The Byzantium Crusade (Warhammer 40k)

[Jack Elliot]

For the first part of the Prologue…Read Here!


Prologue...Part Two

The sky was burning crimson in the east, the fiery glory of the false dawn casting a surreal glow over the courtyard of Senator Sextus Pompeii. The cultists of Slaanesh were scattered about the courtyard, lying wherever they fell in a stupor from the revelry of the night. Exhausted and spent from their debauchery, covered in blood and nameless fluids, bruised and lacerated, men and women alike lay naked and dazed…their deviant lusts sated…for the moment. The flagstones of the courtyard were sticky with the disgusting mixture of spilled alcohol, bodily fluids, and black ichors spilled from the Daemonettes that had been summoned for the ritual orgy. Cast off detritus, alcohol bottles, and paraphernalia from psychotropic drugs littered the grounds.

Through this scene strode Senator Pompeii, stretching with satisfaction. At the end of the patio, farthest from the house was an altar of lavender-veined white marble. Upon it most of the time was a statue of the Emperor on the Golden Throne…a necessary deception to avoid any implication of impropriety, of course. For the revels, the statue was hidden away, replaced with an image of Slaanesh, four armed, hermaphroditic, hypnotically beautiful. No sane mortal sculptor could hope to capture the rapturous beauty of the Chaos God of Pain and Pleasure…but this had been carved by a skilled craftsman driven mad by overindulgence.

Chained before the statue, was Lucius Scaevola, Judge of the Adeptus Arbites…or at least…what was left of him. The form manacled to the altar was barely recognizable as once having been human, twisted and broken, skin flayed. The Judge had been tortured for several hours by the guests, violated in unspeakable ways, his eyelids cut off so he could not look away from the horrific sights he was forced to witness. Still, with the skill of his tormentors, and the psychic powers bestowed upon Senator Pompeii by his Chaos Lord, the Judge still lived…an unhallowed soul trapped in broken, impure flesh.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Sextus spoke, his voice smooth and rich…the voice of an orator, a leader, a demagogue.

Lucius choked out a wheezing sob, but his tears had long since run dry. He wheezed, his voice raw and raspy from screaming, “Yes…I see…I see…”

The Senator clucked his tongue, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. A pity you find the truth too late. Still…you can provide one final service to Slaanesh before you perish.” Sextus noticed something in his peripheral vision and turned to see two soldiers escorting…well…half-dragging…a young woman toward him. The soldiers were elite stormtroopers from the Byzantine Legions assigned as his personal bodyguards…and now members of the Cult.

The girl was young, still in her teens, and had once been of striking loveliness…before her psychic potential had arisen. Now she was perilously thin, her body ravaged by the uncontrolled warp-spawned powers. Her fingertips were covered in dried blood, where she’d chewed her nails beyond the quick. Her once striking chestnut hair was tangled and knotted, uneven from where she’d nibbled it nervously. Wide and wild were her dark eyes that saw things in her dreams that no being should witness. All she was garbed in was a simple slip of black borrowed from the closet of Sextus’ wife. About her neck, was a strange, thick collar of iron. She was struggling weakly against the two soldiers in vain.

“Apostle Pompeii,” One soldier spoke, addressing him by his title among the Cult. “We have brought the Astropath, as requested.”

Sextus nodded, picking up a silver pitcher of hot water. He poured it over himself to sluice the filth from his body. With his other hand, he gestured vaguely, “Remove her wards.”

“No!” The girl cried weakly. “No, no, no, no, no…” Her protests fell upon deaf ears. One soldier held her thin arms while the other unclasped the iron collar about her neck. Inscribed upon it were hexagrammic wards that locked her powers away. Now freed, Her telepathic might extended outward uncontrollably. “No! No, please!” She pleaded, then her body went rigid as stone. Her body contorted painfully as ghastly grunts and whimpers erupted from her throat. Dark brown eyes rolled up into her head, frothy spittle spilling from her mouth. With her entire body jerking spasmodically, the two stormtroopers stepped back. Her head thrashed back and forth, her spine crackling. She loosed a bloodcurdling scream…

Suddenly she was silent and motionless, as though frozen in time. Her head turned to the Senator, her eyes blazing with the fires of Hell. The sound of speech fell from her lips, though it was no voice a human could summon, “Apostle Pompeii…”

“My Lord,” Sextus knelt upon the ground and prostrated himself. The girl was an astropath, able to communicate across the interstellar expanse with others of like ability. However, the cultist had taken her before the Inquisition discovered her, and twisted her powers to serve them…as a conduit to the Eye of Terror, to communicate with the Daemons of that swirling, hellish maelstrom.

“Rise, Sextus,” She lifted her arm and as though she were a puppeteer working a marionette, the Senator stood. Her eyes glanced to the bloody, broken form at the altar, “Who is this?”

“Our final sacrifice to you, Lord,” The Senator said, his excitement written clearly across him. “The time has come, only scant hours away. Six to the sixth power hours from your imprisonment. This final offering and you will be free.”

“And our plans, Sextus?” The girl moved forward, her head seeming to float with her body following on the tips of her toes. “Is Byzantium ripe for the picking?”

“It is, Lord. We have seeded cults across the planet. We have converts at all levels of the government and the Ecclesiarchy. With your direct leadership, we will be ready to take the planet from the False Emperor.”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face…a cold, twisted smile, “Then very soon, I will be among you. Very soon, Byzantium…will be ours.”

This thread is about the Warhammer 40k universe, specifically the struggle between the “righteous” forces of the Inquisition and the “corrupt” forces of the Cult of Slaanesh. A more complete description of the thread concept can be found in the Recruitment Thread!.

If you wish to join, but don’t know much about the 40k universe, don’t fret. We have links to some decent Wikis that have more than enough information to get someone up to speed on the milieu. This is not your typical “Battlefield” thread. This is about the investigation and confrontation between the forces of light and darkness, good and evil. (You can pick which side is which…it’s all relative )

RULES

It should go without saying that all RPGC rules and regulations are in effect. You know what they are. Don’t make me spank you for being naughty. Unless you ask really nicely.

“Orthodox Rules”…you know what…to Hell with “Orthodox Rules”. My rules are simple. You don’t affect another persons character in any manner or form without their permission. Ever. Simple. This is a collaborative thread, not a competitive thread. If you want competitive combat posting, go to C/G. It isn’t happening here. If there is Player versus player conflict, then it will be settled between the participants over PM, AIM, OOC or whatever based on what is best for the story, plot, or character development. If you can’t work with others, this isn’t the thread for you.

Do not post in this thread without first having tacit approval from me. There’s room in this story for all sorts of characters, so if you want to join in, by all means, we’d love to have you. Contact me via PM, AIM, or in the OOC thread and we can discuss character ideas.

Be respectful of the other player, the thread starter (me) and the story. Hey…that should be rule number one.

[Jack Elliot]

Dramatis Personnae

Inquisitor Simone Godschilde : Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor

Mother Superior Katherine : Adeptus Sororitas Canoness

Dahlia / Hema : Officio Assassinorum Calidus Assassin

Delphias Fedarsi : Adeptus Arbites Proctor

Decimus Ovidius Malleolus : Byzantine Senator, Slaanesh Cultist

Sister Saber Godwyn : Adeptus Sororitas Celestian

Sejanus Aetius Victus : Byzantium Legion Veteran Quinturion

Orrin Valanus Jasaray : Adeptus Arbites Judge



Link to OOC thread is Here!

Link to Recruitment thread is Here!

It seemed as though she was standing on a street, surrounded by tall buildings of Gothic-Roman architecture. She recognized the slight variant of the architecture as belonging to the very old world of Byzantium. Its rich history extended back over ten millennia, before the time of the Emperor. Its classical architecture reflected that cultural inheritance.

Then her perspective began to rise, as though she were being lifted in the air. Within moments, she was looking down at a sprawling city that lay in the valley between seven hills, crawling inexorably up their slopes. As she soared through the sky, she could see that the pristine white beauty of the city’s buildings was marred by smoke, fire and blood...spreading from sector to sector.

Further and further she rose, the city dwindling away beneath her. She could see smoke rising from other cities, black and acrid columns reaching up into the blue sky. Warfare and death was spreading across the proud planet of Byzantium. Still her perspective continued to rise, until the sky dimmed and she was floating in the void, surrounded by stars. Below, the blue-green orb of the planet grew smaller in her vision.

Then, a giant, pale hand with blood-soaked claws reached out…fingers surrounding the planet as though it was just the size of a tennis ball. Her gaze followed down a slender arm to the form of a colossal Keeper of Secrets…the greater daemon princes of Slaanesh. The eyes of the daemon large enough to swallow the world whole met hers and it’s mouth opened…

”Katherine…


Katherine awoke with a start, sitting up straight in her firm bed, simple white linen sheets falling away. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes open wide, struggling to see in the dark. Her room at the convent was sparsely furnished, as was befitting a Canoness of the Adeptus Sororitas…the Sisters of Battle. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm her heart rate down. Katherine was not known for any gift of prophecy, but the dream had for some reason touched her to the core of her being.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her long blond locks, damp with sweat. She whispered a short benediction to the Emperor.

When she opened her eyes, she let out a shout. Standing before her bed was a tall, statuesque woman with chestnut hair and grey eyes. She was garbed in armor in the fashion of the Adeptus Sororitas, in lustrous red-gold. However, the torso plate of the armor was torn free, jagged edges splayed outward. Her entire chest was ripped open, the bloody cavity where her lungs and heart should be open to the air. He face was serene, despite the blood splattered across it.

Saint Magdalena as she appeared when she had died…just over five years ago on Kali V. Her mentor. The woman who had raised her in the convent on Pentateuch for as long as she remembered. Katherine had witnessed her martyrdom fighting against a Sorcerer of Tzeentch. She had seen her risen from the dead by the miracle of the Emperor to once again lead the Sisters into battle. She had mourned her again when she had been slain by the Daemonic pet of a corrupt Inquisitor of the Order Hereticus.

Katherine’s jaw dropped, her mouth slack in shock. Before she could summon the breath to speak, Magdalena’s voice filtered into her head, though the mouth of the apparition before her remained closed. “Mother Superior Katherine. There is grave danger on the world of Byzantium. A plot unfolds there that can shroud the Empire in darkness. The forces of the Eye of Terror are moving.”

Saint Magdalena reached forward with a sad smile, cradling Katherine‘s cheek with hands as cold as the void of space. “You were always my protégé, Katherine. Destiny swirls about you like a cloak. Embrace that destiny.” She leaned forward and her icy lips kissed Katherine’s forehead…




Katherine awoke, disoriented and confused. There was a persistent rapping on her chamber door. The voice of Sister Rhoda, her closest confidant came muffled through the portal, “Mother Superior? Mother Katherine?”

She glanced around the chamber, but the apparition was gone. Dreams within dreams! She rubbed her temples to try and ease the pain in her head. “I am here, Rhoda. Enter.”

Sister Rhoda stepped in, clutching a robe of crimson about her. In one hand was a Godwyn-pattern bolt pistol while the other held her robe closed over her simple white bed-frock. “Mother Superior…we heard you shouting something out in your sleep. Are you well?”

Katherine slid out of the bed, opening the nearby wardrobe for a gown to slip over her own frock. “Yes…well enough.” Once dressed she grabbed a hairbrush off the simple dresser and began to fix her hair, matted from sleep, “Is the Inquisition’s vessel, the Vigilance still in orbit?”

“Y…Yes, Mother Superior.”

“Awaken Sister Eve and the Seraphim…and my Celestian bodyguards,” She commanded, breezing past her and into the hallway, so that Rhoda was forced to follow. “Get an Astropath from the Ecclesiarchy and send a message to Mother Rebecca on Byzantium. She is to put the convent there on alert.”

“What is it, Mother Katherine?”

“I must go to Byzantium…”

[Arsenic & Lace]

The massive structure of the Callidus Temple stood out like a well cleaned bone, seemingly glowing against the blackened sky. For years it had stood with strength and devotion as a valued weapon in the Holy Emperor's arsenal, giving birth to untold and secretive talent.

The whisper of soft leather soles bounced off the stark walls, trailing down the length of a long corridor; white lights lined the walls and cut sharply into the darkness. A tall shadowy figure flashed beneath the lights, as it rounded a corner and passed amongst others, no words were exchanged, not a sound but their mingled footsteps.

The figure glided through a set of heavy doors and into a wall of steam. The white tiles glared at the woman as she trudged further into the bathing area; she found a bench and laid a pile of belongings onto the wood. Turning on heel she stepped over to a length of pieced mirrors that extended with the wall, other women were stationed at the line of sinks that lay beneath mechanically tending to themselves.

As the young woman approached she pressed her lower belly against the cool edge of a sink and leaned in to examine herself. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" she chided herself. A cut split the corner of her mouth, dried blood flaking on her full lips; a fresh stream of cherry red trickled down from a gash above her right brow coating the lid of her eye and clotting the dark curling lashes. The mirror reflected a pair of drowning pools, a brown so dark they were almost black. They were slightly rounded and appeared rather indifferent, almost languid in their assessment of her injuries.

A thick pink muscle darted out to probe the mouth wound; a wicked smile turning her lips. Ebony locks were ruthlessly pulled back into a thick braid that ended between her shoulder blades; long tapered fingers unwove the strands till her hair spilled about her shoulders in a wavy veil. Her features mirrored her mixed blood; the milky tone in her skin and the oval of her face were Danish, high cheekbones spoke of Indian heritage, and the soft button of her nose, the fullness and height of her body hinted at a much darker race.

Turning from the mirrors she began to disrobe, the boots were first, made of fine leather the soles were thin enough to allow dexterity, as if bare footed. The boots were placed carefully heel-to-toe beneath the bench; she untied the crimson silk of her Gi, laying it onto the bench and unzipped the high collar of her cat suit. The black material was like a second skin, hugging every luscious curve and accenting every breath; the suits they all wore aided every student of the Temple in their pursuit of deceit, of camouflage. The zipper plummeted and as she wriggled out of the shoulders, two heavy breasts fell free. She peeled the suit off the nip in her waist and over the swell of her hips and backside.

An angry purple welted the skin on the left side of her ribcage, the bones beneath screamed for medical attention, but she would wait till after she was clean; she had her reasons. She had always found the human body fascinating, it could withstand so much abuse before giving in, and with modern medicine and serums one healed a devastating amount of damage over one's lifetime.

She gave a sigh and the pain raked through her body causing her to shudder. Plucking the feet of her suit off her toes she shook it straight and lay the fabric over the bench in a neatly folded pile; snatching up her toiletries she marched into the showers. With any luck she could make herself a bit more presentable.


A thick lather turned pink with blood, slithered between her breasts and down over the soft curves of her belly. A cloth was kneaded into the battered skin of her face, scrubbing the wounds clean. The soap stung, little cuts were always worse. She smiled softly to herself and rinsed off.

