embedded defence batteries.

Inquisitor Kliment was not all that impressed however, having seen far greater edifices to the God-Emperors glory in his hundred-and-thirty years serving His most holy of organisations. Here was a man who had seen things that would turn a mere citizens bladder to water, their hair grey, and likely as not their body inside out; it had been his utmost honour to fight against the vile filth of the witch and heretic, and now he was here on Taniea Primus to begin one more another such errand in His most blessed name.

Brushing gloved a hand through his snow-white hair, his bionic left eye whirring a little as he focused on the woman standing ramrod-straight next to him, Kliment gave a smile that made his acid-burnt face seem as if it were a piece of meat stretched tightly over his skull...which it was.

“Canoness,” he said with a quiet cough, catching the attention of the mature figurehead of the Preceptory and receiving a stern glare, “erm...were they not supposed to be here some hours ago? Surely something has not happened to them.”

Coming into her eighty-seventh year, yet still handsome in the way of a more developed woman, the Canoness-Preceptor was everything that a Sororitas should be and more. Standing at somewhere around six feet and two inches, the same height as many men, her flawless pale skin was covered in the usual power armour of the Order – trimmed with a specifically gold edge, and the vestments beneath of a rich purple to show her rank – with her sharp-cheeked and thin-lipped face framed by a bob of white hair, naturally that colour rather than the sometimes dyed hair of others. On one hip she wore a Sororitas pattern bolt pistol, a power sword sheathed and inert for the moment on her other. In one hand she clutched a string of prayer beads, locking her stormy grey eyes onto Kliment momentarily before deigning to reply; when she did speak her voice was oddly youthful, her tone like that of a fresh-faced innocent, rather than the trained killer she was.

“My dear Inquisitor,” she responded softly, her eyes moving down to take in the shimmering rosette nestled in the centre of his chest for the third time in the last hour, the waistcoat he wore beneath his long-tailed jacket holding it neatly in place, “their Aquila may not be on time, but they shall be here. You have my word.”

Before Kliment could make some quip or other about the tardiness of the Sororitas they were interrupted by a young novitiate, her sparkling eyes peering at him as if he had just stepped from the pages of legend, the girl – for she was no more than a girl, judging by her demeanour and the robes she wore – turning quickly to Aubrie and making the sign of the Aquila.

“The lander has arrived, Canoness-Preceptor, they are being shown through now.”

---

“Follow me, please, and do keep up.”

Sister-Celestian Victorine lead the just arrived group of fellow Sororitas (and one Confessor with extravagant facial hair!) from the confines of the Aquila lander, taking them down off of the landing platform and into the mountains, down a winding staircase of some seventy steps worn smooth by constant usage, and into the main nave of the Preceptory; everywhere one looked there were dedications to the Emperor and the Imperium at large, from statues of saints to busts in alcoves of heroes and heroines of the Imperium, stain glass windows illuminated by some artificial light source (for the entire place was encased within the mountains after all) that gave the entire place a more sanctified feel overall. Here and there went huddled groups of Sisters, or lone wanderers of the halls, many clad in the white habits or training fatigues of the Militant Order, all going about their duties with the utmost dedication and ceremony.

It took half an hour to reach the hall in which the Inquisitor and the Canoness-Preceptor stood, both turning to watch as the group of some two dozen or so assemble in a rough semi-circle before them, Victorine saluting her superior and gesturing to the group.

“The requested assistance, Canoness-Preceptor.”

Victorine Blandine was a women of very few words, often finding that it was true what they said about actions speaking louder, a veteran of a dozen conflicts and with the multitude of scars to prove it; from head-to-toe she had the bearing of a fighter, straight backed and broad-shouldered, around five feet and ten inches in height and with full lips that very rarely were set in anything but a calm slash across her otherwise serene features. Unlike many of her sisters she was of a darker copper skin tone, her hair somewhat longer than that of others and a deep chestnut in colour, eyes of an equally heavy brown looking out from arched brows.

Such was the way it was when one was born and raised on a Feral world.

As with all those assembled she wore the power armour of her Order, yet for some reason she seemed to truly fit it – or it fit her – as if even without it she would still be able to propagate war in the Emperor's name and come out on top.

“You have all been chosen!” Aubrie pronounced with somewhat of a smile, her voice echoing from the arched ceiling, light flooding the wide and otherwise empty chamber, “and and shall be accompanying Inquisitor Kliment in his appointed task.”

Kliment stepped forward and inspected the mass, his eyes resting particularly on the Confessor who stood out from the women around him, the Ecclesiarchy apparently not finding it prudent to send him any more than this. Well, it was more than he had hoped for from those crusty old fools.

“Who is it I have the pleasure of honouring with protecting my life in the heat of battle? Speak up now and let me know you.”

Blessed is the mind too small for doubt. The little Sister did not spend precious breath on many words during the flight. There would be time aplenty for confessions and penance later, and no doubt the Confessor's mind was heavy with the sins of those Sisters who he had been with before leaving the confines of the convent-fortress. Sister Procyon was, technically, her superior, having been among the ranks of the Order of our Thrice-Pierced Martyr for longer than Lisbeth, and there was no need to bandy words when they were already bound together in their service of the divine Emperor. The roar of the Aquila's engines would have stolen any words away before they could be understood anyway. Instead, Lisbeth spent her time in useful contemplation, and silently ran her fingers along the many beads on her chaplet, wrapped several times around her armoured waist.

Eight hundred and six. She did not yet know where she was going, or why, only that it was His will. Her mind wandered, and Sister Dominicia found herself questioning, as she often did, exactly what drove the mind of a heretic. Were the stars in the sky not numerous and beautiful enough to prove the perfection of His creation? Were the verdant worlds He gave not enough to appease the need for a place to call home? Eight hundred and seven. Certainly, the pilgrims she had guarded were faithful enough; they loved their God-Emperor, as surely as he adored them, and many had travelled for a lifetime to see the places He had walked.

Eight hundred and eight. Scratching her inked eyelid, Lisbeth breathed heavily through her nose. Such questions were not the realm of mortals; there were answers for them, and if it was meant to be, He would give her those answers at the right time. Until then, she would listen and obey. The craft shook as a pocket of turbulence passed over the Aquila, and Lisbeth's gaze turned toward the Sister-Hospitaller in the cabin. She was used to being the shortest woman in the room, and even some of the novices were taller than her, but by the Emperor, the Sister-Hospitaller was like a tree! Had it not been for the tools she carried, Lisbeth would have been certain a woman built like that would have been a warrior born - but He worked in mysterious ways.

