Case File 189:69B:AB7:Xad

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984M41
Planet Castobel
To Inquistor Lord Moredecai

I will not lie to you, I wept. For a few, precious moments, I let my feelings overtake my body. Inquisitor Kronus had been a mentor to me for the better part of a decade, and more importantly, he was my friend. Cradling his form in my hands, he looked different than he had in life. More fragile, more unsure. A far cry from the man who had banished great daemons and solved crises that decided the fate of worlds. That force of will and conviction and brilliance was laid low by a stray bullet from a low-life cultist. I was aggrieved for some time after the incident. However, my grief had not softened me to a mewling mess, nor had my tears clouded my vision. Behind my sorrow, a great wrath began to grip me and burn hot in my breast. I lay Inquisitor Kronus's body onto the rusted steel of the corridor and took up my weapons.

The sigil of the Imperial Inquisition was upon my coat as I ran after the cur.

The HAB levels of Hive Hessex were kilometers upon kilometers of air and waste recycling plants stacked upon vats where precious pastes and adhesives were made for the ten billion loyal souls of the city that dwelt above and below. Beneath the trillions of tonnes of steel and bodies, the men and women of the lower hive were an industrious and simple folk, where their faith in the emperor was what kept them going in such hazardous conditions. Unfortunately, they had little guidance when it came to how their faith was practiced, and such things could easily give way to heresy. The perfect place for a cult to fester.

I saw a glimpse of Hykophan's silhouette disappearing into a doorway a dozen meters ahead, visible from the harsh incandescent lights that littered the rusted steel of the hall. I heard a scream ahead from the very doorway and turned the corner. Instead of running in, I dived into a roll. Hardly a fecund maneuver, but it saved my life. Two shells hit the door above my curled form, denting the iron. One shell ricocheted and struck one of the steam lines, super heated gas spewing out in a white cloud. I stopped my roll more or less by design, if one could call it calculated to hit a sturdy desk to grant myself a prone position from which to return fire. I fired three shots at the fleeing figure, who seemed to always elude my full view. I felt I missed every shot, but once I surged to my feet and moved to follow, there was blood on the wall. In the corner, two day-laborers cowered.

Vaguely I realized I had received a gash from somewhere on my temple, the blood wet and cooling in the refurbished oxygen of the room. My faculties remained in tact so I paid it little mind and continued my pursuit. My wounds would heal in time.

I was going to make sure Hykophan's did not.

The next hall fed into a water reprocessing facility. Half of the first room was open water, leading into a greater tank of murk that was to be recycled. Before the man-made river mouth was a ladder, Hykophan's footsteps were just disappearing from the long climb up. He ascended and stopped, firing down into the room I had entered. We exchanged shots, bullets and sparks flying as we traded fire in the gloom. The tell-tail click of en empty firearm echoed, followed by Hykophan's curse. In my haste, I did not conserve my ammunition and shot at the figure above, my last two slugs wasted as he ducked behind the iron lip of the floor. His audible footsteps carried him further into the plant and away from retribution. I wasted no time, ascending the ladder as quickly as I could and sprinted after him, shoving myself through a swiftly closing door, bursting into the great chamber of the facility. We stood on the grating of a walkway over the facility's main work area. Men in hazmat suits removed sludge and worked machines that sloshed the dark, putrefying liquid into a another, cleaner area to be redistributed. A few looked up, their faces blank behind the dim glass on the front of their suits.

Hykophan popped the clip into his slug-thrower and aimed, he had the deftness and poise of a practiced gun fighter. Inquisitor Kronus and I had quite the dossier on the scoundrel's career. He had been a decorated infantry officer on Badab, when he was taken in by Chaos and the cults perpetrated by Lufgt Huron. Had I not been so full of rage, I would have considered myself dead. Luckily, I was too uncaring to let that stop me. By the grace of the God-Emperor, Hykophan's cool demeanor was shaken by what I imagined was an unyielding look of vengeance on my face. Many a man can be shot by autogun or lasgun and still kill the shooter in their dying breath. It was likely this fear that caused him to hit my shoulder rather than my heart. He didn't have time to make his next shot.

With a wild swing of my force staff, I struck the gun from his hand before he could pull the trigger twice. To his credit, he let it go without a fuss and opened his arms to wrestle the force staff out of my hands. However, I had momentum, and I did not plan to strike him again with my staff when he could defend himself. I tackled him to the ground, the two of us cursing and clawing. Once I grabbed his throat, I broke his nose with my first punch, and shattered his cheek with my second. He gripped and pushed against me futilely, but I pummeled him aside. Gripping his face, I hammered my forehead into his. It dazed him, and so I punched him once more for good measure, before taking to my feet and grabbing the force staff I had relieved myself of.

"In the name of the God-Emperor and his most Holy Inquisition, by the sacred oaths you have sworn to the Astra Militarum, and for killing my dearest friend, I, Hadrian Drakos of the Ordo Malleus, name you heretic... and sentence you to death."

He would not have the strength to flee as I reloaded my gun, but I did not do so. Whether I hadn't the frame of mind or I wanted to feel it, I cannot recall. I simply know that I took the force staff of Inquisitor Kronus, a weapon of exponential psychic energy, made for the sole purpose of slaying daemons and rogue psykers, and I did what felt natural.

I beat him to death with it.

---

5 Years Later...

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989M41
Planet Tallarn
To Inquistor Lord Moredecai

Tallarn was an old world, having survived two great chaos incursions and the touch of the hubristic eldar, God-Emperor curse them. The invasion of the accursed Iron Warriors had transformed its verdant landscape into a desolate wasteland of sand dunes and inhospitable mountains. Some in the more puritanical groupings of the Ordo Hereticus and my own Malleus deemed it a planet warped by Chaos, but I was not of that school of thought. The Tallarn Desert Raiders were amongst the finest and most loyal members of the Imperium, and though the world perhaps held tombs dedicated to the dark gods, it was not unlike how any hive world had cults of ruin within its depths. I would not condemn such a valuable world so recklessly, but as with most rumors, there was perhaps a kernel of truth hidden within.

My contacts had led me to the planet to find a daemon-sorcerer, known as Bahometus. My trusted aide Lazarus and I commissioned a merchant ship from an old friend, Urien of Catoc. It was a refurbished military vessel, roughly the same proportions and size as a carrack-hauler, two kilometers long and fit for a sizeable crew with room for hundreds of soldiers (or hundreds of tonnes of freight), so guests were not out of the question. At times I felt my job had purged me of my prior social skills, save for when I had to put on a suitably extraneous front when delving into subterfuge. Lazarus was my most trusted friend, a previous Skitarii Ranger who had been bludgeoned into scrap metal by an ork warboss and would have been discarded if not for my mentor Kronus, who paid for the repairs to his body and utilized his impressive strength, endurance, and calculating skills in the pursuit of the daemon rather than the xenos. I appreciated him immensely, but when he was not speaking in binary or relaying information, he was a curt and dour fellow. Urien, on the other hand, was a strange case. Born on a feudal world, he had been captured by space-faring slavers at a young age, believing he was to be carried off to his world's version of hell. Such belief gave him the strength and tenacity to escape and, through various mishaps, become the apprentice of a notable shipmaster, Philandus. Rising through the ranks, he had accumulated his own ship by what I thought to be a miracle. Urien can still only barely speak gothic, and what he does speak is in his rough dialect that sounds to be a cross between Fenrisian and Tanithian. Sometimes, I still think he maintains he is in the limbo of the after-life, but he has ever been trustworthy, and willing to undertake the most dangerous of missions.

The details on my trip to Dasra and my subsequent delving into the Tomb of Garugamesh are in the records previously granted to your care. I believe you asked me of how I met a certain remarkable woman, if one could call her such.

Bahometus had regrettably escaped the Tomb, but with the help of the Tallarn and two members of the Red Scorpion Adeptus Astartes, his cult on the world of Tallarn was scattered and broken. I was in hot pursuit of three cultists fleeing the scene, all on a rough desert transport ground vehicle. I knew they were not merely running just to run. They had a place they were attempting to make before we overtook them. They drove in a deliberate direction, and the dust that billowed skyward made it impossible for us to lose them as long as we kept pace.

As the rest of the outfit purged the Tomb of whatever heretics were still within, as well as any traps that remained, I and seven rough riders rode their sturdy, genetically modified mounts in pursuit. With us, keeping up through impressive augmentations, was the remaining Red Scorpion Battle-Brother known as Bacchus, and Lazarus armed with his patented Transuranic Arquebus, who could not quite match our speed but would have little trouble making it to the destination through his infinite endurance.

The trail itself led us into a catacomb not unlike the norm of Tallarn, where many folk lived underground near aquifers to escape the intense heat of the surface. The yawning maw of the tunnel breathed air that was far cooler, something I could feel on the very small section of my face that wasn't swathed in cloth. I felt a presence as we arrived, a...strange psychic presence. It was more powerful than my own strength, but malleable and unrefined. They must have had a sorcerer, I believed. We dismounted hurriedly and entered, the Tallarns armed with laspistols and sabers, my fitting similar save for my autogun. There was only one grand door, made from a sturdy slab of wood. Such things were rare and expensive on the world.

