'Sister, are you alright?' the Inquisitor asked, apparently concerned for his allies' well-being even as he destroyed those who would destroy the Imperium, merciful even in his mercilessness. Truly a stellar example of humanity's finest.

'Merely a flesh wound, Inquisitor,' Alexa replied smoothly, or rather as smoothly as her helm's defective vox would allow. 'My faith remains as steadfast as ever.' And what more needed saying than that, other than the order to follow on after him? And follow she did, her pistol screaming hatred for and carving redemption into the Imperium's foes even as her sisters about her sang their praises to the Emperor's holy visage. Sing along Alexa did not, for her praises were sung in her mind; the Emperor would hear her, and that was as much as she needed when all else could be said in the form of combat.

And truly, their prayers were heard, for the foes before them fell with the certainty of a planet orbiting its star, those who surrendered being gunned down by the Inquisitor as surely as any other. Though Alexandra might have considered their surrender differently, she was nonetheless in no position to question the man who commanded their squadron; nor, alas, was she prepared for Inquisitor Kliment to suddenly sprint off into the complex, hammering two enemy soldiers unconscious in the process. These ones she could take as prisoners, it seemed - it was a simple matter of destroying their weapons, both the installations they'd been firing from and those on hand, and ordering that they head to a corner and stay put for the remainder of combat once they were revived. Both would need medical treatment for whatever concussions they'd suffered, given the possibility for far more lethal ailments stemming from that, but otherwise, they'd make for good subjects of interrogation.

In due course, the same story echoed around the whole installation. The foes of the Emperor either lay dead and dying, or else had fallen in line, ready to be taken away and interrogated in His name. All that was left was for the Inquisitor to emerge - and with a single prisoner at his side, he reappeared at roughly the same moment as the arrival of Sister Vitruvia, a small army of conscripts and Battle-Sisters in tow, and yet an army that was unneeded for the events that had passed in that place. Nonetheless, with her duty nearly done, Alexandra greeted the arriving Sororitas - and the Confessor Horacio, if he was present too - with but a wave of her hand, feeling no need to talk to her openly at the present time. Likewise, she met the Inquisitor's return with the same gesture, ready to receive and execute his orders as soon as they were issued.

@Kratesis@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity

A dozen Sisters had made their ways to Athega Tertius alongside Inquisitor Kliment, each of them willing to lay down their lives in protection of his own, and although four of them had indeed paid the ultimate sacrifice it was clear that none of those present had come off of the worlds surface without a change having overcome them; what sort of change depended entirely on the individual in question, for the Inquisitors part he had had to restrain himself for declaring Exterminatus – that most final of solutions – upon the whole planet. He had only been dissuaded from that course of action by cooler heads, taking his frustration that Chaos had been able to penetrate this far into his sector on the vastly unfortunate De'Shard.

For an entire month he tortured the prisoner, the only one out of the nearly thirty heretics taken alive to not break under his ministrations, others turning swiftly from mortal men into gibbering messes. Things started well enough - timelines established and facts set into rockcrete, names and numbers given even as the capital of Athega was put back into order and the Planetary Governor replaced – but as the time progressed, time which he frankly did not have, things began to take a turn that would have even Kliment confused.

De'Shard, for all his obvious heresy, neither considered himself a traitor to the Imperium nor saw what he had done on his homeworld as anything other than the true path. When questioned he simply repeated that it had been her will that it as done, that she had come to them with an entourage much like he had and told them what they needed to hear and how to go about it.

“She was beautiful,” he sputtered one day from his toothless mouth, “like one of the Saints from the windows of the cathedrals.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had a way about her, a halo of light that blinded everyone...and..and she was impervious to harm, truly blessed by our Emperor.”

Our Emperor he had said, something a true blasphemer would never say as willingly, but the blazing light in his eyes was almost as fierce as that of Confessor Mazzini; it would not be too far to say that it scared him.

Days later he received word from the Canoness-Preceptor herself, an urgent message that was encrypted to the highest levels of the Sororitas, concerning a soldier of the Guard who had fallen into a deep coma-like sleep. It was said that she had simply collapsed in the middle of the battlefield and not awoken since, prayers and hymns coming unbidden from her lips even as no other part of her body moved, and more superstitious 'witnesses' even claimed that a faint aura had began to radiate from her. There was a small addendum to the message, one that stated with some certainty that, in spite of having received no wounds on the field, she was dying.

---

---

“I have been ordered away,” half-coughed the Inquisitor, a grim look on his face as he addressed those Sisters that had made it through the shitstorm and were now gathered about him in the bowels of the Imperator Gracili Ferro, the frigate giving off slow groans as it made its way through the warp and back toward the Preceptory on Taniea Primus, “it has been an honour to serve with you all.”

Kliment was never a man to give speeches, but as his eye focused on each of the Sororitas – those still among the living – he could not help but feel a swelling of pride in his chest, truly these were exemplars of Imperial might and faith combined into one being.

“Fresh orders await you on Taniea, so I have been told, but they will have to be pursued without me I am afraid.” He gestured to their ranks with a false smile on his weathered face now, “Sister-Celestian Blandine has been assigned to lead you on your next task, one I know you will complete with as much fervour and dedication as you would if I were still here.”

It would be another week before he left, the frigate coming out of the warp in the correct location and his 'guests' sent back to their chambers in the magnificence of the Orders fortress, perhaps some may even be given leave to take in the wider planet at large? Hospitallers were always in high demand in the Hive Cities, for example, and Horacio could always bless and lead the faithful in prayer and service.

As for Kliment and his activities...that was classified.

---

---

“We have failed, my master.” Came a voice from the darkness, one among a multitude of shadowed figures sat about an oval table. The voice was higher than normal yet certainly masculine, reedy but with an air of underlying authority, a practised way of speech that had not come naturally and was in fact a deception.

“There was no failure, Carfax!” Snapped back a deeper voice, digitized edges indicating an altered larynx at least, “Athega Tertius was simply a test, and one I may add that – in spite of local interference – worked perfectly as a demonstration.”