Eight hundred and nine. The grinding of metal on metal and a change of the light told Lisbeth that the destination was near; the landing gear was deploying. Time to do your part, said His voice, and she stood, shrugging the shoulder that her bolter strap hung from. "Hnnnnngggggrrrrrrkkkkkkkshhhhh," groaned the bay door, letting the light of the outside flood the cabin. Thanking the machine spirits and the Emperor for their safe arrival, Lisbeth quickly made her way out, greeting the Sister-Celestian with the aquila across her chest. She made quick progress into the Preceptory, where the images of the Saints never failed to astonish the Sister; the great heroes of the Imperium were icons to be revered and emulated, and she could still remember every detail of the stories she was told in the Scholae of their mighty deeds. Perhaps, one day, Lisbeth could herself be worthy to stand in their shadow.

"You have all been chosen," the Canoness-Preceptor said, next to a noble Inquisitor - a man with the God-Emperor's ear, the personal herald of his wrath. It was almost too much for the young Sister to believe. She was to journey with the Inquisitor? To serve by his side in the fight against the witch, the mutant, and the heretic? Even the years of discipline, devotion and training were not enough to completely quash her elation at being chosen for this most privileged of duties, and she was all too ready to stand forward, making the sign of the aquila on her chest. "Battle-Sister Lisbeth Domincia, of the Order of our Thrice-Pierced Martyr, honoured to serve, my Lord." Lisbeth's heart beat fast in her chest, and just at that moment, she felt as though she could march into the Eye of Terror herself and cleanse every trace of the taint therein. Instantly, she was ready to march at the Inquisitor's side, to death or to victory, in His name.

Vitruvia set in contemplative silence as the Aquila lumbered through the sky.

She observed her fellow sisters to take their measure. The short one, Lisbeth Dominicia, wore a chaplet ecclesiasticus long enough to wrap around her waist multiple times. Vitruvia was duly impressed. Though she did not know Lisbeth personally she was familiar enough with acts of penance to have a certain respect to one who was so dedicated at such a young age. There were Sisters Superior who couldn't boast of such mortification of the flesh.

Sister Alexandra Christina was next. A hospitaller. It was always a comfort to have a hospitaller about. They were proof of the love the God Emperor had for all mankind and of course it was always easier to fall into a deep and restful sleep when serenaded by the anguished screams of a heretical captive. She was also one of the tallest woman Vitruvia had ever seen. Being built like an amazon herself it was uncommon to encounter a man who was taller than her, much less a woman.

Last but certainly not least was Horacio Mazzini, a confessor. In Vitruvia's opinion confessors were a bit of a mixed bag. For every fire breathing sermon that sent goosebumps crawling up and down her arms there was an half insane fool who wasted the God Emperor's resource in maddened charges against insurmountable odds, selfishly seeking martyrdom at the expense of wiser minds, who were left to clean up their mess. The Emperor had appointed a time and place for all things and without the stern instruction of the Schola Progenium could even the righteous discern between wisdom and folly?
Vitruvia resolved to withhold judgement. Horacio had been selected for a reason, after all. No doubt the God Emperor would test him and he would prove himself or be found wanting upon that appointed hour.

After examining her companions Vitruvia turned her attention to meditation and silent prayer, spending the rest of the journey lost in contemplation of the glory of the God Emperor and reflection upon both the scriptures of the Holy Saints and more pragmatic tactical lessons learned in the Schola Progenium.

After Landing

Vitruvia followed the Sister-Celestian through the Preceptory, her helm tucked under her left arm and her power armor's oiled servos whirring quietly with each step. There was a certain swagger to her walk; she was young, just hitting her athletic prime and infused with the confidence of the holy warrior who feared no death but old age.

Victorine Blandine was a woman to be respected. The rank of Celestian was not given, but rather earned. It was also a rank to which Vitruvia had aspired since she first donned the robes of an acolyte. The amazonian battle sister found the presence of such an august warrior of the God Emperor inspirational. Together with the statues of the holy saints she felt a surge of righteous purpose.

When she first saw Inquisitor Kliment and Canoness-Preceptor Aubrie an eyebrow rose. Clearly this was no minor mission. Nothing an Inquisitor did could be considered minor. It was, in fact, a great honor to even be considered for the mission, much less chosen.

"Vitruvia Procyon." She didn't bother to conceal a fierce grin. "At your service Inquisitor."

Alexa wasn't nervous, at all. Not in the least. Sure, she was far and away the tallest individual in the Aquila, and knew she stuck out like a sore thumb, especially with a helmet on her head that many of her fellows did not yet bear, the one which still hadn't had that glitch fixed with the vox modulator which made her voice seem deeper than it was, almost manly in tone, and not in the good way... but of course she wasn't nervous. That'd be silly. After all, it was only an Inquisitor of all people she had been sanctioned with meeting, somebody who could declare death sentences against worlds if he or she so pleased...

But she wasn't nervous at all. Which was of course why she had been sitting with hands in lap and staring dead ahead across the Aquila's width for the flight, just over the head of the Battle-Sister opposite her, herself an exceptional example of physicality even amongst the Adepta Sororitas. Though she did seem a tad familiar... had they been involved in a mission together before? She didn't recall precisely. Perhaps just deja vu. But no, she wasn't nervous. That was an emotion one of the Emperor's Daughter's couldn't risk feeling, lest they risk their collected nature, or worse their faith. And naturally, it didn't bear mentioning twice that Alexa was beyond devoted to the God-Emperor of Mankind, above all other things, including and beyond her life and even her soul if the need presented itself.

So obviously, she wasn't nervous throughout the flight, or the landing, or the half-hour walk after Sister-Celestian Victorine through the Preceptory's hallways, past the extravagant dedications and idols laid out in His name. And she certainly wasn't nervous in any way when they finally reached the hall in which stood both Canoness-Preceptor Aubrie and the man the squadron would be guarding, introduced as Inquisitor Kliment, who in turn asked for the names of the women (and singular Ecclesiarchal Confessor, complete with ostentatious facial hair) who would be guarding him. Even so, Alexa took a moment to breath, slowly and calmly, as two others introduced themselves first, Lisbeth Dominica, and the Battle-Sister she'd sat opposite from before, Vitruvia Procyon. Finally, she stepped forward herself, just a short step, and introduced herself slowly and clearly:

'Sister Alexandra Christina, Hospitaller Advance, of the Order of the Transfixed Saint.'

Which, of course, came out as far more booming than she intended. Damn that vox. 'The honour is mine, Inquisitor,' she concluded, stepping back into line as soon as able. There. Perfectly calm. Not nervous in any way.

...she supposed the glitched modulator was good for hiding any stray emotion in her voice, at least.