Such subtleties was lost or a non-issue to Battle-Brother Bacchus, who, at my command, kicked the door apart as if it were so much kindling. Hookah smoke and the smell of varying collections of bodily fluids escaped the battered door. Evidently they had been prepared for us, as an anti-personnel mine detonated once Bacchus set foot within. The desert raiders and I ducked, but Bacchus was undeterred save for some burns on his Mark VIII Power Armor. Lasbolts and bullets struck the Astartes, but he suitably waded through it and unleashed his bolter. A normal autogun or lasgun was intimidating when wielded by one unfamiliar to the smell and intense noise, but it was a mouse compared to the bolter's elephant. I don't believe I had ever heard something so ferociously loud, and the reverberations of the gun hit me three paces behind the statuesque astartes. Blood and limbs flew, four men dead before they knew what hit them.

Suddenly a thing leaped from the smoke. A chaos mutant, horribly warped and tainted by chaos magic, grappling with Bacchus as a pink appendage from its chest cavity wrapped about the astartes like a constrictor. Bacchus gripped the limbs of the former-man and slammed it against the wall. I had no doubt Bacchus had it under control, but it distracted him for the moment, and so we advanced within.

Past the foyer, we could see a large central chamber filled with cushions and spiced drinks, with dead men and lurking forms that fired lasguns at us. A few archways fed into different rooms, screams and wails of ecstasy touched our ears as we cut our way through. Al-Adun cut the head off a cultist with his saber, firing into the maw of a woman-thing that had charged him, causing it to recoil in pain and give off a horrific cry. One Tallern was shot through the knee, buckling him as a turned-heretic of Tallarn ran him through with a pole of an unknown flag, likely stolen from Dasra. Naked women shouted and screamed in unconstrained fright, running away into different rooms or hiding under cushions like frightened dogs. One valiant Tallarn shot an approaching ne-er-do-well in the head, only to find his face eyeless and mouthless. A pink appendage, much like the one that bit at Bacchus, enveloped the Tallarn's own head and drowned his screams out as it consumed him.

I batted aside a strike from a chair wielding heretic, hoping to bludgeon me across the head. He didn't get the chance for a second swing, my saber opening his belly and spilling his entrails onto the floor. Kicking his body aside, I fired into the cultist that fed upon the fallen Tallarn, sticking him with five shots until it fell into the murk of the carpet. My next three shots were one hit kills, blowing out chests and brains as I methodically exterminated the filth. My psychic senses tingled, drawing my gun downwards to finish what I thought was the muted presence of whatever sorcerer lurked here. My finger had already pulled the trigger halfway when I noticed I did not aim at a cultist or mutant or even a man.

Under a large pillow, poking her head out at me were the big eyes of a woman. A slim, voluptuous woman, but a woman nonetheless, unmarred by mutation or corruption as far as I could tell. I blinked, pondering if this was some warp-inspired trick. Whatever sorcerer lay within here had to be misleading me, but I focused entirely on the woman and realized it was naught but her. There was no sorcerer here. It was just her.

I lowered my gun.

992.M42

Inquisitorial Palace Thracian Primaris

Accession 132663

Convened under authority of Grand Inquisitor Mordecai Hyrim Ignatio Boch

Attendance: High Ecclesiarch Santus Vobosum, Eudoxia Pratteri Adeptus - Astro-Telepathicus, Caracticus Desprau - Ordo Malleus, Jascinto Rafe - Ordo Malleus, Kindren Tomasi - Ordo Hereticus Phlebias Cowl - Pardoner.

Subject: Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern - Adept Delta, Accession above.



Transcript begins.



Phlebias Cowl - If it please the court….



Caracticus Desprau - In the interest of time please assume that everything you say will please the court.



Eudoxia Pratteri - Muffled laughter.



Phlebias Cowl - Uh… yes your lordship… I um… enter the following into evidence.



Transcription of vid footage begins.



Shaky camera running down a steel passageway. Possibly a ship passage. Muzzle flashes center right. Camera pauses presumable for wearer to return fire. One casualty. Male of medium build. Tallarn guard uniform defaced with &#&&&&&&&&& symbols. Camera turns right, looking out over ship enginarium. Possibly Mobius Class Trader based on AM analysis. Spider like creatures made of glowing silver crawling down engine reclaim coil one and three at approximately three meters per second. Gunfire from camera. Two spiders destroyed one maimed. Camera retreats. Grenade thrown into enginarium. Comms log call for 1.5 seconds to Accession. Accession responds 31 seconds. Comms log call for 1 second to Accession. Accession does not respond. Camera moving rapidly up central hallway towards bridge level. Camera knocked over by blow from off screen. Scrabbling appendages consistent with silvery spiders. Knife appears in screen covered in silvery liquid. Camera righted. Three figures in heretical armor run from right of screen, all burning. Gunfire from camera. Comms log call for 1.5 seconds to Accession. Accession responds 1 second. Bulkheads appear to be melting rapidly from unknown source. Camera turns right. Explosion tosses four bodies across field of vision. Significant hoarfrost coating bodies. Camera advances at a run and enters salvation pod Alpha-Alpha-Seven. Blonde female in golden body glove with blue eyes speaks 2 seconds. Camera closes the salvation pod. End transcription of vid.

Santus Vobosum - Accession can you confirm your use of unhallowed powers?



Eudoxia Pratteri - One would hope so, unless you mean to suggest those heretics blew themselves up.



Caracticus Desprau - With respect Ecclesiarch its hardly helpful to chracterise all psychic phenomena as….



Santus Vobosum - Why is it when you people say with respect what it really means is kiss my…



*Generalized uproar*



Jascinto Rafe - If we can return to the matter at hand…



Phlebias Cowl - If it please the court….



Several voices speaking at once - Shut up!



Eudoxia Pratteri - Adept do you recall what you said when Inquisitor Drakos entered the salvation pod?



Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern - *muffled response*



Jascinto Rafe -Louder Adept, for the picter please.

Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern - *Clears throat* I believe it was something to the effect of : ‘how cool was that’



Generalized sighs from several sources.



Fragment ends.



989.M41

Planet Tallarn

To: Eudoxia Pratteri



Dear Doxy. I do not imagine that any of this will be of any use to anyone. Given the nature of the Glorious Inquisition it seems highly unlikely that anyone with the clearance to read these journals will give the proverbial guardsman’s damn about them. Even so I find transits through the empyrean to be tedious and see no harm in writing the account as you have requested. I hope you at least find my accounts amusing if not instructive.



EGTVM

I do not remember being brought to Tallarn. Certainly it isn’t a place I would ever have chosen to go of my own volition. Tallarn’s have a long standing tradition of burning the witch first and asking questions never. As you know I had been working, or more accurately forced to work, as an enchantress. While it is bandied about alot in common terms, the technical role of an enchantress is to create sophisticated illusions for others. Most astropaths have the ability, it forms the basis of the performative part of an auto-seance, but they rarely have the kind of flair for detail to do more than convey impressions. A really good enchantress, and I flatter myself to claim that distinction, can make you see anything. Not just see, but feel, taste, and smell. There are a number of obvious problems with this ability, the first is that if you can make people experience anything, people will want you to. Grieving parents wanting to see dead children, old men wanting to be young again, sexual deviants who want to experience things that aren’t quite possible in the real world. As you can imagine it is a slippery slope.



I woke from the obscura haze the way I always do, languorous, sticky in my skin. I hated, and still hate obscura. They must have forgotten to give me the full dose. Maybe some of the goons had been cutting what they gave me. The advantages of big boobs and pouty lips are not to be underestimated, no doubt they thought that I wasn’t dangerous other than to their already tarnished virtue. I could taste the lilac taste of psi-blockers at the back of my throat. They might be lax but apparently not stupid the Emperor curse them. I didn’t know how long I had been here but I remember some very odd enchantments. Not the usual orgies with anatomically improbable Aldarei or power fantasies of ruling the universe, it was almost as if they were planning something, something monstrous, and they wanted to use me to practice it in advance. It made my head hurt worse than the obscura hang over. They hadn’t locked my cell so I went out into what looked to be a rock hewn corridor. It must have been deep. The walls were sweating water and was crusted with old salt. The stink was terrible and I wrinkled my nose. At least it made the choice of which way to go easy enough: up, up, up. I wished I had better shoes, although I suppose if the Emperor of Mankind appeared and granted wishes I’d have aimed higher than a nice set of stylish hiking boots.



I don’t know how long I climbed. The shakes and DTs were on me and I felt like spiders were crawling over my skin. It wasn’t just the obscura, its fair to say that given my choice I prefer my exercise horizontal, climbing these endless stone cut stairs was making me sweat. That was unpleasant enough, but the exertion was working the psi blockers out of my system. I could pick up a background sense of things already and the feeling left me shivering despite my raised body temperature. This place felt filthy. I didn’t know what had been done here but I knew I wanted to be out of whatever it was. I considered that I was on Tallarn and I might just be about to get out into a radioactive hell desert where I would infallible starve, die of thirst, or be burned as a witch by some cloth swathed savage. That still seemed preferable to remaining here with the Chaos taint in the air. Worse it seemed to be getting more intense as I got higher, as though the layer of filthy oil was laying across the surface of a pond. A man with the severe face of a Tallarn stepped into the hallway. He was naked from the waist up, there was a soft shine to his eyes and an aura of menace. His eyes widened when he saw her and he opened his mouth.