“Piffle! Utter dross. How can Jowan be serious? How?!”

“Enough,” boomed another unseen speaker, this one sat at the head of the table, unseen talons scraping against the wooden surface, “both of you will silence yourselves; the next test will soon begin, and the subject must not suspect a thing.”

“They do not, I assure you.”

“Good...good, you will receive details in due course. Let the faithful spread a bit, give our Imperial overlords some time to rest, for they will need more than a doddering old fool this time.”

Silence reigned for moments, only the soft sound of breathing to be heard in the darkened chamber, before the 'leader' spoke up once more.

“Immortality through Faith.” They proclaimed.

“Immortality through Faith!”

It was a refrain which echoed through the corridors and hallways of the ancient structure, all the way down to the medical bay where the subject lay – the feminine form almost in stasis, or so it seemed – those words ringing off of the walls and into the mind of the ostensibly unconscious figure.

Immortality Through Faith.

The Survivors of Athega Tertius they were dubbed, only by those too ignorant or too proud and only by those that hadn't actually been there.

Those that had been there were given time to rest and recover, sent back to their regular duties, whether that be tending the wounded and sick, safeguarding the Imperium by force of arms or – as was the case of Horacio and his fine facial hair – safeguarding it with rousing speeches and fiery oration.

It would be several months before anything noteworthy drew them back together, a calm falling over the sector of Taniea, reports of the shadowy cleansing of any further dissident elements on Athega Tertius reaching the Preceptory from time-to-time but little else happening to worry anyone.

It was all going well, some might say too well.

---

---

Sister-Celestian Victorine Blandine checked over her weapon one more time, the bolter in her grip as fine a specimen of Imperial craftsmanship as could be found anywhere in the Imperium, cleaned and maintained to the highest degree by its wielder and a weapon that had served her well since she had joined the Order of Our Thrice-Pierced Martyr; the chainsword that leant against the wall of her small cell, well, that was a different matter entirely.

“Sister,” came a soft voice from behind her, causing her to twist about, a smile playing over her scarred copper features, “the Canoness-Preceptor would like to see you.”

“Thank you, Josseline.”

Finally, she thought to herself as a calming, soothing, emotion overtook her, peace has broken.

---

---

As with every meeting Canoness-Preceptor Aubrie was curt and to-the-point, explaining in no uncertain terms that the so-called 'Survivors' were to be drawn together into their own formation – each Sister having already been informed by various means – and Horacio having been given the option to remain on Taniea Primus as a Confessor to her people (as a permanent position) or to leave once more for the larger holdings of the Ecclesiarchy.

She paced her own more spacious chamber for several heartbeats before speaking again, informing Victorine that she would be leading the squad and that, as the Celestian has predicted, something had occurred that would interrupt any peace they believed may have existed during these last few months.

“It began on Cekrov,” she explained, “an agri-world not known for its extreme religious faith, which is why the change that came over the inhabitants was so sudden and marked in its manifestation.”

The people of Cekrov, as far as she knew, had been whipped up into a religious frenzy by an event that had taken place in one of their hamlets – what had happened exactly was somewhat unclear, some saying that the God-Emperor had come himself to bless one of their number, others claiming to have seen a member of their hamlet rise from the dead. Each report varied, and got more and more audacious as time went on.

“You wish for us to investigate?”

“Yes Sister, it bears a resemblance to Athega, does it not?”

Victorine could not see a direct link, but what had happened there had been an explosive upheaval of faith, and those Kliment had tortured had made assertions that someone had come to them and made promises in the name of the God-Emperor himself.

“Rising from the dead,” she replied in a hushed tone, her eyes meeting those of the Canoness-Preceptor in the process of her thoughts, “could this be...”

“A plague of unbelief?” Finished the older woman, taking a seat upon the surface of her desk and opening her arms in a placating gesture, “the planet is alive, and there have been no further reports of undeath, so I would keep such suspicions in ones own mind until confirmed or not.”

She knew her duties, and knew that those members of her squad – her squad? It continued to feel odd to be in command of anything, let alone her peers – that had been summoned back to the Preceptory would be arriving soon.

As before they would join together in the same hall from which they had set off last time, a fitting circle of renewal that would begin their next journey into the wider galaxy.

The weeks had not passed quickly for Lisbeth. Athega Primus had been a failure, no matter how it was dressed up – too many people had died, and the true root of the heresy remained hidden. Too many of her sisters had died there, for no measurable gain, and while in her dispassionate head Lisbeth knew they were now immeasurably richer for being beside His side, her heart rumbled with discontent at their lives being spent for so little appreciable gain.

Her smile had grown a little smaller and her laughs a little rarer since returning from duty with the Inquisitor, and her chaplet was now long enough that she wore it wrapped about her shoulders like a shawl, rattling like a hand full of dice with each step. Her own squad had lost almost a third of their number on that misbegotten rock, most of whom were on their first serious deployment, and all throughout the days on Taneia the Preceptory felt less like home than ever before.

Only the God-Emperor remained constant. Even during the hours of silence, he was there, a gentle hand upon Lisbeth's shoulder, a shield against the darkness. When he spoke, the stars in the heavens shone a little brighter, and the world seemed a little less bleak and unforgiving.

The nights were more troublesome. It had started as a rare nightmare, one whose icy grip was quickly driven off by a round of penance. It was now not so rare. Lisbeth drove herself hard, as all her sisters did, but even a Sororitas needs her sleep, and sleep was a precious commodity for Lisbeth. She had taken to remaining in the chapel, cold and confused, rather than bedding down. Eventually, though, she always had to give in to her weak flesh, and whenever she did, the ghosts were not far behind.

I am alone in the great hall of the preceptory. All of the candles are blown out, and there is only a misty blue light streaming in from the great stained glass windows above.

There is something behind me. I turn, and it is gone. I turn again, and the great gate has opened. I run through, out into the mountains. I am cold. It is behind me again. This time, I run, and I keep running. I run until I can run no more. I stop. I fall to my knees. I am at the edge of a cliff, with nowhere to run.

