[IC] ENTER THE ORDO: A Dark Heresy/40k Roleplay

[Asura]

Scintilla. From an outsider's point of view, it was the crowning jewel of the Calixis Sector. From the splendor of Lucid Palace, to the divinity of the Cathedral of Illumination, Scintilla is renown as the capital of the entire sector and the seat of too many powerful men to count. Decadent nobles rule over the Hive World from spires so high in the clouds, looking down upon countless billions of less fortunate who toil among layers of decaying temples, manses and monuments of centuries long past. A world covered by the urban sprawl of that holds so much of humanity, Scintilla’s vast hives house more than menial drones and spoiled aristocracy. With suffering or decadence come desperation, for basic needs or for ever richer sensation. With desperation comes the seeds of temptation, to stray from the Emperor's divine rule and embrace heresies so foul few can be trusted to speak them.

Those that can count themselves few among the endless ocean that is humanity. Spread across a million worlds, these men and women root out the enemies of man with conviction unmatched, lest the Imperium collapse into anarchy and be consumed by the Witch, Xeno and Daemon combined. These brave souls who bring down His most righteous of justice are collectively called the Inquisition. From the halls of the Tricorn Palace within Hive Sibellus, the Calixian Conclave controls these secretive operatives throughout the sector. Yet, even under their nose of the Inquisition, defiant heretics unleashes their horrors upon their fellow man. In the underhive of Sibellus, among the squalor and bloodshed of Scintilla’s forgotten, such a heresy brews.

But no crime against the Emperor goes unfound. No crime against His people goes unpunished. Stationed in hab blocks across Sibellus, individuals of every walk of life find missives in their hands by the time the sun rises over smog covered steel and sullied marble. Selected by the Inquisition for the skills, cunning or simple lack of luck, these brave souls are told to gather at one of the many hundred Administratum quarters that dot Sibellus’ millions of twisting and turning alleys and corridors.

Bustling masses crowd the streets around the vast and imposing building, covered in basreliefs of skulls, half draped urns and other symbols of death, crowned by an immense statue of a weeping saint. The splendor of such a monument is to only be experienced for a short span; for the Inquisition has no place for tardiness among its acolytes, and the service elevator tucked around the back of the outpost is quite the trek around such a huge structure.

Among the humble service shaft stood a singular servitor, old and wizened in appearance as it dutifully stares into space. It waits, unflinching, for the agents to begin collecting among the hatch.

[Marshall]

Walking amongst the passages of Scintilla make Octavian's stomach turn. The stark contrast of this world to those that he had been exposed to nearly made him sick. The facade of decency had been peeled away here and underneath was filth and the sickening breath of heresy. Passing through crowds with his cloak pulled tight and senses focused inward to prevent pickpockets made him wonder why he had chosen not to simply abuse his power as a guardsman and push his way through, he had no idea. Rather than focus on that, he allowed his mind to focus on what he knew. He had barely managed to evade the chopping block thanks to the Inquisition, or maybe this was an even worse fate. A bodyguard of the Psyker he had unintentionally harmed had let slip that Octavian was a Blank and ever since, he had tried to ignore it. The few things Octavian had ever heard whispered about Blanks didn't bode well for him.

Pressing onward towards the meeting place, Octavian picked up the pace. Its one thing to be late and another to keep the Inquisition waiting. After the arresting officers had received word that the Inquisiton had requested him, they gave him back his gear and dropped him off on Scintilla, only barely telling him where he needed to go. It took some... questionable methods to secure directions to the Administratum quarters he was searching for. Now that he was finally nearing the meeting point he grew nervous. Questions raced through his head but as he walked he softly recited verses from the Uplifting Primer to calm himself. As he rounded the final bend to the service shaft, he took a deep breath and began his final approach to the meeting point.

[Wraithblade6]

Scintilla is where they had sent him, to Hive Sibeluis, to be exact. Markus had known ahead of time that he would be working with the Inquisition, not through some miraculous clairvoyance of his own but simply because his trainers had told him. His particular talents were in high demand, and his level of control had barely proved adequate to send him forth into the field. Hopefully, with time and his resolute faith in the Emperor, he would only grow stronger. If he failed, well, a blackship to Terra always awaited those with the gifts necessary to power the Astronomicon.

As he walked down the busy street, occasionally turning heads with his focus-staff and flaming red hair, Markus considered his fate. It would be a great honor to give his life to the Golden Throne. That was what he had been conditioned to believe, and so he did. However, he supposedly had the potential for even greater service, as an Inquisitor. Thus, it wasn't fear of going back to Terra that drove Markus to this private meeting, but his intense devotion. If there was more he could give than his life, he would give it.

