Hi, it's me. I'm actually attempting a multi-chapter fic that i think I can follow through on. Summer's coming up. I'll do what I can to keep this thing rolling. For some reason, this whole story just seems to be coming more easily to me than writing usually does, so I thought I'd jump on the opportunity. If anyone wants me to provide a dramatis personae, I have one lying around, but I may have to update it as the story progresses. Just ask. (That's if anybody reads this at all.) Without further ado, here's the prologue.
Prologue
Bakka, Segmentum Tempestus
995.M41
The fires of the weapon-forges glowed like insects in the night, scattered across a field of black smokestacks and low buildings which extended deep into the ground.
They were growing larger gradually, as their observers descended cloaked in long, sweeping coats with high collars and rebreather masks. Soon those watching could see the swarms of engineers and forge workers parading through the avenues of hot metal and whirling machine parts to complete their appointed tasks.
The two masked watchers nodded to each other as their view sharpened and the hiss of landing replaced the hum of flight.
Disembarking briskly, they were greeted by a tech priest, who bowed deeply upon making out the design of the matching medallions hanging around their necks by gleaming silver chains which stood out against the murky black-gray of their stormcoats.
"This way, your Excellencies,"
[][][]
Far above, in high orbit, a massive bulk drifted silently, dark, mossy green in color and emblazoned with an impressive collection of silver Aquila, winged skulls, and similar gothic paraphernalia. At the heart of it lay a large office, decorated with lavish tapestries, soft rugs, and fine wooden furniture. Chairs sat in a semicircle about a simulated fireplace which was actually a heater. Five figures sat together, four of them human.
One of the humans spoke.
"Lord Inquisitor, why have you not chosen to go down yourself?"
"I haven't got the energy or the guts for orbital entry just now I'm afraid, I think I'd be heaving before the lander hit planetside."
"Ah, I see. And naturally, that would...undermine the dignity of the holy ordos."
"It would indeed, Seraphine."
The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence before the xeno spoke.
"You could have sent me, I am certain I would have made a good impression," she joked without changing her expression from its usual neutral deadpan. That earned a few snickers from around the fake fireplace.
The inquisitor smirked.
"An excellent suggestion, Shas'ui. I'm sure they'd have been able to look past your blue skin and see you for the kind soul you are. That's something highly encouraged in the Imperium. We all know how xenophobia is looked down upon in Imperial institutions."
There was more laughter among the circle. The tau seemed to sober though, and her face took on a thoughtful expression.
"Sometimes I wonder why you keep me around, Vraail" she commented, with a brief glance downward at her lap.
The inquisitor gave her a stern look.
"You are a valuable part of my retinue, as you have a sharp and creative mind which is paired with impressive combat expertise."
There was a pause.
"Additionally, I'm fond of you. And as you know, fully capable of ensuring your safety on board this vessel and on most of the sort of missions we engage in."
"I don't doubt you in the slightest, Vraail, it just worries me sometimes... I'm not welcome in the Imperium, just as I'm not welcome back home with the Empire."
"I'm sorry, Kais. I can at least guarantee that everyone on this vessel is predisposed to be friendly towards you, with... an exception or two."
"Don't worry yourself, boss. I know that much."
"Good."
There was another bout of silence, until the hatch that led out to the rest of the ship swung open with a barely noticeable hiss. Leather boots creaked a little as the armsman stepped into the inquisitor's sanctum.
"My Lord Inquisitor?"
"Yes, Alonso?"
"An audio transmission for you, milord. From Lady Inquisitor Belstern."
The Inquisitor rose from his seat wearily, brushing his long black hair away from his face idly.
"Thank you armsman. I'll take it in my chambers proper."
"Aye milord."
The armsman bowed as he departed the office.
One of the remaining figures spoke as Vraail stepped out of the room to hear what his superior had to say. A blonde man with a strong jaw, he dressed in fatigues, but his posture was an odd combination of casual and nervous. He gave the impression of a rabbit that knew it was safe in its den, but was skittish all the same.
"How much do you want to bet she's just gotten wind of the Tallarn incident and decided to give him an earful for it?"
"That's really not any of our business, Anton," murmured the last figure quietly. He was a Krieger, tall and wiry, with dark brown hair and handsome aristocratic features. He sat with a stiff back, as poised and composed as was proper for an officer, but he was definitely at ease. There was no question that if he had been even slightly uncomfortable, his gas mask would have been on his face, rather than at his belt, where it hung now.
"Come on Aleksandar. No need to deny your curiosity. You know we don't mean any harm by it."