It is behind me again. I turn, and now I see them. Persephone. Artemis. The civilians. The guard. The children. They are all dead. Everything is in shades of white and grey and blue, and the darkest blue is from the splashes of blood as they shamble towards me.

“This is your fault.”

They have surrounded me.

“You killed us.”

I begin to beg. For the first time since the Scholae, I am afraid.

“You are killing us.”

I look down, and Permanence is in my hands. I raise and fire. A stream of flame bursts out of the barrel, and their moans turn to screams as their skin burns and their eyes melt within their skulls.

“Why are you killing us?”

They do not stop screaming until the flames die out, and only blackened corpses and thick, choking smoke are left. The moon's light picks out the exposed bones and teeth with flashes of grey and blue. All that remains standing is a single, rake-thin figure, completely black. An impossibly long arm reaches out with clawed fingers, and whispers in a foreign tongue rattle inside my head. They grow louder as the hand grows nearer. By the time it is upon me, my hands are pressed to my ears and I am pumping the trigger, but nothing will happen. I already know how this ends.

The monster takes my eyes. I scream, but there is no sound. All I can hear are the foreign whispers roaring inside my mind. I lose my footing. I tumble backwards. Blind, I have fallen from the edge of the cliff.

As I hit the rocks below, I wake. I do not scream anymore. It wakes my sisters. I bite whatever is to hand – the bedclothes, my tongue, my arms – and once I am calm again, I rise. I resolve not to meet the monster in my dreams again.

Each time, I know I will fail.

When Sister-Celestian Victorine had told her that she was to be reassigned, it was met with muted glee. Her squadmates were her family – literally, her sisters – but such moves were rarely made without good reason. Lisbeth was sure she would be sent out again soon, and perhaps she could drown her dreams in the blood of heretics. Perhaps this had all been a sign of His displeasure, and she was meant to take revenge. That idea quickly took root in the fertile soil of her mind, still freshly-nourished with the memory of poor Persephone staring into the smog clouds with a hole in her torso.

The night before Squad Victorine was due to leave, Lisbeth was not in the chapel. She was safely cloistered in bed, and this time her sleep was not disturbed with spectres and emanations. Only one dream came that night, and though it was in the same place, it was different.

I am alone in the great hall of the preceptory. All of the candles are blown out, and there is only a misty blue light streaming in from the great stained glass windows above.

The great gate opens, and a golden light breaks through. Silhouetted against the gateway is a child, no older than five, radiating that warm, golden light.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I am going to the Emperor's side. Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes!” I shout, reflexively. I reach out my hand, and the light intensifies. With a wave of gentle heat, it washes over me, and the dream dies in a flash of perfect white.

That night, Lisbeth slept straight through. She rose before the dawn, made ready for war, and marched, clad in black, to the great hall, with her sisters' beads wrapped around her shoulders and dangling in front of her legs. This time, she knew.

This time I will make it right. I will be good enough for Him.

“Sisters,” she smiled, making the sign of the aquila over her breast, “to whom are we bringing His light?”

After their victory on Athega Primus the sister was returned to her duties with barely a moment to spare to say goodbye to Horacio. She was returned to the cold stone and antiseptic air of the chapel where her deeds in combat had not gone unnoticed. The sister was assigned to the training yards to assist in the close combat training of the novices. There she acquired a reputation as a brutal taskmaster; the enemies of the God Emperor would show no mercy and Vitruvia didn't either.

The status that came with distinguishing herself on the field of battle didn't escape Vitruvia's notice and she parlayed it into exceptions from the minor tasks that often occupied a sister's time. She spent this spare time in marathon sparring sessions with the Order's training servitors. These sessions were physically and mentally exhausting as Vitruvia always set the servitors on the highest settings and drove herself to, or beyond, the point of injury or collapse.

Perhaps the Hospitallar's grew wearing of seeing her but service required sacrifice.

Vitruvia found the experience physically grueling but spiritually moving. To suffer for the God Emperor was a blessing and she sang a hymn of praise every night before she slept.

However, more than the physical or spiritual benefits she found that by driving herself to the limits of her body and mind she improved at a rapid pace. She had begun to study the seventh form of Uvultu, a style developed by the fanatical crusaders of a feral world as they purged their planet of unbelief in the 37th millennium. The planet had long since been strip mined of all valuable resources and abandoned but Uvultu had survived in a few scattered tomes in the libraries of the Order as it's creators were sufficiently righteous and it's techniques were considered especially useful with the chainsword, if hard to master.

But master it she would.

She rejoiced when she was reassigned. There was joy in the Emperor's service. Before she departed she visited the armory and traded upon her newfound fame within the order to swap her bolt pistol for a venerable Kronos Mk II pattern plasma pistol. It's scarred plating and worn trigger spoke of centuries of battle in the Emperor's service.

Vitruvia also had her chainsword disassembled, cleaned, and blessed with sacred rites and holy oils. The Tech-Priests claimed this pleased the machine spirits; a point of doctrinal conflict that Vitruvia did not concern herself with. The teachings of the Ministorum and the Omnissiah could be mutually contradictory and yet true simultaneously; the God Emperor had ordered His Imperium after his divine plan-- Vitruvia's understanding was not required. When confronted with a paradox of belief then faith became the only recourse of the soul and Vitruvia had faith in abundance.

Just in case she also brought an extra drum of ammunition for her Godwyn-De'az bolter, four frag grenades, two krak grenades and two smoke grenades.

When she arrived in the Hall she greeted her Sisters with a warm smile, returning the sign of the aquila with a nod toward Lisbeth. Vitruvia didn't speak, only stood in formation with her helm tucked under her left arm, looking around at those who were gathered and feeling the combined faith and devotion of those around her strengthen her spirit.