When she was a child, the Fathers of the Callidus Temple had renamed her Hema. The name meant ‘blood’ in an ancient Earth dialect. She had grown to take pride in that name, in its meaning, and had proven herself more than worthy of it. She now was twenty-one years of age and like her peers had devoted her life to serve the Holy Emperor since childhood. She was very guarded, always wary of her actions and had excelled in her training. Over the years her strength in mental deception had blossomed; at times giving a few of her superiors a run for their money.

Soap ran down the length of one pale, very shapely thigh; it trickled down the back of her calf and heel to disappear in the drain beneath her feet. With the commonly used languages implanted via psychic manipulation Hema had found the time over the years to extend her repertoire to cover a handful of lesser known Earth dialects the 'old-fashioned' way.

Arching her back she changed the water till it nearly scalded her breasts, she dipped her head beneath it and soaked her hair. Scrubbing soap into the inky locks, she turned her back to the spray to let the heat sooth the muscles of her spine. With a half turn the bruise on her ribs became the water's victim. She almost sobbed with the pain, but her eyes closed and she slowed her breathing. Lingering over each breath, every expanse of muscle and bone her hips twisted and her thighs clamped shut; suddenly she gave a cry and slammed her palm against the tiles with a wet slap.

“Mmmm…their broken.” She murmured as a perverse grin twisted her lips and darkened her face; she could feel curious eyes burning into her back and it didn’t faze her in the least. You know you have to check in with the doctors this time, Hema…. “I KNOW!” She snarled beneath her breath as she began to rinse her hair clean and quickly finished scrubbing the rest of her body.

Stepping from the showers Hema padded along the slippery tiles, her hips held a gentle but alluring sway. At the bench she dropped her wet bundle beside her the rest of her belongings and plucked her towel to dry herself. Her hair had sprung into a wild mass of tight, silky curls and she was forced to rake a comb through them, restraining them once more in the braid. She dressed as quickly as her body would allow and with one glance at her mirrored visage she was out the door.

It was quite late, or early depending on how one looked at it, and very few would pass her in the halls; she felt more at ease in talking aloud. The nauseating scent of sterol everything made her snarl, “I loathe this place." She hissed. Perhaps, but the alternative is unacceptable. "They're no fun, and neither are you!" It was whispered, but a sharp accusation all the same; she stood in the doorway of the medical ward, within hearing range. The good doctors in the Temple knew of her internal debates but she had managed to hide their full extent. Hema very much disliked being questioned on that matter. Grudgingly she settled into the routine of being examined, prodded and patched; what seemed like an eternity for her in truth only took a few minutes.

Hema opened the chest at the foot of her cot and placed her toiletries within. Shutting the lid she walked to a line of lockers and undressed once more, laying her uniform with care atop a small cubby shelf. Of her few belongings she chose a plain black linen shift, it was simple, effective and could be removed quickly should the need arise.

The covers on her cot were tight enough to bounce a quarter; she kneeled to press her newly healed forehead against them; three hours till the start of a new day. She said her prayers to the Holy Emperor before slipping beneath her covers. It would be another long day tomorrow and she intended to make the most of it.

[Artimis Re'Ar]

Decimus Ovidius Malleolus sat staring at the fire, ignoring the words of his page boy going through his daily events, reflecting on the path that his life had taken. He thought it odd to be doing this when he was still so young, no more than 60 years, but it had been an interesting time that capped off with last night’s events.

Born into a wealthy family, full of political debutants and important military figures, Decimus had been the first born to his father and thus the inheritor of his wealth, power, and political standing. Being the eldest son of the highest ranking Patrician in his sector, his life had been predetermined from the start; painfully structualized to a point that most people would have surely gone insane. Sent to the best schools, giving all the comforts he could enjoy, Decimus had never wanted for anything in his life. Despite all the luxury’s, life was not as fulfilling as he thought it should, the spark of enjoyment could not be found for him. To complicate matters further for him, he realized at a young age that he could read people better than anyone he knew. The youngest of his uncles, Quintus, had always been a smiling, polite, kind figure that seemed the pinnacle of what it was to be a statesman on Byzantium. He was a man adored by the people he represented, the family that surrounded him, and even the other backstabbing politicians seemed to like him. Decimus had known though from a very early age, had seen it in his dreams, that Quintus was not what he seemed to be. The older he got, the more powerful Quintus got; the more that feeling seemed to weigh down on Decimus. It was that relationship, and culmination of events surrounding his uncle, that would reveal to him that missing spark in his life.

“D. Ovidius, I see you are still recovering from your sickness?” Decimus was pulled from his thoughts by the voice of Manius Lucius Bibaculus, one of his rival Patricians. As his name suggested, Manius was slightly intoxicated on his favorite liquor that he kept in a flask inside his robes at all times. This house call could not be good.

“Why M. Lucius, I am honored with your presence. And yes, in response to your query, I in the final stages and already on my way to recovery. To what do I owe this most profitable visit?” Decimus hated Manius with a passion, but now was not the time for arguments and idle words. Soon Decimus, along with the rest of the Cult of Slannesh would have their day.

“Cut the pleasantries Decimus!” Manius did not appear to have lost his sanity, and did appear nearly as drunk as his action were belaying, but Decimus was none to please at the formality with which Manius spat his name from his lips. “I came calling on you last night, and you were not here. A man with your illness does not just up and leave, and do not give me any excuses. I have friends in the Arbites D. Ovidius, and if you lie to me, they will come for you and they will get the truth out of you!” Decimus looked at Manius blank faced, betraying nothing, but secretly wishing he could tear this man’s head from his shoulders.

“As I mentioned moments ago M. Lucius, I am in the final stages of the illness. My personal medical staff put forth a great number of my families resources as well as my own to get me back into the swing of normal living this fast. And please, you are in my home and it is known to a great many people that we are not allies, so stop with the family like formalness if you will.” Decimus was on the verge of exploding inside, but again the thought of last night’s events as well the implication of what the meaning held was more enticing than sating his needs now.

“I know something is up with you D. Ovidius, and I will find out what!” Manius scowled long and hard at the blank faced Decimus, then turned on his heel and left the room. Despite his welling fury with Manius and his boldness, he was excited nearly to the point of sexual lust at the thought of him being so close to capture. Slannesh had provided a great many things for Decimus, but one of the smaller perks was the shadow-play that went along with being a cultist and the two faced actions one must undertake in order to survive. This close to the Eye people had a habit of being constantly suspicious and being a high ranking Patrician certainly didn’t help matters at all.

Sometime later his thoughts meandered their way back to his life’s course. Just before his 20th birthday, his father was murdered under strange and suspicious circumstances, but the Adeptus Arbites could not, or in Decimus’ opinion, would not find a killer. At the burial and other funeral rights, his uncle was the picture of Brother in Mourning. To Decimus, he was as guilty as sin, but there was nothing he could do. Despite having inherited all his father had, Quintus had convinced everyone that Decimus was not ready to fully be in command of the family and take his place just yet. Decimus of course had folded under the pressure, choosing this time to back down so that he may strike at a more opportune time.

Within months all the power he had was taken and given to Quintus who had made a habit of making late night calls on Decimus’ widowed mother. The first time he saw, the voice had spoken to him.

All this power can be yours, if you will only give your soul over to me Deciums Ovidius Malleolus….all of your dreams….your fantasies….your wishes….

He had given in easily, wanting nothing more than removed his uncle and take his rightful place. The chance came one night when Quintus was alone after a night’s foray with his mother. Decimus had slid in behind him, stiletto in hand, and slid the blade cleanly through the back of his neck paralyzing him instantly. He removed the body quickly, having done all the precautionary measures to keep as little mess as possible, and returned him to the grounds dungeons that had been used in over 5 generations for anything but storage. There, in that dark, damp, dank area, Decimus had fully given himself over to Slannesh, flaying his uncle after repeated beatings, scarification, and lude sexual acts. Decimus felt alive for the first time in his life; he had reveled ever since.

He placed his coffee down upon the small intable next to the fire and retrieved his personal vox caster. After last night, Sextus Pompeii had led the rituals that would lead to bring their master through the Eye and here to the Byzantium Empire. It would be the first of many, and the more he thought about it, the giddier he became at the idea of being here on the first world to fall to Slannesh.

“ S. Pompeii, this is Decimus Ovidius Malleolus, I have need of your assistance regarding a one Manius Lucius Bibaculus. He apparently has stuck his nose entirely too far into places he should not, and it would seem most interesting for him to disappear from this area having made two visits to my personal abode on two successive nights. I was wondering if maybe you could use your considerable influence to schedule a grand dinner in the Carthago Nova district. If you can do this for me, I will owe you a great debt. May the God-Emperor be with you.” He finished the vox cast, knowing it would probably be some time before he actually got a return message. It was normal for Patricians to plot, ask favors, and go about the business that was political intrigue and assassination. It was also good form to wish a brother in the Cult good tidings with the Emperors name when you were under the kind scrutiny that Decimus found himself under now, people had a habit of jumping at the name of Chaos Gods.

[Vezaz]

Lucius was smart- he had notified his superiors of his mission. His absence was noticed by a servitor, who logged the discrepancy and sent it to the High Judge of Byzantium. Slowly, the great wheels of Imperial justice began to turn...

The arbites citadel was still on the dark side of Byzantium Nova when an all-hands call went out, summoning officers and troopers from across the city to the massive Hall of Order. The squad of arbites gathered trickled in and started chattering amongst themselves, quite happy to ignore their commander trying to issue a briefing.

“There will be silence!” screamed High Judge Turpon, the commander of the arbites on Byzantium. He was elderly man in his 230's, but he was still sharp when it came to investigation and prosecution. He waited for calm, then addressed the several dozen officers present. “You have all been summoned here for a reason. As you know, Judge Lucius was recently dispatched for cult infiltration in the senate district. He has not yet reported in to us. Draw what conclusions you will, but it is important that we begin an investigation into his whereabouts.” Turpon stopped, cleared his throat. “Is Interrogator Fedarsi here?” A lanky man with a bionic leg stepped forward.

“Here, sir.”

“You and your squadron have been tasked to track down Lucius. If he is found dead, I am granting you leeway to prosecute as you see fit. You will find a more detailed briefing in the armory. Dismissed!” Loud groans filled the air.

“Sir, my men have several cults active in our patrol route. To pull us out to go looking for Lucius could set back our investigations by several months! The feth-head’s probably lying drunk in a gutter somewhere, just waiting-“

“We would not give you this investigation unless we thought that the matter was serious enough to warrant it. In any case, units from the 3rd Legion will be dispatched to Judge the wicked in your absence. Do you have any further objections?” Seeing the look on Fedarsi’s face, he added, “Any objections that I am likely to listen to? Please, Delphias. I’m not sending you on some wild-grox chase. I know that you’re the best man for the job. So please, just find the damn judge and get him back here so we can all get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.” he said, despondently. Delphias turned and tromped out of the hall, his men close behind him. Lucius was a good man, but he like his drink a lot and his obscura more. The only reason they put up with him was his incredible investigative skills, and at times like these it was very easy to be angry with the man.

***

If there was a bright side to this investigation, it was that the men could rest their feet awhile during the Pre-investigation Briefing, which amounted to Fedarsi and his second-in-command Gorson tossing theories back and forth. Truth be told, neither had any real idea as to where they should begin their investigation. Byzantium was in the middle of a crime-wave that had put the arbites on high alert for weeks. Every officer in the force had been working twelve hour shifts for almost a month, and it was beginning to wear down the normally resolute troopers. It was at a time like this that someone like lucius could be expected to get lost on a routine patrol, and Delphias could only hope that that was the case.

“Do we know where he was last seen? Or why, exactly he was there? What do his case notes say?”

“Lucius? Case notes? We’re lucky he clocked in before leaving. He probably thought he could save the world before breakfast and we’d be none the wiser.”

“Would have worked, too, if the frakker hadn’t got himself good and lost. You ask me, he’s been bagged ‘n tagged in some low-life twist bar over a couple shots of sacra. You mark my words.”

And so it went. For over an hour the men sat and discussed what few scraps of information they had, and slowly a plan began to emerge. Delphias would lead his squad in a search wave on foot radiating out from the statesman manors to the slums. If he didn’t turn up by then, Fedarsi planned to go back to base and wait for the Lucius to crawl home. He really didn’t like the prospect of spreading out his detachment in a foot-search. Things were dodgy enough as it was. Things had been heating up of late...

***

It had all started with the Mechanicus Collective. A sect of tech-priests had declared themselves visionaries for a new order and started constructing new, highly heretical, constructs that were only days away from activation when the 3rd legion crushed them with a company-scale deployment. It went deeper, though. A cloth-worker was found to be weaving daemon-signs into his rugs that led to the purging of half the textile district. Three taverns on Sextra Island poisoned their entire stock of liquors and killed dozens with slow acting poisons. A corrupted traffic controller directed the sky-car of a rich banker into a schola armored car and killed all aboard. And that was just the start of a long list of minor disasters and incidents that were pouring in from all across Byzantium Nova. What was worse was, the reports were increasing. Then, the morning before Fedarsi was to begin his investigation, something else happened.

“Del, we have a communique from the boys in Sector recon. They say that the sisterhood have un-shrouded their AA emplacements and prepared patrols. No word from our sisters as to why this should happen, but what did you expect?” Gorson’s words contained a hint of anger. The failure of the sisterhood to coordinate with the arbites had led to the botching of several operations that had cost several dozen officers their lives.

"We’ll have to stop and chat with them I suppose. If those damn soritas are jumping at shadows again, I would think that the least they could do is tell us, but then, the emperor speaks to them damn directly, doesn’t he? Leave the men behind and grab a repressor. I want to speak to that cannoness personally. If they can’t learn to play nicely with others than we’re-“

His words were cut off by a massive explosion towards the heart of the city. By the looks of it, an Ortog Promethium tanker had just vented three thousand gallons of liquid promethium into Imperial Plaza, which had then ignited in a massive conflagration that consumed dozens of stores and hundreds of people. Delphias watched the mushroom cloud of smoke rise up, and listened to the screams of survivors as they drifted up Justice Hill.

“-going to have some trouble.”

[Vezaz]

***
Gorson and Delphias quickly made their way to the looming convent.
Delphias' badge had got the two of them into the gates, but as he and Gorson strode across the courtyard they were stopped by several more of the sisters. After the incident downtown they looked in no mood to deal with a couple of arbites, and the feeling was mutual. Delphias decided to be blunt.

"Look, before you go questioning my authority or giving me any frak about appointments or what not, let me show you this badge. It says, "Delphias Fedarsi can go see whoever he needs to to persecute the criminal, heritic, or traitor." Now, I need to speak to your cannoness, and I would appreciate it if you would take me to her.

***


The two Sisters of battle glanced at each other with curious looks before turning back to the Arbites officer, “The Adeptus Sororitas are bound only by Ecclesiastic law. I’d suggest you adjust your tone and show the proper respect. We allow you in the courtyard as a courtesy, one which can be revoked.”

The other placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder, “Easy sister.” She turned to the officer but her look was not kind, “No man save a priest of the Ecclesiarchy is allowed within the convent, Arbitrator. You will have to await the Canoness here. But your request to speak with the Mother Superior will be passed along.”


