Inquisitor Helmsburg was an intimidating figure, six feet tall, his body was a solid wall of muscle. He was impressive in his rich clothing, cream coloured trousers and a white shirt and his age served only to make him look even more regal than he already would have. On his right hand he wore a big cameo ring with the symbol of the inquisition etched into some rare shell, ruby background sparkled in the light of an old promethium lamp. He sat in his study, a room with walls dominated by shelves and hundreds of books, scrolls and dataslates. At it's centre there was a desk, huge and imposing like the man that sat behind it in a tall leather chair, carved of wood and varnished so that it was an inky dark shade of brown, almost black.
"Enter." He said in response at a gently knock on the door, August stepped inside, still weak from his last mission.
"You called for me?" He walked with the aid of a walking stick, wore a soft brown suit and a frock coat, his hands wrapped with thick bandages.
"I did, please come in, sit down." Gestured to a chair opposite his own, looked into the eyes of his young acolyte from across the big wooden desk. "I've no further use for you August and I hope that you'll understand."
A painful grunt as he sat down, it took a moment or two for August to process the words that he'd heard, understood fully. The flesh on his back stung under his shirt, long strips of bloodied flesh where he'd whipped himself and prayed for forgivness, denounced the evils of the witch and begged for absolution. Perhaps he would be sentenced to death, repent for his sins one last time before his body would be consumed by flame and he would be dead.
"I understand completely." The old inquisitor gave a slight smile at the young acolytes response, scratched at a shock of silvery grey hair.
"I don't think that you do boy, I don't think you understand at all which is why you're here." Puzzled, August wrung bandaged hands together nervously. "I'd imagine that you think I'll judge you a heretic and have you executed."
Of course he thought he would have him executed, August spoke to a confessor and told him that he had seen into the warp, spoken with a daemon using the power his curse had granted him. It made no sense to keep him alive, the Imperium should be purged of the taint of chaos, the only purpose he might still serve is to be the catalyst to some great conflict. Perhaps he might be dispatched to seek out some heretical cult, infiltrate their ranks and instigate an uprising that could plunge an entire world into conflict.
"See, you understand the way that the Imperium must be cleansed of corruption." Salem Helmsburg dug a hand into his pocket, pulled a long and thin cigar out, lit it with a match before carrying on. "My other acolytes believe they understand but I don't think that they do, when I speak to you I can see it in your eyes. Regardless of your curse, you are pious, regardless of the way others look at you, you remain dedicated to our cause. You posess qualities that I believe are important to the role we of the Ordo Hereticus must play in the salvation of our Imperium, your undying conviction and faith, you have stared chaos in the face and are not seduced or insane."
He took a long drag on his cigar and August fidgeted nervously, couldn't see where his master was going, touched his forehead and took a deep breath as a jolt of pain shot through his body. Tibor had died and Belaqua was greviously injured, underwent extensive surgery to fix a damaged spine and he was to be confined to a wheelchair for at least three months while he healed under the care of a sister Hospitallier. Tibor was interred in the small catacomb that lay beneath Helmsburgs' chapel, sealed inside of a brazen casket and sat in an ornately carved alcove with his shotgun and a page from his book of liturgies.
"What would you have me do master?" August asked, confused, totally bewildered.
"I will present you with this," Helmsburg opened a drawer, dragged on his cigar and handed August a tiny black box. "Then I would ask you to return to your chambers and rest, as soon as your hands have healed you must leave."
-
August had a comfortable room on the big estate, tall windows looking out over a well kept garden with perfectly sculpted hedges and a pond with glassy water beneath which silver and grey fish swam. He had a desk of his own, a promethium lamp and a stack of papers, a mechanical stylus and a pot of black ink that he'd use to fill the device when it was empty. Hobbled inside and sat down on the bed, glanced up at the framed picture hung against the wall above his desk, an inspirational picture that showed a distant ancestor of the Inquisitor delivering his judgment on a heretical Guard captain, took off his coat and removed the black box from his pocket.
The tiny black box was smooth plastic, he dared not open it before he had sat down, almost forgot the weight of his sins as he set himself down and lay the walking stick at his side. Nearly dropped the box, bandages made him clumsy and he still felt a sting of pain shoot through his hands from time to time, expensive surgery would make burned flesh look like new again.
Struggling to open the box, it clicked open, a hinged lid revealing that the inside was padded with soft red velvet and set inside, a shining signet ring. Outside the sky was blue, the whole world given over to agriculture, Inquisitor Helmsburg had inherited thousands of workers along with his estate and it provided a constant flow of money that he needed for his investigations. The ring was a fat little adamantine piece, a thick circular part on top stamped with the inquisitorial seal and his name engraved inside the band.
His heart skipped a beat, knew what this meant, the master must have gone to his conclave and discussed the merits of making his acolyte a full inquisitor with his peers. August had been to one of their gatherings only once, they convened beneath a great library in a shadowy chamber that they lit with a multitude of candles. He remembered the inquisitor lord Hirax who presided over the conclave, augmentic arms and legs, an augmentic eye and his body swathed in robes of black and red. All of the inquisitors wore black robes and their retainers wore red, listened with a respectful silence as each inquisitor spoke in turn, reported on a rogue psyker who was hiding in another sector.
Tried to imagine them discussing his situation, envisioned them deciding if he should live or die, discussing how else they might put him to use. The conclave was composed of Istvaanians, sought to plunge the Imperium into cataclysmic conflict that would purify them, make the Imperium great again. Hirax himself talked of how corrupt the Ministorum had become, how the High Lords of Terra had grown fat and content in their golden palace.
He saw the Inquisitor named Natalya Odeon calling for him to be burned at the stake, the aristocratic warrior woman sptting firey rhetoric and preaching her staunch opposition to witches in any form. The Conclave were all Istvaanians but they still had vastly different beliefs, some saw that conflict would purge the Imperium of the taint of corruption and others thought that it would force it to strike out at foes that are allowed to grow too powerful by the Ministorum.
Eventually they would have argued themselves to a standstill and Hirax would had sat silent and still, looked like a statue of augmentics garbed in black and red, unmoving until he had come to a conclusion while the entire conclave waited in silence. The man had considerable influence, he was able to call on several different chapters of the Adeptus Astartes and commanded a small fleet of war ships, none would dare show him any disrespect and August imagined that he had some idea as to why.
He clicked the lid on the little box shut after a lingering gaze at the signet ring, he was as good as a full inquisitor now, few in all the Imperium could tell him what to do and it was a strange thing to know that you weilded such power. The first thing August thought to do was stand, take the walking stick and make his way down the hall of the big chateau, down a wide staircase and past a servitor that busied itself cleaning vibrant red carpet.
The chapel was seperate from the house, walked outside and down more stairs into the gardens, a grove of trees nearby shaded a sister Hospitallier who pushed Belaqua in a wheelchair. He didn't speak, glared at nothing in particular with glassy eyes, August knew that he'd spent the whole morning at the chapel praying with the sister, she smiled politely when she saw August walking toward the chapel and he nodded in return.
The chapel was a squat building wit a domed cupola, a cast iron aquilla perched at the top. The place was obviously much older than the chateau, it's stone walls pitted with age, August stepped inside and felt touched by something holy as he looked toward intricately designed stained glass windows that coloured the bare wooden floor a kalidescope of red, yellow, green and blue.
"The Emperor is my father and my savior, but I must also protect the Emperor." He said as he knelt before the altar, bowed his head and clasped his hands together in prayer. "I pray that absolution will come, that the Emperor might assist me in my duties in his name so that I might be absolved of my sins in death."