POOHEAD189

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I watched her with interest, silently marveling at her manner and how her beauty blossomed with every subtle movement, a smile playing on my face as I considered the graceful woman.

I think I might romance her.

I did not take the jab with offense. I have many faults, but if there is a virtue of mine beyond smooth talking, lying, and sex, it's that I rarely take things personally. It has made my rivals quite vexed that I'm virtually bullet-proof when it comes to barbs, and if I am ever knocked down, I bounce back and bounce back hard. I sauntered over to her, redirecting my steps subtly just before I reached her and leaned against the bar, snagging a wine bottle and uncorking it with three, practiced twists.

"Camilla de la Trantio, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you. I would take your hand and kiss it, but I'm not quite that charming." I admitted, and took a generous swill of the wine, before offering it to her. Once she took it, I made a show of reclining against the bar counter, my right elbow resting upon its top as my left was free to gesticulate when need be. I switched to speaking Tilean to introduce myself to her on equal terms. There's nothing like conversing in someone's mother tongue. "I am Kian Cran'Darak, Priest of Sigmar. I'm afraid I'm not one of the famed warrior priests, but we are all dangerous." I assured her with a glint in my eyes. It was not a boast. One had to be proficient in self defense if one was to travel the roads to proselytize or heal the sick, as I was quite good with the staff and with my hands. Of course, I refrained from informing her that my main strategy in times of conflict was usually to run if it was something altogether serious like a beastman or a bandit I couldn't negotiate with. I tried to keep my battles in a verbal arena.

"Let's keep that a secret," I said conspiratorially, placing a finger to my lips. I had a good eye for people, and I could tell if I tried to champion myself as some great warrior, this clever woman would see through it very quickly. "I've already made an impression here, as you've stated. Best people consider me intimidating as well as interesting."

It came to me then that perhaps Camilla could help me in more ways than one, and of course I could return the favor. I wanted to know the ins and outs of the vast villa without being tracked every moment by agents of the three triumverates, and while she told me of her association with them, something told me she wasn't sworn to their service quite as much as I was beholden to my lord Sigmar.

"I know we just met, but would you be interested in dinner? Just because the ambassador has seen fit to take a nap doesn't mean I'm not famished." She handed me the bottle back so that I might procure another swig, and my fingers brushed hers as I took the bottle. "I don't see anything else exciting happening tonight anyway, and I confess I have no idea where to get something to eat. Then we can come back here and enjoy the bar again."

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

As the dark waves crashing into the confused masses of the heretics and slaves, I felt a twinge of regret for the laborers. One man had just climbed out of a hole, fear and confusion in his eyes before he even saw the oncoming waters. The swell washed over him before he could even cry out and sent him back into the hole he had dug, evidently being the digger of his own grave. I know the reputation on Inquisitors. That we would signal the end of entire worlds in order to stamp out the smallest infection of chaos. Perhaps some of us have that strength of will, and lack of regard for their fellow man. I do not, and to see even a hundred men and women under the thrall of chaos being engulfed by the returning landscape was not what I wished for.

But even so, my mind fled their deaths quickly when I saw Emmaline fall. I admit I was selfish. She was the woman I cared for...

---

"She'll be fine," Selencia told me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, and we shared a lingering gaze for a moment before I was convinced.

The walls around us were stone and mortar, built in the style of stone fortresses of ancient terra. Crossing Town was a small port by imperial standards, but a castle dominated the center of the settlement and kept a hanger behind it's large walls, hidden just the same as the modern servitors and specialized equipment held within. I had revealed myself and my station to the Portmaster, and he had been all too accomodating granting my team a small wing in the citadel. I had spent most of my time by Emmaline's side, almost as much as Selencia. Her dark hair tied back and her jacket removed, she had worked nonstop to diagnose Emmaline and purge purge her of impurities. Psychic overload was very hard to treat, but if anyone could keep her stable, it was Selencia.

She didn't disappoint.

I gave her a smile, a rarity for me. She commented on it. "My, my, does the Inquisitor finally show a bit of his old self?" She teased.

"Old self meaning?"

She sat down on the cushioned chair across from me. The drapes hid the sunlight, but there was still a soft glow that surrounded the attractive woman. It brought back memories of a time before I was an Inquisitor, when I had first realized just how delightful she was. Perhaps if I hadn't been gone those five years to find Bahometus, I might have told her so. But I waved the thought away, knowing as lovely as she was, Emmaline was taken my interest more swiftly and completely than any woman. Selencia broke my thoughts. "Meaning back when you followed Kronus around like a puppy. You used to smile a lot then."