Delphias snorted. "Yes, Mam," he said, dripping with sarcasm, "We'll wait here." Gorson nervously plucked at his sleeve. Delphias wasn't exactly tactful, and these sisters looked in no mood to deal with a couple of smart-ass bronzes.

The two Arbitrators did not have to wait long, though even during their short stay in the courtyard it was obvious the Sisters of Battle were on alert. At least half of the warrior-nuns were garbed in their Vestment pattern power armor and carrying the godwyn pattern bolters and flamers for which they were infamous.

An imperious-looking woman with her platinum blonde hair cut in a short shag approached. Her face would have likely been described as beautiful, if not for the stern demeanor and cold eyes. Her armor was golden with trim of crimson and white. There was a plasma pistol at one hip and a broadsword at the other. The FLeur-de-Lys was tattooed at the outside corner of her right eye.

"I'm Mother Superior Rebecca, Canoness of the Commandery of the Martyr's Vestments, Order of Saint Magdalena." She spoke as she approached. "To what do we owe this vist, Arbitrator?"
Delphias looked at the woman appraisingly. He wasn't going to be put off by shiny armor or big guns. He stepped forward.

"You owe this visit, Sister, to the fact that without notifying the arbites as to why you chose to do it, you put your garrison on high alert. A day later, an unusually violent cultist attack kills hundreds. This implies that you were aware of something we at the Adeptus Arbites were not." He paused and stepped closer, jabbing his whirring bionic at the cannoness. "You owe this visit, Madam, to the fact that you soritas seem to have no inkling of when coordination is required in the keeping of order!" Gorson kicked Delphias in the shin, hard, and stepped forward.

"My comrade forgets himself, Cannoness. He merely means to say that it was perhaps, unwise, to withhold pertinent information from the arbites. Perhaps, now that we are here, you could explain your reasoning?" Gorson didn't like the sisters any more than Delphias, but someone here had to be diplomatic.

"You should be well aware, Arbitrator, that the Adeptus Sororitas operate under the aegis of the Ecclesiarchy, not the governing body as you do. We owe you no explanation of anything." Rebecca said with a blank expression...as though the man was not worthy of her time. "However, we had no prior knowledge of any specific threat. The instruction to place the Commandery on alert came from the Hierarch of our Order herself on Pentateuch." She raised an eyebrow. "I find it unlikely she had any specific knowledge of the attack either. Consider it a coincidence of timing."

Delphias considered this, choosing his words with care.
"Well, cannoness, perhaps, in the future, if you become aware of any threats, general or specific, you could be so kind as to notify the people whose job it is to keep the peace! I don't care how insignificant the threat is, and I don't care if Sebastion Thor himself told it to you, if it concerns the safty of citizens we deserve to know about it! It is clear to me that there is nothing more to be gained here. I'll take up no more of your time so you can go back to thwarting any attempt at maintaining order!" Delphias turned and stormed off as fast as his metal leg allowed. Gorson hurried after, knowing better than to talk to Delphias at a time like this. It was only later, after they had returned to the Hall, that Gorson spoke.

"We won't get any help from them, Del." he said softly. "Your going to have to go over their heads if you want anything done." Delphias paused, contemplating. He rolled a Lho stick and lit it, thinking.

"Get the Inquisition on the line. This is their kind of thing, isn't it?"

***

[Cathedralsquare]

"Congratulations, Sister Superior Saber. It is a great honor to be among those that the Canoness chose to advance to the rank of Celestian." The Canoness-Commander held out her hand to Saber. The Sister Superior's face was streaked with tears, she could not accept the hand. The tears she bled were not those of joy, but those of grief.

Saber looked over her shoulder at the other Battle Sister. "Our Canoness is gone, our Convent, destroyed. My Sisters..." She paused, looking back to the pallid face of her fallen Sister. "My Sisters... dead. You expect me to accept our Canoness's recommendation? I've failed her, I've failed my Sisters. Emperor damn me... I've failed our Order. I couldn't protect myself. I couldn't protect the Sisters that trusted me." She looked back to the corpse she was kneeling over. Her hand brushed gently against the eyes of the Sororita's, closing the lids of the light-less orbs. 'I apologize, Sister Cassandra. Emperor forgive me.' With effort, she brought herself to her knees, her hands moving to grip the Godwyn-Deaz pattern bolter that lay in the mud at her side.

As her hand made the action to move, it was stopped by the hand of Sister Cassandra, partially bared of the armor that had protected it in life. More hands were to follow, those of Sister Portia, Sister Lithe, and Sister Ophelia. Her former Sisters, those she had commanded, began to pull her down. Hands of the deceased grasped for flesh and hair, armour and weapon alike, pulling them towards the enveloping earth. They chanted her name over and over, the noise growing louder and louder, quickly escalating into a scream, then a shriek, until it battered its way past her walls of faith. Her failure pierced her soul, their fingers turned to talons, shredding armour as easily as they parted her body. Again, the voice of Sister Hilda echoed in her ears.

"Congratulations," She paused, she moved, her hand lifting her chin to stare into her eyes. Her lips split in a smile, but her teeth were no longer there. In their place was a razorlike maw. "Sister Saber. You deserve this more than anyone."

"Sister Saber..."

"Sister Saber..."

"Sister Saber!"

She awoke with a start. Her skin was cold and clammy, her snowy hair matted to her forehead by the sweat that seeped from her pores. She swallowed harshly, her hands covering her face. She felt the cool hand of another Sister on her shoulder, and with difficulty, she looked into the eyes of another Celestian.

"This is Pentateuch isn't it?" Saber looked around her frantically, trying desperately to make sense of her surroundings, blurred by sleep. Her mind clouded by visions of the past, crushed by her guilt.

"Why of course, Sister Saber. You were crying out in your sleep. The Mother-Superior wants us to awaken, we are to escort her."

"Pray with me, Sister Myrandriel. I need your support." Saber asked.

"Certainly, Sister."
------------------------------------------------

Chunk...

Chunk...

Chunk...

Her finger curled around the trigger again. The sound repeated. The .75 caliber round went from clip to chamber to barrel. They activated their own perpulsion systems, and from there blew massive holes in the upper body of the target. Her aim was unfalliable. She fired in slow bursts, her mind calculating the time in which it took to reach the target, her eye trained down the targetter, the small red dot indicating the assumed path of the bolter rounds.

Chunk...

Chunk...

Chunk...

The recoil felt good against her shoulder, each shot an expression of her anger, each pull of the trigger a litany of faith in her devout worship of the Immortal Emperor. She heard the sliding door, the heavy boots of another Sister, then several more pair of boots followed by echoing voices of a group of newer Sisters. As Saber turned, they stopped. "Emperor Bless this morning, Sister Saber." One of the women smiled, it wasn't returned.

"Emperor bless you, Sisters."

Another girl pipped up, shouldering her way through the group to be at the front. "Why do you always train alone, Sister? Shouldn't you be training with us? You're very... Seclusive." She inquired.

"You'll find out someday." She replied, walking past the group. "Why is doesn't she ever smile. Unless you ask her something she'll never even speak." "I think she's odd." Stated another Sister. They thought she was out of earshot. She wasn't. Their words fell on closed ears, she was resolute, her step steady as she marched towards the Chapel of the Convent.

[Ghostmoon]

Simone wiped her hands on the soft cloth she kept tucked under her belt. The cloth had been white when they had started. Now it was crimson. She sighed; her guest was being unusually stubborn. It was making her sad. If he would only admit his wrong and return willingly to the grace of the Emperor. She glanced with some distaste at the cloth in her hands. She honestly didn’t like drawing blood. After all any barbarian could break a bone or cut the flesh.

She looked at her guest, he was seated in the room's single chair but he was hanging against the leather bonds as if he were still trying to break free from them. He had actually stopped trying that foolishness some time ago. Now his posture was due to sheer exhaustion. “Why are you doing this, Ferran?” she asked, her voice honey soft. “I don’t wish to hurt you, but I must hear your confession. Don’t you want to be restored to righteousness?” She came and knelt before the beaten man. She reached out and tilted his chin up to look in his eyes. He gasped as her thin fingers touched him. She smiled warmly as his eyes darted wildly side to side, looking everywhere but at her. “Any man can make a simple mistake. Your sin can be forgiven so easily.” She coaxed.

This case was an easy one. Citizen Ferran Demarko had been caught by a jealous husband in the bed of his wife. There was no question of his guilt only of his repentance. Normally this sort of thing wouldn’t have even required her to glance at the paperwork. But this time the jealous husband was an important aristocrat. And a pious follower of the godEmperor. Simone let Ferran’s head drop back to his chest. This was going no where. She let her hand brush over his head as she moved to the cabinet that held her tools.

For just a moment Simone paused. She felt a shudder run down her spine, as if cold water had been poured down her back. For a second she saw Ferran’s brown eyes in front of her. He really did have lovely eyes. He had flinched so when he saw her reach for his face. For his eyes. He feared damage to his lovely brown eyes. Simone snapped back to herself. She rubbed her arms trying to settle her unease. These little fugues had been happening with more frequency of late.

She opened the cabinet and removed a long steel needle. It was crude but she needed resolution. Ferran needed resolution. She turned back to her guest with a rueful smile. “Ferran, I am sure that you have heard the scripture that tells us that whatever is dark and corrupt within us must be let go of. Must be purged from our very being, so we may better worship the Emperor.” She stood behind him and cupped her left hand under his chin again and pulled his head back till he was eye to eye with her. Ferran gurgled and began pulling at the bonds again. "You have lusted for another man's wife. This corrupts the harmony the Emperor wishes for all his children." She spoke softly, almost lovingly, "This lust started by coveting. You saw the Lady and wanted her. You were brought low by your sight Ferran." She brought the needle up quickly and plunged it into the dark pupil of his lovely brown eye.



Much later, Simone was resting (she got so tired these days and the headaches…) when Malachi Zakur, her Inquisitional Crusader body guard politely interrupted her silence. “Ma’am, there is an urgent Vox for you." He frowned seeing her resting yet again. “Another headache?” She waved her hand dismissively, “It’s nothing Malachi. Who is calling?”

“An Interrogator Fedarsi has requested you to come handle a missing Arbite.”

“Really.” She arched an eyebrow. It seemed to be her day for unassuming tasks.

Malachi made to turn on his heel, “I will dismiss the Hail. You aren’t well. Someone else, an acolyte could help him.”

“Malachi, wait.” She said with only the barest hint of irritation in her soft voice. Her bodyguard meant well but sometimes he became positively motherly. He stopped instantly.

“Mistress?”

“Did he say why he was requesting my help?”

“No Ma’am. Only that he needed an Inquisitor of your standard.”

Simone doubted he had actually said her standard but she was willing to let Malachi win that one. Besides her headache was fading and something was tickling her curiosity. “I have time to at least read the hail don’t I?” She said with a hint of a smile. "Besides we must support our Brothers in arms. Even the Arbites."

[Arsenic & Lace]

*******
The sun above rained down upon the thick green rows of treetops, the sweet and heady scent of apples filled the air. Amongst the rows a young woman walked; tall and lovely. She was wrapped in a wispy alabaster cloak, the hood raised high to shield her face; her pale feet struck the cool soil, bare devoid of any sound. Weaving playfully in and out of the trees, long tapered fingers trailed over the smooth bark lovingly.

She came to a tree filled with apples; their skins almost shimmered in the sunlight. She reached up, curling her fingers about the fruit and plucking it from the branch. Leaves shuddered in protest and she gently cupped the apple in her palms to admire it. Against her robe she polished it till the skin shone like a mirror and as she looked down into her miniature reflection she smiled.

Her voice poured from her lips like a gentle caress, “There once was a little girl…” She lowered the hood of her cloak; a thick mane of wild curls fell about her shoulders. “Who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead…” The sun shone in her hair turning it into a color as rich as chocolate. “And when she was good…” She turned her face upwards, her eyes were a warm shade of honey brown, the light caught and held them; they were kind, naked and vulnerable. “She was very, very good…”

The sun was suddenly snuffed out, the young woman gasped and spun to face the tree once more as a terrible sound filled the air. The wood groaned as the tree began to stretch, reaching skyward. Its limbs grew thick and gnarled, she jumped back when the branches shuddered, and the apples began to fall to the earth like a hailstorm. They hit the soil and bounced, rolling in all directions, one slowly came to a stop at her toe. Once a gleaming red, its skin had grown black as coal. One glance to the apple in her palm and it was dropped to the ground, the ashen fruit rolling to join the others.

A voice came from above, slow, careful, and somewhat alluring, “And when she was bad, she was horrid!” With the last word the figure leapt from its branch and hit the soil in a low crouch. Slowly, it rose to its full height and lifted its face; almost an exact image of the girl in white, almost. Her face was a mask in itself, as pale as the moonlight it held no emotion. Her eyes were nearly black and her hair had been woven behind her back in a tight braid. Staring at the young woman in the ivory cloak she whispered to her in a ‘come-hither’ fashion, “Dahlia...”

The white cloak was drawn back as Dahlia stepped forward, her curls flying about her shoulders, she approached the dark one and leaned forward to bow her head, murmuring, “Hema…” The dark figure padded forward, hips swaying; her body glistened with the slick ebony of a second skin. She too bowed her head till their foreheads touched; two halves of one whole.

*******

Hema stood on a mat in the middle of the sparring room, the gleaming walls just as cold and unfeeling as every other chamber in the Callidus Temple. Even the mats that covered the floor were white, it gave the room the appearance of some strange void in space, somewhat throwing ones senses off. Despite the deadly training, Hema considered the room a controlled environment.

She had removed her boots and had loosened the tie on her Gi in preparation for the match she was entering. Chocolate pools rolled over the tall, lithe figure before her. The woman had a long and narrow nose; it almost seemed out of place on her round face. Her skin was the color of warm honey, her blonde hair was cut very short, grazing the tops of her ears and she wore the duplicate of Hema’s uniform; she was in the same level. Her name was Yula and she was quite skilled, but Hema had about 60 pounds on her and a greater passion for for what was to unfold; she anticipated a short match that morning.

Both women fell into a brief and graceful bow, an ancient tradition meant for respect and gratitude for the up and coming battle. Raising from the pose each woman slid into an alerted but limber stance; having agreed upon hand to hand combat, neither would have a weapon other than their own bodies. It was more than enough. Cautiously Yula eyed Hema, her hands clenching and releasing at her sides and after circling for nearly a minute she realized that she would have to be the one to make the first move.

An overly friendly grin spread across Hema’s face as she crooked a finger playfully to her opponent, beckoning. It was enough of a provocation. Yula darted forward, her right hand flattened and tensed like a board; she swung it with startling speed down towards Hema’s collarbone. Eyes wide, Hema swiftly let her body fall back, moving with the woman down to the mat, bringing her knees to her stomach. Yula was thrown off balance, falling forward and switching her tactics to using her elbow for a lower shot, putting her weight into it.