Horacio was quite naturally pleased about the position he was in, he would be aiding a person of one of the greatest ranks in the Imperium: an Inquisitor. The fact that he was put together with the Sisters of Battle he was previously assigned with was quite the bonus too. As he walked along he used his Blackhammer shotgun as a staff (by holding it at the stock) whilst his other hand was occupied with stroking his sideburn(s). As far as he concerned those around him were the youngits, they weren't quite as faithful as the Canonesses and such that he preferred dealing with, but alas nothing was perfect. Their faith might not be as incandescent as the fire of a burning heretic, but close enough. When he had finally waddled over to the Inquisitor for inspection he took an arthritic pause, saving best for last of course. He pulled up his belt to cover bits of his gut that his carapace chest-piece could not.

To be frank, he was not aware of the names of his comrades, preferring to call them all daughter, so in his mental assessments he usually referred to each as "the shor'un" or "the one what's bloody well louder'n me." He only now realise he looked quite out of place with the Sororitas, his robes being mostly a nearly white grey, with his carapace armour unpainted. Still, being able to distinguish the man who holds the key to one's faith is not always a bad thing. Of course, there were other ways to distinguish Confessor Mazzini, but most of them assumed that he was not wearing some sort of respirator for a world's industrial fumes or otherwise un-breathable air. He cracked his knuckles and then let his chin rest on the stock of his shotgun, propped up by his hands. The sound "Hmmm?" came from him as he straightened out, his back letting out a crack as loud as the grenade of the similar name. "Confessor Horacio Mazzini, at your service Lord." he announced, bowing.

He gave the Inquisitor a calculating stare, wondering what kind he was. He heard some of the more "radical" ones were not like the radicals of the Eclessiarchy, instead preferring unorthodox means of accomplishing their goal. He hoped this was not one of them, although he knew he would have to keep quiet. Still, it would be awfully unsettling and it could make their relationship strained at best....

@jbeil@Andreyich@BCTheEntity@Kratesis

Inquisitor Kliment looked at the assembled figures before him, his eyes scrutinising them from their heads to their toes, from the glistening trim of their pauldrons to the finally crafted weapons which each Sister bore; needless to say he was thoroughly impressed, the sight of the Amazonian-like giantess that was Sister Alexa causing an especial swell of his breast as it filled with pride in both the Order and the Imperium which he served. Each of the gathered Sisters were splendid servants of the Emperor in their own right, a worthy force to protect him as he went about his mission, yet there was no denying that more than a few of them seemed wet behind the ears - such things caused him little concern, but were never the less worthy of note.

Confessor Horacio another matter entirely, whilst he was a valued member of the blessed Ecclesiarchy - and indeed the only member that had answered the Inquisitors call for aid - he assuredly seemed somewhat out of shape for one of his elevated position. It was not uncommon for members of the holy church to become somewhat lax in their habits, some eating themselves into a more rotund form as Horacio appeared to have done whilst the worst of them slid deeper and deeper into excesses which no doubt lead to their inevitable fall to the heretical powers of Chaos. The look with which he studied The Inquisitor, although it would be more accurate to perceive it as a gaze into his very soul, told Kliment all he needed to know about the man below the surface.

"Sisters, and welcome brother of the Ecclesiarchy, it is with great regret that I could not have arrived here with more positive news! However since we are gathered here now, on the dawn of an endeavour that could see the very foundations of our faith shaken to the core, I believe that some explanation may be required - something not commonly done by The Emperor's Inquisition."

Rotating his head to the left, the Inquisitor allowed a crack of his vertebrae before fixing them all once more with his sturdy gaze.

"There is a rot within this sector, one that has been gnawing at the roots for quite some time, one that could involve organisations of the Imperium that would better be left alone. I cannot guarantee that all of you shall return alive, but you have my word that I shall do my utmost to make it so. We leave for Athega Tertius now, prepare thyself and follow me."

---

Just as they had been guided into the chamber by Victorine, they were now guided back out the way they had come and taken once more into the bowels of the Aquila Lander; one-by-one the some twenty-five warriors of the God-Emperor were strapped snugly back into their thrones, secured for take off and landing and any injury caused by either.

Kliment only realised that he had not really told them anything about their mission, having done so inadvertently but giving a mental shrug when he thought about it; there were some things which should be kept to oneself, even from those most loyal to the Throne. As an alternative he allowed himself to relax somewhat, his leather-tough face taking on a rather serene look as he enjoyed the hum of the void-crafts engines, his lids closing over piercing green eyes, and both hands resting in his lap.

It was not long though before the craft came to a juddering halt, a rush of thruster fire allowing it to hover and then gently hit the surface of the landing deck in a couple of smooth motions, swallowed into one of the various docking bays of the Firestorm-class Frigate Imperator Gracili Ferro - the Ferro was a black-painted and unmarked vessel of some twenty-five thousand crew and weighing at roughly six megatonnes, a potent weapon of the Imperium nearly two kilometres long from prow to stern that would see Kliment and his escort where they wished to go.

“Welcome aboard,” announced the Inquisitor with an opening of his arms, “I believe you were confined to the Lander the last time you were here.” It was not a question but a statement, “that is unfortunate, and we shall seek to remedy that immediately.”

As it turned out, chambers had been provided within the ships innards for every one of them, each containing a rough-but-usable bed, enough storage for ones weapons and armour, and a safe-like box in which one may place their most valuable possessions for the journeys ahead. Each Sister (and Mazzini) were shown to these chambers by personnel wearing uniforms as black as the outer skin of the ship, only a red '=][=' showing that they served the Inquisition and by connection Kliment himself. The portly Confessor was also shown the ships primary chapel, a place of contemplation and veneration to the God-Emperor where Ecclesiastic servants roamed with flaming braziers of incense and fire to bless the ship and the servants onboard.

---

The journey from Taniea Primus to Athega Tertius took nearly three weeks of travel, plenty of time for reflection, training and conversation between the Sisters and for the crew to get used to their overwhelming presence. Indentured into the Inquisition they may have been, but even they revered each one of the Sororitas as walking avatars of the Emperor's faith, bowing their heads as the female warriors passed and muttering prayers under their breath.

Once the ship tore from the empyrean and back into realspace, the Navigator of the vessel having made their calculations as accurately as possible and achieving them with extreme precision, Athega could be seen like a giant blackened orb hovering in the depths of space from any of the view-ports dotting the ship.