You do not see me. Psy force whispered out of my mind. I felt like I was trying to push water up a hill with my tongue. The taste of lilac amost made me vomit and I swear my sweat turned slightly purple. It almost wasn’t enough. There was too much psi blocker still in my system but I managed to plant the suggestion long enough that he turned and started walking. I ducked into a side passage and heard him turn around with a confused sound and then head on his way. I kept climbing and the feeling of dread grew greater and greater until I could hardly stand to put one foot in front of the other. Then I saw something in one of the alcoves, it was vast and horrible and so wrong that my mind recoiled. I screamed and I ran, upwards and upwards. Suddenly there were crashes and screams and howls ahead of me. I tried not to cry, I felt like I was running from the fire into a raging sea, but the sea still seemed preferable. Suddenly I broke into a large room of a type I was familiar with. Plush cushions and and secluded alcoves. Men grabbing for weapons and the women were wailing. Several of the men turned to look at me and several shouted in surprise. The door exploded and I saw an Astartes for the first time in my life. Emperor help me I had never imagined such a thing existed. I had seen statues and illuminated manuscripts but it didn’t prepare me for the awful majesty of five hundred pounds of ceramite wrapped killer shattering a door into a million pieces. Half a dozen men went down, impaled by pieces of door. Two more exploded, their guts sprayed across the room by bolter rounds. Another man, unluckily close to the giant, was smashed flat by a massive fist that seemed to drive his spine down through his body. Gunfire flashed in all directions. I did the only thing I could think of. I dived under a pillow and hid. Emmaline Von Morganstern - Ace Operative.



So it was that when I finally met Hadrian Drakos, my first actions were to hold up both hands and say.

“Thank the Emperor you are here officer, there are about twenty of them.”

I looked at her from behind my veil and scrutinized the woman, and then grabbed the cloth that swathed my face and tossed it aside. The room was acrid with smoke and strange perfumes, but the air was refreshingly cool. Had I not been working, I would have given the woman a smirk, but none touched my face. Instead I probed her psychic form with my mind. I did not invade her consciousness, but estimated just what exactly she could be playing at. She had an incredible girth of the talent, that much was plain. But it was unrefined and cumbersome, likely what she could perform was but second nature and natural skill. I would not make the judgement there, but I felt the woman was of at least delta level, perhaps even gamma. How she had not been possessed by a daemon or burned herself out was either a miracle or incredible dumb luck.

I would learn such distinctions meant little when concerning Emmaline Grimelhausen Teobaldina von Morganstern.

Out of the smoke, a Tallarn heretic with three eyes and the tongue of a snake leaped at me with abandon, having lurked behind the ruined furniture for the right time to strike. He must have seen I was the one in charge of the outfit. I only caught a glimpse of him as he pounced, but I was less frightened of him and more cautious of the ozone that suddenly filled the air, time slowing as my eyes widened a fraction from what I knew was to come.

There were not many projectiles that could match the strength and ferocity of a bolter round, but the transuranium shell of a transuranic arquebus was certainly a contender. I felt the shockwave of the bullet's passing as it tore into the heretic, leaving naught but gibbets and blood to rain down around the central chamber. Blearily, I could see there was not only a hole in the wall I could fit my head through, but it pierced through the next two rooms and embedded itself into another six feet of solid stone. Such a projectile was made to punch through moderately armored tanks with ease, the resulting pressure killing the entire crew inside. Even Brother Bacchus would have a difficult time surviving a hit.

As my hearing returned, I could make out the heavy footsteps of Lazarus approaching from behind me, his arquebus still smoking from the well-aimed shot. It was impossible to confirm, as his mouth had long ago been replaced with an audio 'voice box' on his lower jaw, but in my eyes, I imagined he looked to be smiling at his handiwork. He did not get to use the weapon much, and for good reason. "I told you not to use that thing during indoor actions."

"Apologies Hadrian. You seemed preoccupied."

"You have your lascarbine for a reason."

"Had I reached for that instead, the chances of the attacker reaching you would have increased by 17%."

"You should have already had it on you."

"The damage of a lascarbine's shot is due to hyperburns significantly more than concussive fo-"

"I would have been fine," I insisted, pulling the barrel of the arquebus away from my vicinity. Reluctantly Lazarus handed the weapon over, but rather than keep it for myself, I leaned it against the wall a mere pace away from the skitarii. He unholstered his lascarbine with his dual mechanical arms that presided within his robes, distributing the weapon into his main arms of (mostly) flesh. Satisfied, I pointed at the woman. "Watch her, and give her some fatigues to put on. Brother Bacchus!"

Suitably drenched in the blood of mutants, the Red Scorpion astartes approached, placing a fresh magazine in his weapon. Had he the knowledge I did, I would not have been certain he wouldn't have killed the blonde then and there. The Red Scorpions were reliable for a monodominant, even one as...liberal as I. The Chamber Militant Grey Knights were specialized for incursions against daemons, and so I only called them as a last resort. Less casualties that way, as it was standard procedure to kill any imperial citizen not of the Inquisition to keep the Grey Knights a secretive ordo. Chapters such as the Red Scorpions and Black Templars served in their stead in normal circumstances, my late mentor had taught me. Puritanical to a fault, they abhorred the mutant, the heretic, and the xenos, and distrusted the psyker. He would not assault me, but I still did not actively display my power before him so as not to complicate the issue. The large meta-human approached. "Yes, inquisitor?"

"Lead the assault below with sergeant Al-Adun. Leave at least a two heretics alive so that I may question them. Expect a score of foes." I said, and he gave a dissatisfied grunt. I was in charge, but it was never advisable to order about a space marine as if they were your lackey. Of course, in this instance, the order wasn't the problem. Leaving heretics alive, was. Still, he did not argue beyond showing disapproval, saluting me and pressing forward. The Tallarns followed, having crossed the arms of their one deceased to keep dignity until he could be properly buried later.

As Bacchus went below, I lifted my saber and autopistol in the dueling fashion, stepping lightly over torn furniture and corpses, beginning a search of the upper rooms beginning clock-wise. The first was merely a storage area of food, of which I promptly burned due to the likely taint. Next was a room that had likely been a storage room, and instead of effects or traveling gear, it was filled with corpses. I prayed to the God Emperor and advanced, finding myself in the rooms that Lazarus had pierced with his rifle. The second room was merely a restroom. The bedroom itself had a wide, canopied bed. Four women lay scattered, sobbing and attempting to huddle together when I entered. Two men were dead. One from a saber cut to the neck, and the other had lost his torso from the stray shot that had punched through the stone. Gazing at the corpses, I ascertained the latter was more interesting. I tilted his limp head with my boot, recognizing him as the man we had pursued. Leaning down, I knelt beside the corpse and opened his eyes, checking for any overt taint. I opened his mouth, finding naught but yellowed teeth. Sliding his sleeve back, I finally caught a most unholy mark. Embedded into his flesh, the mark of Tzeentch was writ, the symbol itself...transformed. The symbol's flesh was not the flesh of the man, as if he had fused with something wholly alien to acquire it. In his clutched hand was something strange. An object of unknown material, green and black, in the shape of a T, if the greater line curved into the horizontal, with a chip at its butt. It smelled faintly of sulphur, and I deduced the man had procured it from the Tomb. I would not dare touch it with my bare hand, but with my gloved fingers I pulled it out of his grasp and stepped out into the central room, where the woman was now getting dressed. I tossed the item to Lazarus, who caught it with his third hand and immediately began examining it curiously.

"Most interesting, Hadrian."

"Run diagnostics on that. I want to know where it has been and what it does. And call the orbital astrotechs, giving us records of every warp trail leaving the planet in the last five hours, and call Urien. We need a pick up. Now."

---

Thirty minutes later.

The shuttle was a modified dropship, repurposed for quick transportation between the Caledonia Freighter and any inner-orbit travel. Urien had greeted them with the usual candor, glad he hadn't had to stay in orbit for more than a few days. I imagine now this entire affair must have been daunting for Emmaline, but at the time I did not consider it. The shuttle was large enough to accommodate two score guardsmen shocktroops, but instead it merely had myself, two heretics in stasis, Lazarus, Brother Bacchus who needed transport back to his chapter, and Emmaline. The woman had a knack for being positively distracting in any clothing, even a baggy military outfit, which I would later use to great effect in our missions. Ironically, it was likely the most untrue statement I could make at the time in the shuttle. I was too engrossed in thought of our current course of action, Urien was flying the ship, and both Lazarus and Bacchus were augmented to ignore their lesser human needs of base flesh.

Only once the Caledonia was in plain sight did I remember to ask Urien a pertinent request.

"Ah haulding cell, Adr-r-rian?" He inquired.

"Yes, have her escorted to one. But grant her a meal and make her comfortable. Brother Bacchus, would you do me the favor of escorting the crew that does so?"