"That's because I was stupid," I told her, and turned my gaze to Emmaline. Her left arm exposed, there was an IV feeding nutrients into her system.

"You're still a fool, just a glum one," she replied, but I didn't hear her. Emmaline's eyes opened up, and immediately I was on my feet. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something more elaborate than what came out, but the only words that escaped her lips were a soft 'frack,' again. I smiled again. My strong hand reached over and brushed her cheek gently.

"How are you?" I asked, care in my voice.

"Feeling like Lucius threw me down a mineshaft. W-where are we?"

"At Crossing Town. Don't worry, the Caledonia will be here in a few days."

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt felt his heart racing, and the horse ride wasn't helping calm it down. The past hour had been taxing on him, and even though he wouldn't trade it for the world, he was on edge. The landscape passing by him with a picturesque quality a poor man might think only existed in fairy tales was adding to the sense of this being a dream. Luckily Silke's voice kept him grounded, and after a few miles on the estate, he found himself calming.

He took a few deep breathes, and the two stopped before a copse of trees. When Silke presented him with the options. They all sounded lovely, and he weighed the options. The cabin would be interesting, but it seemed a bit too romantic after recent events. The forest was nice, but he bet they would traverse through much of it going anywhere. He supposed that just left the lake.

"The lake sounds good to me, what do you think?" He asked. He grinned at her teasing.

"I wouldn't have it any other way. Though I thought I had procured all the lessons I would have for today..." He asked facetiously. He almost wanted to add that she would have plenty of time to teach him riding once they were married, but he felt that would be a bit too on the nose. It was strange, but he felt this trepidation of hers almost a weakness, and from the woman he felt was impenetrable. He wouldn't dwell on it. "Just make sure to come back for me if I get lost. I'm hopeless, I swear."

He kicked his horse into a light canter, having the beast trot around her own steed to showcase he was ready. If he could survive lessons with her brother, he could stomach a few miles ride to see a pristine lake with the lady of the house.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

The 'royal' guards, if they could be granted such a title, had led myself and chamberlain schulz out of the throne room, though not from whence we came. Evidently we would be taken directly to our suites. They were not far, to my delight. Walking for weeks on end had given me a taste for luxury and relaxation. The corridors were spacious, with large archways that led to other wings of the great structure. One could tell where an exit was close, for those arches were framed by men with pikes and morion helms, pistols and sideswords at their hips. I saw different symbols emblazoned on their tabards, and while I appreciated that each guard likely had a different allegiance, I had no way of knowing to whom or to what outfit they belonged to. I likely needed to bribe a local in order to find out, but that was a worry for tomorrow.

The chamberlain was led into a moderately sized suite fit for a valued guest, connected to a bathing chamber with a well stocked larder and extensively furnished closet. I felt somewhat envious of him as he waved me away to take a nap, but when I was introduced to my own suite, to my surprise it was even more grand! I gave a suggestive whistle as I marveled at the vast chamber and the lush bed.

"Shallya's tits there's even a bar," I breathed, gazing at a counter on the left side of the room with glasses and bottles of rare vintages arrayed on racks. Behind me was an archway framed by large curtains that fed into balcony overlooking the central courtyard. For a moment, I was torn. No way was this truly meant for myself. I should go and tell them there was a misunderstanding, that the chamberlain was the more honored guest and I was just his humble servant. I knew the triumverate knew that as well, and yet the guards had escorted me here...

But then I thought, am I not entitled to a small taste of a lavish lifestyle after all of my hard work? All I needed to do was keep this a secret from Captain Muller and it would be commented on not at all. As I pondered this, I heard a woman's singsong voice filtering through the door that led to the chamber. I turned, staff still in my hand and attempting to give a serene look fit for my station when the same woman I had stumbled into, apparently thrice now, walked in.

"How did you...?" I asked, and then I realized that courtesans and other 'entertainment' might be allowed overnight. It wasn't yet late afternoon, but I curbed my question and instead placed the staff against the wall and approached her. She was even more sumptuous up close, though something told me she wasn't here for just pleasure. Her eyes were too curious for that.