Markus paused under a great statue of a weeping saint and pulled out a scrap of paper where he had scribbled a vague map to himself. Reaffirming his location, he realized he had to hurry. He tucked the note back into his pocket and proceeded briskly.

So focused he was on getting to the meeting, that Markus failed to notice the initial, faint signs of illness affecting his body. There, just around this outpost... the elevator. Striding with intent, Markus stumbled unexpectedly and staggered for a moment. That was when he realized something was wrong.

The young man in the long white coat that had been approaching swayed as he blinked confusedly with blue eyes. He couldn't have been more than 20 or so standard years of age. Such a child should have been fit and vigorous, but he looked unwell. The servitor remained unmoving at the entrance to the elevator, but Markus saw another man standing there with him.

Markus reached out with his thoughts toward the two beings, but it was like all his energy simply fell into a void in the space around him, draining him of even his life. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't sense anything. A dull pain grew inside him, as if coursing through his own blood. His head hurt, and he leaned heavily on his staff.

Perplexion and possibly fear showed on his face as he looked up just meters in front of the elevator. He had no idea what was affecting him, for there were things the Scholastic Psykana intentionally never told him. Clinging to his staff, he forced himself forward, one step at a time... Markus collapsed to the ground unconscious.

[DepressedSoviet]

Tekart had been to many a hive world in his lifetime, and Scintilla was just another to add to the list. The Inquisition had taken an extreme interest in him and his work ever since the incident with the 'Nurgle' plague, whatever that is, and had requested his 'assistance' in future matters. Mostly due to being strongarmed into complying, Tekart made his way to Scintilla, and was now finding his way through the massive hive city.

Tekart did not draw much attention, though an anxious-looking old man in a lab coat and glasses isn't expected to draw that much. He worked his way through the crowd, timidly pushing through the massive hordes of people to work towards his destination. He paused several times to check a map he had stored to his data-slate, before returning his attention to navigating the massive complex of buildings and walkways.

Eventually working his way to the service elevator, Tekart rode downward, deeper into the complex, in what seemed like an endless shaft. Eventually, the elevator slid to a halt, and he stepped into, and then through, the passageway. There, he quickly noticed the growing group of other recruited people, and hurriedly stepped closer. As he caught up with them, he grew pale and rushed over as he saw the one in the white coat collapse upon the ground.

Pulling the diagnosticator from his medikit satchel, he quickly scanned over the man. "This isn't right...The Diagnosticator says that he's dying, but it can't deduce why. It's as if his body is just shutting itself down without a reason." Digging around in his satchel, he pulled several medical tools, quickly using them on key areas of the body. "I think I can stabilize him, but I'll need time to figure out what exactly is wrong, and we'll need to move him to a proper medical facility."

[Opposition]

Scintilla... Its outward appearance was rather regal, or at least from the exosphere it did. Quite honestly, Syla was intimidated by the spires of cathedrals and similar massive constructs. It wasn't until the Imperial Naval ship landed upon the Hiveworld, that Syla was truly relieved. This was an environment she was more than used to. The hustling and bustling of overpopulating crowds rummaging in every direction across the planet's innumerable layers... It was just like her home. Perhaps the inhabitants would even pay her more respect than they would afford a mere passerby all thanks to the ornate red robes that covered her. Then again, these thoughts could have stemmed from the fact that life on Mars created all the standard normalities of life for Syla. Rarely had she ever gotten the chance to explore the planets on which her Armada Imperialis fleet would land. There wasn't enough time, not with all the tasks they dumped upon the low ranking Machine Cultists.

All of these factors were the best explanation Syla could muster for immediately veering away from her task with the Inquisition and exploring the area around her final destination. Her curiosity bested all else when she wasn't being closely watched. Her free spirit was a bit of an outstanding trait among her kind. Though, spending most of one's life away from the Adeptus Mechanicus, instead accompanying the Imperial Army all over the place made one a bit of an oddball cultist. The outliers were always the ones the Inquistion chose anyways. Oh right... She had to be there... now. The Enginseer made haste towards her destination. Raised upon a Hiveworld, Syla knew the general ins and outs of getting around, so traversing Scintilla was no different.