"Is she so dangerous?" Bacchus asked suspiciously, having taken a moment to reply to see if I were making a poor joke.

"No, but one can never be too careful. I'll be by shortly to speak with her."

Have you ever been through obscura withdrawals while on psy blockers. It's pretty unlikely if you have the clearance to be reading this. By the time we reached the Caledonia the shakes were passing to be replaced by the deep to your bones prickling burn. It feels like someone is scrubbing your body with sand with every tenth grain actually a stinging nettle. I do remember my first sight of the ship though, a great phallus of rusting steel and gleaming ceramite well over a kilometer long. She was fat at the base, crusted with great crenelated towers from which hung the sensorium and the four great lance batteries that protected her from pirates and xenos alike. Forward she tapered to a great adamantine prow, curved and painted with green and gold squares in a curious checkerboard, each square thirty meters in diameter. She buldged slightly in the middle, to perhaps half the width of her aft nacelle, with two great bays for taking on the cargo that was her purpose for existing. I have seen bigger ships since, but at the time, even as strung out as I was, it made an impression. In some ways it was lucky I was still coming down. Although I hadn’t seen a rosette it was clear I was in the custody of the Inquisition. I had convinced myself, partially as a coping mechanism, that if they wanted me dead I would already be dead. I tried not to dwell on the fact that they might simply want to torture me for any information I had before they rectified that mistake.



I must have cut a fine figure. Hair disheveled, clad only in a set of fatigues for which my hips were too wide and my legs too short. The shirt similarly strained across my chest, held in place by two buttons which valiantly preserved what passed for my decency. There were no shoes. A fact I was reminded of when the dropship docked in one of the cavernous hangers and I was escorted, none to gently, down onto a deck which had so recently been exposed to the void of space. It burned my feet and I kicked out the folds I had added to the pants so i could walk on the fabric. In short order I was frog marched out of the vaulted ceramite hanger with its smell of burning prometheum and questionable void shields into a rusted corridor with a smell of old soup and partially functional air recyclers. It was there I first saw the servitors. The Imperium is, of course, awash with servitors of all kinds but I do not believe that I have ever seen the likes of these. They were humanoid in form but their necks and backs were augmented with great plumes of feathers, each spun in brilliant patterns from some kind of ceramic glass to give them the appearance of fearsome predators from some forgotten barbaric world. Some of them raised and lowered these faux crests in imitation of threat postures as we passed, or perhaps that was a reaction to the space marine escorting us. They showed little original organic material and what skin remained had been fastidiously painted with some kind of shiny black lacquer, the joins between flesh and machine often accentuated with gold rings or brass rivets. I supposed there might be an argument to make against practicality, but they certainly were impressive even in my dazed condition.



The astartes shoved me into a cell without deining to speak to me. The cell had begun life as a cargo vault. A void shielded chamber meant to preserve the most valuable cargos against the perils of star travel. The hissing milky field of the void shield was equally effective at containing psychic phenomenon of all kinds which was why the Inquistor picked it for my stay. To my surprise it was furnished, if one can apply the word, with a pallet, a blanket and two buckets for ablutions. A meal of processed protein cubes and steamed root vegetables had been laid out on a tray that sat upon a battered looking rug. To my surprise I found that I was famished. I literally couldn’t recall the last time I had eaten. I demolished the food in a few minutes and washed it down with a canteen of water which had also been set down for me.



I will admit that my fear caught up to me then. I knew that I was unsanctioned. Probably the best I could hope for was to be sent via the Black Ships to Terra where the Emperor alone knew what fate might await me. More likely I would find myself floating out of an airlock after some period of extreme unpleasantness. Luckily the withdrawals were enough to keep me from completely devolving into a blubbering mess, though I admit there was a deal of blubbering involved. Eventually though I managed to pull myself together and thought I couldn’t quite sleep, I wrapped myself in the blanket and laid down to wait for whatever was to come.

"Ancient Moldarian?" I mused, stroking my chin. I believed I had read of the planet before from Inquisitor Dolsan's report back as an interrogator. I have a photographic memory, and I sifted through my thoughts like files until I found what I recalled. An ancient civilization of xenos used to preside over the planet of Moldar before they were destroyed by the Great Crusade, followed by its replanting of human life in the years that followed. Some of the ruins still remained, and the peoples there were influenced by it, stylistically only, but shaped nonetheless.

"The scripts are not a complete match, but thematically the designs fit." Lazarus concluded. I was used to the skitarii enough to know he would not speak of such things without being certain.

"And three warp trails traveling to the south of the Segmentum Tempestuous, close to Moldar." I said aloud, and nodded. "Very well. Give the heading to Urien. We may drop Brother Baccus along the way."

"At once, Hadrian." Lazarus replied. "Do you go to see the woman?"

"I go to see the psyker, yes." I said, and turned tail with a military officer's curtness and made my way through the Caledonia. As I walked, I did not take the time I normally did to admire the artistry of the vessel. Old Oghma symbols and stone shrines of the Emperor were arrayed across its superstructure, and more than a few large pillars of brass glowed in the light. Servitors and ex-slaves, Urien's old friends, stalked the halls. The latter bowed or acknowledged me as I passed. Soon, I was on the bow of the ship and down the corridor I made out Brother Bacchus, the Red Scorpion standing vigil before the girl's cell.

"Inquisitor," He said in his booming tone, powerful even when speaking softly.

"I relieve you, Brother Bacchus." I said, but I hesitated for a moment, the astartes looking at me as he paused. "Forgive me, I did not give my condolences for Brother Glaviad. He was a staunch defender of the Imperium."

"It is our greatest honor to die fighting the arch-enemy, Inquisitor."

"Very good," I said, and we parted ways. He to the chapel, and I into the cell. The door was air-tight, the lights dim until I opened the portal. A sssshhhhp lit the air, and the woman, though in her cot, was awake. I did not speak to her immediately. Rather, I grabbed the second chair and pulled it over to the center of the room. Quietly, I sat down and pulled out a dataslate.

"Name?" I asked, pulling a pen out to redirect the information as it appeared on screen. At first the woman did not answer, so I simply asked again. "...Name?"

"Emmaline Von Morganstern," she said, pulling herself up, the blanket draped around her as if it was armor. I looked up at her from the dataslate, placing it on my lap as I crossed my legs in the masculine fashion. I was used to cold tasks, but there was at least some chance this woman was going to die by my hand, in the least in an indirect fashion. I should give her the respect of looking her in the eyes.

"Miss Von Morgenstern, had you been discovered by an arbites, you would have been given three choices. Imprisonment, a new life in Dasra with no prospects, or they would have abandoned you to your fate in the desert. As you were discovered by me, you have three different choices. Ones I would advise you think carefully on." I said, speaking clear and deliberately. I held no joy in this talk, but I knew I was doing the best for her I could, considering the danger she posed. "Your three choices are thus. Option one, I have the means to send you to become a member of the Adeptus Astronomica as an Astropath. A great service to the Emperor, but I will not lie. It will tax your body beyond what you think capable. You would not live to see fifty. Option two... well, the emperor can always use more good psykers. Not a pleasant prospect, the Black Ships, but it would keep the Imperium running. You do not strike me as the ecclesiarchal type however, which leads me to Option three."

I uncrossed my legs and leaned in, resting my elbows on my knees as my eyes bored into hers. "You work for me, as one of my team. Before you answer, do not delude yourself into thinking this is the easy way out. If you choose option three, you will be trained and subject to lessons and discipline. You will learn how to defend yourself beyond your psychic abilities, and you will throw yourself headlong into danger beside me. But..."

I snapped my fingers. An open flame appeared above my hand, floating in the air until I opened my palm, the fire dissipating into nothingness. "I will teach you how to control your powers in a way you cannot think to now. I will show you how to harden your mind, and keep daemons from possessing you. And if you luck out, you'll live for centuries with no want for wealth. So, Miss Von Morganstern, what will it be?"

I leaned back in my chair, appraising her with a professional air. Truthfully, I did not know what she would choose.

There are layers to how the galaxy works. In the view of the simple devout citizen of the Imperium there is an immutable order. The psyker is abhorred, the Inquisition sees all, the Xenos is evil, the Emperor protects. For many people, most people, these core truths need not be interrogated. Scratch the surface even a little though and you find that the psyker and the mutant are vital to the operation of the Imperium. How would we function without astropaths or navigators? But those psykers hold an Imperial Sanction right? Sure some of them do, but not all of them. There are psykers, even some pretty terrifying ones, who operate more or less openly in the Imperium without formal Imperial approval. Almost invariably these individuals are supported by the Ecclesiarchy, the noble families, or the Ordos. They are in effect, unsanctioned psykers. In effect this is what I had been doing to this point, though the sources of my support varied. If you ever find yourself on Carleot with enough muscle or powerful friends, you can go and see the Sacristy of Sacred Pleasures which I psi-picked for the Hierophant Zerby IX. Bring some absorbent towels and you are welcome. That was unsanctioned work, and though a few rabid monodomiants might take issue with it, it isn’t that uncommon. The key point to keep in mind is that there is a world of difference between the unsanctioned psyker, and the rogue psyker. A rogue psyker is declared extremius diabolis by either the Ecclesiarchy or the Ordos and usually both. Such an individual faces death or damnation regardless of the actual state of their soul as they will be forced, in order to hide, to consort with heretical elements who are the only ones who can provide them succor. I was considering this when Hadrian made his offer because if he packed me off to the astropathicus, there was always the chance I could make a run for it and hide out in Lucky Space or out in the Halo Stars. Many have thought that though and I can tell you that depressingly few ever manage it. And even if you make it, running from the Inquisition is a nervous business I can tell you. The Ecclesiarchy might have been an option, but if you abscond from their service they send the Witchfinders after you, which is almost as bad as the Ordos and usually considerably showier. Am I digressing? Maybe, but no one is forcing you to read this are they?