As the lithe frame fell upon her, Hema caught the brunt of the strike in the left side of her chest, she was immediately winded, and something inside cracked. Wheezing with pain, she was unable to kick Yula, the woman was rested upon her shins. “Damnit!” She hissed, “I just had those fixed!” Without thinking Hema spread her thighs to let the woman drop down on her front, and savagely raked her nails down the left side of Yula’s face, nearly gouging her eye out. The woman shrieked in outrage and reared back, stumbling two paces backwards. No matter how much training one receives, if the threat was large enough or just the right one, the body would allow instinct to take over.

Those few steps gave Hema the time and space she needed. She took a mere moment to catch her breath before she slammed her right heel towards the woman’s kneecap, she twisted and rolled onto her side, never taking her eyes off her opponent. Leaping to all fours she rose to her feet; with a cringe she bent slightly forward to favor her ribs, panting softly with the pain. The damage was worse than before, though thankfully it had not punctured her lung. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the little meaty chunks beneath her fingernails, the blood that trailed down her fingertips and onto the mat.

Hema looked the woman over; she was using great self restraint not to touch the dripping wound and could apparently stand quite well, the kick had not landed properly. This made Hema smile, Yula snarled and tensed; Hema’s smile widened to resemble a Cheshire cat. She so loved getting under someone’s skin; it drove many to do very foolish things. Unable to stop it, a giggle passed her lips; the light-hearted and playful sound seemed to snap the last thread of her opponent’s composure.

[Arsenic & Lace]

“You best wipe that smile off yer face b****, or I’ll do it fer ya!” Yula spat the words but they only drew another giggle from Hema. “How eloquently said, do have a go at it.” The condescending words had barely left her lips when Yula lunged for her. The women were no longer engaged in a proper sparring match; it seemed to have turned into somewhat of a brawl. Eyes were beginning to slither their way. Fists balled she brought round a left hook that smashed into Hema’s jaw with enough force to knock her flat on her arse. The movement had been too quick for Hema to block, and so she was forced to relax and take it.

Although she sat on the floor in a very vulnerable position she still could not stop smiling. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, her cheek had split inside on her teeth and the throbbing in her jaw made her wonder if Yula had not indeed used some sort of concealed weapon. Undaunted she pushed herself to her feet just in time to see Yula swinging at her again.

Twisting to her left, the fist sailed past her right cheek and she grabbed firmly onto Yula’s forearm. Using the momentum Hema flung the woman over her shoulder quite easily. Yula sailed through the air and slammed down onto the mat, having the wind knocked out of her. Hema dropped her hold and danced back out of reach waiting the woman’s rebuttal. She didn’t have to wait long, in half the time it should have taken her to catch her breath Yula was back, making the same swing.

What a fool! Confident in her accusation Hema brought up her right arm to block the shot, but as she swung her forearm into place, Yula was suddenly in a crouch. Startled, Hema tried to swing at the woman, leaving herself open. She had fallen for it. Yula dodged the punch and easily drove all her force into a menacing uppercut. With a grunt Hema’s teeth clattered together and she was sent toppling backwards, spinning slightly as she fell.

Landing hard on her left shoulder Hema choked for a steady breath, blood dribbled down her chin and pooled on the alabaster mat, from a gash in her tongue. Her head throbbed, and for a moment she wanted to just lay there but with all her pain her body shuddered; she felt strange. As she pushed herself up onto all fours she took a moment to calm the rush of her own blood, forcing her body to cooperate. She focused her eyes and ears as quickly as possible, she wasn’t finished yet.


A hand shot out, clawing, gripping the back of her Gi and attempted to pull Hema backwards. With one fluid motion her fingers found the tie and with a little tug the knot was undone. Her arms slid backwards and the crimson silk was ripped from her back, slipping without resistance over her fingertips. The action had freed her; she glanced back and spun low on the mat, her right leg shooting out to capture Yula behind the ankles. The woman flew backwards the red silk still crushed in her palm.

As she fell, she twisted her torso, dropping the Gi and slamming her palms to the mat to break her fall. Hema drew her right foot back to the mat; balancing in a crouch she launched herself upon the fallen figure like a cat. Her right knee slammed into the spinal column, her full weight grinding in till she felt something crunch and slip beneath Yula’s cat suit and flesh; At the same time her fists came down and in on either side of the woman’s ribcage, a sickening noise filling the air something between a squeak and a hiss, like the air being let from a balloon.

Hema’s eyes widened and suddenly blackened, her lips twisted into a devilish grin as she realized the woman was now quite vulnerable. Something strange, something deep inside began to take over. Yula’s left arm was trapped beneath her own body; Pale fingers wrapped around her right wrist; Hema leaned over the woman, her thighs slipping down and tightening around Yula’s waist. Scarlet coated lips moved over the bloodied flesh of Yula’s cheek, “Scream for me, Yula…SCREAM!” she almost moaned the words.

With tremendous force she yanked the other woman’s arm up far between her shoulder blades, however her only reward was a grunt. “No?” Hema grabbed the woman’s elbow and wrenched it upright until she felt the shoulder snap out of its socket thumping into the mat. Intent on shredding the woman, Hema brutally shoved the elbow forward towards the ear, Yula’s hand still bent backwards against her own cracked ribs. Cartilage ground and shattered, sinew snapped like thread; Yula’s scream filled the air, agonizing and urgent.

Hema! The voice was high pitched, panicked. She found it delicious and her hands thrust Yula’s arm farther towards her own head, the bone would soon be forced through that honey colored flesh. Hema NO! This is brutality! She tilted her head staring into the bulging eyes of her opponent and muttered, “Dahlia?” Yes, stop please! “NO…” She smashed her fist down into the woman’s bleeding face and hissed “I want to play!” Hema could feel a familiar flame inside, spreading throughout her body, drowning out the voice of reason; her injuries no longer caused pain, but an untapped and depraved sense of pleasure.

Yula’s eyes were showing far too much white; her breathing had slowed to a ragged wheezing. She only needed one glance at Hema’s face to realize just what she was, and just how much danger she actually was in. Her arms were useless now, and her legs felt frighteningly numb, but surely the good doctors could mend any damage. Then she felt long, warm fingers coiling about her neck, she felt the seering pain of Hema’s nails slowly but surely sinking into the flesh of her throat.

Hema wiggled in closer so that her heavy breasts pressed into the woman’s gnarled arm and spine. “You didn’t scream, Yula….I told you to scream.” Her voice was soft, a sweet caress like a mother cooing to her child. A gurgle was all the woman could muster as she saw a black curtain dropping before her eyes. She felt weary, this never should have happened, she was better than Hema. Her eyelids fluttered and she fought to maintain consciousness...

[Vezaz]

Delphias and Gorson had returned to base after dispatching a few legion detachtments to clear up Imperial Plaza. However, he still had a dead Judge to find, and some sisters who clearly expected worse to come. All he could do now was wait, for help to come and Chaos to make it's next move.

***

The arbites returned to the hall and entered one of the many vox-halls in the citidel. The two men sat in the conference room for some time before the vox-servitor chimed.

"The Inquisitor has responded to your vox-hails. I am patching her through to screen two. Please wait."

Delphias nodded and looked over at Gorson. Neither man knew much about the Inquisitor, other than that the name had made the sub-sector rounds associated with rather unorthedox- but effective- methods of "questioning". His thoughts were interrupted by the image of a young woman in her early 40's resolving on the pict-screen. He glanced at Gorson. Neither had expected a woman. He attempted to recover quickly.

"Greetings, Inquisitor Godschilde, I presume? Thank you for taking your time to speak with us. My name is Delphias Fedarsi, Interregator of the Arbites here on Byzantium. We seem to be having a bit of a cultist problem. Could you schedule a meeting here at the Hall?"

Simone saw the subtle surprise as the two men looked at each other for a heartbeat before the older one greeted her. She took it in stride, Witch Hunters were always a source of wild rumors and farfetched stories. No doubt they had been expecting a fire breathing have crazed hunter. And a man to boot. It didn’t bother her.

“Interrogator Fedarsi, I was a bit surprised when your request came. I was told you are leading the investigation of a missing Arbite. Nothing was said of cultists.” Her lip curled a bit as she said the word, her distaste obvious

Fedarsi reacted to Godschilde's words without temper. He wasn't about to be brushed off by some stuck-up acoloyte, but the people of Byzantium needed an inquisitor to keep them safe. And he really didn't want to have to conduct this search.

"Well, Inquisitor, I believe that cultists have something to do with why the arbitrator in question in missing." He grinned.

"We deal with our fair share of chaos this close to the Eye, but the forces of chaos are getting, well, more chaotic, to put in bluntly. As for leading the investigation, that's why I called you. We are not blessed with a representative of your order. Byzantium goes through them rather quickly, it seems. In any case, my limited authority as an arbitrator is not enough to open some doors. There are Imperial servants who, how do I put this, only respond to those I-shaped bits you lot carry around. I was hoping you would be gracious enough to take over the investigation. With myself and Gorson as advisors, of course." Delphias spoke with a mock-humble tone, but he was confident that offering the inquisitor control would get the issue out of his hands and into her lap.

Simone listened, uninterested at first but the mention of the proximity of the Eye caught her attention. She felt the strange shudder run down her spine. Something was coming. She focused again on what Fedarsi was saying. She nodded when he had finished.
“I see no reason that we can not work together on this Interrogator. You will obviously have a better knowledge of the situation and the people involved. I appreciate your diligence in the protection of the Emperor’s Citizens. You can make any arrangements necessary with my Guard Zakur.” She smiled genuinely at the older man, “I look forward to working with you Interrogator Fedasi.”

Delphias nodded.
"Excellent. Thank you, Inquisitor. I'll leave Gorson to arrange the details with your Zakur, and if you vox us upon arrival we'll meet you at the shuttle pad."
Without waiting for a reply, Delphias cut the connection.

"We're getting a secondary cogitator channel from her staff. It's requsting a situational update." said Gorson from the massive bank of computors to their right.

"Send her everything. She can draw what conclusions she will." Delphias replied. He leaned back in his chair. Perhaps this investigation would be bearable afterall...

[Jack Elliot]

Sextus Pompeii panted heavily, his head resting between the girl’s shoulder blades, their sweat mingling to pool in the hollow at the small of her back. His lust sated…for now, as it seemed his lust could never truly be quenched for long…he lifted himself off the girl, Baebiana. She let out a tiny whimper as his weight was raised off her buttocks, her wrists tugging at the bonds that pinned her. Her sobs, muffled with her face pressed into the mattress, had ceased. The Senator had hurt her, as he always did, but he was careful. A rogue psycher with the talent of an Astropath was rare…so he had to be cautious not to damage her unduly.

Standing next to the cot, he slipped his toga over his head, mindful to smooth out the gathers and folds properly. He watched Baebiana’s irregular breathing for a moment, then reached down and tugged on the free end of the knot that held her left wrist. She slowly pulled her arm to her, curling her legs up against her body. Not bothering to free her other hand, she lay in the fetal position, her whimpers quieting. She was perilously thin, her ribs and hips too prominent. Her hair was a wild tangled mess even before he had ravaged her. Her appearance was unlikely to arouse lust in most men…

But it wasn’t her body that he lusted for. Baebiana was a symbol…a talisman. For years now, she was the voice of her Lord and Master. Her mind reached out across the void to the Eye of Terror. When his Lord spoke, it was through her lips. She was his vessel.

So in Sextus’ mind, when he was violating her…he was touching his Master. To him, it was as though he had enjoyed sexual congress with his Lord. The mere thought of it aroused him again, but he closed his eyes and asserted his control. The Senator was a busy man…he had important things to oversee.

And…there was always tonight…

He closed the cell door behind him, locking it with an ornate silver key. At the end of the narrow hall in the deep cellars of his estate, the stormtrooper guarding the entrance stood at attention as he passed. Sextus considered his plans for the ritual that would finally bring forth his Master from the Eye of Terror as he wound through the maze-like subterranean corridors.

Stepping through the cellar door into the mansion proper, he turned for the main stairwell. On the third floor was his office, frosted windows looking over the city…his city. He sat at his desk and enjoyed the view for a moment, the hills surrounding the city blushing with the colors of autumn. He couldn’t help but smile, Symbolic…it is autumn for the Imperium as well. Time for the long winter and a new spring…Our spring…

He spent some time seeing to his normal affairs of state. There was an upcoming appropriations bill in the Senate that he would need to lobby a few more votes for. There was a communiqué from a corrupt Judge that caused him some concern. The Arbitrators were already considering Lucius Scaevola’s disappearance as suspicious. An investigator named Delphias Fedarsi had been assigned to the case. That will need to be nipped in the bud. He played through the dozen messages recorded by his vox-unit. Most were mundane business save one…

“ S. Pompeii, this is Decimus Ovidius Malleolus, I have need of your assistance regarding a one Manius Lucius Bibaculus. He apparently has stuck his nose entirely too far into places he should not, and it would seem most interesting for him to disappear from this area having made two visits to my personal abode on two successive nights. I was wondering if maybe you could use your considerable influence to schedule a grand dinner in the Carthago Nova district. If you can do this for me, I will owe you a great debt. May the God-Emperor be with you.”

Sextus snorted at the farewell on the message and leaned back into his chair. Decimus. Hmmm…perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone. He rocked forward and withdrew a paper and quill from his desk. This note couldn’t be sent over an unsecured transmission.

D. O. Malleolus

Bibaculus is a nuisance we have tolerated for far too long. I will be glad to assist you in this matter.

As it happens, I have a request of you as well. It seems the Arbitrators are already suspicious of Judge Scaevola’s disappearance. Investigator Delphias Fedarsi has been assigned to the case. It is imperative that his investigation be misled away from the cult. I will send the Judges’ weapons, armor, and other effects to you. Plant them on some sacrificial lambs…perhaps some street trash in the outer circles of your cell. Perhaps, finding the Judge’s equipment will lead them to believe his death was at the hands of those ne’er-do-wells and investigate no further.

If not, then assign someone in your cell to deal with Fedarsi in a more direct manner.

I look forward to seeing you at the ritual tomorrow evening. The Days or our Glory are at hand. By the Will of our Lord and Master.

Sextus

The Senator called in a page, a fresh-faced citizen girl with freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. She was a relatively new convert to the cult, and one could not discern that just last night she had performed acts of carnal deviancy that would make others nauseous just to hear of. Her sleeves were long and her blouse closed up to her neck to conceal the marks, bruises, and lacerations from the revel. She bowed her head slightly and he held out the letter after sealing it, “Take this to Senator Malleolus. It is for his eyes only. Give it to no other.” The page nodded and hurried out, eager to please the Apostle of Slaanesh.

He spun his chair slowly to face the window again. He held his arms out as though he could encircle the cityscape and hold it in his embrace. Soon…very soon…

[Artimis Re'Ar]

Decimus strolled lazily through the halls of his home well after dark. His mind was full of a great many things, the least of which his impatience at hearing some word from Sextus. As the Apostle of Slaanesh, he was the highest ranking member of the overall cult here on Byzantium, but at times his responses came slow and weren’t usually what Decimus would call “prudent.” But that was the cost of having come later, and not having as much experience as Sextus and all that he had done. Decimus knew that he was by no means unqualified, nor was he inept in anything that he did; after all he had rose faster than any other man to the power that he now weld with an iron fist.