"After embarrassing myself in the street, I didn't expect to see you again, much less in the courtroom. My master is asleep so I'm afraid you're stuck with just me." I said with faux lament, approaching her easily. When she gazed around the large room, I placed a finger to my lips and gave a wink.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Who are you!?" I demanded, unmoved as the enemy rushed to their master's aid, reloading their lasguns. A few knelt and readied their weapons in unison, but a burst of bullets rattled across them like acid rain. I didn't have to turn behind me to know it was Clara. Blood spurted from their shoulders and abdomens, one managed to scream and fired wildly, but his shots hit naught but air. Emmaline reached me and pleaded for me to move.

"You should know, brother." The other inquisitor said as Emmaline grabbed at my arm. He smiled, and the image was burned into my eyes and memory, and it would stay for years to come. "It's never that easy."

"Hadrian!" She screeched, and like a dam breaking I felt my limbs loosen and I moved, turning and hurrying out of the courtyard as lasbolts scythed through the smoke, scorching the eldritch rock of the walls. Emmaline and I reached the others, but we didn't slow. It seemed the emperor was with us, because we managed to follow the main thoroughfare and follow its winding path back out of the impossible landscape with only the dizziness of the warp to contend with. I felt dried mud crunch under my boots as I stepped back onto the blasted land of the old settlement.

For a moment, we almost made it out without being noticed, but the guards overseeing the slave labor turned and saw our desperation. Selencia stumbled and I caught her, and it was clear we weren't the locals guiding the heretics we had masqueraded as. There would be no reason the same group would run out with more or lesser numbers. As the dregs approached with their weapons, barking their bastardized gothic, I raised my hand, presenting three fingers, then four, then crooking one finger to slide down the front of my face.

"What was that?" Emmaline asked, hoping it was something good no doubt.

"After six months you should know by now, Em." Selencia said. "It's for the contingency."

Even as she spoke the last word, the closest mutant to their left lost the upper half of his body. It took a second for the sonic-boom to hit them, spraying mud and fetid water and bloody shrapnel half a kilometer in every direction. It gave everyone pause, all save me. "Come on! We need to get to the dock!" I cried, pulling out my handgun and dispatching two men to our right with well placed shots. Another man lost his legs, again, courtesy of Lazarus's transuranic arqebus.

As we moved, I spoke to Emmaline. "Can you get to Lucius from here? Speak to him?"

"Maybe..."

"Tell him to break the wall," I said. "Flood it!"

[M for F] The weird sort of butt stuff!

Please change the title to something less suggestive, and make sure to only post in the 1x1 section. And put anything explicit in hiders, of course.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

The distraction worked like a charm, and I along with my retinue made across the small open space in haste. Emmaline tripped on the way across, but she managed to scramble on her knees and hands into the small building before anyone saw her. Inside, it looked like a small armory refitted into an office. Racks for guns had been replaced with plasteel shelves covered in old books, inquisitorial equipment, and a few stacks of ammo. There was a door front facing the servitors, and a door to the back where we had slunk in. I saw a few works on the shelf I recognized, one even being a text I had Emmaline read in her induction training. It disgusted me this man was so familiar in his tastes as I.

"This doesn't appear like the den of a heretic," Selencia commented as I sifted through a stack of papers on his desk. My heartbeat thudded rapidly in my head as I pushed aside planetary transportation logs and old land grants, before finding a small folder which held, I believe, a sampling of the transcripts that was being written even now outside of the small structure. A shout went up, and we all stopped to listen to a cultured voice berating someone. He sounded like he was used to giving orders. Clara knelt beside the window and peered out the small window. A few, deafening gunshots sounded. It was the telltale crack of a bolt-pistol.

"Well, that's the end of our distraction. But I have some bad news, Hadrian," She said, and I whipped my head to regard her. "They have a few more guys rolling in from our origin point, and they're shouting something."

"Damn," I said, correctly reasoning they were being warned of the two bodies out front. I didn't know if we could leave alive, but I placed the folder under my arm and reached to my lower back, retrieving a small item from my belt. "Clara, grenades. We can't leave without stopping this fiends plans."

"Frag?" She asked as I joined her opposite the door.