Returning to the point. I wish I could say that I went through some deep process of soul searching, found my duty to the Emperor and accepted the calling he was presenting to me with a joyful soul. I can’t even say that I accepted out of a desire to learn what he could teach me. I had been practicing since my sixteenth year and having not yet been possessed or corrupted, reckoned I was fairly safe. I also suspected, rightly, that much of what he thought might be important would be boring and arduous. The simple truth was, I was just so frakking relived I wasn’t going to be shot out of hand I would have agreed to walk upside down on my hands naked through the Palace of the Conqueror on Return Day.



“I would be honored to serve the Holy Inquisition,” I said, “on the proviso I can do it in something that fits a little better.” As witty rejoinders go it lacked something, but in my defense I was just SUPER glad not to be shot.

For the first time, I looked at her as a woman rather than a danger. I could not help but give a wry smile at her suggestion, noticing the top barely contained her charms. "As much as the crew might enjoy I deny the request, I think your suggestion is prudent." I said, and offered her a hand to help her up. Once she stood before he, I shook her hand and met her eyes. "Welcome to the team."

---

2 days later...

The heretics we had acquired confirmed my suspicions, but added little past that. The first one I could use my will on, and he had granted me information on the connection to Hykophan from those years ago and the planet Moldar, but could not provide any information on Bahometus or the cabal. The second heretic had some resistance training to mental invasion, and so I conducted the fourth and eighth actions of interrogation, with physical abuse and chemical stimulants to aid my endeavors. After a few brutal hours, he gave up his knowledge of Bahometus, confirming the planet he was fleeing to was at least in the Orpheus Sector, where Moldar lived. Beyond that, he spoke of a man simply dubbed 'Balal Ignatius,' but whether it was a pseudonym or an alias, or whether he lied in other facets to throw me off, was annoyingly undetermined.

I had only conducted two sessions with Emmaline Von Morganstern. The first was a training exercise on how to first fortify her mind, involving meditation and small scale psychic prodding by me, and the second was a demonstration of various exercises she could conduct in her own time on how to better utilize her powers. The turning point would be if she could draw a small portrait of an apple on a canvas without using her hands. I expected to see results before we arrived in Moldar six days from then. Meanwhile, she was free to walk the ship and had access to my office and personal library.

I now stood in the main engine room, the roaring of the mechanical heart and the strange, whirring of the power source that fed the gellar field somehow soothing to my mind. In his most quiet moments, Inquisitor Kronus had told me he sometimes felt compelled to turn off the gellar field; to finally end it all and face whatever daemons may be foolish enough to board. He had never done so, of course. It was the same sensation as a man at the edge of a cliff with the sudden urge to jump. An invasive thought one would never truly perform. I had yet to feel something similar yet, but whether it was cowardice or my inexperience, I could not say.

Footsteps approached from the right, and Urien of Catoc approached with a cup. His beard braided, tattoos adorned his upper chest, partly bare from the mere apron he wore above the trousers he had on him.

"We mahke good time," He said, settling to stand beside me. He looked at me, and then at the engines where I stared. I wondered what he thought of them. "Tomorrow, angel of death will be sent to his heaven, then we get to Mordar."

"I expect nothing less from you, Urien. Once we get there, wait in orbit for a day or two until I can come up with a convenient disguise and the papers I will need."

"Ahf course, inquisitor. We go to uncertain doom with a new woman aboard." He said, going somewhere I wasn't initially following. "Drink?" He extended his arm with the cup in his hand.

I looked at him, and despite myself I gave a humored smile. Catoc was a strange world, and in Urien's tribe, a man could not offer a man a drink in most circumstances. He could offer it to a woman at any time, but to a man, one did not verbally ask to gift another man with a beverage unless they were going to war or marriage, which some might consider another form of 'passing on.' I laughed at his wit. "No, thank you."

Urien smiled, and swigged the drink down in one momentous gulp.

Those first days with Hadrian were pretty unpleasant. By the end of the second day the worst of the obscura withdrawals had passed. I suppose I should be grateful because the experience cured me of any desire to every try the drug again. It induces itching, sleeplessness and a number of other unpleasant side effects including paranoia. A little paranoia is a healthy thing, but when every time you turn around you find a two meter tall giant in blood red armor glaring at you, it gets to be a bit much. The astartes never deigned to speak to me, but it was clear he was suspicious of me. I took refuge as much as I could in Hadrian’s library, which although stacked with dreary instructional tombs about the virtues of blah blah by Saint Whatever, was at least free of murderous super humans. The psy blockers took longer than I expected to metabolize away which turned out to be an unexpected bonus. If you are at all familiar with me it won’t shock you to learn that my first impulse is rarely to be completely truthful. There are those who will insist that honesty is the best policy but I can tell you from a position of some authority that those people are morons. While I did my best to learn Hadrian’s lessons about protecting myself from daemons, I deliberately underperformed on his picting exercise, pretending to struggled to render the apple each time I attempted it. The blockers were somewhat helpful in this regard as they made the deception somewhat more believable than it might have been.



Access to the ship was a pleasure. After being locked up for so long it was nice to be able to walk. The crew, irritatingly in some cases, seemed to be somewhat afraid of me, though whether this was due to the fact the knew I was a psyker or the fact I was travelling with an Inquisitor I wasn’t sure. Again, the fact that the astartes giant would seemingly appear behind me at random intervals did did not help my cause. I was able to make friends with the ships astropath, a lank haired young man named Caiphon. As astropaths go Caiphon was ok. We spent time drawing the Tarot and playing regicide on his ancient board as well as in other less cerebral pursuits. His amasec was terrible and I took the liberty of absconding with several bottles from the officers stores to improve his lot. Best of all not even an astartes would barge into an astropath’s sanctuary without cause and so I found some relief from his constant glowering.



My own quarters were in one of the passenger state rooms a few doors down from Hadrian’s office. It was furnished but very bleak as I had no possession of my own to fill the space. It did have a large marble bathtub though and I spent an hour or so everyday just soaking. My hair was a problem as we lacked any shampoo on board until, one day when I visited him, Caiphon produced a small bottle of scented soap and a turtle shell comb that must have been worth a small fortune. I suspect he stole them from the Navigator and if that was the case I was equally impressed by his thoughtfulness and his stupidity. In any case it gave me the tools to properly clean and brush my hair for the first time in I don’t know how long.

Two days later...

Sweat beaded off my bare back, huffing as I continued my workout. Wearing my dark brown military trousers and boots, I wanted to remain half in uniform in case something transpired on deck. The gym was spacious, big enough for the physical fitness of an entire crew. Machines and dumbbells and an auto-runner, along with mats and pull up bars decked the room out. To the left, there was a training mat for a sparring area that I would soon utilize in Emmaline's training. She was untrained in the arts of the psyker, but she knew more than she let on, at least a bit. It had taken me several days of observation to understand what was happening, but it only made me respect her skills as an actor. It was difficult to fool me when I had my eye on someone. It was why I suddenly up and made her draw three paintings simultaneously, each of one of the holy primarchs.

I spent many hours in the gym. In my eyes, it was important to be strong in mind, soul, and body. It had more applications than practical ones meant for combat. It released endorphins and was healthy for your mental state, something that was underappreciated for a psyker, even one of such a modest level as I. Once I reached seventy, I pushed off the ground with my hands and continued my push ups for another thirty, this time pressing against the floor with my knuckles.

Unless something peculiar occurred, I kept a strict regime when participating in the lull of warp-space travel. I lived by the day/night cycle of holy terra, eating, reading, speaking to Urien and training Emmaline at certain times of the day. I had given her the day off that day, letting her spend her time with Caiphon, whom I checked in on from time to time. Caiphon was a fine astropath and a good man. It pained me to see his body withering over the scant few years I had known him.

At the moment, it was five o'clock on the throne world.

I groaned as the burn moved through my arms and core, and I took a seat on the floor. My mind was muddled with Bahometus, and that fateful day with Hykophan. It wasn't good to make things personal, but my career started with the cult Hykophan had run, and it had led me all the way to discovering Bahometus and his cabals that undermind worlds like Tallarn and Gudrun. Four cells of chaos cultists and two minor daemons later, and I was still involved in this single conspiracy. When would it end, and when it did...what would I do?

I did not notice Emmaline stepping into the room until she announced herself.