As he past the room of his mother, he stopped and looked in to check on her. She was sitting on her bed, with her back to Decimus, humming a tune while brushing her hair. His father had been a great man for things that he had accomplished, even his uncle had done a great many things for this family while abusing it, but since the loss of both of them his mother had become withdrawn and lost. She still to this day had no idea of what Decimus was, or where his allegiances lay, but she had allowed him to rule the house and go about his business as he wished. Tonight he thought, would be a good night to introduce her to who his true master was.

“Mother.” She turned her head only slightly, her tune ending, and inclined her head to her eldest son. “I have come to ask you to join me for a meeting I am having this evening. Would you care to incline your presence?”

“Yes, Decimus, I will.” Decimus stood there as she rose, dropping her toga, and stepping toward her wardrobe. Decimus had for a great many years watched his mother, even in his younger days he spied her while she slept with his uncle, but he was still amazed at how well she kept herself through all this time. She was a shapely woman, reminding Decimus of the younger women he would keep on retainer, and moved with a fluid grace of a noble woman. A pull in his groin brought to mind exactly how he would induct her to the cult, whether she wanted to or not.

----

A few hours later Decimus and his mother were walking the halls of their estates storage facilities some distance from the grounds of their manor. All around them were the personal guard of the house, standing tall and strait with all the bearing of the Arbites itself. The door to the room was closed, but opened as soon as Decimus was near. Inside sat 5 people, all of them part of Decimus’ cell of the cult as well as prominent members in this sector. At the far end of the long table where Decimus took his seat was Marca Paparius Bassus, the head of the treasury here in their home sector. To her left sat Aulus Ursias Crassipes, her right Spurius Suetonius Merula, both of them part of the advisory committee. To Decimus’ right and left were Gnaeus Salvius Proculus and the very beautiful Appia Calpurnius Tubulus, the two of them and Decimus the only Patricians at the table. Of those present, Appia and Gnaeus were the only two that Decimus did not feel were expendable. The rest, most importantly Marca, were the expendable ones here that Decimus felt he could take full advantage of.

“We have all arrived at your request master.” Marca sat with her alluring eyes cast directly on Decimus, hoping to catch his eye and hold him in her sway. There was something to her looks, something no one had ever been able to explain, but Decimus was sure she was not an unsanctioned Psyker nor was she sanctioned either.

“As you all know, we have a ritual tomorrow evening that we are all to attend. Before this though, we have something we must address as concerns the last ritual.” The group of them sat back, not knowing whether or not this was going to be good news. Shortly before leaving to come to this meeting, a page had arrived carrying a personal letter from the Apostle and the effects of the dead judge. This time his words had been prudent. Decimus pulled the letter, and read the things prudent to this meeting.

“As it happens, I have a request of you as well. It seems the Arbitrators are already suspicious of Judge Scaevola’s disappearance. Investigator Delphias Fedarsi has been assigned to the case. It is imperative that his investigation be misled away from the cult. I will send the Judges’ weapons, armor, and other effects to you. Plant them on some sacrificial lambs…perhaps some street trash in the outer circles of your cell. Perhaps, finding the Judge’s equipment will lead them to believe his death was at the hands of those ne’er-do-wells and investigate no further.

If not, then assign someone in your cell to deal with Fedarsi in a more direct manner.

I look forward to seeing you at the ritual tomorrow evening. The Days or our Glory are at hand. By the Will of our Lord and Master.

Sextus”

Decimus looked over his confederates, then back to his mother who sat against the wall. The look on her face told the story. She was appalled, shocked, and most importantly, frozen to where she sat. With a flick of his wrist two guards appeared on either side of her, forcefully wrenching her from her seat. Decimus was surprised she did not resist, but given the situation and who she knew to be dealing with it was truly not all that surprising upon further thought. “Appia, Gnaeus, I believe you have a few morsels for me to attend to tonight, and I believe I will add my mother to the docket as well.

“Your mother D. Ovidius?”

“Yes Aulus my mother. I cannot do as I am expected by our Master if my family has not been offered his Grace. Do you have a particular problem with this?” Decimus fixed his stare upon Aulus, who happened to be the most power hungry of the bunch.

“No, D. Ovidius, I do not.” Aulus backed down with a slight snear and dejected look. Decimus knew then who would be the one to take the fall.

“Aulus you are dismissed. Take the effects of the late Judge with you and hold them until I have decided who will be the one to fall. Do you understand?”

“Yes D. Ovidius, I do.” Aulus bowed, and promptly left the room.

“Aulus?” Marca was surprised by the turn, as Aulus was the one to take her position should she ever be promoted or removed from her current status.

“Yes Aulus, we will move to have Gnaeus take the position once Aulus has been discovered by this Delphias. As for the other piece of our business this evening, you must prepare yourselves more so now than ever for the coming of our master. Bring together your lackeys, put them on strict orders, and do not let them run free. Should any of you make any mistakes whatsoever, remember that I can put an end to you permanently with a mere thought.” Decimus looked the table over, making sure to meet the gaze with each one of them, reminding them of the mental bond they each shared with him upon the entrance into his cell. “ Gnaeus, Appia, please stay with me this evening, I believe I will need the two of you for what I have planned. Marca, Spurius, I will see you two here tomorrow evening before we leave for the Ritual.”

-----
Two hours later Decimus stood over the quivering body of a young boy, his body violated, his skin flayed, his eyes cut out, and his tongue currently hanging from a hook nearby. Behind him his mother was whimpering, her loud screams for help and sobs for mercy having long past as Decimus pleasured himself with the boy. Gnaeus and Appia had mad love the entire time, trading between master and slave, sadist and masochist, bring more spirit to this pre-ritual rite.

“Decimus….my son….my son what have you become….the God Emperor punishes….”

“The God Emperor Mother! The God Emperor is a soiled, rotting carcus on a throne on Terra! What has he granted us other than a Corrupt Empire with no true stability! My Lord, My Master on the other hand grants power to those who worship him as I do, as those of my Cell do! You mother will come to understand this soon enough, but first, I must prepare you for the final rite of this ritual.” Decimus in all of his Naked glory felt power coursing through him and stepped forward to his mother. She was stretched spread eagle against the wall, each arm and leg secured to a pivoting harness that was currently pushed all the way up against the wall. Decimus pulled her toga off, reveling in her exposed state, and brought his face close to her own to smell her fear.“You see mother, I Worship the God Slaanesh, and soon he will call Byzantium home! There is nothing the God Emperor, or his forces for that matter, can do about it! If you pledge yourself to him, he will spare your life. If not, then you will atleast enjoy your last moments in this life before he flays your soul for all eternity!” Gnaeus and Appia joined Decimus in front of his mother, repositioning the harness so that she was flat level of his waist and facing the floor. As the rite began, Decimus could feel that he was less elated about this than he was about the idea that it would only strengthen him for the Rites and Rituals to come tomorrow night.

[Vezaz]

Inquisitor Godschilde was still several days out. The investigation had to continue; justice had to be served. With this in mind, Delphias finally gave the order to gear up and move out. He had gathered his men in the vox-room one last time before they officially began operations.

“Alright men, here’s the plan. I've decided to call in for guard support. Things are starting to heat up, aren’t they? I don't think that the guard are going to do a better job of it, but I'd rather any of them be on the fireing line instead of one of you.” The men nodded dully. It was risky out in the streets. Arbites were lost all the time- two thirds of the Hall of Order were engraved with the names of the fallen, and it was said that Justice Hill was built upon the tomb of the first hundred arbites on Byzantium back in the thirty-sixth millennium. “We’re going to split into teams of four for this one. Lt. Cruciarch has kindly volunteered her platoon for gutter-searching duty.” A voice was raised in objection.

“Fedarsi, do we have to work with those Legion bumpkins? You know some non-com’s just gonna panic and call in cultist every few minutes.” whined one arbitrator, a man named Wilkerson.

“Look Wilks, don’t think I don’t know what the problems with the PDF are. However, we have three days to get some conclusive evidence for the Inquisitor en route, and I don’t think twenty arbites searching sixty-four square klicks of slums are going to get anywhere fast. We’re working with the guard and that’s that. You have your orders.”
With this he ended the briefing and the arbites stood and shuffled outside to their waiting repressors.

***

The investigation proceeded smoothly, at first. Squads of Legionaries, led by a couple of arbites, would sweep each block for any suspicious activity before declaring it clear and moving on to the next one. The searchers found plenty, but no missing Judge. Slowly but surely the wave of sweepers moved through the slum districts surrounding the senate quarter. Clearing a block could take upwards of half an hour if they stumbled upon a drug house or a ganger lair, and in this area, both were common. Delphias hated jobs like this, because they caused trouble. It was the arbites’ job to deal with under-hiver scum, but to be honest, there was no way the men could deal with everything. What had resulted was a detente- the gangers didn’t cause too much trouble, and the arbites could focus on the real heavy crimes.

This system broke down when large guard task forces began poking under every rock to see what they found. The damn officer of theirs wanted to call in Chimaeras. Chimeras! In the slums where even the repressors could barely clear the streets. Too many guard sent a message to the crime bosses- We are Coming For You. The bosses usually reacted in kind.

Delphias had only been on-shift for about half an hour when the first report came in. While checking a twist bar on the lower end, a legion trooper had gotten himself knifed in a bar brawl. Delphias groaned and turned to Gorson.

“There’s going to be hell to pay, you know? What did they think would happen when we sent in guard units to investigate? The gangs think we’re moving in on them and they’re not afraid to kill some bronzes to keep us out. They keep this up and we’ll have a full on hive-war on our hands and you just know my name will be attached somehow.”
“This doesn’t look like a message killing. It seems to me that the guardsmen just got a bit too nosy for his own good.” replied Gorson.

“I don’t care why it happened. Get someone to bring a message to House Kerokan and tell them to get their act together before I’m forced to intervene.” Delphias answered, referring to the dominant gang in the region. “It’s hard enough as it is to keep things from boiling over and military force just makes my job fething harder.” At that moment, a pair of legionaries jogged up to the command repressor.

“Interrogator Fedarsi, the sisters of battle have been spotted approaching this area. Several gang-bands have been seen moving towards their position.” spouted out the first, before Delphias could so much as acknowledge him. “Lt. Cruciarch said to notify you immediately, sir.” Delphias erupted into a stream of curses as he took this in.

“Gorson, you’re with me. Let’s go see if we can stop those frakking bolter-bitches before they get us all killed.”

[Sargent Wilks]

Gurney Anasazi sat crouched over the half empty pint mug of the seedy bar as eye stayed on from darkness upon him. Many were like him not supposed to be here taking libations again and again in to their supposedly pure body fro the service of the emperor. But to Gurney it didn’t matter if he was caught, let the Inquisition find him even put him out of his misery. Lifting the mug Gurney fixed his eyes upon the deep brown liquor of the ale, it was this stuff that had caused him to lose everything, a practical joke that had left him no future and only a successful past to wallow in.

His future was down the drain because he had been the victim of a cruel joke; six months ago he had never even tasted the bitter sweet taste of beer or ale or one of the other deep evil concoctions. But one of his brethren had poured enough in his early mourning tea to stun an elephant. He had wobbled and cursed as he walked through the hallways of the records archive his intoxicated mind trying its best to focus on the task he had been given by the Inquisition for the records of a series of judgements place in the last fall of winter even as it fought this unknown ailment that shrouded his eyes.

His laspistol hung almost longingly at his side like his sword on the counter. He was a servant of the Emperor… I am a servant of the Emperor. Setting the mug down he let a strange smile cross his lips before he collapsed his head hitting the bar hard enough to break the skin. His last lingering thought was of the Emperor before the blackness took him.

“Wake him up sergeant and don’t be gentle.” Gurney cried out as he awoke finding his head as the water that had been launched at him soaked into his clothes and hair. His eyes were blurry but he could guess where he was, the magistrate sat in his seat in front of him his cold blue eyes looking over his sorry form. The man Gurney guessed was the leader of the patrol that had picked him up throw down the now empty water bucket before taking another full one from his man in the bright room. As the water was thrown at him Gurney tried to move to get away from the cold water that had disturbed his sleep but his arms were tied like his legs to the chair with strong rope.

“Well boy it seems it is my bad fortune to have you before me again. Drunk and disorderly conduct! Do you understand these charges Savant Anasazi do you know how stupid you have been.” Gurney opened his mouth to speak but his tongue was dry like his mouth and all he could muster was a pained grunt. “You are a good boy and a good Sage for the imperium but these…infractions of our rules is inconsiderable by someone like you but again and again I received reports from reliable sources that you have been spending more and more of your and our time in the lower slums of the city not doing the work we keep you for but indulging in obscenities that would make your father turn over in his grave.” The magistrate lend back into his chair brushing one hand over his old face sighing before looking down on him. “What Tulsa did to you was inexcusable and I know that you have been torturing yourself since we punished you for you negligence to the danger. But Gurney you have set yourself down a path of pure self-destruction. I ask you I beg you reconsider this path, once you were mentioned highly on reports to command but now you name isn’t even whispered on even the inventory reports. Two months…even a month ago you could have redeemed yourself in command’s eye good work as you do with the right assignment all mistakes would have been forgiven even with your excessive drinking. But now you are almost useless.”

“I’m…I’m sorry sir.” Gurney slurred as he felt drunken sleep coming up on him. “I know that is why it shames me to have to do this. Gurney Anasazi you are reassigned to the archive retrieve and process team till further notice, your name will be on the field operation board but only as a gesture only to be called into service after all other options and personnel are deemed in field. You know what this means son, I’m exiling you to the books for further notice till you are deemed fit to do your former occupation. Now also for a term of three years your privileges and passes from this citadel have been withdrawn and you are hereby confined to your quarters when you are not in the archives, with the exception of the mess hall. Am I understood?” As the guards cut the restraints lifting him to his feet, one holding him when he couldn’t stand Gurney absorbed what the magistrate had said. He didn’t care right now. There wasn’t much closer he could to hell than his life already. He nodded slowly the world swirling round him. “Good. Sergeant please get this piece of worthlessness from my sight on the double. And Gurney if I ever and I mean ever see you again before me in this straight I will have you strung up and whip within an inch of your life. Also if I even here of one tot of alcohol touches your lips I will personally call on the Inquisitors and have them pass summery judgement on you now get out of here.”

A groan ran out into the darkness as Gurney slowly sat up his head ringing as pain shot through him. Pushing his upper body up with his arms as much as possible before he collapsed content to lie still as the round moved. God what had he done, he didn’t even remember making it back to the citadel let alone to his room to get undressed and then crawl into bed. “Bother Anasazi are you awake?” Gurney throw an empty bottle at the blurry shape as the door opened the bright light filling the room making him curse as the glass shattered on the metal missing the figure by a foot. “Hmm well at least I see you awoke if not sober. Magistrate Novella sent me to show you to your new workstation. But first I think we need to get you in the shower and find a fresh change of clothing. My name is Sister Haycox but don’t get any funny ideas.”