All in all, Athega Tertius had been a rousing success, to Alexandra's mind. A rebellion had been quashed, the corrupted PDF unit on the planet had been taken down with minimal loss- though of course, those who had been lost were honoured in the end- and the Imperium kept safe from the rot of heresy from another angle. The mere physical damage to her arm had been readily fixed, and though her Chaplet-Ecclesiasticus gained a few more beads and her back a few more scars, Alexa's faith wavered not.

Nor did her workload. In the months after the fight for Athega's sanctity, Alexa's work remained constant, the healing of Imperial citizens and her fellow Battle-Sisters repeating time and again, not to mention the training in matters of combat that all Adepta Sororitae were expected to take upon themselves. Yet the Taneia sector remained oddly quiescent. The closest she came to battle again in that time was when she was called down to Athega Tertius again, not as a fighter but as the doctor for a number of civilians who had been caught in the blast of a rogue element's makeshift bomb. Most lived. A couple were too far gone for anything but the Emperor's Mercy. Another couple of beads were added to Alexa's Chaplet after that.

Nonetheless, she'd trained, and worked, and improved, and to some extent allowed herself to relax a bit more without such pressure upon her. And even so, it was almost a surprise when she heard that she and the other Survivors were wanted again. The same locale, the same Canoness-Preceptor, perhaps the same Inquisitor leading the way to boot. Echoes of her nerves at the time of that meeting returned, and indeed grew into their own tree of worry all over again, such that by the time of her arrival, her visage was hidden within her helm all over again, and no matter that the vox was somehow still not fixed, and that everyone else in the reformed squad seemed happy to be back together. Her aquila sign, in response to those of Lisbeth and Vitruvia, felt half-hearted in her mind, though she was sure it looked perfectly put together.

Speaking of which, you ought to pull yourself together, Alexa chided herself, gritting her teeth. What Adepta sees herself heading off to fight for the Emperor's glory, and worries about such childish things as whether they are worthy of the honour? Your Sisters are perfectly happy to do it. Why not show off your happiness too?

It was almost embarrassing that she had to be her own punisher, but the logical side of her mind won out as a result, and she forced herself to answer Sister Dominica's question in cordial fashion. 'If our formation is any indication,' she replied, rolling her eyes at the vox's harshness all over again, 'I fear we may have another instance of Athega Tertius on our hands, though I cannot claim to know what ills the enemies of Mankind bear for us.'

Last to enter and speak would be the Confessor. Horacio had the short interim of peace quite boring. He was privy to all sorts of of hypocrisy and gluttony, even if he didn't take part in it. He saw many an obese Priest or Imperial official in hedonistic acts, which frankly disgusted him. Despite his girth the Confessor ate like a bird and his only real indulgence was recaf so strong one would doubt if an Astartes could stomach it.

He prayed much in the time that was spent in between, but he didn't do it on his knees on a Chapel. No, that was for either those who had faith as strong as his, yet not his status or those who had his status and wanted to make a public show of their piety before quietly inviting whores through the back door of their office. Horacio thought of the old story of Arius and the farmer he learned on some shrine world he couldn't quite be arsed to remember at the moment. There once was a great Priest named Arius, feared by heretics and xenos alike whilst respected and adored by Imperials for his knowledge of Imperial Catechisms. The Priest believed himself to be the most pious man alive, until one night he saw an apparition, something the Emperor himself sent to speak to the man. It told him that he was pious indeed, but there were those more pious than him, one of few such people upon the highest peak of the world he was on named simply Holdten. Arius wasn't sure if he should be outraged or humbled, and decided upon both until he went to the mountain's peak. There he met a humble man, a poor miner with the oldest and rusty machinery to do the Emperor's work. He asked Holdten what was the secret of his piety, of his prayer that made him even more pious in the eyes of the God Emperor of man. He was confused, and bowed before Arius. He replied that he knew of no prayers for he was illiterate, and unlearned. Whenever he had time to go to the Chapels upon the planet he did the same thing as when he prayed at home. The man simply spoke every letter, word, and even mark of punctuation he knew, and hoped that the Emperor would assemble these words for him into his hopes for mankind, and that for him he would simply be given another day in service of his God. Arius at this point realized that from the heart and soul, not from pathetic and purely material things like the brain and memory came one's divinity, devotion and piety.

Horacio rather liked the story. It kept him from arrogance, and it put those people who needed a lesson in humility right in their place. If anything, the story also taught one to be practical. One's prayers to the Emperor were for naught if he didn't serve the God after that. The Emperor protected mankind, but mankind has to protect him.

All of this raced through the Holy man's mind as he awoke that morning, knowing somehow that this day would be different. He looked through a few reports he was too tired to read the night prior that he left beside his rather tiny and cramped quarters. It was on a scroll that had a tendency to go back to it's rolled up state, so he had to place his shotgun on one end and his pistol on the other. He was about to pick up the scroll when he received communication via his vox-bead to check his dataslate. Annoyed, he started to make his recaf and read the small tablet, brightening up at the realization that he had a choice on whether or not to stay upon the world. Adventure called to the man, as chances to spread the word rather than keep it in one place was exactly what he was good at. The Confessor banged his power maul on the door to his quarters which was promptly opened by a scribe who tried to hide a cough at the intense smell of Horacio's recaf. "Inform all pertinent that I shall be leaving the world. This new business has interested me."

With that, the Priest washed himself off as best as he could in his time constraints, put on all parts of his attire and gathered up his other personal items. Satisfied, Horacio went off. As he saw the Sisters he had so recently served the Emperor with, he nodded respectfully and quietly said "Hullo." He did not have any input beyond that, yet. He only knew that some potentially nasty business was ahead of them, for he had not read the whole of his dataslate - he was still busy sipping the last of his vile recaf.

@Kratesis@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity

It was after the arrival of several other Sisters, all members of the 'survivors', that Victorine herself appeared from one of half-a-dozen different doorways; taking a slow but steady pace, unhurried but clearly walking with purpose, fully armoured and bearing all the affectations of a Celestian, she gathered the group about in a circle and gave the ghost of a smile to all those arranged beside her.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said without much warmth in her tone, knowing that all of them had probably been ordered her anyway, “there are things afoot in the sector that need to be addressed, and possibly heretics that need to be purged as well.”