Athega Tertius was one of seven planets but was only one of three inhabited or habitable at all, it would be considered a 'Hive World' by Imperial cartographers, but under the leadership of Governor Heidric Von Behner it had also taken on many aspects of a Forge World as well, producing materials and vessels required by the Imperium, as well as sending the worst of its population out into space to be massacred among the ranks of the Guard. The atmosphere was almost entirely made up of a thick smog, filtration systems in the main Hive spires allowing the worst of it to be filtered from the upper levels, but many under-dwellers dying by the thousands due to the greed and disregard of their betters.

Inquisitor Kliment selected half of the Sisters and Confessor Mazzini, taking them down to the planets surface in full armour and equipped with their entire armament, with Alexandra, Vitruvia and Lisbeth among them. During the interim between launching from his Frigate and landing atop the uppermost landing platform of the largest, highest, spire on the planets main continent – so high that the tip actually pierced the atmosphere! - he made certain to instruct them all on what to expect.

Dressed as he was in a suit of golden-inscribed Ignatus-pattern power armour of his own, making him seem broader and taller by far, the grey-haired Inquisitor flexing his gauntlets and tapping his fingers against the helmet in his lap, he assured them that he did not expect them to encounter violence but that one could never be too prepared.

“Von Behner is a rather frightened old man,” he confided in them all as they moved through space, “not only because he fears the other members of his family aim to usurp him, which may well be true, but because he has no idea what it happening in the lower levels of his domain. When one loses control of ones territories, well, it is correct to fear such things as rebellion or insurrection from the lower depths.”

He paused to eye each of the twelve Sororitas and the Confessor before continuing, as if weighing them each in some unfathomable and unseen way.

“I am here, as are you, because I have received reports of Chaotic activity...rumours mostly, but worth investigation none the less. The Governor believes we are simply visiting for a state visit, to see his Hive and to see to the purity of his people, and in this we must indulge him. If you have anything to voice, I suggest you do it now, we land in minutes.”

Journey

At first Vitruvia spent the trip in meditation, physical training and prayer. It was important to prepare the mind, body and soul for the task ahead. It was a sin to be found wanting in the service of the God Emperor.
At times she would wander the corridors of the Imperator Gracili Ferro, power armor whirring as she walked among the Emperor's people, passing out blessings and praying for the protection of the crew from the horrors of the void. At times parents brought their children to her for benediction which she provided with humility. Nightly self-flagellation kept the sin of pride at bay.

Days turned into weeks. In the second week Vitruvia realized time would atrophy her skills if the trip lasted much longer. The sister begin to spend hours a day honing her hard-won skills with the chainsword, devoting hours to refining the cuts and thrusts drilled into her by scowling drill-masters at schola progenium and the advanced parries and ripostes learned at the feet of humorless Sisters Superior. Techniques had to flow reflexively from the body in battle. When possible she drilled in the fire range and acquainted herself with the ships armory, however there were limitations to the amount of bolter training that could be done aboard ship.

She also took the time to get to know her fellow Sisters. Discipline came before comradery of course but there was little harm in knowing those who served the Emperor at her side.

Arrival

Vitruvia had seen the world through the view ports as the Ferro approached. Though it was but a grain of sand in the ocean of worlds under the Emperor's dominion there was a certain propriety to its layout. A small ruling class guided the people from the peaks of their hive towers and the masses toiled below in their duties to the God Emperor. His Imperium's roots were of iron and blood and this world clearly provided both. As it should.

Later as they gathered in the lander Vitruvia listened to the Inquisitor speak with her helm tucked under her left arm and her bolter hanging loosely in her right fist. The sister of battle was prepared to face the enemies of the Imperium, mentally, physically and spiritually. Her battle-scarred power armor had been polished until gold trim gleamed and black ceramite seemed to drink the very light. Her bolt pistol and chainsword hung at her left hip, ready to be deployed at moments notice.

She had nothing to say and merely waited in silence.

Horacio kept up his stare upon the Inquisitor, eyes narrowing. Until he found out whether the man was radical or puritan he would have to keep himself reserved and quiet, only adding what he should. When Kliment brought up the rot, he nodded grimly. "We'll leave nothing of it, Lord." he said, his eyebrows getting together in fury. "If death is the result, then it will have been for good purpose, and by the will of the God Emperor." Satisfied, he quietened down.

The man seemed to want to be all dark and mysterious, but his words didn't really form anything good. It wouldn't do well to get the baby-faced youngsters all frightened, which would be the only outcome of such warnings. A good preparatory speech made one's eyes have a golden fire in their soul, it would make those who heard it spill the blood of the unrighteous, and it would make the blood of the righteous boil with zeal and fervour. Perhaps the Confessor best give the Inquisitor a lesson in short speeches, and how not to do them if unable. It would seem that the uplifting words would be left to him.

Upon the ship he merely followed the attendants to his quarters, where after thanking them nearly instantly fell on his back to sleep with a snore that permeated the plasteel walls. As if driven by some internal alarm, he would awake several hours later and go to the chapel where he would pray for the rest of the day. He tried to socialise as little as possible for that would mean people would get an idea of his personality, something a good Confessor best avoid. Usually he had the advantage when speaking to people, but if he spent time around them then they could learn his ins and outs, and perhaps be able to conceal things from him. Thus, he preserved himself for the crucial moments and continued in his cycle of prayer and sleeping, eating in private.

Finally, when they arrive upon the planet he emerged with various scriptures, seal, aquilas and bits of ammunition all jingling with each step. He went into the lander, holding his power-maul as a staff rather than his shotgun (which was slung upon his back). He was quite eager to see action of any sort, be it the of the face-splattering or the hymn-singing variety. He certainly seemed the least imposing of the group being perhaps the only one without power armour. Still, he had war-hymns, and the rosarius to rely upon, with his carapace being at least helpful. There were other ways to display one's grandeur than height and girth, although perhaps he had the later. Regardless, he resumed the stare he had from the moment before they embarked on the journey. After a while, he spoke up. "I only wish to know if this von Behner has been investigated. Heresy can hide anywhere."

Alexa was glad she hadn’t broken down on the way back to the Aquila. Or in the Aquila. Or at any point within the Imperator Gracili Ferro, for that matter. Really, she’d composed herself well enough to not break down until she was alone in her room, and by then the problem of being in the presence of two incredibly potent leader figures was long since over and done with, so there was no need to break down at all. Still, she did feel a need to strip her armour and gear away once in the company of herself, and once out of the armour began doing a series of simple exercises and stretches just to cool down after all that walking. There was no need to get too overheated, after all. She had plenty of time for that.