[Jack Elliot]

Katherine stepped down the rough-hewn stairs into the cellar, her crimson and white habit flowing about her. The haunting sound of hymns drifted up from the chambers deeper within the catacombs of the convent. In the bowels of the nunnery were the rooms used by Inquisitors to coax confessions from the heretics hunted by Order. Cells to hold these criminals surrounded the inquisitional chambers, where they were forced to listen to the screams of the damned.

Past the now silent chambers she walked, through cold, echoing stone halls. The hymns grew louder as she neared the chambers of the Repentias. While the quarters of all Sisters of the Adeptus Sororitas were Spartan, the rooms of the Repentias were barely more comfortable than the cells of the prisoners. Living in their austere chambers, they listened to the interrogation of the heretics, as they were punished for their crimes, and found absolution through pain.

At the door, she was met by sister Superior Jezebel, the mistress of the Repentias. The veteran sister served as a guide for the Repentias, sisters who were seeking repentance for sins committed. She was their role model, providing a shining example for them to follow, and she was their judge, shriving their sins with the agony of the Neural Whip. She bowed her head slightly as she opened the door, “Mother Superior.”

Katherine laid a hand on her shoulder, “I have come to see…her.”

“Of course,” Jezebel cocked her head to the side. She led the Canoness through the corridors, filled with the psalms sung by the Repentias like dirges. For they believed that salvation only could be earned through their martyrdom battling the enemies of the God-Emperor.

“How is she?” Katherine asked.

“The same, I think,” Jezebel shrugged. “To be honest, it’s a miracle we’ve gotten her this far.” She glanced sidelong at the Canoness, “She’s expanded her…artwork.”

“I know you were not keen on the idea…” Katherine started.

“I think I may have changed my mind,” Jezebel shrugged. “She was a special case.”

The Canoness stopped outside the unmarked cell door, “I remember you making the argument that though Idle lands lead to evil, time spent in such pursuits was better served in prayer and study of the Litanies of Faith.”

“Or the purification of the soul through the whip?” Jezebel remembered the conversation well. She unlocked the door with a key from her belt, “See for yourself.”

Katherine pushed open the door and gasped, her eyes wide. Every inch of the walls of the eight-foot-square chamber was covered in a mural of glorious colors. Along the bottom of the walls crawled innumerable daemons rising from the formless, swirling maelstrom of the eye of terror. Shapeless Horrors of Tzeentch belched flame while sinuous Daemonettes of Slaanesh danced. Berserk Bloodletters of Khorne hacked apart loyal servants of the Emperor as Plaguebearers of Nurgle spewed their vomitous pestilence. Against these evils the Sisters of Battle threw themselves with flame and burning hot lead. Across a ruined landscape that appeared suspiciously like Byzantium the Sisters slew the daemons or were martyred. In the skies above them flew the many saints of the Adeptus Sororitas on pearlescent wings.

The centerpiece of the mural was the image of the Emperor himself on the Golden Throne, his brilliant gaze searing the corrupt with righteous annihilation. At his right hand was the figure of Saint Magdalena, her flaming sword striking low those who dared come close to the Golden Throne. Katherine was surprised to find her own image, drawn at the Emperor’s left hand, defending him from the hordes of Chaos. Katherine felt uneasy with the idealized depiction of her, so prominently placed with the Emperor.

Kneeling on the cold stone floor, gazing up at the image of the Emperor, was the architect of that amazing work of art. Her habit was crimson and black, marking her as a Repentia. Her shaved head was hidden under a skullcap and mask of red leather, hiding her shamed face from view. Her hands were stained from the chalk, as was her habit. Her fingers trembled slightly as she prayed.

“Harodiah,” Katherine addressed her.

The Repentia froze for a few seconds then turned and abased herself on the ground, “Mother Superior, chosen of Saint Magdalena! I am unworthy of your attention!” She scooted forward on knees scarred from years of kneeling on rough stone and kissed the Canoness’ feet.

Katherine stepped back in alarm and spoke sternly, “Harodiah!” She looked down at the woman, now cowering from her tone. Where once she had been gaunt and frail, five years of hard work and rehabilitation had forged a strong, lithe body…slender but strong and deadly as a sword blade. In a softer voice, Katherine said, “I am unworthy of such veneration.” Her eyes lifted from the huddled figure of Harodiah and swept over her mural, “This is incredible work, Harodiah.”

“Thank you, Mother Superior.”

The Canoness eyed the background of the mural, recognizing the architectural style of the old world of Byzantium, “When did you start this work?”

Harodiah was silent for a moment and Jezebel answered, “The Emperor and Magdalena have been on the wall for weeks…the rest were added over the past two nights. I don’t think she’s slept in that time.”

Katherine gave her an admonishing look, as if to say I was asking her, but said nothing. She stepped into the room and slowly turned in a circle to take in the artwork as a whole. “What inspired you to do this, Harodiah?”

Again, the Repentia hesitated, but as the Canoness shuffled her feet in impatience she blurted, “A dream, Mother Superior.”

“A dream?”

“Y…yes,” Harodiah stuttered. “For several nights now I have had a dream. Darkness rising in a place I have never before seen. Daemons…everywhere, led by a figure…I can never make him out…” She pointed to the door, the back of which had been hidden from view, against the wall. Katherine moved the door, her eyes wide at the black silhouette that loomed, covering nearly its entire face.

“And you told no one of your dream?”

“No…Mother Superior,” Harodiah mumbled. “It…It was just a dream…”

[Jack Elliot]

“You know better than that. You are a psychic. Your dreams mean something,” Katherine shook her head. Did Saint Magdalena visit her in dreams as well? Looking down at Harodiah, Katherine considered their shared past. It had been nearly a decade and a half ago when Magdalena, then Canoness of the Commandery of the Ardent Blade of the Order of Saint Celestine, found the girl. A waif then, barely a teen, Harodiah was a rogue psychic picked up in a purity sweep of a metropolis on Pentateuch.

Curiously, the girl had some control over her psychic potential, as most folk were driven insane without rigorous training, their minds opened to the infinity and terrors of the Warp. Even more curious, Magdalena had not turned the girl over to another agency, but sheltered her within the Order. The girl was pious and Katherine never questioned Magdalena’s commands. She was trained as a Hospitaller, and served admirably in that role as the Canoness’ personal chirurgeon. When the Commandery deployed to Kali V in support of the Thunderfall campaign, under Inquisitional Mandate, Harodiah was there.

In battle, she was forced to unleash her warp-spawned psychic powers against a corrupt priest, stressing her mind greatly. When Magdalena was martyred by Sorcerer of Tzeentch, and she witnessed her subsequent resurrection as a Living Saint, it unhinged her mind. Harodiah was taken by Inquisitor Gaius for his personal retinue, a move even the Living Saint could not deny.

Though the history texts and annals of the Ecclesiarchy claim Inquisitor Saevitiae was a pious, though radical Inquisitor, heroically martyred on Kali V…Katherine knew differently. Gaius had been a lunatic and became corrupted by the lures of Slaanesh. With his claws in Harodiah, he had corrupted her as well, forcing her to add her psychic might to his own…forcing her to help him do terrible things with his power…summoning daemons and binding them in the flesh of Eldar corpses. He forced himself upon her, taking her chastity, and compelling her to dark, twisted acts of sexual depravity that Katherine would rather not fathom.

When he slew Saint Magdalena, Harodiah was there. Watching the woman who had saved her long ago and acted as her mother in many respects was the last straw. Harodiah’s mind cracked. Katherine, and a handful of other righteous servants of the Empire rose up against the corrupt Inquisitor. Gaius was finally cast down, ironically slaughtered by his own servant, a daemon of Slaanesh.

However, to protect themselves from the wrath of the Inquisition, the truth of Gaius’ corruption was not revealed. Only half the truth was reported to the Ecclesiarchy, with no mention of Gaius’ lunacy. Harodiah, was one of the few surviving witnesses who knew the truth. Completely mad, she was taken with the Sisters to Pentateuch, where they tried to nurse her diseased mind back to health. And here she had stayed for the past five years, cloistered away, taking the vow of a Repentia, seeking a way to atone for the ghastly things she had been party to as Gaius’ tool.

Katherine regarded her silently for a few moments, mulling things over. At last she sighed, “Few know the devices of Slaanesh as well as you, Harodiah…for you have experienced them. It is clear that somehow your psychic powers are still sensitive to the machinations of Slaanesh…”

“M…Mother Superior?”

“You are coming to Byzantium with me…”




(For the story of Harodiah, Magdalena, Katherine, and Inquisitor Gaiusm read HERE, the Thunderfall thread, now found in the Archives.)

[Arsenic & Lace]

(Duel Post: Arsenic & Jack Elliot)

Dahlia stood in the center of a massive chamber, her hair had been pulled out from the braid and lay in a mass of unruly curls about her shoulders. She had managed to regain control of Hema and had been promptly removed from the battered Apprentice Yula a matter of hours before. Medical attention had been given to both woman and once presentable Dahlia had been escorted to the chamber for what she expected was to be her punishment. It was so dark she couldn’t see her hand if she held it to the tip of her nose. She could feel the cold concrete beneath the soft soles of her boots, and despite herself she squirmed; toes curling and stretching in her boots. She was not alone.

Suddenly a spotlight cut through the darkness, Dahlia was nearly blinded as her eyes were forced to readjust. She could make out a looming ivory pedestal, atop it sat three shadowy figures. Their ominous silhouettes were enough to make her heart stop, her eyes were averted the moment a voice broke the silence.

“Dahlia, Apprentice assassin of the Callidus Temple, kneel before the Council of the Triumvarate.”

Falling gracefully to her right knee the young woman brought her hands and gently crossed them over her left thigh. She bowed her head with respect, a curtain of ebony falling forward to obscure her face, which had been drained of all color. Her heart was thudding against her chest, surely they could hear it. Taking a deep breath she forced herself to be calm, at an unsettling rate her heart was slowed; she would not shame herself any further.

A second voice, feminine but stern spoke next, "Do you know why you have been called before the Triumverate, apprentice?"

Her head lifted a fraction of an inch; slowly she ground out the words as if she were sickened by them. "I have acted without restraint, my conduct with Apprentice Yula, unacceptable." She fought the urge to bite her lip, she felt as if she were about to be scolded like a little child. In comparison to such talent, she was.

The first voice spoke again, "We have reviewed your file. Your skills are impressive. Combat capabilities, sensitivity to Polymorphine, all marked at the top of your class..."
"But you lack discipline," The second voice said.

"Self-control," A third voice rang out. "An operative of the Officio Assassinorum must be in control of every situation..."

The first voice continued, "If you are not in control of yourself, how can you be expected to control others?"

Somewhere within the catacombs of her mind Hema stirred, she scoffed and tried to wrestle free; to regain control. A painful sensation began to prickle at the base of Dahlias skull as she silenced Hema. Controll would belong the voice of reason, it must. Swallowing softly she took the criticism and remained silent as long as she could. The inner struggle seemed to stop, but as she opened her mouth her voice was a bit different, smoother, like black silk. “I am in control.”

"Are you?" The second voice asked.

"Or perhaps which of you is more appropriate..." The third added.

At a gesture from the first, the other two silenced. The first voice continued, "You will be expected to spend a long time under deep cover. Posing in another's identity, sometimes one not even human. We must be sure you are psychologically equipped to handle that, Apprentice."

She was somewhat startled at the Triumvarate questioned which of herselves was best, but she knew she had the skills demanded of her. Hema snarled, a volt of pain shot through Dahlia’s skull as her eyes began to rise, crawling slowly up the steps of the pedestal. “I have been trained to serve the Holy Emperor. I am more than capable of rising to the occasion. I have given my very soul to the cause and shall not waver in my devotion.” Fingernails pricked the fabric of her second skin. Her voice was kept soft, respectful, but determined none the less. “I have trained myself to handle any ordeal psychologically, be assured of that.”

"She is a risk," The second voice spoke.

"A flawed weapon may strike errant and endanger the wielder," The third said.

"Perhaps, but is anything perfect?" The first replied. "A test."

The second voice assented, "Yes, we test the weapon before utilizing it on the battlefield."
The third sighed, “Very well, Are you ready for this test Apprentice Dahlia?”

A flawed risk?! Hema was chomping at the bit. Dahlia cooed silently, Will you not help to prove them wrong? Hema forced the dark eyes to crawl up to the feet of the three figures, to chance a piercing gaze. Talk of a test brought the competitive spirit nearer the front lines. “I will submit to any test. And I will pass.” The last few words were low again, dangerously bordering on defiance.

"We expect nothing less," The third voice said flatly.

"Very well," The first voice said. "We have an assignment for you. It is a delicate assignment, espionage, not wetwork."

"That means subtlety, rather than killing," The second said dryly.

A light sensation tickled at her stomach, excitement? Hema was pleased, would have been moreso at the thought of wetwork, but beggers can't be choosers. The pain was subsiding as she nestled back into her little haven. Dahlia was unable to refrain from stiffening as the second of the Triumverate chimed in. “I will take the utmost care and precaution to see to it. What is this test of an assignment?”

"We have an investigation that needs to be undertaken," The first stated. "A little over five years ago, the Callidus Temple lost an operative under...mysterious circumstance. Also lost was an Eversor assassin, both during the Thunderfall campaign on Kali V."

The third continued the tale, "Our operative, 'Tigerlilly', was assigned to the retinue of an Inquisitor named Gaius Romulus Saevitiae. Somehow, rather against Inquisitional charter, he also tasked Morgan Shax or the Eversor temple."


"Records of the final events on Kali V are sketchy at best," The second chimed in. "We do not find the explanations wholly satisfactory."

"We believe the truth has been withheld from us," The first spoke again. "There are few who could know what truly happened there. One of these individuals is Canoness Katherine of the Order of Saint Magdalena."

"We have received information she has left Pentateuch in haste, with a small bodyguard. She is traveling to Byzantium, the home planet of none other than the late Inquisitor Saevitiae."

"This cannot be a coincidence," The third said, tossing a datachip to Dahlia. "Study the case file. Go to Byzantium. Find the truth of what happened on Kali V, particularly what happened to Tigerlilly and Morgan Shax."

[Lost Fable]

Arius had been onboard Vigilance for the past fortnight, travelling from his Chapter House on Titan, Saturn‘s largest moon. His presence had been requested on the planet Byzantium, and he had been lucky enough to impose himself on the Inquisitor’s vessel, effectively hitching a much faster ride than he would have been able to make. He was accompanied by a hand picked group of his Grey Knights, who served as both personal bodyguard and squadron for the Chaplain. For the most part they had made exceptionally good time on their journey, Arius was pleased, realising he would most likely arrive ahead of schedule, if only by a margin.

That was before the sudden unannounced diversion to Pentateuch.

“Is there a reason for this interruption Captain?” Arius’s words where filled with annoyance, but his natural tone was cloaked by the metallic voice from the inner microphone in his helmet. The chaplain had decided that he would appear before the Captain in full armour, a more imposing figure cut on the deck, black armour adorned with silver trim and a white bone skull mask. Arius had not been expecting this, and now he knew that he would most likely miss his schedule.