Slipping a small dataslate from one of her vambraces, she activated the screen with a flick of her thumb and glanced to each Sister as she read.

“Cekrov, a fervently religious agri-world but otherwise innocuous, and now the scene of a possible resurrection. It appears that the citizen of one of their rudimental village communities died and came back to life, though there have been no more since this last report. We do not believe that it is connected with the Plague of Unbelief, or the Ruinous Powers...as of yet.”

Replacing the dataslate, she looked to each again, smiling a little when she saw Horacio and his facial hair.

“We are there to investigate primarily, and ascertain if further action will be needed. Any questions?”

Lisbeth snapped to attention at the Celestian's approach, making the aquila across her chest before puffing herself up with her arms behind her back, almost at the Confessor's shoulder-height. At first she had been mostly dispassionate; when Celestian Victorine mentioned the report of a resurrection, she could not help but whisper beneath her breath, "A miracle..." Reactions among the others seemed mixed; some were unimpressed, others astounded, and others wore their skepticism as openly as she wore her astonishment.

There would be time enough for that later, though. If this was a case of living re-birth, no doubt millions - perhaps billions - would flock to see the holy planet. Lisbeth's job was to make sure it remained holy. "Rules of engagement, sister? What reception should we expect on the surface? How...ah, 'rustic' are the people of Cekrov?" Though Lisbeth was relatively sheltered by the standards of her older Sisters - and a baby compared to the venerable Confessor - she had heard stories of planets trapped in barbarism, where the servants of the Imperium were worshipped as angels from the skies, rather than simple Men.

The Sister listened while Victorine spoke, her helm tucked under her left arm, plasma pistol and chainsword at her belt and bolter with scope and drum-magazine hanging from a black leather sling adorned with golden fleur-de-lys that wrapped around the neck of her ceramite armor. Her hair was freshly trimmed and dyed into a white bob-cut, as was the custom of many Sisters.

Miracles. Her lips pursed into a frown. Was it truly? Perhaps it was but the common folk were often deceived by charlatans and their own imaginations which ran wild after decades of monotonous physical labor. The mention of the ruinous powers turned her frown into a scowl. Such things were not to be trifled with and a small village was unlikely to have the resources to sniff out the complex deceptions the enemy could muster.

Vitruvia didn't have any questions. She rarely did. For months she had lived the life of a ascetic warrior, eating, sleeping and driving her body to it's limits. Now the God Emperor had honored her (her!) with the chance to destroy his enemies. Just the chance. It was possible it was a true miracle, or a miscommunication. Goosebumps ran up the back of her neck as she offered a silent prayer of thanks.

Horacio took another sip of his recaf as he mulled over what he heard. The sage suppressed a gag reflex as his body rejected the mix; training self-control whilst indulging himself made the Confessor smile once he realized. He snapped out of the distracted thoughts, sighing quietly as he noted that such lapses of concentration were coming more and more often with age. He wondered if his rank would merit rejuvenat treatment, momentarily staring upwards as he did so. Again he shook away the errant thoughts and made the sign of the aquila to keep focused.

"In addition to what the Sisters ask, I have a few minor concerns. First is on the matter of tongue. Do they speak High Gothic, or a Low Gothic dialect? I will do my duty regardless, but if they speak another tongue I best start learning it as soon as I can. Finally, is there any word of our mission? Like this one, it would be preferable if it appeared we were a routine visit, perhaps even if we feigned lack of knowledge that this happened at all."

With that he patted down his right sideburn where it got bushy and then looked to his comrades. "Once that is answered and if the last member of our quartet has no questions, I believe we may depart."

Alexa rather wanted to believe that a miracle had been performed. It happened occasionally, when the Emperor truly did bestow his blessings upon the people of the Imperium, and for instance brought the dead back to life, or bestowed a loyal servant with truly prodigious power in the course of accomplishing an amazing feat. Most notably, the resurrection of Saint Celestine was a gift to humanity that had yet to be matched by any of the feats of mere mortal men.

Yet, they were remarkable because of how rare they were. It was unfortunate that frequently, somebody would claim to have died and been resurrected, only to prove themselves a charlatan, or worse a heretic, when examined by the eyes of the Emperor's most faithful flock, as Sister Victorine established quite clearly. In this case, if it was a legitimate resurrection, it'd be a most bizarre planet for such an event - agri-worlds, whilst tending to be quite well-suited to supporting mass human infrastructure simply by their nature, were also loathe to produce men of a temperament that best suited the Emperor's grace. All the prayer in the world, literally, would yet amount to barely a drop in a bucket when compared to the faith needed to draw His almighty praise.

Therefore, she concluded, a true miracle would be an unusual thing to see. She let out a forlorn sigh- or an exasperated sigh, according to her helmet vox- as she came to the realisation that they may be forced to deal with an uprising of heretical fervour before it spread too far. Naught else came to mind to ask, and as others had already asked their own questions, Alexa remained silent. She was sure they'd receive any answers they truly needed as and when the time came to receive them.

"Rules of engagement, sister? What reception should we expect on the surface? How...ah, 'rustic' are the people of Cekrov?"

"In addition to what the Sisters ask, I have a few minor concerns. First is on the matter of tongue. Do they speak High Gothic, or a Low Gothic dialect? I will do my duty regardless, but if they speak another tongue I best start learning it as soon as I can. Finally, is there any word of our mission? Like this one, it would be preferable if it appeared we were a routine visit, perhaps even if we feigned lack of knowledge that this happened at all."

"Once that is answered and if the last member of our quartet has no questions, I believe we may depart."

Victorine listened patiently, wincing inwardly as the Confessor – perhaps without knowing it – overstepped his own authority. He was correct, they would depart after she answered the questions, but it was not his place to say so.

“The rules of engagement are quite simple, Sister; we shall be posing as a group of travelling ecclesiastical servants touring the sector – giving out blessings, healing the sick, our noble Confessor here preaching sermons and the like, while we have been given permission to use necessary force should it come to it.”