Syla's steps were heavy as she hurried around corners and through crowds to the meeting point. Carrying so much equipment was hard enough, but the Adeptus Mechanicus were never renowned for being quiet. After all too many twists and turns, Syla found herself halting rapidly in a particular service shaft. Before her stood a very unique looking crowd. It appeared she was the last to arrive... Which was unfortunately all too common, but the interesting sights didn't stop there. With one man collapsed on the ground, a servitor, and two nearby onlookers, Syla didn't hesitate to step up to the group. With a quick wave of her hand, the woman spoke up.

"Ah, it appears this is the right place. Did we lose someone already?" There is a certain joking tone to her voice, rather uncommon amongst a growing population of monotone and boring Adeptus Mechanicus.

[Marshall]

Octavian had finally reached the place dictated to him, and finding only a servitor there, towering above him, he felt uneasy. He stood a good ways back from.. it. Cyborgs had never sat right with Octavian; not for any lack of trust in the flesh, but machines could be much more finicky. The cyborg simply stood there awaiting whatever set of stimuli it required for action and that gave Octavian a small reprieve from worry. Only moments had passed since he arrived when out of the humdrum of the streets, footsteps emerged. Although he thought to turn around, he worried that the servitor would spur to life with the new arrival. The crash of the man collapsing behind him made him turn, just in time for another man to round the corner. The second man seemed to be a doctor and was trying his best to find out what happened. Octavian was slightly perplexed at first but after a few moments he realized that he could be the cause. He knew very little about his hidden "blank" trait that seemed to make him somewhat special.

Once again someone came around to the scene and ignoring what the woman said, Octavian jogged about twenty feet away before turning back and yelling, "Is he doing any better now?". Octavian was somewhat nervous and hoped that his sudden outburst didn't confuse anyone too heavily. He hoped that he had gone far enough but without knowing if he was really the cause, it might not do any good. His basic medical knowledge was for naught in this situation, he had cauterized limbs, stitched together wounds, he even once removed an unexploded bolt from a lucky guardsmen. Although that luck was fleeting, he had barely recovered when an Ork cut him in half. He hoped that his limited knowledge of his powers helps here. If not, the Inquisition might decide he was no longer needed.

[Wraithblade6]

Once the patrolman began to move away, the diagnosticator indicated a slow return to vital function for the dying man on the ground. His heartrate and rhythm began to normalize, his body temperature increased, and his spirit began returning to his fully-biologic corpus as indicated by a restored consciousness.

The face of a red-headed child looked up at Tekart, seeking some form of aid from him, gratitude obvious in his blue eyes simply for his being there. Illness and helplessness made the man look younger than he was, or perhaps it was the doctor's innate sympathy that had altered his perceptions. The boy began to shiver as his body functioned to warm itself.

Markus lifted a pale hand to the old man he came to realize was kneeling beside him. "So cold..." He whispered the words. His hand trembled and sought the reassuring grasp of another, human hand. "Have I served?" He asked weakly with selfless concern, his voice somewhat louder. He was obviously still disoriented.

With some assistance, Markus righted himself. He didn't know what had happened, and he was worried that he may have failed in his duties. He looked at the good doctor by his side, thanking him, then to the red-robed mechanicus adept who's face still appeared to be female, and then, more slowly still, he turned in the direction of the source of his crippling discomfort. Markus mentally braced himself in order to behold the anomaly at the edge of his physical and psychic perceptions.

He looked at the man, yet even trying to get his eyes to stay on the figure was difficult, and painful. What he beheld astonished him, as if it shouldn't even exist. He could find no other words to describe what he was perceiving except to say, "That man... has no soul!" Shying away, Markus sought refuge behind the other two. "What are you?" He asked Octavian from behind the others, knowing that he alone was uniquely vulnerable. He wanted to identify everyone, but first, he had to figure out what being had just nearly killed him.

[Marshall]

The sigh of relief came as a great reprieve from the stress of the situation. Octavian watched as the man who had fallen rose to his feet again. The man seemed very disoriented which is naturally how someone reacts after seemingly being near death. The air seemed to grow colder as the man finally looked towards him. "What are you?" the man said from a small distance behind the others that had arrived. Octavian stopped a moment to ponder the question, for if this was a test from the Inquisition, he would be wise not to reveal his nature so quickly.

After recovering to his full height and looking the man in the eyes, Octavian returned the question, "What are YOU?" he asked with a stern look upon his face. Before giving the man time to answer, he spoke again. "You have the look of a Psyker but what are you doing here?" Octavian was pleased enough that he had evaded the revelation of his true nature at least enough to discover if this was indeed a test. As the crowds of Scintillans buzzed on in the drone of the city, Octavian awaited an answer.