I was feeling much better now we had gotten rid of the glowering astartes. It did make me a little nervous, as we hung in orbit, to know there was a whole planet of them down there, doubtlessly busy praising the Emperor, fondling their bolt guns, and daydreaming about purging people like me from the galaxy. Once we were back in the warp things got back to what I was starting to think of as normal. I played cards with Caiphon as well as some other games our dear departed astartes would disapprove of and he continued his efforts to teach me to read the Tarot. He seemed frustrated, not with me, but with the cards, even I could read that the future was very clouded and whether the Emperor came up ascendent or downcast seemed to alternate each time we went through the ritual. It made me a little uneasy so I finally decided to go and talk to my erstwhile employer. Predictable I found him doing something that looked uncomfortable in the gym.

"Inquisitor," I said as I stepped through the hatchway and was greeted by the smell of sweat and recycled ship air. Hadrian looked up from the press up or whatever it was he was doing and arched an eyebrow. We hadn't spoken very much except for during lessons. Naturally I found drinking amasec with the astropath to be a more congenial way to spend my time than loitering around an Inquisitor who clearly had alot on his mind.

"What is it?" he asked, standing up from his exercise and lifting a towel to wipe away some of the sweat. I pressed me lips together, considering what I should say.

"I had a dream," I began, though whether it was a dream or a repressed memory I couldn't really say. He arched an eyebrow. A psyker's dreams are not something they talk about lightly.

"Of what?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure," I told him, the images a jumble in my head. I knew it was what the cult had been using me for, to create what I had seen in my dream for them. Hadrian gave me a somewhat exasperated look.

"Let me show you," I told him beckoning him over. He gave me a suspicious look but complied crossing the deck to stand beside me. I lifted my hand and touched his temples.

"You aren't going to try to mess with my mind are you?" he asked. The tone was neutral maybe meant to be a joke.

"How do you know I haven't already?" I asked, arching an eyebrow in mock menace. He snorted a laugh at that and I pressed my fingers into his temples and opened myself to the warp.

The vision was only a few seconds. A series of symbols that burned with sickly green light tumbling past at great speed. They had no meaning, and while they weren't any script I knew of, the seemed ancient, evil and threatening in my mind. Again. Hadrian thought/said in my mind. I concentrated and replayed the images from the beginning, and then, without being asked, did so a third time, this time slowed down as much as I could managed. Enough. I let out a soft moan and broke the contact, staggering back slightly. Hoarfrost rimmed every surface in several meters and crusted in Hadrian's hair and eyebrows. He brushed at it but the psychic ephemera was already beginning to disperse.

A psychic link was a strange thing. Were one not careful, you could find things you shouldn't, but we were both seasoned enough to keep ourselves from compromising the other. I was wholly unprepared for the vision, however. Closing my eyes, I saw a wretched symbol that burned into my mind with a tainted aura. Somehow it left a horrid aftertaste in my mouth, as if the very sight of the mere shape could effect a mortal. Unconsciously, I found my hand gripped Emmaline's forearm, though to steady her or myself I cannot recall.

Once it was over, I exhaled involuntarily, but kept my composure. Had I seen something akin to it before? It wasn't like any chaos symbol I had ever seen. Certainly not a mark of the four entities or the dreaded unholy thirteen. It seemed almost xenos in nature, but it was very likely a chaos symbol I simply had not seen before. I had only been in the Ordo for two decades, and only five of them as an active field inquisitor.

When we broke contact, though I don't recall why I had initially reached, I kept her steady and held her shoulder with my other hand. I did not say anything, but nodded when she made eye contact and stepped back from her.

"Thank you," I said to her.

"Do you know what it was?" She asked, a normal question, even after glimpsing my initial thoughts. Sometimes it took a moment for a brain to process information before finding the answer to a question.

"I have a few ideas, but truthfully? I'm unsure." I admitted, sighing.

"That's a first," she quipped with an arched eyebrow. I regarded her and tried but failed to hide a grin. I admit I had been overly formal with her the last few days. Youth was a strange thing. We wish the entirety of it to be older and more respected and forget the gifts we have at the moment. I am ever to serve and am still very physically capable, but in those days I was at my peak. Hale and broad shouldered, I was cut in a way one could only gain through discipline and hours of exercise a day, though I was of good Elysiar stock. At that time I was too pre-occupied to see the bodacious woman before me, though I feel I had begun to see an inkling. No one who did not wish for the success of the mission would have sought me out and shared it with me. Perhaps I had treated her too much as a student and not enough as a teammate.

"I'm unsure of a lot of things," I admitted to her, showing a hint of the man I was past my steely visage. "But the minute I act it, someone might die."

After a pause, I shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?' and turned to put my grey top on that fit me like a comfortable glove. As I slid my arms through the shirt sleeves, I suggested something she no doubt was excited to hear.

"Let's think on it over a drink. Don't worry, I have the good stuff stashed in a secret place."

Hadrian did indeed have good amasec. I supposed that Inquisitor's usually tried to get the best of things when they could. It wasn't as though it was a position with excellent opportunities for retirement. It was a somewhat sobering thought that I could now expect to share those bleak prospects. I had known unsanctioned psykers who lived to a ripe old age, but they were the exception rather than the rule.

It was still somewhat awkward of course. Hadrian asked me about my background more generally and I filled him in with mostly the truth. I had been born on Bonavenger the bastard daughter of an Eclessiarch and a dancing girl. Someone, maybe my father but more likely one of his enemies, had arranged for me to be adopted into the minor nobility, stashing me away until I might be a useful pawn or piece of blackmail. Before that had happened my gifts had manifested and my parents had turned me out rather than face the scruitiny that would come with either Inquistion or Minisotrum attention. I had gotten off Bonaventure and traveled to several different worlds in the Orpheus sub, until I had found a woman on Queen Mab who had been willing to teach me some basics of her own craft. Since then I had made my living as I could, largely by acting the part of a noblewoman and using my gifts to convince people to go along with it. Of course making a living in those circles had considerable risks, such as winding up a drugged tool of a dangerous cult. Hadrian said little of himself, perhaps it was inquisitorial reserve, or perhaps there really was little to tell. Most of those who boarded the Black Ships did so young, and he had probably gone straight into Inquisitorial training.

Around our third glass of amasec a servitor with a panthers face and a great feathered headress wrought in jade arrived to invite us to dinner. Well more accurately to invite Hadrian to dinner, but I tagged along and he didn't seem to object. The dining room on the Caledonia was a sight to behold. A great hall that looked like the knave of a cathedral and hung with the most remarkable tapestries, each simply woven but depicting elaborate scenes of hunting and war. The shipmaster was waiting, dressed in a fur cloak that fairly bristled in the dry ship air.

"You have my welcome," he boomed formally, "as is our way, we must feast before we begin the hunt!"

"A boatless man is tied to the land!" Urien roared, holding up his cup. His men banged on the table in concerted rhythm; even a few of the servitors joined in, albeit a bit off 'key' one might say.

"Bare is the back of a brotherless man!" I replied back in traditional fashion. My voice has always been deep and strong, but when around Urien it was more coarse and theatrical. We both drained our cups with equal enthusiasm, and the men cheered and supped their own draughts, servitors already standing by with fresh cups as they dispensed with the first drink of the night and began to feast of steaming poultry and livestock. At the head of the table was an aptly placed head of a Grox, filled with apples coated in a sweet pastry Urien's people had concocted from an old recipe of their homeland. Hills of vegetables and cups of water dotting the landscape of the table, and further alcoholic beverages began to flow.

"This all seems really fresh," Emmaline said, pleasantly surprised. She sat on a comfortably cushioned chair, wrought in a barbaric style of wood and skins, with more modern pillows sewed underneath to give a good base for any dinner guest's rump to settle on.

"Engum flýgur sovanda steik gæs i munne" I replied, speaking to her directly, though the closest crewman, a man named Bragund, nodded in appreciation of my thoroughly practiced accent. At her questioning look, I gave a rough, less brutish translation. "Nothing comes free. We picked up some good meat and alcohol on Zaebus Minoris after trading a few minerals of the cargo hold with the Red Scorpions. Never hurts to give them something as thanks, and they in return."

"Likt á vidd likt Likt" Bagund remarked as though he were reciting a litany or a solemn prayer. I had discovered, at first to my chagrin and later to my delight, that when speaking their own language, they tended to speak in proverbs. It was not a custom they had on their homeworld, but one they adopted after they had 'transcended to the beyond' as it were, as they felt they were 'doing the works of the gods.' Some guests pitied them their fanciful delusions, but it was not too far from the truth. And honestly, who am I to question whether their outlook on reality is true or not? I do hold many philosophical truths, but for all I know, we are but a figment in the emperor's mind, or the warp itself surrounds all but this pocket galaxy. Of course I did not truly believe such, but as a young man your mind is far more open to possibilities, and listening to Urien and his crew played with ones imagination. Their epics were truly inspiring.

"Láttu ekki happ ur hendi sleppa," I replied back, and then explained chronologically. "Give and take is fair play, and opportunity knocks only once."