She gave a short chuckle at the next question, “they are suitably backward for agri-denizens; they pay their tithes in foodstuffs, worship the God-Emperor as they should, and inhabit a planet stuck for many years in what the Ancient Terrans would have called an 'industrial era'. Steam powered machines, rudimentary electrical communications and so on. Fortunately for us the capital city is more advanced, and acts as a beacon of Imperial power upon Cekrov.”

Turning to Horacio in a rustle of vestments and creaking of armour, she gave her first smile – exposing two rows of fine white teeth against her darker flesh – it was not a smile that showed much signs of warmth...

“They speak an archaic form of Low Gothic, dear Confessor. Understandable enough, though a little thick in some of the more out-of-the-way hamlets. Learning another tongue entirely shall not be necessary.”

A series of hand gestures notified the group that the time for speaking was over, the time to do the Emperor's work was nearly at hand, and the time to 'mount up' and fly out was imminent.

---

---

Transport for the Sisters and accompanying individuals was a modified Cobra-class Destroyer from the local battlefleet, a vessel of nearly fifteen-thousand individuals and altered for swifter warp-travel, reached by a small gun-cutter from the surface of Taniea Primus. It was called The Holy Flame, and had been requisitioned by the Adepta Sororitas only days after its construction and first warp-jump, even bearing upon it the fleur de lys of the Sisterhood.

Upon arrival at the launch platform the party was met by another Sister @LemonZest1337, a towering figure hefting what looked like a heavy bolter, as well as a shorter and distinctly more masculine individual.

Victorine paused, gesturing for the rest of the group to do likewise, some feet away and waited; these newcomers would either come to them and introduce herself or they'd remain at an impasse all day.

The crusader stood firm as the ship touched down neatly near him, his only reaction to be to adjust his hood, which had been blown back and off of his head thanks to the force of the engines touching down. The sister standing next to him, whom he had been mildly surprised to see towered over him, he had no doubt, was here for the same reason, and whilst her height was... Hrm. Irritating was the wrong word. He did not become irritated. Ah well. He was taller than the average imperial citizen, and he had never found size to be an issue when he was fighting. Perhaps it helped her to 'secure' herself when she was firing the heavy weaponry she was carrying. Or maybe she was augmented. A possibility- the progenium often lead to injuries. He should know- he had inflicted some.

When the inquisitor disembarked, he couldn't help but instantly kneel. He held a hand on the shaft of his power lance, the purity seals fluttering slightly at the movement, and lowered his head, his storm shield barely shifting at all thanks to the size of it. After the kneel, he rose to his feet, resting his lance inside the crook of his arm and showing impressive strength by signing the aquila with his storm shield still attached to his arm. Then, he pulled out his sign of office smoothly, showing it to the group.

"Greetings. I am Crusader Markus Therebus. I am currently looking for Inqusitor Leland Kliment, I don't suppose you would happen to be connected to him in any way?"

Caroline stood there across from the paladin Marcus, she put on her helmet and rolled her shoulders as the ship landed. She placed her heavy bolter onto the ground and rolls her wrists, she was obviously restless and struggling to hide it. She wasn't good with introductions or people, so this was going to be an interesting day for her. She looked over at the Crusader to try and distract herself for a moment, he was small, well he was actually larger than a fair amount of people. But not to Caroline. The next thing that caught her attention was his weapon, an impressive one to be sure, it was large, heavy and powerful. All admirable qualities in a weapon. Perhaps this man wasn't half bad.

Caroline would resume her fidgeting as the other sisters approached, this would be her new squad. Caroline's face would be expressionless under her helmet, she couldn't help remembering all the lost sisters she'd seen. This didn't make her sad, not at all, in fact quite the opposite. This just made Caroline mad, every moment that wasn't blowing heretics to pieces was wasted time to Caroline. She hissed quietly to herself, retrieving her weapon and following after Marcus. It would be better to get this introduction over and done with. She waited for Marcus to finish before speaking herself.

"I am Retributor Caroline Adalard."

Caroline's intro was brief, but it made her attitude very clear.

Horacio disembarked first, looking about his new surroundings with a light "tsk-tsk-tsk" noise about him as he swayed his incense bearing rosarius, now in the form of a censer - that is until he saw the two who were about to join his company. He wiped off a bit of sweat from his forehead before he made the sign of the aquila and and examined the sister, looking all the larger when she was still towering over the person next in line, who also happened to be quite tall. Nothing in his vision changed and he shook his head side to side in hopes of clearing away deceptive thoughts and sight, and still unsatisfied took a sniff from his mug. It smelled perfectly fine (given the nature of its contents) so he looked up again in confusion, before wearily shrugging. In his many decades he had the privilege of seeing Space Marines, both in and out of combat and yet even they still were only a shred taller than the woman before him.

Then he looked at the Crusader beside her. The chap seemed good enough, tough considering he made the sign of the aquila with a bloody storm shield on his arm. The lad would certainly be an asset, what with that pole he shouldered like a damn toy. He didn't rise to the aural challenge that the two were presenting to him, for he already had shown enough theatrics for the day. Still, the assertaion that he was the big boy on the playground (save his Lordship and the God Emperor) despite his height would have to come soon. He wasn't particularly power hungry, but if he gave a sermon people best listen.

As the Crusader spoke up he didn't reply, and instead gave a his censer a wave towards the man and the Retributor, temporarily bathing them in the sweet smell of incense smoke. The Confessor gave both a short nod of approval and awaited for those who were wiser than him to start talking.

So it seemed the gathered Adepta Sororitas would not need their power armour, for the most part. Or at least that it ought not to see much use, if they wore it. She ought to have asked about that more specifically... well, it was too late now, and she was sure she'd have time to dress appropriately once that was made clear. Otherwise, they need not make any special adjustments in order to adapt to the planet's folk; they set out for the ship in due course.