"Krak," I said, the oval device already in my hands. It was one of the most basic pieces of equipment to a man in the astra militarum, but it could ruin a fortified position with its intense concussive force. I counted on my hand from 3, and then I made it to one, Clara punched the button and the door to the front slid open, we pulled our pins, and tossed them the dozen meters to the tower. Even as they rolled, a servo-skull floated over to them and began to scan one, and the 'inquisitor' had the chance to curse and dive to the side as the two grenades detonated. The force blew apart six of the servitors and half the servo-skulls, pulsating a concussive wave across the small open space. I pulled my autogun, and my team followed behind me as we open fired on the dazed thugs.

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

We left our carts of goods and the majority of our men within the 'bailey,' if one could conceivable call such a spacious and lavish courtyard that, within the Palace of the People. Many often applauded my oratory, but it was here where I was at my best, simultaneously treating with the high condotiarii of the palace, convincing my chamberlain on our next move, and allaying the fears of the captain while switching between Tilean and Imperial like a verbal gymnast.

To this day I couldn't tell you all that was said, it happened so quickly, but within minutes we were swiftly greeted and lead to the great hall by Duca Moretti, the oldest member of the council, and the man who had presided over the seats of the triumvirate twelve times in his forty odd years of service. It was actually quite an honor to be greeted by him, as he was quite well known across Tilea from his heroic exploits in his younger years and his achievements of state in his golden years. I wished to speak to him personally, but I would have time for that later. The Chamberlain and myself followed him through the corridors, flanked by two imperial greatswords I had known for a few years, Hans and Werner. We had gotten drunk together on more than one occasion, and I was fond of them.

I was glad they were by my side when the great doors made of cypress opened to the large hall beyond. I hadn't exactly expected a private affair, but there must have been three hundred court officials, courtiers, courtesans, and nobles in a rough crowd lining both sides, populating the pillars that held up the ceiling, adorned by an intricate mosaic of unrivaled beauty. It depicted Omilio Mondo, the last prince of Remas, defending the city before the hordes of araby. The fact the crusades launched against the men of the south were centuries apart from Mondo's rule was of little consequence. Before us, upon the dias, were the three triumverates watching with varying degrees of patience. On the left was Marco Telli, a short, slim man with dangerous eyes and a look of interest. On the right sat Imelda Mondo, a handsome woman with her dark hair tied high and full lips, who gazed between I and the chamberlain as if deciding which was better to use. In the center was Alfeo Romeo, a famed romantic but not without intelligence, if my quick scan revealed anything accurate about the colorfully dressed fellow.

"Vi presento il ciambellano Hortiman Schulz del grande impero del nord, mio ​​onorato triumverato." The Duca Moretti said with a bow, stepping aside so that we may step forward. It was a simple introduction, one anyone could recognize even if they did not speak tilean. A few seconds went by, and I bumped the chamberlain with my staff, eliciting a surprised 'oh!' from the dwarf-like man. A small ripple of chuckles flowed around the room, and I willed myself not to sigh. Reaching into his coat, he produced the scroll Karl Franz himself had granted him, breaking the seal. He sneezed and dropped the scroll, but managed to snatch it back up from the ground and unroll it before him.

"Greetings, honored friends of Remas. Your achievements are a marvel, known across the old world from mountain to coast. It is our hope we remain allies in these times of doubt and war, and we seek your assistance in keeping the Stretto Pass free of greenskins, and even worse, brettonians. We come here bearing gifts from the breadth of the Empire, to solidify the unity of our great states, and to ease the ailments of your people after a most horrible plague. One hundred thousand golden krowns, one hundred thousand pieces of silver, spices from caravans of far cathay, medicine for your sick, and three daggers forged of gromril, wrought by our staunch allies in the World's Edge Mountains to wear as badges of office and honor."

The chamberlain spoke the words to the best degree he could, but I translated in tilean before the crowd and admittedly spoke over him, using the smoothest cadence I had, which is quite something I am told. (I also admit to adding that bit about the brettonians) As the small speech turned to a close, I produced the daggers myself, opening a ornate wooden case interlaced with velvet. Some in the crowd gasped and many peered around to see the three long knives on display. Of course, they were sheathed, but their hilts were carved from wutroth, and the rare wood alone cost nearly as much as the gromril in the blades. In my studies I am told the dwarfs prize that tree above all others, and small groves of the endangered trees are tended by dwarfen gardeners with the utmost care.