---

She spent much of her time over the next three weeks keeping herself up to date on her skills. She of course prayed to the Emperor for guidance and faith as often as possible, and trained her combat and shooting skills frequently with her fellow Sisters in her spare time, but much of her time awake was spent assisting the Frigate’s medical staff, a role which they greatly appreciated given her advanced knowledge of the human body. Of the few cases she was needed to deal with, a single minor affliction was misdiagnosed, then treated correctly after the patient returned a second time; she flogged her back until it bled mightily that night, and scratched a mark into the flesh of her upper arm as a reminder to have another bead created for her chaplet-ecclesiasticus when she returned to the Transfixed Saint’s Preceptory.

Finally, though, the journey through the Immaterium came to an end, and the ship came into sight of their destination: Athega Tertius, a Hive World which, it transpired on the trip down to the planet, was governed in a manner that seemed to her almost incompetent. As much as she pitied the “frightened old man” known as Von Behner- how could she not? He was in a perilous position, and potentially set upon by his own family no less!- she felt strongly that if the populace was as ungrateful for their given role in the Imperium as they sounded, perhaps the one who allowed such a mindset should be replaced with a more stern individual after all, to make sure they knew their place and remained ever-grateful for it and the protection it provided.

She did not, however, voice her opinion in this regard, for it was in no way constructive, and would only serve to aggravate matters if she did bring it up. Instead, she sought for a more appropriate topic in spite of her desire to stay quiet, and decided it’d be best to continue on from where the Confessor called Horacio left off, though she did so hesitantly: ‘And his entire staff and family, too, Inquisitor,’ her helmet vox boomed out, still serving to make her sound more intimidating than she wanted. ‘If we haven’t yet, we ought to gather genetic samples, and test them for corruption. Anything less would be unacceptably cursory.’

Sister Dominicia did not take naturally to space travel. She was used to the firm ground beneath her feet and the sounds of a living world - rare though they were, Lisbeth had not realised how accustomed she was to hearing the occasional bird or the soft whoosh of the wind. Here, the only noises came from footsteps and the muffled groaning of the ship's workings. This was not a place she should be, and throughout the three weeks, her intuition told Lisbeth time and time again that disaster awaited. In the whole trip, she barely uttered a word, except in private prayer, convinced that she could somehow trick whatever impending doom was hiding around the next corner by staying quiet.

It was only during the last few hours of the journey, when it became clear that the ship would not break apart or burst into flame, that Sister Dominicia actually began to speak. Her natural bonhomie - some might call it youthful naivete - returned, and she made swift work of repairing any bridges that may have been damaged during the three-week trip. As much as she and her Sisters were dedicated to the service of the God-Emperor, they were still human, and still took offense at percieved slights. Sister Prudence, in particular, had been less-than-pleased to be shut out so suddenly by Lisbeth's change in demeanour, and while a sincere apology after the morning's duties and prayer did not feel sufficient, it would have to do for now. It was entirely possible that within a few hours of planetfall, either might be dead, and Lisbeth did not wish either of them to commend their souls to Him without having at least made amends. She would have to do more, but that would have to wait. They both had precious little time to prepare.

Prepare yourself, my child, His voice said, after Inquisitor Klement called half the Sororitas to arms. Almost mechanically, Lisbeth set about her work; her power armour had to be properly sanctified before use, a process which took the best part of two hours before she was finally ready. She had no need for her helmet - it would be better for the souls on the planet below to see the face of one of the Emperor's daughters, and-
Wicked child! Pride leads to damnation! Such a lapse could not go unpunished, even for a few hours. Without an instant's delay, Lisbeth reached for the release on her left gauntlet, the mechanism clicking as it dropped off her arm. Stowing it on her cot, she grabbed her sarissa, hovering the blade above the flesh of her skin. She closed her eyes, wincing, and the voice came again. Do not hide from it. Embrace it. Despite herself, she wedged her eyes open, sucked on her teeth, and pressed the blade against the back of her hand. Stifling a yelp, she began to cut, slowly, methodically, tracing the lines of the Aquila into the pale skin, grinding her teeth as the heavy blade cut through skin and surface tissue, maintaining an outward appearance of solemn calm only through reminding herself of the inviolability of His orders, and - oh, God-Emperor, it hurt! She shook as she struggled to finish the Aquila's tail, allowing herself a groan through locked jaws as she finished her penance. Now, finally, she could get on with-

"The Inquisitor!" With all the time she had wasted with her lapse of discipline, Lisbeth had barely left herself enough time to gather her wits and get down to the hangar in time! She shoved her hand back inside the gauntlet, biting her tongue as the sickly warm blood and the burning at the end of her nerves urged her to scream, affixed the still-wet sarissa to the end of her boltgun, and made for the hangar, sprinting all the way, shoving past crew and servitors in a mad dash, any pretense of dignity left behind in favour of speed.

By the time she finally ade it into the hangar, the Inquisitor was already ordering the Sisters aboard the vessel which would take them down to the surface. No doubt she would be scolded for her tardiness, and further penance would be required. For now, she could ensure her wounds did not close by flexing her hand, and for once she wished she had brought her helmet so she would not have to feign serenity. As the noble Inquisitor briefed the gathered faithful, Lisbeth felt a sense of calm return - this was what she was created for. Feeling the God-Emperor smile on her, she raised her voice in question after Confessor Mazzini and Sister Alexa spoke (in strangely similar, booming tone, no less!) in inquiry. "Milord Inquisitor, are we to uncover the heresy, or remove it, too?"

@jbeil@Andreyich@BCTheEntity@Kratesis

Kliment could certainly not fault the intelligence of his protectors, or of the Confessor with fabulous sideburns, a number of them asking pertinent questions – questions he had not wished to answer, but would have to now that they had been asked. He would answer them all in a single statement, clutching and releasing his fingers and giving off a smile that showed they had gained his respect.

“Relevant questions all,” he said with a slight nod, “and I shall answer now that Von Behner and his family have not been investigated. As you can probably imagine, such a thing would be looked upon with some disgruntlement from a Governor, and may sour relations between the Inquisition and Athega Tertius.”

As the ship passed through the planets infamous smog, a thick atmospheric layer made from thousands of constantly mass producing factorums and the necessary vehicles and labour, there was a slight shuddering of the vessel. After said turbulence, and a confirmation that it was such from the servitor slaved to the pilot console, the ship went only moments later into horizontal hovering mode above a platform wide enough to contain numerous vessels.

Sat as it was atop one of the tallest spires, the smog swirling about them as they landed, there was very little to see from either within the Lander or without it...

“Let us try to retain an air of simple visitation,” he bade them as he stood up from his landing-throne, glancing briefly at Horacio and those Sisters that had spoken, “but I assure you that even they shall be investigated, covertly or no, once our time here is through.”

With no further words to speak and a short command to the servitor, the ship thudding down onto the platform with a hiss of gasses and a slow silencing of the engines, Kliment replaced his helmet and strode forward as the landing ramp was lowered on its pistons to the rockcrete below.