And then, as they approached the craft, a thought struck Alexa: why, if they were unlikely to be involved in combat, would a Crusader be present for this mission? Such faithful warrior-monks were, to her understanding, purely suited up for battle in defense of an Inquisitor? Indeed, that was the very second thing that left Markus Therebus' mouth, though she imagined Inquisitor Kliment would be meeting them on-planet when he finally made his presence known. Nonetheless, he was a fine specimen, with obvious power within his frame based on how readily he hefted his storm shield to form the Aquila, and she imagined well-suited for battle with a power spear to accompany it.

And on the other hand, he was utterly dwarfed by the Sister of Battle by his side. In fact, she was only a little bit shorter than Alexa herself, far burlier for it, and clearly far more irritable, shown in her stance, her expressions, and her terse self-introduction. All in all, a bastion of the Emperor's Light in ways Alexa herself likely couldn't be, though as her position in the Order of the Transfixed Saint confirmed, she made up for her failings in other ways.

She had, however, expected the Confessor to make some form of verbal acknowledgement toward the new members of the group, and so the fact that he failed to do so seemed, to her sensibilities, like a bit of a snub. Were they not trained in their roles, as loyal to the Imperium, as faithful as anybody else present? Their attire suggested so, and Alexa was nothing if not trusting. She held faith that they'd be true to their attire, and returned the sign of the Aquila to Markus and Caroline when it became apparent that the priest of their group would not.

'Greetings, Sister Caroline, Crusader Markus.' Ugh, she hoped the vox would at least partially convey how pleased she was to see them, but she wondered not. 'I am Sister Alexandra Christina, of the Order of the Transfixed Saint. Your presence with us is much appreciated; I imagine Inquisitor Kliment will be along shortly, or else will meet with us on-planet.'

@Kratesis@Irredeemable@LemonZest1337@Andreyich@jbeil@BCTheEntity

Victorine watched in silence as the introductions, if they could be called such, took place at the front of the group; she had not been expecting any others - in the form of a Sister who would not have looked out of place among the Astartes, and an Ecclesiastic Crusader that even the Confessor seemed loath to engage with - to join them before they embarked for the Cobra-class ship orbiting the planet, but here they were.

"The honoured Inquisitor will not be joining us," she said tersely, raising her voice to make herself heard, and doing her best to add some authority to it, "he has been called away to deal with threats beyond the likes of us, and I have been given full permission to lead this investigation by the Cannoness herself."

Now Victorine was not the most imposing of Sororitas - standing just above average height for a human woman and, like many of her comrades, at the peak of fitness - but she had been born and partially raised upon a 'Feral World' before the death of her parents and subsequent insertion into the Progenium, well she knew the hierarchal nature of the clan, the tribe...the squad.

"You may refer to me as Celestian or Sister," she proclaimed to the two new arrivals, eyeing them both evenly (even if she was forced to lift her neck to gaze at the giantess who hefted her heavy bolter like a toy), "welcome to Squad Victorine, please feel free to fall in."

Without another word or backward glance, one hand on the hilt of the blade at her hip at all times, she made her way to the embarkation point of the platform and waited.

She did not have to wait for long, and if she had had to then she may have even looked a little stupid. As it was the gun-cutter, bearing the fleur of the Sororitas and in the colours of the Thrice-Pierced Martyr, descended to take them onward and upwards within minutes.

Even as she stepped aboard, taking her seat at the head of the group near the pilots cabin, securing the restraints about her broad shoulders, she could not help but feel both a little more in control but also a little less.

Have faith in Him on Earth, blessed is He and those that follow Him with honesty and righteousness in their hearts.

---

---

The journey through the Immaterium had been estimated as a month by the vessels Captain and Navigator, although this transpired to be incorrect, the Destroyer - one of the fastest classes of ship in the Naval forces of the Imperium - likely to have made it through much quicker, a matter of days even, if it had not been for what happened next.

A crackle over the vox was the first that the Celestian knew about any disturbance, the stoic voice of Captain Shelek addressing her calmly from a speaker embedded in the wall of her cell - for it was little more than a chamber not unlike those within the monastery, complete with a candle-spattered shrine, a simple cot to sleep in, and a rack for weapons and armour.

"Apologies for the disturbance, Sister-Celestian, but it would appear that we have indeed been boarded."

Victorine had been knelt in all her natural state before the shrine and aquila topping it, ebony skin glistening with a sheen of sweat bought on by focused meditation alone, when the two-way message came through and dragged her urgently from her thoughts.

"Has the Gellar Field been breached?" She questioned in the same flat tone used by Shelek, not even opening her eyes at this point but already feeling the survival instincts of combat readiness kicking in; her breath became quicker, her muscles tighter with anticipation, and her six senses sharper.

"No, my lady, but the raiders are making a bee line for the Genetorium - should they reach it the-"

"Yes, Captain, I am aware of what may happen thank you."

Now she was on her feet, padding quickly over to where her under-robes were laid out neatly on her cot and dressing with ingrained speed and familiarity, making short work of covering herself - now she turned to her armour and began to repeat the process.

"Do we have an identity as to our boarders?"

"Not entirely Sister, but we do know that they aa mixed group, having seen at least one xenos Kroot among them; from their varied dress and armament I hypothesis mercenaries or pirates...or both."

"Emperor's teeth."

Latching the last of her armour into place and tightening it well, she now wrapped her swordbelt about her waist and holstered her sidearm.

In several quick motions she was outside her chamber and into the corridor without, her squad having been placed in the same section near the middle of the ship and therefore within bellowing distance - this was good.

"Squad Victorine, assemble! There is trouble afoot, and judgement to deliver, by His will!"

Her helmet only amplified the shout, and although she expected that they had already been given the same report by lesser members of the crew, there was no harm in amplifying their taste for a fight or their fervour for service to the God-Emperor.

