Penny

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

I regarded him out of the corner of my eye. He looked the very picture of Imperial marshall virtue. I had to admit he was a handsome devil. I hadn’t ever thought much about what an Inquisitor might look like but he certainly would have done a navy recruiting poster proud.

“I can’t speak for all the young ladies at the ball, but you are certainly quickening my pulse,” I admitted. The doors opened and there was a blast of marshall music that might have been the Imperial Naval March and then we linked arms and sauntered in.

“Rear Admiral Blasius Deckard and the Lady Adept Emmaline Von Morganstern of the Administratum,” a liveried servant boomed in quite the deepest voice I had ever heard. They didn’t mention Sol but by the sudden hush that fell over the crowd the word had already been spread. It seemed likely that the Superior Duke had spread the word, boasting of his ‘great friend’ Blasius Deckard without mentioning that their ‘friendship’ was only hours old. I had by that time seen my fair share of Imperial nobility. I was pretty familiar with the level of social engineering and scheming that went on, sometimes I wonder that the Imperium dosen’t collapse in on itself.

The dance floor began to move again as the band transitioned back into a spritely waltz. That was quite the feat moving from the marshal beats of the Navy hymn. I looked over at the band to see how it had been accomplished and saw that the band was composed of servitors, each was a beautiful vat grown specimen with their instruments grafted to their limbs. Such extravagance.

“Well I guess we should dance,” I said.

“Just so long as you don’t do the same dance you did for the crew. Have you seen the mural down in the berthing area?” Hadrian muttered. I turned my head in shock.

“Mural?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, taking my hand as the waltz ended and a spritely sarabande began. We whirled onto the dancefloor with the other couples, the vast majority of which appeared in early middle years, though in many cases this was the result of extensive juvenat work. It was a glittering gathering, quite literally as nearly everyone was bedecked with jewelry that would have begarred a baron. We shared several dances together before an intermission was called and servants in livery entered carrying trays of fresh drinks and entrees which they set on a series of marble benches which ran along the sides of dancefloor. Both Hadrian and I were immediately mobbed by the assembled company. The press of young, and in some cases not so young, ladies around Hadrian threatened to be literally breath taking. It certainly would be a coup for any young women to dance with a dashing naval officer from Sol. I was of course not without my own share of attention. Before I could reach the amasec I was accosted by dozens of elegantly dressed young men all but shouting at me for dances and two marriage proposals which was almost a record for one night.

“Gentlemen, please, I am faint from dancing and need a drink,” I told them. It was the wrong thing to say, as I was nearly stampeded by those same young men all trying to get me a drink. It was like a wave rushing out but as they rushed back in they all froze hanging back several feet. I frowned and turned to find myself face to face with a handsome man with chisled features made all the more severe by a pointed goatee. He was dressed in an expensive silk suit cut along vaguely military lines. It was offset by a gorgeous sash of some kind of fabric which was lit by the shimmering luminescence of an internal power pack. He had a presence about him, perhaps excentuated by the fact that he had chosen to interupt his againg with juvenant at a mature fifty rather than as a smooth skinned twenty something. I made a mental note to see what the Inquisition could do for me in that regard. He handed me a snifter of amasec and I noticed he was holding a second for himself.

“I am Julius Mercutio Ignatius,” he introduced himself in a rich cultured voice, lifting his snifter in formal salute.

“Emmaline Von Morgenstern,” I replied lifting my own glass. No surprise that the amasec was excellent, maybe the best I had ever had.

“From my own cellars,” Ignatius said with a smile. At the last moment I remembered that I was from Sol. I sipped the incredible amasec and forced myself to make an indifferent nod.

“I am told that you are an Adept of the Administratum,” Ignatius replied. I nodded and tried not to glance around looking for Hadrian.

“May I ask what it is you do for our Holy Administratum?” he asked with an air of genuine curiosity. “I don’t see any ink spots.” I gave a superior smile and a number of piece of information that had been bouncing around my brain seemed to click into place.

“I am a Magus of Xenoarchaeology,” I told him, effecting the superior tone of all academics when dumbing down their specialty for the uneducated. It was so slight that if I hadn’t been looking for it I might have missed it. Ignatius had been begining to smile and there was a sudden pause. Just for an instant but it was there, the briefest flicker of… something. Then he was back to his jovial self.

“Xenoarchaeology, really? A fascinating subject. Where have you worked?” he asked. I made a tosh sound.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about dusty tombs and glowing glyphs,” I breezed. This time he didn’t react beyond a slight tightening of his grip on his glass.

“We are at a party afterall,” I continued. Ignatius nodded, the smooth veneer returning as though it had never been disrupted. He tossed off the rest of his drink.

“Well in that case I just have one further question,” he said. I arched an eyebrow in what I imagined was proper Terran disinterest.

“Oh?” I asked. He extended a gloved hand to me.

“May I have this dance?”

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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?”

The Sunday Group

@Atalanta Is the last person to get a chance to find a clue in the first round :)

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"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."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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 Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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!"

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

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.