---

Ashen black soot and dust whirled around the platform like some form of vortex, impenetrable but for a few feet in front of oneself, but from what the Inquisitor could make out as he took his first steps down the ramp and onto the platform his shuttle was the only vessel on the expansive platform...and it was quiet...too quiet.

“I don't like this,” came a muffled and muttered note to himself, his photo-visors helping to pierce the darkness of the cloud around him as he moved to the foot of the ramp. Yet it wasn't the prick of the suits electro-muscle fibres that made the skin of his body crawl, nor the sense of unease that had built up within the pit of his stomach, it was that most primal fear of the unknown.

One breath....two breath...three breath...there!

Something or someone moved in the cloud, a human-like figure from the shape of them, the sound of a doorway hissing open being picked up by his helmets auditory receptors from some distance away – likely the only way on and off of the landing platform, leading into a lift shaft no doubt. More footsteps could be heard, heavy breathing, grunts and hisses of displeasure, and finally the racking back of an autogun bolt.

Frak.

Before he had a chance to move back into the Lander, his only source of cover being the thick girth of one of the pistons from which it hinged, Kliment went into a half-crouch as the first solid-slug projectiles chipped flecks of outer golden paint and grey ceramite from his power armour; in three fluid motions he had plucked his bolt-pistol from where it was mag-locked to his thigh, loaded a magazine into it, and now returned fire toward where he believed his enemy dwelt.

From time-to-time he could see them shifting positions, the dust clearing momentarily to allow a half-decent shot in his own defence, and even spotted the symbol of the Athega Tertius PDF upon the sleeve of a rust-brown uniform jacket – the cog of the Omnissiah overlaid by a crimson III numeral – suggesting a deeper heresy than he had first suspected.

Allowing himself a mere fraction of a minute to look away from his enemy (or enemies) he amplified his voice and shouted back to the interior of the Aquila Lander.

“Now would be a good time, Sisters. To arms!”

Alas, it seemed a full investigation would need to wait. Still, Alexa understood the need for subtlety in that regard, and so nodded to the Inquisitor's statements about the governor and his family, smiling beneath her helmet at the intimation that they'd all be investigated in time. With little else to say, she didn't say anything else, waiting until the lander touched down and the Inquisitor strode out to follow in his footsteps. The smog was thick, even at this high altitude, and it would rather limit her vision as much as everybody else's were it not for the Sabbat-pattern helmet upon her head; however, its full-spectrum filtering and psycho-ocular buffering kicked in within moments, giving her a much clearer view of the field that was partially digitized and partially psychomatic in nature.

And this, in turn, gave her somewhat of a heads-up on what was about to happen. She sighted the figure moving through the haze shortly after Kliment himself, but far from waiting, she took immediate precaution and drew her bolt pistol from its holster, silently flicking the safety through to three-shot mode, listening and ready to react the moment combat presented itself. And present itself it did, not half a second after the sound of an autogun's bolt being drawn back and released, autogun rounds pinging off her charge's armour even as he knelt to ready and fire his weapon. Alexa herself, naturally, moved to a position that would help defend the Inquisitor without blocking his own aim, sending out three triple-bursts of bolt pistol fire at their unseen foes to try and pin them before moving behind the piston arm herself - though the bolts of such a weapon were not the almighty projectiles of the Space Marines, they were still explosive and highly dangerous, and even a glancing hit from one round would readily be fatal to any unarmoured human being. Whether or not these foes were in fact unarmoured, she couldn't tell, though it hardly mattered either way.

Still, that alone may not shift them into an area where her Sisters could pick them off, no matter how many of her more combat-oriented fellows poured out of the lander at Kliment's behest. That said, Alexa replaced her bolt pistol in its sheath and grabbed a frag grenade from her belt, pulling the ring on it with her other hand, then moved out of cover for just long enough to hurl it out towards the landing platform with a loud grunt of effort before redrawing and reloading her weapon. With any luck, it'd get behind a piece of cover, at worst forcing those behind it into the open, and at best blasting them into the Emperor's sight to be judged by Him for their heresy, for there was surely no way this attack could not have been pre-planned, and certainly not without knowledge of who they'd be facing off against. Subtlety be damned, she'd be having words with the governor over this affront, as sure as the Emperor was good.

The Inquisitor's explanation did not wholly satisfy the Confessor, although few things did. "I don't think they're going to believe it's just a matter of visitation when we have half a squad in power armour brought along...." he muttered just loud enough to be heard. If they were going to be kicking down doors, he felt it should be on a basis of equality; if you have a door it is going down, and if it's a thick one with a fancy hydraulic lock, well they had power armour and explosives did they not?

As they landed Horacio grunted, turning his power maul on so it had the wonderful glow everyone would come to know, if not love. "No don't say 'I don't like this.' You're an Inquisitor, surely you've watched holodramas where the man who says that always gets sh-" he started, and then stopped to sigh as a slug from an autogun zipped past him. "That's an omen if the Emperor ever did show them." he muttered again. He dived forward to give reduce his surface area to his shooters. He unloaded a clip from his bolt pistol, and then tugged at his massive shotgun. He stood and gave one blast, the heavy stubber slug sized pellets whistling loudly in the air. He ran forward and to the right all the while blasting away from his shotgun. The aim was to use his firearm to suppress the enemy long enough to get to the side of the doorway where he would have cover, and be close enough for his weapons to be at their most effective. He did not worry too much about the autoguns firing at him as his rosarius in conjunction with carapace and being a moving target would keep him relatively safe. If that failed, then there was the mighty defence of faith.

As he got closer and closer he emptied his shotgun and tugged once more at his power maul, screaming like a madman (which he admittedly was) and charged hoping that the smoke would not yield any advancing figures in the spot where he wanted to take cover. If there were any then he would most likely over come them by being better armed and armoured if not prepared, and finally get short respite to reload. "This should be some nice cover!" he shouted as by the sling he lifted his shotgun into one hand and pistol into the other. He jumped to the side where he was out in the open but could reliably if not accurately shoot both weapons at once to provide a hail of plasteel-borne doom. With the ammunition in the clips of both weapons promptly exhausted he'd jump back to his cover and reload again, hoping the Sisters took the opportunity to also find a position that was better than being in the open.

Projectiles hissed and whined through the air. Vitruvia Procyon of the Order of Our Thrice-Pierced Martyr smiled and closed her eyes. She thanked the God-Emperor for giving her this opportunity to slay His enemies. What glory! What worship!