The Captain turned slowly in his chair, raising an eyebrow, "We were hailed by Cardinal Rosenkrantz of the Ordo Hereticus on Pentateuch. We are to take on a few more passengers to Byzantium." He brushed a tiny mote of dust from his immaculate uniform. "It should not put you off schedule, Brother-Captain."

"I sincerely hope not, my time is precious," The chaplain stood for a moment as though to turn and leave but hesitated, "You have taken aboard some of the Ordo Hereticus? What can they want with Byzantium?"

"That is the Odro hereticus' business, Grey Knight," Came a voice from behind him. He turned to see a bonde woman with cool grey eyes dressed in a crimson and white habit of the Adeptus Sororitas. She looked past him at the captain, "Canoness Katherine of the Order of Saint Magdalena. Thank you for holding for us, Captain."
"We serve the Inquisition, Mother Superior," He waved off the thanks nonchalantly. "And we are already heading to Byzantium anyway, for the Ordo Malleus."

Katherine turned and faced the towering space marine, "That's interesting..."

From behind the skull shaped helmet Arius smirked, he reached up and released the locks, a hiss told him that the air inside was breathing out into the atmosphere on the ship. Lowering the skull he looked down at the woman with his grey eye's, short black hair was combed away from the face and oiled down, shaved on either side of the face. The pallour of the man's skin matched that of the mock bone helmet, "Perhaps our goals save the same purpose," Arius bowed at the waist, inclining hsi head, "I am Brother-Chaplain Arius,"

The Canoness bowed her head slightly in respect, "Katherine, I think you likely heard the rest." She said, referring to her introduction to the ship's captain. "Does the Ordo Malleus have an interest in Byzantium?"

“I have been assigned to Inquisitor Godschilde, on recommendation by Inquisitor Glorian De’Chain, though I know little of my involvement of what may be happening on Byzantium at present, I hope to be told more on my arrival,” He looked the canoness over, “You, I presume, are on a similar arrangement?”

"Godschilde..." Katherine cocked her head almost im perceptably in thought, "I know her...or know of her. She was once a Sister in the Sororitas." She took a few steps away from the ship captain, looking over her shoulder as a signal that she wished for Arius to follow. Lowering her voice she stated, "Then the Ordo Malleus believes there is daemonic influence on Byzantium."

She pondered for a moment before speaking, considering what to reveal of her purposes. She took a breath and replied, "My business on Byzantium is merely...routine. I am paying a surprise inspection to one of our Commanderies there."

“The thought of daemon’s on a planet of that size, and influence, is disturbing,” Arius had caught up with the canoness, leaving a bewildered Captain to his duties, “Though my men and I do not doubt that their has to be some influence, hence our involvement, none of us have spoken out loud on what this influence may be,”

At the door to the bridge, she turned to face him again, forced to look up to meet his eyes, "And if I said I had a...thought...that there was a Slaanesh infestation on Byzantium?"

“That cannot be possible, at least, not on a grand scale,” The chaplain’s eye’s narrowed slightly, “If it were, then there would be more than just my squad being sent there. The chaos and corruption would be phenomenal, and a purge of the planet would be needed,”

"Perhaps Inquisitor De'Chain has sent you to work with Inquisitor Godschilde to investigate that very possibility." Katherine postulated.

“And in that respect that will be my duty, my goal and purpose whilst I am on the planet,” the chaplain turned his head to the woman, “And what would be your ultimate goal if such a predicament were lain before us?”

"I serve the Emperor, Brother Arius," Katherine said simply. "And through him the Ecclesiarchy and the Ordo Hereticus. My sisters and I have faced the horrors of Chaos before, and we will again if the need arises." She sighed, "But I hope, for Byzantium's sake, that Inquisitor De'Chain is not correct."

Arius raised a fist to his chest and bowed his head, “As do I, may the Emperor watch over you,”

[Jack Elliot]

The Great Hall of Sextus Pompeii’s home was large enough to hold hundreds of people, and in fact had on many occasions. The senator often held functions for other politicians, officials, or dignitaries, as was expected for a Patrician of his social status. Tonight however, it held a more intimate audience. Three dozen men and women knelt on plush pillows wrapped in velvet, wearing nothing but expensive jewelry and ornate masks.

Each of the men and women in the room were leaders of a coven of the Cult of Slaanesh, invited here for this very special evening. They hummed and chanted the hymns and psalms of the Lord of Pleasure, their combined song almost sounding like the moans and gasps of erotic passion. The room was lit only by firelight from braziers ringing the room, drifting trails of scented incense rising into the air. Between the columns that lined the long hall, embroidered tapestries hung depicting orgies of carnal excess and sanity-shaking depravity.

Before the small crowd stood Sextus Pompeii, himself wearing a mask to give him the appearance of the greater daemons of Slaanesh, the Keepers of Secrets. A great fire blazed behind him, and suspended over it was a cast iron cauldron with the sweet smell of roasting meat wafting from it. He spread his arms wide, “Brothers and Sisters, welcome to this…most hallowed of nights. For over five years have we waited for this day…for the return of our Lord. For hours counted six to the sixth power, he has been imprisoned. For five nights, we have reveled, and tonight is our final sacrifice to bring him forth in the flesh…

“All the senses we delight in…to His greater glory. Not only the sweetest of pleasures and torturous of agonies do we partake of in our quest for the joys of experience. We listen to the most melodious of music and cacophonous of noises. We value the visions of great beauty, but equally crave the sight of the monstrously grotesque. We sniff the scent of lavender and vanilla, but also the putrescent miasma of rotting flesh…”

He took deep breath, looking down at the assembled cultists with pride. He, the Apostle of Slaanesh, would bring forth the power of Chaos that would overwhelm this world…and from there all of the galaxy. “And at last, tonight, the final of our pleasures. Tonight we pay our homage to the sense of taste, to the bitter and the sweet. Tonight, as we eat, the final sacrament and sacrifice we make, breaks the boundaries of reality.” He turned away and lifted the lid of the cauldron, allowing a great cloud of steam to escape.

Within, curled in the fetal position, was the roasted corpse of Judge Lucius Scaevola. For the last couple hours, Sextus had listened to the agonized moans and groans from the Arbitrator as he was cooked alive. The Senator carefully carved through the broiled skin and muscle of the ribcage, laying slices on a silver platter. Turning back to the crowd, he announced, “Step forward, Bothers and Sisters. Take this sacrament. Feast upon the flesh of our enemy. Bring forth our Lord.”

One by one, each of the cultists stepped forward and took a piece of the human flesh and lifted their masks enough to place it in their mouths. From the corner of the room, unnoticed by the participants, Baebiana watched with wide eyes. A smile slowly spread as each one chewed and consumed the horrifying meat. Through her eyes, another was watching the ceremony from the swirling Chaos of the Eye of Terror…and he was pleased.

Sextus was the last, intending to take the last, dramatic gesture of the ceremony. He reached out and plucked an eye from the corpse, holding it up for the assembly to see. “Now…we call forth…our Master…” He popped the eye into his mouth and chewed delicately, savoring the ghastly flavor. Even through the thick ferrocrete of the walls, they heard the roll of thunder outside. Sextus glanced around, unsure of what to expect, as the thunder crashed again, louder and closer…

The building shook as lightning struck so loudly it could have been mistaken for an explosion. The cultists screamed in shock as the roof ripped open, chucks of ferrocrete raining down around them. Jagged pieces of stone crashed to the marble floor, and the rain poured down in a torrent. The sky above was brilliantly lit in strobe of light as blue-white arcs of lightning crisscrossed the clouds.

Sextus blinked and swallowed as he felt a strange sensation in his stomach. Within his mask, his concerned look was concealed from the other cultists. It started as a queasiness in the pit of his stomach, then began to spread throughout his torso. The nausea began to morph into an ache, and from there a searing pain. He glanced around nervously and caught sight of the gaunt astropath girl in the corner, watching him with otherworldly eyes. She winked and silently mouthed the words, “It is time!”

As the cultists watched, Sextus began to shake and quiver. Unable to speak as he was paralyzed with pain, a bubbling gurgle erupted from the throat of Senator Pompeii. His skin seemed to swell outward, the skin stretching taut. His mouth spasmed open and blood erupted forth, dribbling out from under his mask. The cultists stepped back in alarm, the rain driving down onto them from the gaping hole in the ceiling.

They shrieked as Baebiana let out a bloodcurdling scream, her body shaking as though palsied. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she collapsed to the ground in a heap. The cultists’ attention returned to their Apostle, and they gasped as he was now bloated like an overfed tick. Sextus loosed a garbled howl of anguish as his skin began to split…great tears ripping open across his flesh. His skin fell away, fluttering to the ground like ghoulish strips of bloody wrapping paper, revealing something else standing in his place.

Standing there was a towering figure in power armor of deep purple. It was fashioned to resemble a muscular physique with tattoos of gold and rings pierced through the nipples of its chest. The figure’s hands raised to the mask of the Keeper of Secrets and lifted it from his head, revealing an angular face, beautiful in its severity and intensity. His short hair was platinum blonde with a tight curl. His eyes were pale blue like ice. He tossed the mask aside and strode forward to the shocked cultists.

“At long last, I am free,” He raised his hands and head to the sky, the rain running down his face. “Over five years I have been gone, and at last I have returned home.”

The figure stepped forward among the cultists, “I have watched since my imprisonment in the Eye of Terror. I have guided your efforts through Senator Pompeii…whose services are…” He glanced behind him at the bloody mass of flesh that had served as his living gateway into the world. “…no longer needed.” He looked to one of the cultists, “You. Decimus Malleolus. Congratulations. You are now the cult Apostle.”

He held out his arms wide as the cultists reached forward, anxious to touch their new savior…their master. “I am Gaius Romulus Saevitiae, messiah of Slaanesh…”

[Vezaz]

Gorson had been dispatched with a squad of arbites to send the sisters back to their monastery. The last thing Delphias needed around here was a bunch of ordo-militant types walking around looking for trouble. They;d probably find it and things could get pretty hot. He knew Gorson would have a hard time, but it was his investigation, dam it. He could tell them to stay out of his precinct until the inquisitor arrived and could tell him otherwise. He chuckled, thinking about it. He didn’t envy the younger arbites one bit, and he knew he owed Gorson a favor. Noone should have to deal with that....

***

It was only later, as he was returning to the Hall of Order, nursing his wounds and his battered command, that Delphias knew he should have dealt with the sisters himself. If he had gone, instead of just sending a deportation, he would have been nowhere near when things went wrong. As it was, he was lucky to be alive, and Gorson too. Things had gotten out of hand too damn fast. Something had happened- something that he was glad to be unable to comprehend. If the 3rd legion troops hadn’t been there, none of them would have survived, he was sure of it. As it was, the Wall would have plenty of new names tonight. It had all started when that one Arbites, Bradley, had said to Delphias....


“....I think we’ve found something, sir. Looks Arbites.” came the nasal voice of one of the younger arbites, Bradley. Delphias grunted an acknowledgment and trotted over. Probably a stolon legion laspistol or busted auspex. They’d cleared the slums and moved dangerously close to the senate district and still nothing. This whole damn investigation was a waste of time, and here he was in the middle of nowhere, scrounging around with some arbites who had found-

-a helmet. It was clearly a Mk. IV arbites suppression suit helm, the kind Delphias and the others were all wearing. It got worse. Looking at the gear, the name Lucius was clearly engraved in flowery gothic script. And then there was the matter of the gang-knife struck though the temple.

“Damn. Damn!” he cursed. This was going to be bad. An Arbites was confirmed dead. It would mean more investigative hours, more time on the streets, more personnel. It would mean a lot more work. In addition, it meant that this was no longer an investigation. It had just become a Persecution.

“Alright, three-squad sweep. Cordon this area off and someone get back here with Klunks.” Klunks was the name of Gorson’s Cyber Mastiff, the mechanical bloodhound sometimes used for evidence searches. There was blood all over the helm. Delphias knew that there had to be a trail of it somewhere else in the city, maybe even an intact body in an ally somewhere. In any case, the dog would help. Delphias looked around. He was missing something, he knew it. His train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Gorson and the hissing, steaming Klunks.

“You rang, Del?” asked Gorson as he wrangled with the cyborg dog on his chain leash. “Have we found anything?”

“We’ve definitely got something. Look at this.” Delphias showed him the helm. Gorson whistled.

“This is not going to be fun.” he sighed. The two men turned and followed the bucking mastiff as the advanced auspexes began to track the blood of the late Lucius

***

Here, Delphias remembered, it had been going well. They had paired off, strictly as procedure dictated. The cyber-mastiff had picked up a trail and dragged the arbites along with deeper and deeper off to one side of the slum-senate line. Delphias hadn’t suspected anything. Why would he? It was just a standard investigation into a dead arbites that would end quickly in justice for the wronged. He did them everyday. They had no unforseen consequences. They were just another part of routine.

If he kept telling himself that, he could try to forget turning yet another corner and seeing...

***

....The house on the next corner seemed suspicious in some way. Perhaps it was the high spiked fence. Maybe the lack of any life on the premises was what did it. Or maybe it was the fierce howl let out by Klunks as soon as he had sighted the house.

“We got something here, Del. I think this is is.” whispered Gorson.

“Damn it again. This one looks rich. If we're wrong there's going to be hell to pay. Bring third squad around with the legion troops and coved the left and read entrances. Two will swing out to the right. We and first squad are going to breach the front entrance. All teams, disperse!” These whispered orders had been carried out with remarkable efficiency. Soon, all teams were in position, all entrances covered and checked for sign of life. Gorson lead the way with a heavy demo pack to blow the front doors. Delphias could have offered a chance to surrender, but he was in no mood to play around to day. They went in hard and fast and would take prisoners. He wouldn’t give the occupants the option of killing his men.

“Breach!” Delphias screamed. Gorson tossed the pack. The beautifully engraved door was blown to splinters by the military explosives. “Adeptus Arbites, make yourselves known!”

Before Delphias could rise from his crouch and charge in, it happened. A screaming filled the air from a great distance away, but so shrill it still seemed to crack open his ears. A sub-audible vibration filled the air, a sound so low that glass thrummed and objects bounced up and down.

Delphias felt blood stream from his nose and his soul cried in terror even before his conscious brain realized what was happening. The ground was shaking now, an earthquake developing as the pulsing waves of sound grew greater. As Delphias clung to the repressor tank he saw that they all had nosebleeds. His heart grew colder. He had only seen this kind of thing once before. Someone, somewhere, a Warp Gate had opened. He fell back as the feeling grew worse, like his insides were being pulled out and stomped on as the back-blast of the warp rift struck at his soul and gnawed like a ferromite.

He screamed, a wordless howl, his body recognizing the significance of what was happening even if his mind was overcome by pain. After what seemed like eternity the noises and vibrations stopped, leaving his head filled with only the all-pervading sense of death and doom and the horrible after-images that had come to his waking mind as he lay in the street screaming. He sat up, wiped off his nose, and grabbed his shotgun.

And then the shooting began, as a dozen armed cultists charged out of the building before them and engaged the stunned Imperials.