"Is lahdy of the cr-r-rew?" The red-bearded Bragund asked, and Kraltar one-eye leaned forward in interest. The latter brute had an ox's horns displayed on his large shoulders and warpaint on his face, melding into his hefty brown beard.

"My crew, yes."

"Aaaaahhhhh!" They both said, waving their hands away in disappointment. "Come now, Inquisitor. Ask her faur us thenn!"

"My crewmate is not required to do anything." I reminded them, regaining a bit of my usual sternness.

"Iht daus not hurt to ahsk, yeah?" Bragund wondered, and I shook my head and let out a breathless chuckle. I admit I capitulated, but only if she felt comfortable. I turned, leaned over to Emmaline Von Morganstern, and whispered in her ear. Admittedly I forgot exactly what I said to her, but somehow it had worked...

As previously mentioned, I’d already had three amasecs. I held up both my hands and Urien shouted something. General silence fell save for one crewman who was obviously very drunk who continued to gavel away with his mug. One of his comrades silenced him with a more or less good natured blow to the side of the head that left the fellow slumped on the tablewares. I milked the silence for a minute and then lifted my voice.

“Viltu plaze t’sjá mig dansa?” Contrary to the later ship legend that sprung up I didn’t say it perfectly within moments of hearing the patios. What I had meant to say was ‘Would you like to see me dance’ what I actually said would have been closer to ‘Will you be pleased to me dance’ but far be it from me to stand in the way of a good story. I’ll admit it was a pretty good first attempt as the roar of the crew underscored.

“You are a linguist?” Hadrian seemed to murmur, though he was all but shouting to be heard over the din. I grinned at him. In truth retro-gothic dialects were fairly common out in the Halo Stars and in other areas where planets had been cut off from Imperial rule by warp storms or misadventure. I had a good ear for language and I’d traveled enough to have some basic building blocks. I was wearing a simple set of coveralls which simply would not do. I stepped behind Hadrian and snatched a piece of red silk bunting from the wall. Quick as a flash I stripped out of the coveralls and kicked off my boots before winding the bunting around my waist. When I stepped out from behind the Inquisitor I wore my shift, the same red lace id been wearing when I had been rescued, and had converted the bunting into a makeshift skirt that fell almost to my bare feet, the knot leaving most of my right leg bare. Predictably, the crew approved, having already been treated to the tease of discarded clothing flying out from behind Hadrian. I seized a mug from the table and tapped out a simple beat on the table. Saga singers from way back first a few and then the entire crew took up the beat with their own mugs. I leaped up onto the table with a clatter of cutlery and then began to dance.

If you have never seen a performance of the Pyrinia I suggest you look for vids of it without the presence of jealous spouses or young children. It is a folk dance from Bonaventure, not the staid waltz my adoptive family preferred, It involves a lot of swaying hips and gyration. As someone the Emperor has blessed with a lot of hips and appropriate counterbalance, it is something I do well. I worked my way up the table in time to the beat, sliding down almost to my knees and rising to a tip toe that threatened my modesty as I twirled and curved, at times making the skirt hang still while my body moved within it, and at times making the silk swish like an extension of my limbs. I tossed my long golden hair back and forth, by turns streaming it like a banner, and gathering it to me like a cloak of false modesty. The beat started to break down as the crewmen seemed to forget what they were supposed to be doing, but enough kept mindlessly hammering away despite their open mouths that I didn’t lose the tempo. I knocked over wine goblets and more than once I stepped in fruit or other food, but nobody seemed in a hurry to object. The Pyrinia is a courtship dances, meant to be light and flirty at the beginning before moving into more passionate phases. By the time I came to the culmination, a series of low grinding rotations atop the table with my chest thrown back and pressed forward and upwards, no one was keeping the beat. I struck the final pose almost where I had started, my back to Hadrian and my face towards the head of the table, legs beneath me and leaning back almost to the horizontal. I froze for a few seconds and then grabbed the edge of the table and levered myself back overhand in a slow flip to land on my feet where I had started. The room was completely silent though I seem to remember Hadrian making a strangled sound.

Her thespian skills were beyond what I had expected, to my delight and the uproarious approval of the boisterous crew. Were this a normal pub or a late-night party at a house of nobility, I would have been worried the men might get a bit overzealous, but as it were they knew not to touch a member of the Inquisitor's retinue, and I believe Emmaline understood that as well. I could tell she was the type of person to take advantage of any situation she found herself in, and I couldn't blame her.

Earlier I had gained a modicum of respect for her, but now I was just impressed. I considered myself a jack of all trades as any good inquisitor should be, for we don't ever know what situation we'll find ourselves in. But she was multi-talented just by being herself, and I had a difficult time thinking of Inquisitors that could command a room like that. None of this translates to the field, but not everything was ground work.

I was enjoying her dance despite myself, but as it turned to the mildly scandalous, I dare say I was as enraptured as the rest of the men. Truth be told, I think I hooted with the others. In fact it was so nice to watch, I did not hear Lazarus approach, which was wholly unusual. Lazarus, like all Skitarri rangers, had his lower legs cut off and replaced with prostheses of inviolate alloy. And whilst that gave them near-unlimited endurance, when not in combat mode, even considering their footsteps were more muted due to synthetic fibers, they walked slightly heavier than the average man. Particularly noticeable on a steel ship.

"I sense your body heat is slightly above average, with increased blood flow." He said, giving me a start. I blinked and looked at him, having known the skitarii long enough to tell when he was mocking me when speaking in his neutral tone. "Do you require medical aid?"

"Shut up, Laz." I said defensively, turning from him as if that ended it.

"Perhaps Miss Von Morganstern also has curative knowledge of human anatomy-"

"If you don't stop talking, I'll pour my amesec into your bare circuits." I said without turning to look at him. He knew I was serious, so to his credit be buttoned what he would consider his lip. I waited a few more moments before I pinched the bridge of my nose and asked. "Did you need something, Lazarus?"

"I believe the artifact we found was of xenos quality, not merely a chaos item."

I turned to him sharply, all embarrassment having flown from me. How could that be the case, when the item itself was in the hands of mutated heretics, and the visions Von Morganstern had given me were as ruinous as any daemon I've seen? I knew both the alien and the daemon needed to be burned, but it was entirely different to think the two might have fused in any capacity. "You're sure of this?"

"It matches what we know of the abominable intelligence known as the Necrons. The connection with chaos is unknown, save for the markings being a perfect match to what we know of the quasi-species and the great enemy wanted it." He considered it for a moment, and knew I wouldn't have much luck thinking about it here. I dismissed Lazarus, who began to walk away, before turning back to regard me. "Studies have shown that time not spent on a task can provide positive results in your mental state and ability to reason."

"What?"

"Have a good time tonight, Hadrian. Worry on it tomorrow." He advised, and walked away without saying another word. I watched my friend depart, and realized with unease that he was right. Perhaps a night without worry or consideration would do me good, and so I used what mental discipline I had to push the implications of the xenos menace out of my head for the time being. We still had a few terran days before we reached Moldar, anyway.

Once I turned back, Emmaline had begun gyrating on the table before performing her flip. I made a strangled sound as her legs went over her head, remembering how much she had drunk and seeing her teetering, though roughly she landed on her feet at the exact spot she had begun. I shook my head with a helpless smile, and raised her hand with my own.

"Trì breachanann!" I cried, which roughly translated to 'three cheers!' The men clambered and clapped, hollering and getting up. The servitors continued their bumping of the table, whether by a glitch or design, and the men took it as a sign to start cavorting and dancing amongst themselves. With a smoothness that I only really used for acts of subterfuge, the hand I had on Emmaline's lowered her arm and cradled it in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Care to dance?" I asked her with a grin.

She considered me for a moment, and with a touch of the theatrical, she raised her nose and turned away from me in mock snobbery, before suddenly spinning into me like a whirring dervish. I expertly weaved her past me until she hung fifty degrees over the ground on my opposite side, held up by my hand clasping hers. Idly I thought she might have really been attempting to throw me off to see if I had what it took, but I knew she would be pleasantly surprised. Before I was inducted into the Inquisition, my late mother had spent a good amount of money for dancing lessons, as dancing was a wildly popular past time on Elysiar, my homeworld. Some people called it "the lucky man's death world" or "catachan's little brother," as it was a strange mixture of civilization and dangerous organic life. A death world is technically classified in the administorum as a world where human survival was a daily struggle, and the humans there could rarely advance past small borders or little groups. Cities tended to be non-existent on such planets. Elysiar's flora and fauna were extremely dangerous, but the humans on the planet had innovated and had been indomitable enough to actually turn the planet into what was classified as a 'civilized world,' which caused a weird juxtaposition of high culture and a normalcy of human mortality. Men and women were educated but fatalistic, they lived fast and died young, and whilst I had most of the cavorting spirit hammered out of me, there was still vestiges of an animal within. An animal who could dance with the best of them.

It was a good thing that Hadrian took the next dance. The smell of male hormones was almost overpowering and I probably came close to starting a riot. Fortunately the fact that I was attached to the Inquisitor's retinue managed to keep them in check, ranking highly in the quasi-relgious world view that these space faring barbarians had adopted. It also helped that Hadrian was a good dancer, more exuberant than I imagined for a high and mighty inquisitor. When the dance finally ended we took our seats and joined the feast.