"So, your emperor seeks to buy our favor?" Marco Telli asked as Alfeo Romeo bade me come closer so they might gaze at the daggers more closely. As I moved forward, their honored pikemen lowered their weapons at me. I understood, it was mere protocol. I eyed the gleaming spear-points for but a moment, unconcerned as a man could be. "Does he think we the people of Remas are so cheap?" His courtiers lifted their heads to peer down at me past their noses in assistance to their princely meal-ticket.

Alfeo laughed, though to my relief he was laughing at his fellow and not at myself. "You would not trust a dog if you trained it yourself, my illustrious Prince Marco. Emperor Franz has given us a great gift, and only to guard a pass that we already wish to keep safe! Is that not right, erm... are you an official, honored sir? You are not of us, but your accent is wonderful."

"He is a priest, and my, the rumors are true. If young men in the Empire look like you, I might move north when the year is up." Imelda added with a gleam in her eyes. "We thank you for the gifts. Prince Marco merely feels great grief for the suffering of our people. If I might ask, where did you learn to speak our tongue so well?"

I could not get a word in edgewise, my eyes rapidly moving between the three sovereigns as I became the object of discussion and not the very expensive daggers I held before them. I opened my mouth to speak, but on the last flick of my eyes I saw someone I really did not expect again. There, just beside the throne of Imelda Mondo, standing in a lovely dress that was enticingly low-cut, was the woman from the streets.

Why are you testing me? I asked Sigmar. This is important for your empire, after all. Am I not doing what you wish!?

"I spent some time at the University of Verezzo, my lords and lady. I am but a humble priest of my patron, Sigmar Heldenhammer, at your service for whatever you so desire." As I gave a bow, my eyes met the woman's, casting her a knowing look with the utterance of 'whatever you so desire.' I raised my head back up and smiled at the triumverate. " And if rumors have spread in the hour of my being here, what they say of Tilean tongues must be true." A chorus of giggles accompanied my statement, though I could tell Marco and his pets were not amused. I went back to business, scolding myself silently. "Would you allow our caravan to remain in your care for a short while to restock and rest from the long and weary road? My liege, the good chamberlain-" I gesticulated elaborately to Schulz behind me, who waved "-would wish to speak to your further on our ties of friendship, no doubt."

Death's Edge: A Warhammer Story

I gazed up at the great walls, but luck was not with me at that particular moment. The sun was in my eyes, and I missed a sight I would come to appreciate later on. It was a burden I had gotten used to. I had immeasurable skills, but the most dreadful luck. Well, perhaps not in games of chance, but often in life. Sigmar help me, it's true. A prime example is forthcoming.

At Chamberlain Schulz's insistence and my gentle reminding, we set off through the open gates. The crowd parted around us, our soldiers elbowing any that got too close or could not flee quickly enough. It somewhat soured my attempts at looking congenial, though Hortiman paid little attention. He was positively gleeful at all the colorful people and the distinct architecture. The shops and homes were lovely, built with travertine and covered with stucco, and men and women of olive complexion and dark features waved and sashayed this way and that. A couple of duelists with swept mustaches watched us with a mild disdain, pipes in their mouths and long rapiers at their hips.

We got quite the view of a few of the larger villas, and to my surprise and interest, I spotted various works of art adorning archways and sprinkled amongst larger columns, and I believe I even spied rescued and refurbished works of old Khemri, a conceit many of the more wealthy merchants were keen to own. As we crested a hill, making our way towards the bridge, I felt the spray of the sea on the air. I missed it, I realized with sudden clarity. It somehow reminded me of a home I never knew.

I was at the head of the caravan, treating it more like a procession. The Cult of Sigmar admires strong leadership, and though I was in an advisory role, my current official was busying himself with saying hello to the crowd and asking our captain when he theorized dinner was, and so I marched ahead. I was swathed in a surcoat of black and warm red, wearing dark breeches and shoes fit for the road. In my hand was a staff with an iron, eight pointed star at its apex adorned in bronze to grant it a fiery quality.

As we passed a street adorned with the trappings of a festival, with spearmen in the livery of the triumerate, I saw a woman poking her head out from behind a column, one of the soldiers chatting her up. No, it looked like one of the many mercenaries or a condotiarii off-duty. She seemed to be paying him a mild, bemused amount of her attention, and she looked my way curiously. She was a woman I would grow quite familiar with soon, but at the moment I did not know her name.

I am embarrassed to say my jaw hit the floor.