A round glanced off her cerimite shoulder plate spraying her cheek with chips of black paint. Vitruvia ignored it as she lifted her helm above her head and lowered it until the seals around her neck hissed and she laughed and sang as she walked into battle.

Hail the Conqueror, the God Emperor
By whose righteous crusades
All mankind is delivered, salvation from the horrors of the void

Vitruvia's stride never quickened or slowed as she walked down the ramp and toward the enemy, drawing her bolter and chambering the first round in the sixty round drum. She dropped to one knee behind one of the landers pistons and activated the thermal vision in her helmet, sweeping her gaze over the swirl of dust before them, seeking the incandescent glow of body heat.

She found it.

The battle sister did not waste ammunition. A thumb flipped the bolter to semi-auto and she aimed down her scope at the center of mass of each thermal glow. An armored finger squeezed once, sending a single .75 caliber rocket propelled explosive cartridge screaming through the air toward her target. Shift to the next target. Aim. Squeeze. Shift. Aim. Squeeze.

When the party started travelling down the landing ramp, the stench of industry and toil had already filled the interior of the Lander; it was unpleasant, acrid, and it was good. The combined labours of billions of souls beneath the Emperor's beneficent gaze were responsible for raising this place up from the dirt, and maintaining it's noble condition. Despite the threat of heresy, ever-present, the edifice of humanity was always a heartening sight.

The sound of gunfire was better.

It made a great many things simpler. She and her sisters, and the noble Inquisitor and Confessor were the rightful servants of the God-Emperor, aegis of Mankind, and therefore whoever was shooting at them were, by definition, the foes of the Imperium. Traitors. Heretics. Sister Lisbeth Dominicia was by no means a scholar, and she was certainly no fountain of wisdom, but she knew her purpose, and how to fulfill it. Cla-chak, clicked the safety mechanism on Lisbeth's boltgun, and the firing bolt hammered into place, three-round bursts lighting up the landing platform. As Sister Vitruvia moved ahead, Lisbeth followed, shifting her weight against the wall, leaning out to spray another burst into the dark.

This was not what she was made for. Lisbeth would never reach the rank of Sister-Retributor or Sister-Dominion. While her aim was true, and she was trained with every firearm the Order held, this was no way to defeat the heretic. The light of the Emperor had to be taken to them and their darkness purged from the corners they hid away in. Footsteps. Perfect. Reaching behind her back, she pulled a grenade from her belt and flicked out the pin with a thumb, lobbing it over-arm down the hallway. Anyone stuck down there would be blown to smithereens, and if the heretics feared for their physical forms then they would soon emerge.

Close enough. Lisbeth reared up from behind the wall, leading with her armoured elbow, straight into the chest of the onrushing traitor. The noise of the armour's mechanisms drowned out the cracking of ribs as the heretic's heart broke, a shard of bone tearing through the left ventricle. The heavy swing of her bolter came around and struck the other beside him, a young-looking woman with a patchwork of tattoos over her left face; the irony was lost on Lisbeth as the blade of the sarissa cut through her gut, a roll of intestine popping out with a wave of intersitial fluid as she fell backwards, and a burst of fire reduced her skull to a pinkish pulp.

“Reloading!” shouted Lisbeth, now splattered with powder from her gun, and the dirt and ooze of slaughter. All in the Emperor's name, she reminded herself, as she took up the chant Sister Vitruvia had started.

@jbeil@Andreyich@BCTheEntity@Kratesis

The battle raged through dust and ashes, bodies hitting the floor and heated shell casings littering the ramp of the Aquila Lander, the sound of the Sororitas and their vocally amplified litany of faith steeling the hearts and minds of the loyalists as they fought; little could they have foreseen what was to come, a heavy 'clack' resounding from somewhere in the whirling detritus as a large calibre weapon was loaded and the closed bolt pulled back.

“Everybody scatter!” Yelled Kliment to the surrounding brides of the Emperor, at least two of them laying unmoving upon the rockcrete of the platform, “heavy stubber, taker cover.”

Oh there was a heavy stubber out there somewhere, for that was certainly what they had heard, but what came out of the irritating surroundings – amidst the scattered heat signatures, the cooling life-signs of the dead or dying, and the chattering of autoguns – was something they had not prepared for, something that blew one wing from the Lander and flung the Inquisitor through the air like a rag doll.

Missile launcher, came the unbidden thought to the downed, but still fully capable, warrior of the Master of Mankind, where are you?!

Kliment spat out blood from a bitten tongue as he rose, stretching for the bolt-pistol that lay just out of reach while his eyes scanned the encompassing area, damage done to his person was minor but his armour had certainly taken a beating, including shards of twisted metal having shredded one arm to pieces.

He was not sure how the Sisters and the mad Confessor were, the hulking shape of the Lander visible as no more than a smouldering silhouette in the air pollution around him, but knew he had to find that missile launcher before it could finish off their transport completely.

With ragged breaths he moved through the dim 'battlefield', pulling a curved dagger from his waist and holding it in a low, reverse grip. It was no ordinary dagger, but nothing ever was when it came to the Inquisition, for it was what was known as a 'Scythian Venom Talon' – an envenomed dagger capable of killing with the barest scratch.

One man went down without a sound, the blade taking him across the neck and sending him to a swift grave, the second made more noise and even put up somewhat of a struggle before the blade lacerated his stomach into shreds of so much meat and offal.

There! There was the rocket team, by the elevator shaft entranceway...now all he needed was...

Someone moved nearby, Kliment praying to the God-Emperor that it was one of his own, having ignored the larger battle taking place around him for the most part; whether it was friend or foe would matter little, and he had little time to really calculate what he was about to do, so it was that he shouted into the storm of brown particles.

“The missile launcher is there! Help me eliminate those operating it.”

There were a round eight of them, each wearing the standard flak of a Guardsman, and each toting what appeared to be a Hot-shot pattern lasgun. They wore no rank insignia or markings on their grey uniforms, nothing save for a triple-helix being gripped by a skeletal figure, but they seemed determined and professional even. Therefore they had to die.

A heavy stubber? As if a mere heavy stubber was a threat to those protected by the divine armour of the Emperor! But of course, because the Emperor protected those who protected themselves, Alexa promptly followed the Inquisitor's orders, making a hasty move from the pylon to a new patch of cover behind a stack of heavy crates, since those Sisters still near the Lander would be most likely to be targeted.