[Wraithblade6]

The young lad trembled as he gripped his staff for support. He felt like he was going to go down again. "Help me?" He pleaded in meek desperation to those beside him, not knowing if the old man or the smaller red-robed mechanicus woman would be able to help him stand, or if he even had the right to ask.

Markus flinched as the guardsman spoke the word, "Psyker." It was true, and it made him something less than human. He wondered if the people beside him would simply drop him and walk away as soon as they realized... He was one of those dangerous witches, a pox upon the species that should simply be given the Emperor's peace. He looked up, looking away again as his eyes hurt. All he could think was that he had endured some kind of psychic attack from this man, and this this man wasn't normal.

It was already too late to deny the accusation. Markus was too young and stupid to be at all a good liar, and his face had already confessed. "I'm... trained." He quickly tried to justify his existence and put their fears to rest. Speaking taxed what little energy he had so far recovered, and so it was slow. "I've been trained only in how to serve the Imperium. I cannot cause you any harm. Please, let me go. I need to reach the elevator. I have... duty. It's important." Markus made no attempt to contest. Truly, he was pathetic.

[Opposition]

Syla was all too unfamiliar with any variety of psychic phenomenon, and that ignorance most definitely branched out to the subject of any anti-psyker measures. Curriculum Mars focused on different types intelligence... Perhaps every other type of intelligence. This made the whole scenario that surrounded her a bit awkward. As the soldier started to hurry off a few paces from the group, Syla's eyes flicked to follow after. As he called out towards the rest of the group, Syla looked back towards the stirring young boy. With his accusations towards the soldier, promptly followed by a question to his identity, Syla was left thoroughly confused, commenting only a single thing during her spectating. "You sure are an interesting cast of characters..."

As the 'soulless man' retorted by accusing the young boy of being a witch... Well a 'Psyker', he said, but to Syla it was all the same. Though, this was the first time she'd ever experienced any sort of Psyker, and she was most definitely intrigued by the subject. The demonstration before her left her with a rather underwhelming impression, however. Then again, Syla had not seen the boy's abilities- only his inabilities, though he did admit to being trained, which Syla could only interpret as being sanctioned by the Emperor. As the two newfound enemies conversed with each other, Syla spared the medic a look that sported the confusion she felt internally before. It was then that the Psyker revealed his intentions for being on Scintilla, and Syla perked up.

"Oh? It seems you and I may be crew-mates, my friend!" Syla would afford the Psyker a swift wave, though she would remain unmoving. It appeared that she didn't notice the boy's request for help earlier. Then again, the Adeptus Mechanicus were never very courteous or charismatic individuals."Seeking the Inquisition per chance?" While still speaking with conversational partner, Syla starts walking towards the Servitor, her gaze tracing its form. The Servitors were basic machines afforded no sympathy in the Machine Cult. All too common on Mars, they kept the factories going just as much as human labor. That didn't stop Syla from being entirely distracted from the group as she examined the human-like machine, as if forgetting she was in conversation at all.

[Xenonia]

The roiling mass of righteous fury that filled Saul Quintus' gut as he strolled towards the meeting place the Inquisitor had specified could only be described as all-consuming. It was bad enough to have to endure the corrupted and blasphemous gospels of the Mechanicus for this new assignment, but to learn he would have to endure serving side-by-side with a foul, tainted witch? The unspeakable, trembling rage within him was visible externally, veins on his forehead protruding as he approached the small crowd. Of course, he would never second guess one of the God-Emperor's faithful servants, especially not a member of the blessed Inquisition, so his objections would be kept silent for now... Still, it was clear that Saul was having a difficult time restraining himself from launching into a venomous sermon on the evils that he now stood alongside.

To distract himself from the foul, tainted blights on the Imperium that he was to call 'comrades', Saul decided to take inventory of the other, more faithful servants of the Emperor that stood with them. The medicae and the guardsman... The chirurgeon was old, frail looking, and wizened. A man of faith, perhaps, though that he had allowed the strength of his body to fail in such a way concerned Saul. The guardsman... Saul couldn't understand his own thoughts. This was a faithful servant of the God-Emperor, one of humanity's foremost protectors on the battlefield. He appeared to be in fine physical condition... By all accounts, Saul should have been filled with pride on seeing such a specimen of the Imperium's glory. Yet, and he knew not why, he instead felt sickened. More sickened than he was by the blasphemous magos or the unholy witch. By the Emperor, what nightmare had he been dragged into?