Oh yes, I had seen many pretty women before, and truth be told her features were not too dissimilar to many of the ladies eyeing us with interest, though she was a tad more blessed than most in terms of proportions and her face was fit for a painting. But I had never seen a girl who mastered both beauty and grace the way she had. Don't ask me how I knew; perhaps it was the way she stood, or the lithe, subtle movements she made as she peered past the pillar at me. Maybe it was the intelligence that glittered in her eyes. I still wonder to this day.

I gave her a handsome smile, and a subtle wink. I was very good at regaining my dignity and playing it cool in public, despite being flummoxed. I had thought not only had I saved face, but I had caught her interest as she had caught mine.

Of course, that was when Hortiman Schulz bumbled into me from behind. He was a short man but his form was as round as an ale barrel. He had been too busy waving, and he rammed right into me from behind and sent my legs buckling, and I felt my soul leave my body as I hit the stone street in front of hundreds of eyes and that particularly lovely woman.

"Gracious me, herr priest. Are you quite alright?" The fat man asked, laying atop me as if I were a couch he had deigned to lay upon.

"Yes," I croaked. "Are you?" I didn't have the heart to yell at him, and truth be told, it took a lot to stoke my wrath. I just looked past the fringe of hair in my eyes and saw the woman chortling, and so I sighed, and once the good chamberlain had decided to roll off me, I got to my feet, dusted myself off, and walked forward as if nothing unbecoming had occurred, though I made certain not to look that woman's way again. Unfortunately for me, I would learn going to the meeting chamber and presenting myself before the ambitious Marco Telli was not an escape from her.

It was only the beginning.

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

Emmaline clutched my sleeve, but it was as if her touch was a transient sensation to my dulled senses. I was far away, shocked at what I was seeing before my very eyes. It simply did not make sense. I felt it must be some chaos induced dream, or some facsimile fraud having stripped the regalia of an Inquisitor to mock our most sacred traditions. But I knew that was impossible as soon as I thought it. I recognized the armor he wore. It was Malleus Power armor, one of the Ordos' most sacred armaments. Gilded ceramite, inscribed with pentagrammatic wards upon its forging deep within the Tricorn Palace on saturn. Every strike from the armor could banish a daemon, every attack upon its form would licit a conflagration upon an entity of the warp and perhaps expatriate it from this very plane. Only our most trusted Inquisitors could gain access to such a consecrated piece of equipment, much less wield it. It would take me two centuries of peerless effort for me to even be considered to hold such an armor, and only in dire need. No heretic could get its hands on one, and an Inquisitor wielding one would have to be rent asunder to be killed, destroying the armor with it.

The armor meant trust. I could put my faith in a man who wore it, beyond any shadow of a doubt. And yet here he was, in this obscenity of a courtyard at the crux of an unholy city half buried in the accursed warp. It made no sense to my young mind, and it was only Emmaline's grip tightening on my sleeve that brought me back from a state of numbness.

"That's a Medicae Servitor," Selencia said softly, gesturing with her head at the third one down. She hadn't deigned to look too closely at the man or the tech adept yet. Her eyes had always been sharp, but this place was having its effect on her. She wanted to speak on what she knew, clinging to the familiar. "Remidium Pattern, I think. But it's been tampered with. I saw many in my time at the Officio Medicae."

"Do you recognize him?" Emmaline asked in a hoarse whisper, feeling my distraughtness in her close proximity.

Had I, I would have likely been far too gone to be duly reasoned with. His features were fine and well formed, with a strong nose and a look of purpose in his striking green eyes. His chocolate hair was combed back to keep out of his hawkish eyes. He looked only a little older than I, but with rejuvenat technology he could be over eighty, perhaps a hundred years old. Even as I studied his features, he unholstered a bolt pistol and began to prowl the basterdized thing one might call a tower, eyeing the servitors as the servo-skulls buzzed around him in their dutiful work.

"Orders, boss?" Clara asked, nervously fingering her carbine. She seemed ready to spring, but I was hesitant to attack the man. Not out of any sense of camraderie, though the wrongness of firing upon a fellow inquisitor was painfully evident. His armor was the problem, and the distance it would take to close the gap on him. No bullet or lasbolt would be able to penetrate its hull. Only my power sword could, and even then it would be a near thing. Perhaps Emmaline could hold him steady, but that left the handful of guards and the servo-skulls, which might be armed themselves. We could also fire from here and if we were lucky, take the man, the traitor, in the head. But I couldn't.

I needed to know who he was.