"I bet your dance on the table was quite something," I whispered to Hadrian who made a sound that might have been a chuckle or a choke. Urien was standing at the head of the table, draped in his great fur cloak and speaking at length. I understood that he was ritually recounting some exploit, though whether in service to Hadrian or on his own homeworld wasn't clear. It was possible he was compressing an adventure in the stars into a traditional form, an old technique to provide poetic structure for a tale. Unbidden one of the servitors brought me a basin of water and I was able to wash my feet of the food and drink I had stepped in during my dance. The fact that I had trampled it didn't seem to be any bar to appetite though. The food ran heavily to cooked meat, grox, ambull and other less identifiable fare. Fortunately there were a fair amount of fruit and vegetables, as well as hot bread that allowed me to soak up some of the amasec. Toast after toast was proposed, each drunk down with sweet smelling mead or amasec. I sipped but minded my intake, aware that getting drunk in a room full of barbarians whom I had just subjected to a mating dance might have consequences that ranged from unpleasant to unsurvivable.

It was deep into the ships night cycle when we finally left and I was well and truly drunk. Hadrian was somewhat better off and was able to hold me up as we headed back towards the passenger quaters. I was still draped in the bunting and my shift and my feet were still bare, picking up an unplesant coating of lubricant and dirt from the deck.

"I dont 'spose..." I paused, speaking with the deliberation of one who knows they are very drunk, "tat we will get a chance to go shopping before we... Inquisit?"

The night had been very fun. Talking, laughing, drinking, eating to our hearts content. I had been so engrossed in my work and Emmaline's training that I had completely let the tradition of the feast slip my mind. The night had worn me down a peg, but Emmaline was about forty pounds lighter than me and had been drinking beforehand. She was certainly hit harder, but the beautiful woman held it like a champion. I gave her an easy, amused look.

"Actually it's required. Chances are we'll need to disguise ourselves, so we'll need new clothes."

"Eggcellent!" She said in approval, her foot slipping between my feet. Her legs moved before mine, and she would have capsized onto the ground had I not held her up. She clung to me for a moment and hiccuped, finding her feet again. "Tank you. Sturdiness is a good trait to have."

"Just keep your feet a little longer, Emmaline. We're almost there." I said to her. I imagine I had a bewildered look when she put a nebulously placed finger on my nose for emphasis, looking at me. She might be a little sillier, but she had her faculties.

"First nambe basis now? Was the dances that cajsholing?" She said wryly, deliberately keeping the slurred words to a minimum. I raised an eyebrow and gave her a matching look.

"Dance like that again and you'll command the bloody ship." I joked, and she tittered. Another corner, and we found her door. With her weight on my right, I attempted to open the door with my left but she reached for it as well, insisting she had it. I let her go and she pulled the door open, nearly hitting me in the head. I ducked, and she looked at the room like it was an old enemy as the light was off, leaving it a black shadow of nothingness for her to traverse. I stepped in, knowing the Caledonia far better than her and turned the light on for her. The blonde saluted me in a sly way I couldn't tell was truly thankful or with a hidden meaning behind it.

"When do we get there again?" She asked, stepping in to the room and blinking.

"Day after tomorrow," I said, pulling her bunting over her shoulder to cover her modesty a bit more. She had a rose color to her cheeks and she cleared her throat awkwardly. I decided now was a good time for it, and I smoothed my hair back. "I'm sorry about being so firm with you, by the way. I know this is all new, and I think you'll make a good addition to the team. I'll fetch your shoes for you too while you're asleep. Are...we ok?"

"Mrshooos," I repeated, squeezing my eyes shut to try to force my brain to focus. The disjointed syllables didn't have any meaning in my brain so I tried again.

"Mi shoos," that sounded somewhat better and it triggered something in my brain. I looked down to find that my feet were dirty from the walk across the deck.

"Shoes," I said at last nodding, though what the point of the comment had been had now escaped me. By the God Emperor I was drunk. I turned my attention, such as it was, back to Hadrian. I remembered that he was a very good dancer and that he could do a lot of pushups. It was difficult to focus my mind, but one of the benefits of being a psyker is that you learn to work past some things.

"Yoosh don't have to...whaa," unbeknownst to me I had been drifting slightly sideways and I hit the side of my bed and toppled in in a flutter of red silk. I was dimly aware that the new configuration of the silk meant that my undergarments were exposed but I couldn't come up with a plan to rectify it that my hands would cooperate with.

"Don't have to apologize," I managed, dogedly clinging to the train of thought despite its best efforts to escape me.

"You are an 'quistor afterall," I continued, a slight tone of wonder in my voice. Few scenarios I had ever imagined involved meeting an Inquisitor, and none of those were particularly plesant.

"None the less," Hadrian continued.

"We are ok," I was getting very musy and I wriggled to settle myself in the sheets. Hadrian nodded and turned for the door.

"Had'ian," I managed as sleep began to close over me. He turned and I sensed rather than saw that he had arched an eyebrow.

"Thank you for not shooting me."

I looked at her, and as her eyes fluttered in a futile attempt to stay open, I smiled.

"I'm glad I didn't." I said honestly, and turned the lights off, closing the door behind me. I did as I promised, bringing her shoes and placing them before her door. As I walked away, I cursed myself as I found my mind drifting back to the woman. Damn Lazarus and his advice.

---

The Caledonia reached Moldar at noon the next day, ahead of schedule. The warp could be made into a relatively accurate prediction, but it was never a sure thing. Caiphon had reported to me in haste, and we both reached Urien to discuss matters as Maldor was displayed on the screen.

The planet was gorgeous, I had to admit. Technically it was a Hive World, but it did not have the blasted landscape of many, instead taking after worlds like Armageddon or Badab before the wars that ravaged both. However, Moldar was strange even when considering Hive Worlds. The planet was 87% water, salt and fresh, with island continents and one larger landmass, the land cordoned off into cities, farmland, and well-tended forests. The cities, however, move out rather than up in an unusual fashion, making what Moldarian's dubbed "ring cities" whose walls could be seen in space. I could grant testament to such a view, watching the blue panet's green masses look like great targets from orbit. It seemed to invite attack, but it had hundreds of kilometers of land between various curtain walls filled with naught but very powerful anti-orbital cannons.

The intel we had received, along with Lazarus's computations through the thousands upon thousands of air codes the planet had received over the last two days, suggested that our target was likely on the Island Nation of Kaldorae, more than likely at its capital of Gralinmakke. The capital being the innermost ring of the greater city. I had personally thumbed through the names of the great houses, and could not find any mention of Balal, but I did find a wealthy merchant lord house of Ignatius, who sat on the council of princes within the capital.

An hour passed, and Emmaline and I, along with one of the servitors on the ship that had been stripped of all party skins and paraphernalia took the shuttle, Urien and Lazarus joining us as support. They would not make landfall with the three of us, but would remain in the shuttle and await further instructions. As we descended, the great city grew larger in view. Many of the buildings were made of whitestone near the center of the landmass, with darker colored construction closer to the coasts. What economic or stylistic reasoning there was for that, I could not be sure.

We exited the shuttle at the second ring of the wall, where the high end shopping would be performed. I had a good amount of funds, and I decided to trust Emmaline on her judgement as she led me through the cityscape.

It took the better part of a day to complete our little shopping trip. In some ways it was an advantage that I had nothing but a basic ship jumpsuit. We started at the low level of society, I looked like nothing more than a shabby Administratum clerk and then steadily, moving from shop to shop, purchased higher and higher class wares. Hadrian, for his part, was able to remain sternly stylish throughout the excursion. His clothing equally convincing as a minor merchant out with his squeeze to a rogue trader in severe style amidst the glittering clothiers and tailors of the higher city. I bought many outfits, imagining the types of people that might wear them as I went along. I will admit it was considerable fun to go shopping on the Inquisition’s credit. Most of what we bought I had sent back to the ship, though some we sent to the hotel Imperial which Hadrian planned to use as a base while he conducted his investigation.

As the day wore on we climbed higher and higher into the spire. The neat salons of the upper class began to giveaway to luxurious tailors in dens of polished wood and gilded metal with servitors of polished marble. We were moving into the lower aristocracy now, and each new tailor plied us with amasec and delicacies to encourage us to stay longer and purchase more. Hadrian provided me with an anti-intoxicant, which I was glad for by the sixth glass of amasec I was forced to imbibe. Gradually I became aware that this wasn’t simply shopping for its own sake. Perhaps it had been to begin with, but now we were entering respectable society. Hadrian began to talk longer, exchanging little pleasantries with the staff, sharing a few tid bits about being a noble from offworld. I did my best to play along, trying to play the Imperial aristocrat to the best of my ability. It was fun and I got to try on alot of clothes. Finally, when I thought Hadrian was about to bankrupt, an elegant clothier invited us into a back room where a tall thin man in an impeccably brocaded coat sat examining a jewel.

“Ahh you must be the delectable lady we have heard so much about, and her handsome beau as well,” he declared, his voice surprisingly nasal.

“I am Superior Duke Clanar Hostas, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”