Brushing himself off and collecting his bearings as best he could, Saul stepped forth to join them in their preparations to depart. He cast a sidelong glance to the unmoving Servitor... He had, of course, seen Servitors before. Everyone had. But still, he could not help but shake his head and sigh. He found himself wondering if this was the result of a punishment meted out to a heretic long ago. Wasteful, that the flesh should be cut down so quickly. This traitor could have been made an Arco-flagellant, or a Penitent Engine, still fit to serve the God-Emperor in the line of duty, rather than... This failing, frail heap of metal and skin. His hand tightened it's grip on the Drusian chainsword that had served him so well for so many years and he began to quietly recite a prayer to the Saint the sword was named for, "Saint Drusus, Victor of the Angevin Crusade, grant me the strength of the Emperor as He granted His strength to you, for I am surrounded by iniquity and sin, and it is only through Him that I can endure this trial. Praise the God-Emperor."

[DepressedSoviet]

As the fire-haired stood, Tekart did his best to help him stand, ensuring that he was capable enough to hold himself up on his own. When the word "Psyker" was spoken, Tekart almost didn't know how to react. He had heard of those who possessed strange powers, and were dubbed as such by the Imperium, but he himself had never dealt with one. Apparently, the Guardsman was somehow acting negatively upon the Psyker's well-being. This seemed especially evident in how the Psyker described the Guardsman as having "no soul". Tekart could not deny the concept of a soul, but he still remained skeptical, as a man of medicine first and foremost.

The female Mechanicus seemed very intrigued by the Psyker, revealing that they both were here in expected service to the Inquisition. "Well, it seems we're all here for a similar reason. Hopefully we'll have a time to introduce ourselves when someone ISN'T dying of unknown causes." With that, Tekart quickly packed up his medical tools back into his bag.

Yet another new arrival arrived shortly after, this one very visibly a man of faith. Tekart was somewhat pleased that the more "normal" members of the group outnumbered the more odd members, though he still had his doubts on the Guardsman. Not wanting to stray too far from the Psyker's side, afraid he may fall ill again, He shuffled to face the priest, and offered the sign of the aquila as he introduced himself.

"Its about time a member of the Ecclesiarchy arrived, given what I suspect our unified purpose of meeting to be. I'm Tekart Rumnaheim, Officio Medicae Doctor. It's good to meet all of you."

[Wraithblade6]

Markus beheld the mechanicus first. She was pretty, for one who sought the perfection of the Omnissiah and ultimately intended to replace much of her body with machine. Her arms were already replaced, a change that made even the psyker uncomfortable. He really hadn't gotten out much. He wished he could have sensed her thoughts, but he wasn't sensing much of anything with that guardsman around. He had so many questions for her, but his naive curiosity would have to be addressed later.

"Seeking the Inquisition per chance?" She asked.

"Ah. Yes. I..." He offered a weak smile, but realized her attention had already shifted elsewhere. "...I am." He finished, his hopes crashing upon the realization that he was less interesting than a servitor. Markus lowered his head and unconsciously sighed, his self esteem properly returned to the gutter.

"Well, it seems we're all here for a similar reason. Hopefully we'll have a time to introduce ourselves when someone ISN'T dying of unknown causes." The doctor interjected.

So it was true. They were all here for the same reason, to answer the same call. Markus' spirits improved upon realizing that he was no longer alone. These people were to be his... how did she put it? "Crew-mates?" Yes. That would be alright, as long as the soulless one harbored no ill intent. Lingering near the dutiful doctor, Markus kept wary of his newfound nemesis.

"We should all be going then. Forgive me for causing us delay. I pray the consequences of my weakness are not dire to our superiors." When speaking of the Inquisition, they certainly could be. Now that some color had returned to the boy's cheeks, Markus took his staff and began to head for the elevator. Yet, before he could make any progress, the last of their crew made his arrival.

The heated mutterings of a prayer and a faint sense of hatred came from behind him, and Markus dared to turn. Fury and determination nearly overwhelmed the dampening affect of the psychic null nearby, and poor Markus was once again intimidated. He stood bravely however, despite his fears of being targeted. He knew to place a hand across his chest and greet the priest of the God-Emperor with a penitent bow. Surely, he would be identified by a venerated Ecclesiarch, yet he had nothing to return for his inequities but service. "Let the God-Emperor's name be praised." He returned quietly in wrote.