"Speculating about one's commanding officer is contrary to protocol. Especially when said individual is an Inquisitor."
Seraphine smirked at that.
"When has anything we did been completely according to protocol, exactly?"
Aleksandar blinked once.
"I know our strike force isn't the most... by the book operation. But I do believe that discipline is necessary for carrying out the tasks we are assigned, and not talking about our leader behind his back is a matter of discipline."
"Alright, alright. We get it, Hauptmann von Richter," retorted Anton, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the Death Korps officer's rank.
"You don't have to participate in our blatant breach of discipline, and I can take it somewhere you don't have to listen to it. Anyone else want to pay a visit to mess hall 38?"
By the time Vraail returned to his office, a scowl on his face, only Aleksandar and Kais Emura were seated at the fire, discussing the best methods of defense against Dark Eldar fast attack troops. Smiling and shaking his head in amusement at his dedicated subordinates, he seated himself at his desk and unrolled a chart of the Segmentum Tempestus.
[][][]
Sister Superior Katherine Narasima was undeniably nervous. Her squad was a part of the last remainder of the Commandery sent to defend the planet of Bakka from a heretic raiding force reputed to have been too large for even the sizable Skitarii army (which was integral to the defense of the forge world) to handle. After a disastrous sojourn in the warp, their force had arrived, at 75% strength, to find the enemy already vanquished. Receiving new orders almost immediately upon their arrival, the Canoness Commander had left a token force on-world to reinforce the depleted Tech-guard. Now, three months later, all four squads of Sororitas were not only itchy for action, but redundant as well. They had been supplanted by the swiftly manufactured Mechanicus combat servitors who were more useful on a heavily industrial planet, as well as better-liked on one which largely worshipped the Machine-God.
The sisters' status on the forge world wasn't what had Katherine nervous though. It was the message which had come through last week, announcing the arrival of an Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor in need of troops. The detachment which she was a part of had been requisitioned by the Holy Inquisition. It had been six days and it still hadn't sunk in, even as she waited for the arrival of her new commander at the recently-evacuated barracks where her sisters had formed up by ranks to present themselves for duty. She swallowed again, her throat feeling abnormally dry. Shouldn't she be ecstatic about this? It was another opportunity to serve her Emperor, this time in a greater way than she ever had before. Her fear persisted. It was not fear of battle, it was fear of disappointing the highest representative of Imperial authority she would likely ever meet in her life. Was it right? Should she be afraid of that? Fear was supposed to be for the weak. This train of thought was interrupted by the soft scraping of the doors opening to allow the entry of three shadowed figures. As they entered the light their features were revealed. The one in the middle was a tech priest of relatively high rank, clad in the bright red of his order. Katherine vaguely recognized him; mainly by the three oddly shaped mechadendrites which sprung from his back and shoulders. He was accompanied by two tall, male figures in dark gray stormcoats and bone white rebreather masks styled to look like skulls. Both of them had blood red rosettes hanging around their necks outside of their coats.
There was a ripple of surprise in the ranks. Most had expected the Inquisitor to come in person.
Palatine Emmalene stepped forward, made a leg, and bowed deeply, sweeping her cape back with her free hand. Remaining in her bowing position, she raised her voice and declared with an appropriate amount of ceremony,
"The Daughters of the Emperor are ever at the service of the Inquisition."
The Palatine, who was in command of all the sisters on Bakka, was a tall, imposing, and beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. She sported two of the most common hallmarks of the Orders Militant, silver-dyed hair cut at chin length, and a jet black fleur-de-lis tattoo on her left cheek.
The man on the left nodded politely.
"It is good to see you all are so eager to serve. I am Second Lieutenant Louis Mortimer, of the Mordian Iron Guard. My associate is Lieutenant Ezio Tsakovar of the Maccabian Janissaries. We are here on behalf of Inquisitor Wulfbane of the Ordo Hereticus. Our orders are to escort you to the Aquila landers we arrived in, which will take you up to Patience, our master's vessel, awaiting us in high orbit. Your equipment will be loaded into Arvus lighters, so just bring yourselves and your personal effects please. I apologize for my abruptness, but there will be time for introductions aboard Patience, and the Inquisitor desires to be ready for warp translation within the next several hours."
If Emmalene was galled at being issued orders by a junior Imperial Guard officer, she didn't let it show, nodding and turning to instruct her troops to follow her to the landing site.