The Confessor nodded as he was lead to the vessel of choice, still waving his censer left and right. As they embarked, he lifted it up and clipped the chain it was dangling by to his belt before finding his quarters and sitting down pensively and meditating over the next period of time, his thoughts going slow and unhurried. There was much work ahead, but there always was. He knew that only in death does duty end but Horacio nevertheless wanted something more concrete than that. The fact that he now saw several impediments to seeing his short-term task completed only made his long term aims for the universe seem harder and harder.

As the Confessor started to feels his eyes get heavy and start shutting he heard a yell, something about being boarded. Biology took over and he started to again lull into sleep before he slammed his eyelids wide open and arose. "Boarded? By the throne...." he muttered, quickly struggling into his carapace armour. He had no time to dress properly so he put his gear right over his sleeping clothing, ramming his hat of office clumsily on top of his pom-pommed sleeping hat, the offending puff of cotton still sticking out. Now more awake he took in the information he had just been told and processed it quickly. With kroot and similar raiders on board, slugs were of no use. Flechettes and pellets were what his shotgun needed and he indiscriminately loaded both types of ammunition into the thing, before placing several shells into pockets of his armour and slinging the weapon over his shoulder. Afterwards the Confessor grabbed his bolt pistol in his left hand with all the magazines he had placed into separate pouches, and he took his power-maul into his right hand. At last, Horacio grabbed his rosarius and lit it be visible about his belt to give him an air of formality despite everything else.

At last, he calmly opened his quarter's door to step out, closed it, and then stood waiting for the younglings to come out. The enemy could be right around the corner however, and he pressed the activation studs of his bolt-pistol and power maul taking the former off of safety and activating the faintly shimmering power field of the other. He'd seen kroot once before and knew what they could do, but he also knew how to fight them. The fast buggers needed to be taken head on with overwhelming force and firepower; precisely what was in his personal arsenal. If that failed, the Emperor Protects.

Ah, unfortunate. He would not be interacting with the inquisitor any time soon. That... That did displease him, very much so. His job, the single job that he had been assigned, would not be able to be completed when he wished it to be completed. That was unfortunate, but for now, the sister would be an adequate travelling companion "Very well, Sister. It is, as always, an honour to serve alongside those who share my fervour in following the Emperor's wishes." He kept his tone neutral, and although he didn't fall into the squad, he made sure to walk besides them. He was not a sister, and he would never be a sister, but for now, Squad Victorine would be where he would make himself useful.

Besides, he had certainly found himself with an interesting group of individuals. The mysteriously silent confessor, leaving his nose slightly irritated at the sweet perfumes wafted near him. He was much more use to smells not nearly as pleasant. The sister that had introduced herself as Alexandra, to which he curtly nodded, a if to show his appreciation for the gesture... Of course, the giant of the sister that had been standing next to him, and the Celestian.

It wasn't long before a cutter landed down. Once again, he found his hood being blown back, and decided to leave it where it was. There was no point in pulling it back up constantly, if it was only going to fall back over. That was a distraction that he did not deem as necessary for him to spend time on. Boarding the ship, he fastened himself in, and settled in for takeoff.

---

The ship had been breached. A young man had burst in, breathless, and then had dashed out again, leaving Marcus alone to process the information. That didn't take very long. He pressed a hand to the commsbead in his ear, allowing it to sort through the frequencies, and to that of the ship's vox system. Standing up from the position he had been kneeling, he walked over to where his carapace armour lay, the armour sitting over a short robe that allowed the maximum amount of movement, whilst using the bare minimum needed to cover his modesty, and for the armour to sit comfortably. His room was even more barren than any of the others, at his personal request- with the cot and alter having been removed. Instead, the bedding was directly against the floor, and the only reason the weapon rack had not been removed was because it was bolted to the floor of the ship.

His request to remove the shrine was not, as some might think, from any heretical desire, but simply because he thought that private worship was a luxury he simply did not require. The ship had a room entirely for worship, why did he need another shrine in his room? Picking up his storm shield, he made sure it was strapped in securely, and then hefted his lance, and let the end of it crackle with power. He knew that it could cleave through armour, bone and anything else it was called to destroy.

"A spiritu dominatus,

Domine, libra nos,

From the lighting and the tempest,

Our Emperor, deliver us.

From plague, temptation and war,

Our Emperor, deliver us,

From the scourge of the Kraken,

Our Emperor, deliver us.

From the blasphemy of the Fallen,

Our Emperor, deliver us,

From the begetting of daemons,

Our Emperor, deliver us,

From the curse of the mutant,

Our Emperor, deliver us,

A morte perpetua,

Domine, libra nos.

That thou wouldst bring them only death,

That thou shouldst spare none,

That thou shouldst pardon none

We beseech thee, destroy them."

He stepped out, having finished the prayer, and was suddenly faced with the raiders. "Sister." He said, hoping he had keyed in to the correct frequency. "Those boarding the ship have apparently breached close to my location. I will fight my way to you." As he spoke, he slammed forward with his shield, letting his training kick in. 'The lance,' he remembered Clemitus saying, 'Is not a weapon for whelps to be using. Keep your distance with it. Keep your focus on it. It is not a sword, where you can swing it about and still have effect. Precision! PRECISION, do you hear me?' He remembered the older man smacking him every time he lost focus on the end of the spear. he had learnt from that.

With the raider on his feet, he was made aware that there were a number more raiders also near him. Right then. This would be a challenge. Rapidly backpedalling, he kept his shield up, the wall of force surrounding it crackling as it absorbed projectiles. The raider on his feet had rapidly gotten back onto his feet, and he was made suddenly aware that it was a xenos. Kroot. By the Emperor, he was not letting his body be defiled by that creature.

Another hymn, this one spoken at an even tone, as if he was simply discussing theology with a priest. "I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot; though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step." He finished it, continuing to backpedal, and then added an additional line to the hymn. "And although it is filled with those who would stop me, I will cut through them." His spear darted out, and he was rewarded with a scream. Good. Let them be cautious.

He really did hope he would have backup soon however. As proficient as he was in combat, odds so heavily stacked against him were not favourable. If he died before actually meeting the inquisitor... He would be a disgrace.