She promptly gasped as, far from a heavy stubber firing out into the crowd, a missile instead rushed past her, buffeting her with first the air displaced by the missile itself, and then the much larger shockwave caused by the rocket's explosion. The actual cause of the gasp, however, was the sight of a familiar body hurtling through the air, that of the Inquisitor they'd been sworn to protect. And oh, wouldn't it just be an insult to the God-Emperor to allow Kliment to die before they'd even gotten inside on this planet? There was at least one other Hospitaller who had arrived on the Lander; she'd have to trust them to assist their fallen Sisters, because she couldn't in good faith prioritise anybody's health other than the Inquisitor's, not after a hit like that.

And so, she moved further into the smog that lay thick upon the landing strip, now switching to single-shot mode on her pistol and attaching the Sarissa blade to it, and picking off in single shots any foe who moved into view, or eviscerating them with her blade if they drew near. First one, then another, and then a third and fourth. Ultimately, six men died to her weaponry before she heard the sounds of a struggle nearby, and witnessed one man impaling another through the stomach with a blade; by the time she got there, the heretic whose guts had been torn apart was dead, and the attacker- oh, thank the Emperor, it was the Inquisitor after all, and without visible damage to his person, but of course she'd need to make sure as soon as possible.

'The missile launcher is there! Help me eliminate those operating it,' he called toward her, though whether he recognised her she couldn't tell; looking past him, her helmet picked out eight individuals, eight more grey-armoured heretics to slay, and the missile launcher that had just blown off a wing. Her first thought was to try to find the rockets being loaded into the launcher, to destroy the ammunition and all the heathens along with it; yet if they did not detonate, but instead launched themselves in all directions, it would be disastrous for everybody, and their holy mission would ultimately end the moment it began. So, restraining herself, she instead moved and fired toward the crowd of foes, firing three single shots specifically aimed for whichever of them seemed to be most involved with actually managing the launcher itself before reaching the Inquisitor's side, and motioning for him to enter cover with her as she moved to the side of the consequent hail of lasfire.

'Inquisitor, are you hurt?' she asked the man once he'd followed her. A detailed analysis would be impossible in the midst of battle, and he'd probably know if anything obvious had happened. At a glance, the damage suffered was largely to his armour, particularly one arm, and it was a miracle he'd come away relatively unscathed if that was the worst of it. But of course, that was precisely how the God-Emperor of Mankind worked, was it not? Or else, it meant that Kliment's power armour was especially sturdy, though that was a miracle in its own way too, if Alexa thought about it.

The missile exploded and the shockwave slammed Vitruvia face first into the ground. So sever was the impact that her nose broke against the front of her helm. Every bone in her body was jarred and she could taste blood on her lips. Worst yet, her righteous hymn was interrupted. But there was no time to be concerned with trivial details; the enemies of the God Emperor still surrounded them and the Inquisitor called for aid.

Aid she would provide.

Sister Vitruvia rolled to her feet in a whir of servos while heavy stubber rounds buzzed through the air around her. Autogun fire thumped into her armor as she left cover and swept her gaze toward the missile launcher, glowing white-hot in her helm's thermal vision. The distinctive profile of hot-shot lasguns was also clear. She knew them well from her years in the Schola Progenium. She also knew that a sudden hail of las fire could be blinding were your thermal vision active and she deactivated her helm's thermal mode before they could open fire.

She dived into cover once more both to provide a stable firing platform for her bolter and to protect herself against the hot-shot las guns, some of the only weapons which could penetrate the armor of the God Emperor's holy warriors. Then Vitruvia flipped her bolter to full auto and squeezed the trigger. Fire spewed from the barrel of her bolter as the rocket propelled projectiles rained hell upon the heretics with twin purposes. First, to kill the enemy. Second, to suppress the missile launcher and hot shot las guns before they could turn their armor piercing weaponry upon the Inquisitor.

"SISTERS!" Vitruvia roared through her helm's voice magnifier. "Concentrate your fire! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"Fear not! Their bullets stand no match to-" the Confessor shouted before the missile flew past the man. Well, they meant business that was for sure. You don't bring a missile launcher unless killing is your utmost priority. These weren't assassins oh no. These were people who only thought to kill Kliment. From his distance and with his rosarius he was protected more or less from the blast, but it was the last straw. His aged eyes saw red and there was an indignant jiggling of the chins as he snarled a little. He was about to shout "affix bayonets!" when he remembered he was not with Guardsmen nor PDF, so he had to rethink his course of action a little.

The fizzing of weapons only issued to Grenadiers or Tempestus also made somewhat of an impression on Horacio. For one, if it got past his rosarius (and prayers) he was probably going to be a puddle of sizzling goo. Even he recognized that trying to storm the position was complete and utter suicide so he had to be a little wiser. He hopped out of cover and unloaded his bolt pistol at them whilst keeping himself in full view to hopefully divert their attention before hopping back. After a few moment's wait he ran out but not towards them and took cover on the side of the doorway opposite him.

Once there he tugged at his shotgun and counted to three he once more hopped out and blasted at the upper torsos of the heretics. From this distance even the blackhammer wouldn't do much damage even to flak unless hitting exposed parts but it would 1) get attention away from his comrades again, 2) demoralize the enemies for a hail of bullets clanking off of your armour is oh so frightening and at last 3) perhaps detonate any grenades they had about their person, though he was not banking on this.

"Confessor!" As the portly man of cloth crossed the way, Lisbeth fired a shot in his wake, the bolt bursting inside the chest of one of the heretics, turning the left side of their torso into a thick, sticky pulp. "Can you see milord Inquisitor?" Somewhere, he and the rest of his group seemed to be obscured by the oozing smog, filled with the dust of expended rounds and tiny fragments of metal from the industrial processes of the planet, thin trails of open air left in the wake of las-shots and bolter rounds. A flurry of shots scorched the edge of the wall Lisbeth was hunkered beneath, and she reflexively ducked back before the fire could do any damage. Firing back was no good - at the rate of fire they were producing, she would scarcely have time to draw a bead before they would blow her away, and while martyrdom was the ultimate expression of faith, a foolish death does not a martyr make.

This was no way to smite the foes of the God-Emperor, cowered behind rubble and taking pot-shots. She would have to get closer; Lisbeth was determined to get within spitting distance of the missile team before they could wreck the transport. Perhaps the blood she had lost a few hours ago was starting to affect her sense of prudence, but in the absence of a better plan it would have to do. "Sisters, cover me," she howled, before entrusting her fate to His judgement, firing as she broke cover. A few yards down the hallway, she spotted another missile being loaded, and flung herself behind a stack of shipping crates as the missile detonated somewhere back down the hallway. Almost there. Making the aquila across her chest, Lisbeth broke cover once again, her boltgun hanging from the strap as she tore a grenade in each hand away from her belt, unpinning them with her teeth and flinging them toward the emplacement - and, selfishly, hoping that they would be more worried about the grenades than landing a hit on her.