[][][]
Aquila landers were shuttle craft with a reputation for elegance as well as maneuverability. The one Katherine's squad had begun to board was grounded, so she couldn't very well speak to its maneuverability, but elegant wasn't the word to describe the burn-riddled exterior, comfortably worn seats, or plush and cozy pillows scattered around the main passenger compartment. It gave the impression of a room which had been broken into comfortability by people who had spent many long hours in it.
This was not an impression which lined up with any of the sisters' preconceptions regarding the Inquisition. It simply wasn't conventional.
Nor was it entirely relevant to the task at hand, so she reigned herself in mentally and focused on checking the buckles of the restraints which would protect her as the shuttle left orbit.
The quiet chatting of her battle-sisters was reassuringly familiar, especially when they were all in a strange setting. None of Katherine's squad were very experienced, and Bakka had been the first deployment for all of them except Katherine herself, who had seen combat once before. Orks. Her mind shied naturally away from the memory of that first rush of adrenaline which was accompanied as always by the coppery taste of blood in her mouth and the uniquely foul scent of the greenskin. When the chatter died away suddenly, she lifted her gaze from the strap which she had been securing about her waist to the rest of the compartment.
One of the two guard officers was standing there. He unstrapped his rebreather mask and removed it, earning him a few admiring looks from the more relaxed sisters. He was a blonde, with blue eyes and features not quite masculine enough to qualify as handsome. Instead he was downright pretty.
"Good morning everyone. I'm here to get you up to speed on a few important things before we arrive on the Inquisitor's ship. One. We are not a normal outfit. While I know none of you have ever worked with the Inquisition before, whatever you expected, we are not it. Our operations are neither ridiculously complicated deep-cover plots, nor heavily-armed raids totally lacking in subtlety. They are something in-between. And they never. Ever. Go smoothly. So always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you think it's already dropped, you're wrong. It'll get worse. The upside of it is, we're remarkably good at coming out of it in one piece.
Two. We requisitioned your strike force so that you could be the hammer blow we call in once we think we have the enemy pinned down where we can attack with impunity.
Three, and this is very much like one, the moment when we think we can attack with impunity is exactly when things are about to go south, so you're going to play the cavalry on plenty of occasions, you can be sure."
He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think that's everything. Any questions?"
Diana lifted a hand tentatively, as though attending an academic lecture.
"Yes?"
"Who exactly will the enemy be?"
"Aha. Good question. I knew there was something I was forgetting. We expect to be engaging in extermination of cults engaging in heretical and deviant practices on Imperial worlds. That means if we're calling for backup from you... make sure to load for daemon."
This caused no small number of alarmed looks and mutters in the cabin.
Another sister spoke up, outside of Katherine's line of sight.
"But sir, isn't that a job for the Ordo Malleus?"
The guard officer (and by the voice she had surmised that it was the one who had introduced himself as Mortimer) didn't look particularly surprised by this question.
"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you? As we've learned from past missions, calling for Malleus backup means either we do all the tough fighting and they show up just in time to take credit for our victory, or they don't deem to show up at all. So that's just sort of how it is."
Naive and inexperienced, most of the girls seemed shocked at the idea of Imperial institutions failing to work together as they ought to in theory. Katherine had seen more of imperial bureaucracy and sectionalism than they had, and it didn't particularly shock her to hear that the Inquisition had its own fair share of that.
"Don't be too discouraged about that though, we do have organizations we can rely upon. The Ordo Xenos has never once let us down when we asked them for assistance, and the Imperial Navy have such a history of getting us out of tight spots that I'm sure we owe them several large favors by now."
Perhaps half of the sisters seemed reassured by that.
"Don't worry, combat is some ways off in any case. We have several weeks of warp travel ahead of us at the least, (or that's what it'll feel like for us, I can't say for sure exactly when we'll come out where we want to be, or if we'll be where we want to be at all) during which time you will all be given training appropriate for the sort of ops you'll be participating in."
Given their past history with warp travel, none of the sisters were reassured by the first part, though the idea of specialized training seemed to appeal to several, presumably as it would render them more prepared for their upcoming missions, not simply because they enjoyed drills.
[][][]
Adrift in the vastness of realspace, a lonely vessel of gently crafted wraithbone allowed itself to slip gently into the gravity of a clouded planet.
Inside, a female shape sat in deep meditation, as she had been for a span of time she had not bothered to keep track of, but which would undoubtedly be considered long by any human measurement.
Her eyes flickered open as the planet drew closer. Her lips parted to murmur a name in the ancient tongue of her ancestors.
"She-Who-Thirsts."