The doctor introduced himself, so Markus felt it was time the rest of them followed suit. "Doctor Rumnaheim? Thank you for seeing to me. I am Markus Grevian. Just Markus, if... if any of you wish to call on me. Erm, our time draws short. We must not keep the Inquisitor waiting."

[Marshall]

Watching from the short distance away, Octavian couldn't make out a lot of what was said but still managed to follow the meaning fairly easily. While they had all been getting introduced, yet another came from the boiling cauldron of humanity to the meeting place, this time a priest came forward with all the wrath and fervor Octavian had come to expect from the Ministorum. As the priest reached the group, Octavian kneeled and said a quiet prayer as was the way he was taught on Ferrum. After rising back to his feet, he spoke to the Psyker without approaching.

"I apologize for our unusual meeting, I don't fully understand what I'm capable of yet, Octavian is my name. I'm here for the same purpose as you."

Looking at the rest of the group as he spoke, he quickly realized that only perhaps three of the members had a chance in combat, and that included himself. With a slight internal chuckle he thought to himself "At least I don't have to do much of the thinking, I can focus on the rougher aspects". He shifted his pack around on his back in anticipation of moving on.

"Shall we continue on?"

[Opposition]

Just as quickly as it shifted to the Servitor, Syla's attention once again hopped towards the growing crowd. The girl opened up her mouth to acknowledge the member of the Ecclesiarchy, but the chirurgeon spoke up first, introducing himself as Tekart. His comment on introductions brought a smile to her face. "One of us is always going to be dying sometime, Doc." The girl straightened herself up, gently adjusting the flowing robe that covered her body. "Syla Selulata: Adeptus Mechanicus Enginseer." Syla stated her name proudly, holding a vigorous tone. It was obvious she thought highly of herself. Either that or she didn't really think at all. With such a formal introduction, one might expect a salute, but replacing it, the machine cultist merely offered her host of comrades a gentle wave.

The Psyker was the next to hop aboard the train of dialogue. With incredibly polite words and a slightly off-put tone, he gave the name Markus. The soldier (The soulless one) soon followed suit dubbing himself Octavian. It was definitely a unique group. Each one of them had their own unique traits the likes of which Syla had never come across in her lifetime. Syla didn't have time to point them out, however, as the entire group was keen on getting a move on. She wasn't one to disagree. When it came to her limited knowledge of the Inquisition, she knew there was no good to come of upsetting an inquisitor. It would have to

"Let's get going, then!" Syla swiveled on her heels as she gave her exclamation. From behind a pack on Syla's back swung a long silver mechadendrite, its tendril capped with an optical sensor. The lithe and long machine gently bonked the Servitor on the side of the head, as if the cultist was trying to get it to start up. Hitting things was a rather common practice among the Enginseers, though Syla was never quite certain how it all worked, just that it did.

[Xenonia]

The pious words of the Medicus provided Saul with some small comfort. That he was not adrift, alone in a sea of damned souls was enough of a spark of hope to keep the holy fire that burned within him ablaze. He offered his hand out in blessing to the Doctor, Tekart, to show recognition to the faithful. The tech-priest seemed relatively easily distracted, and Saul knew that any attempt to admonish or proselytize to her would be completely in vain, and picking one's battles was an important part of the works of the Ecclesiarchy. One more glance, heavy with scorn, was thrown towards the tainted psyker as a show of intimidation, to let him know that even if he was 'sanctioned', there would be no hesitation on Saul's part to put him down if he were to act out.

Saul cleared his throat, preparing a tirade of sorts to stir those as of yet unsure of their place in the task at hand to loyal service, and began speaking much louder than he had been praying. "Servants of the God-Emperor. I am Confessor Saul Quintus, and like you, I was brought here with a purpose. You are gathered here today to provide the greatest of services to the Throne that you ever have, and likely ever will. Some of you are heretical deviants. Some are foul, warp-touched witches. Some of you may be beyond the pale of the Emperor's mercy, but this does not mean your devotion to him in these times ahead will be without cause. So steel your resolves, and take heart in His word, for you have been chosen to aid the greatest of Imperial agencies: The Holy Inquisition."

His short speech concluded and the elevator boarded, Saul would wait no longer. He had come here to serve the will of the God-Emperor, and so it would be done. He pushed past the foul tech-priest and the idle servitor, and slammed his fist against the Elevator button. They'd be moving in short order, off to do the work of the Holy Ordos.