[Ghostmoon]

Simone spent the few days of travel to Byzantium mostly in solitude. The thoughts of going into the field never let her relax. She didn’t mind going into the field but she never felt at her best there. It reminded her forcibly that her time in the Sorortitas had been so misspent. She had never done very well. It wasn’t for lack of trying or for lack of zeal. Simone had plenty of both. It was simply a lack of talent.

She still cringed a little when she remembered some of the most basic training exercises that she had “brought to new lows” as her training instructor, Sister Margreta had put it. Simone simply wasn’t cut out to wield a Plasma pistol or a Bolter, let alone be a Sister of Battle. Now, Simone carried a Bolt Pistol, mostly because it was expected that she have some sort of weapon on her person. Plus Malachi wouldn’t let her out of his sight if he thought she was somehow imperiled.

While on route to Byzantium she had received a communiqué that a Brother-Chaplin, a Grey Knight had been assigned to her. One Brother Chaplin Arius had been recommended by Inquisitor Glorian De’Chain. And he had been spoken of highly. She also knew that a group of the Sisters had also been dispatched to Byzantium. It was a lot of attention for one missing Arbites. This kind of scramble meant something was happening. Something big. Something demonic if one of the Grey Knights was to be involved.

The trip was quick and fairly routine until only 12 hours out from Byzantium. Simone was asleep in her stark quarters when the dream came. She was standing in a star field. At first she believed this to be rather odd. After all, she was dressed in her every day clothes not in a protective suite of any kind. But she was easily able to breath and felt no distress at all. It was actually kind of peaceful. The stars shone around her giving a soft light and it seemed she could hear the music the spheres must make as they march along their required courses. She drifted and took in the beauty of the universe.

But as she listened she began to hear a discord. A ragged sound that was at odds with the sweet music around her. She twisted and turned to see what could be making such a noise. She gasped and startled as she saw that she was drifting directly towards the Eye of Chaos. Its noisome clashes of warp and light colored her face. She started to feel a panic scrabbling in her chest. This was no place for one of the godEmperor’s children she thought to herself. But how could she get away. She flailed about trying to distance herself from the Eye. But something was pulling her in like a current in a swift river.

The panic grew. She could not go into the Eye. She tried to pull away. Then, as she stared helplessly into the whirl of chaos, a bolt of horrible light shot from the Eye and spiraled around her. It twisted and turned as if inspecting her. Then it arched to her forcing its way into her open mouth. It squirmed like some slime-ridden worm into her throat. She gagged and tried to scream but it choked her. Her back arched as sensation washed through her. Hot, cold, nausea, hunger, eroticism and agony flooded her soul. She screamed. But she wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or pain.

She sat bolt upright in her bunk clutching her hands to her open mouth. As if she were trying to pull the invader from her throat. She gasped, her heart was thundering in her ears and sweat was beading on her skin. A nightmare, she thought, just a dream. She pulled the blanket tighter around her thin shoulders. But warmth seemed to have fled. She reached out and snapped on the lights. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t be sleeping again before she reached Byzantium. Something was stirring. Something that wouldn’t let her rest anymore.

[Cathedralsquare]

"Brother, it has been long since I have fought beside one of the Ordo Malleus. Let us hope that it does not come to blows upon the planet. While I am eager to smite the heretic and the foul Daemon, I would rather not impose the Emperor's Peace without a good reason." Her voice was powerful, a voice used to command. Her face, what may have once been a pleasure to stare upo was heavily marred by scars. Still, she had a radiance about her, one that would impress a person even if her looks were less than amazing. Her left eye was covered by a scarlet optic, where an odd scar seemed to trail out of, down her cheek and hooking around the back of her ear.

Thick yet elegant golden embroidery ran along her scarlet armour, like vines it crawled in beautiful Fleur-De-Lys and rich patterns along the power armour. On the front of the armour was a white skull, encircled by gold and backed by scarlet. Her kneecaps were accented by large Fleur-de-Lys as well as her elbows where the points were expertly designed to mesh with the dual colored livery. The embroidery seemed to flow through her armour and into her weapon which, while heavily scarred from countless battles and dozens of crusades, looked no less wondrous of a weapon than it had been the day she had been awarded the bolter. A sword was strapped to her side, the weapon's hilt made of gold, shaped in the image of the Aquila. On the side opposite of her sword were 4 grenades, to the experienced eye one would notice the runes identifying two as Krak and two as Fragmentation.

She inclined her head towards the other Grey Knights in the transport, examining them and they in turn examining her. She returned herself to polishing and cleaning her bolter. Her focus was intent upon that, and battling the daemons of memory that nipped at the edges of her mind.

[Jack Elliot]

Mother Superior Rebecca ran her fingers through her short, platinum-blonde hair as she reviewed the reports. Her trusted Palatine, Mary, had led two squads of sisters into the plebian neighborhood with Father Sabatina and a handful of penitent Arco-flagellants. Rumor of a “Street Preacher” proselytizing heretical dogma among the plebes had reached the ears of the Ecclesiarchy, and the Sisters had been tasked to remove the threat. The heretic had been well guarded by three or four dozen devotees to his new cult. The battle was short-lived, given the firepower differential between them. The cultists were largely unarmored, and armed only with low-grade firearms and some stolen Imperial Guard laser weapons. Father Sabatina and Mother Mary had reported there was no evidence of daemonic involvement, though it was possible the rogue “preacher” may have been using warp-spawned psychic powers to supplement his coercive powers.

Two of the arco-flagellants had been killed and three sisters wounded in the action. It pained her to be so sparingly cautious in deploying the Sisters, for the Arbitrators were becoming rapidly overwhelmed with the recent surge in violence. The Legions had been called in to help, but they were soldiers and not particularly well suited for police duties. The Order of Saint Magdalena could bring the righteous hand of the Emperor down on these traitorous vermin, more heavily armed and armored than the Arbitrators. However, her instructions from Mother Superior Katherine were clear. Something larger was looming on the horizon, and the Order must maintain its strength.

Sister Mabel appeared in the doorway of her study, garbed in the crimson armor of a Lay-Sister, “Mother Superior, there is a man in the courtyard who wishes to speak with you. He says it is most urgent.”

“Another Arbitrator?”

“No, Mother,” Mabel shook her head. “A Space Marine. His armor is marked in the heraldry of the Black Templar Chapter. He says his name is Brother-Captain Jorn.”

“Jorn?” Rebecca stood up. That was a name she’d not heard in over five years. He was one of the few that knew the secret of what truly occurred on Kali V those years ago during the Thunderfall conflict. “Bring him into the main hall.”

“Into the convent, Mother?” Mabel asked with raised brows. No men, other than priests of the Ecclesiarchy, were allowed within the wall of the nunnery.

Rebecca nodded as she stood and came to the door, “Yes. Things we may speak of must be kept secure. The courtyard will not do. Clear the hall of all other Sisters. I will speak to Brother-Captain Jorn alone.”




The bronze doors of the hall swung open and in walked the towering figure of Brother-Captain Jorn. Nearly eight feet tall and powerfully muscled, he dwarfed Sister Mabel who followed behind and closed the doors. His armor was black with his chapter’s insignias in white on the shoulder pauldrons of his armor. A black tabard with a hood was over the armor, purity seals pinned to his chest. It did not escape Rebecca’s notice that he was not carrying any weapons, which she found terribly odd. Of course, even with just his bare hands, a Space Marine was deadly. Mabel hovered near the door. It was clear that Rebecca wished to speak privately with the Brother-Captain, but it was solemn law that no Sister was ever alone with a man, even a Priest. The Purity of an Adeptus Sororitas was her shield against the temptations of the heretics and whispered promises of Daemons.

Rebecca nodded at Mabel, indicating she should stay, but at a respectful distance. Rebecca bowed her head slightly in respect, “Brother-Captain Jorn. This is a surprise…” Her speech dwindled to silence as her eyes widened in shock. Before her Jorn’s form seemed to melt away, shifting like overheated wax and shimmering like the heat rising from an asphalt road in the height of summer. The black armor of the Adeptus Astartes molded itself into a different shape, taking on a hue of deep violet. The hood seemed to unravel and vanish, displaying a stern, angular face she had not seen in many years.

“A surprise indeed, Rebecca,” His dulcet-toned voice crooned. “Promoted to Canoness I see? The Bitches of Battle must reward treachery well.”

Her face went ashen, “Gaius!…Impossible…you were killed!”

“Not precisely,” He stepped toward her with an evil glint in his ice-blue eyes. “I was drawn into the Eye of Terror to meet my true master…and he was pleased. I have been given a new lease on life, and I intend on making the most of it. Starting with violating your virginal body…”

The Canoness’ hand whipped down to the plasma pistol at her side, ”Never!” As the weapon cleared the holster at her hip, Gaius’ moved with inhuman speed. His right arm shot out, in it a strange whip that appeared to be crafted from living, pulsating flesh. With a sharp crack, it wrapped around her neck, warm against her skin. Rebecca’s mouth gaped open and she gasped as he body was filled with sensations her life of austerity had long denied her. The pistol tumbled from nerveless finger as she dropped to her knees, overwhelmed by the waves of erotic pleasure cascading through her trembling body.

“Mother Rebecca!” Mabel shouted, bringing up her Godwyn pattern bolter. She fired off a rapid burst of fire, the rounds ricocheting off the rune-laden violet armor of the former Inquisitor.

“Foolish Emperor’s whore…,” He pointed the index finger of his left hand at her, a wicked smile spreading across his face. A blast of hideous psychic power burst forth, enveloping the young woman. Arching her back in agony, she wailed piteously as the flesh of her body was lacerated as though struck by hundreds of lashes of the whip. Her crimson Vestments armor were shredded by the unseen forces, falling in strips to the floor like cloth. Her screams elevated in pitch to a bloodcurdling screech as the skin of her face peeled away, flayed by the horrific power. Mabel collapsed to the ground in an increasingly large pool of blood.

The noise had echoed throughout the convent, and now Gaius could hear the sounds of the warrior-nuns running toward the hall…the clamor of armored feet upon stone and the jingling of weapons. He looked down at Rebecca, now writhing uncontrollably on the floor, mouth agape in wordless horror…even as the muscles deep inside her hips trembled and quivered. “Just a moment, dear…” He teased as he raised his hands above his head. Closing his eyes, he loosed his power upon the world, weakening the fabric of reality. The air above seemed warble as though reality was painted upon a great curtain, now fluttering in some spectral breeze. With a horrific sound that defies the description of mundane human language, reality tore asunder. A great rift opened into the Warp, beyond which was a paradox of shadow and brilliance, smoke and flame.

From this tear in space-time poured a legion of daemons. Slender daemonettes of Slaanesh, moving sinuously and gracefully rushed in all directions to engage the Sisters. With them came forms of shifting, fluid shape…ghastly, spike toothed maws and masses of squirming, slimy tentacles. “Go forth my lovely spawns of Slaanesh.” Gaius commanded. The chatter of bolters mixed with the cries of the nuns and the seductive siren’s call of the daemonettes’ songs. Throughout the convent the Sisters were overwhelmed by the inhumanly fast daemonettes.

Gaius knelt next to Mother Superior Rebecca as she continued to squirm, “Don’t worry, they won’t kill them…well…not all of them. I have plans for them, you see.” He reached down and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “And I have plans for you…”

Rebecca exhaled a shuddering breath, her eyes rolled up into her head as her body wracked with convulsions of uncontrolled orgasm. Tears rolled down her temples from the corners of her eyes, defiled by the eldritch psychic power of the Lash…Gaius’ daemonic weapon. Her right hand clutched at him, fingertips scrabbling at his breastplate seeking his throat, “I’ll…kill…you…bastard…”

The Champion of Slaanesh shook his head, taking her wrist and brushing it aside easily. He reached down with the other hand, his fingers ripping through her golden cuirass like an eggshell. With a tug of daemonic strength, he tore her breastplate apart, exposing her. He reached lower and twisted apart the armored skirt. “Rebecca…when I’m done with you…you’ll understand. You‘ll see the glory of Slaanesh.” He settled himself over her, pinning her arms to the floor. He lowered his weight onto her, her lips brushing her ear, “It’s okay to scream…I don’t mind…”



“In fact…I kind of like it...”

[Artimis Re'Ar]

Decimus awoke with a start, his body covered in sweat, sheets sticking to the sections of his body that were still covered after his fitful rest. Next to him lay one of the “lush toys” from one of the many rituals a few nights prior when Sextus gave his life to bring forth their Champion Gaius. His dreams had been fitful due to that event, exchanging himself for Sextus to imagine the gift and wonder that would come with being the vessel of the Champion of their shared God. Ever since that time, he had been doing nothing for most part save enjoying himself through a great many erotic pleasures while delegating his daily business to those of his former Cult Cell..

His trip down memory lane was interrupted two fold; one by the waking moans and movements of the girl next to him, the other by the beeping of his personal vox letting him know he had messages that needed tending. Taking care of the first disturbance, he called for one his personal staff to see the girl back to her holding cell under the house. The second was a little longer, and much more tedious.

Thus far Sextus’ death was not a public affair. The cover story was sketchy, some concocted story by Decimus himself that his very good friend and mentor had fallen quiet ill over the past few months, and no longer able to keep to his normal duties, had taken a vacation to another system to try and work on his illness and rest. Decimus had of course put himself as the sole charge of Sextus’ estate, as well as what other duties he could take care of as far as Sextus’ potent political clout was concerned. He knew that sweeping in and taking the majority of it would not be the best of ideas, so he had done a fair job taking the most important and sensitive, while dealing out the rest amongst some of the other powerful members of the cult that were known to attach themselves to Sextus.

Having done all of those things, and then receding into his home for a few days, the messages had stacked up and his personal staff was having a hard time derailing the many noses that were sticking themselves in his business. One of those biggest noses was one of his usual suspects that Sextus had failed to take care before his ultimate gift took his life, Manius Lucius Bibaculus. Of the 70 or so messages, a good 1/3rd or more of them were from the pompous Patrician about some of the events and other such things that had been going on lately. Most of it was just bitching and whining about Decimus being favored by Sextus, but there was one important thing that had grabbed his attention.

“D. Ovidius, this is once again Manius Lucius Bibaculus requesting a meeting with you. This will be my last attempt before I begin resorting to more powerful means of seeing you via the Adeptus Arbitus. I will be calling on you this very evening….I would suggest you be available this time.”

Decimus sighed heavily; this was a problem that needed solving now. The timing was bad, he was due at Sextus’ house this evening for his first meeting with the Champion of Slaanesh Gaius, and that was now being going put a serious dent on his time. There was on the other hand another way out of this, one that he could use to his complete advantage.

Rising from his seat at his desk, Decimus called for another of his personal retainers to attend the rest of his daily business while giving direct orders that as soon as Manius arrived at the house, to be escorted promptly to a waiting vehicle and be sent to Sextus’ home where Decimus would be awaiting his arrival. Once dressed, Decimus called Gneaus to enlist the help of some less than respectable individuals to meet at him shortly at Sextus’ home. Those details finished, he put out a vox cast to Gaius, and promptly made his way to the home of Sextus Pompeii.