Eriko's cheeks flushed red as Maria punched through all pretense and politeness. Absent a fan she took a long sip from her cup, nearly empty though it was. She averted her gaze thoroughly, the features Maria could see held in a stony faced mask. Eriko took several deep breaths as much to count the time passed as to keep her irritation in check. Patience, not more adversity was what was needed here. She was expecting something of the sort from Maria, but not so soon and nothing so lacking in tact!
Finally, Eriko lowered her cup and met Maria's gaze once more and offered a smile, painted and brittle as it was. "Of course," Eriko said as she continued to smile her painted on smile. "You are certainly entitled to your feelings and my visit is to offer both apology and assurance that nothing more of such sort shall pass between us."
She paused to think then after a few seconds gave Maria a sitting-bow from the waist. "And I ask for your forgiveness on my past conduct. It was an overreach of my role in the squad. Though on my part, I merely wished to offer guidance to my fellow squadmates and perhaps I had been overzealous. Yet there was no malice intended."
Maria took another drink. Swallow. Consider. "For Sister-Superior, I accept your apology. We have fought together now...how many times? We still live." She shrugged and finished the glass in a gulp.
"The Order names us sisters, but I do not feel it yet. I am dutiful. I am observant. In time this may change."
She gave Eriko a curt nod, albino features placid and grave a marble saint. "Thank you for the libation."
"Squad Palais, fall in!" She calls out, the four-woman team falling in line with the rest of the scores strong Adepta Sororitas mission. Armor plates rustle and clatter as servos hum and reactors growl, the tromp of ceramite armored boots echoing through the chill morning air. As one, the Mission kneels, praying in thanks to the Emperor for the victories bestowed upon them, and asking for forgiveness for the foes yet slain and the innocents fallen in their care. And then, the squad is off, Viatorem rumbling eagerly to set off toward new travels, the Dreverarch sun shining down upon them.
At least until they get stuck in quarantine checkpoints for hours on end. Good news, nobody has Black Rot. Bad news, Palais and Ilana seem to have caught Malaisaria, a very minor insect-carried disease common on the world, with symptoms of tiredness and very minor headaches.
Maria had missed this. Being reunited was a sort of a small homecoming. There was a warmth one felt, a camaraderie free of judgement and suffused with blessed purpose that no other company she had found outside of Geldova could quite match.
She gave the console of the Viatorem an amiable pat as she revved the engine and pushed them along to the next checkpoint on the warder's signal.
"Although volunteering in the kitchens seldom brings opportunity for much excitement, it is humble and fulfilling work." Ilana paused, a chuckle gracing her lips. "I will say however that news of your scrumball exploits had reached even our humble abode."
She looks up from her inspection, then around at the campus. "No, not really anything exciting. More of the same - practice, pray, chores. Though I did come upon the Father Tibim once. Had to purify a local temple from desecration and perhaps that night could be called "exciting" and equal parts "grueling", moreso than standing guard against overly bored students perhaps."
"Brickwork, mostly." She looked up at the Sanctum Imperialis. "As is said, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Emperor, knowing that your labor is not in vain in His light."
"I would say I would miss it," Ilana muttered, her head feeling like it had been stuffed to the brim with a cloudy helping of gauze. "But I was taught that it was sinful to lie." Yet she as she sighed a small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yet all we ever ask of the Emperor is the strength to deny the designs of the Archenemy, so by that measure I must admit our time was well-spent. I can only hope our next destination would lack more insects attempting to make our lives a misery, even if we find ourselves remaining on the planet."
"Less insects would be a major improvement. I concur," Eriko says, remembering the swarm of bugs from the Enforcer's post weeks ago. "What I would not do for a proper climate. Rolling meadows and pleasant blue skies, miles of coastline and crystalline seas. Not this..." She flicks a hand upward. "Days of rain punctuated by a feeble Sun. I say heretics choose the most wearying of vistas to scurry away to."
Palais snorts quietly, sparing a glance at the murky heavens. "It's not much better if they decide to pop up on a Pleasure World. Rolling meadows and pleasant blue skies do not readily agree with months of war," she says. "I've gotten a taste for blue skies over the years, but as much as Dreverarch's a special sort of terrible, if you want a proper climate you need a controlled one. A steel ceiling or artful fresco will never decide to dump rain on you."
She saunters forward onto the Viatorem. "Still. Anywhere that has fewer insects would be a blessing. I hate this planet. Alas, the light of the Emperor touches even the most wearying of places..."
"Hardly exciting, but pleasant enough." Caelia comments. She relaxed some, but not much. A final assassination attempt was unlikely in the extreme now, but it'd be emberassing in the extreme to miss one right in front of all her sisters. "I shan't complain for the chance to have protected his Eminence from all those who might've harmed him."
She kept the irony out of her voice. Mostly because the last assassination attempt might've actually succeeded, if what the Hospitalier had said was true.
"You seem to have the better of us then, Sister Caelia. But it's good to see your duty well fulfilled," the Sister-Superior says, nodding pleasantly at the Arch-Priest. "Seeing as he is still alive."
"I am glad to have served well, your Eminence." She nodded to the Priest, then waited as he said his goodbyes and left. A pleasant diversion, but she was glad to be back.
The rest of the squad's armor was touched up and newly repaired. Probably means they weren't so lucky as to have just got out of a fireight
"Sisters." She said simply. "What have you been doing? More exciting than standing guard at university functions every week I pray?"
"Although volunteering in the kitchens seldom brings opportunity for much excitement, it is humble and fulfilling work." Ilana paused, a chuckle gracing her lips. "I will say however that news of your scrumball exploits had reached even our humble abode."
"I would not go so far to call them exploits but, yes, a game to work up a good sweat." Eriko drawls as she checks for scuff marks on her armored fingers. "I also recall the duo -- Katia and Gwynais -- you sent with your message, or so I've heard. Caelia was quite the player, but I don't think I've disappointed either."
She looks up from her inspection, then around at the campus. "No, not really anything exciting. More of the same - practice, pray, chores. Though I did come upon the Father Tibim once. Had to purify a local temple from desecration and perhaps that night could be called "exciting" and equal parts "grueling", moreso than standing guard against overly bored students perhaps."
"Brickwork, mostly." She looked up at the Sanctum Imperialis. "As is said, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Emperor, knowing that your labor is not in vain in His light."
"In short, it's been nothing short of exhilarating, Sister Caelia. You truly missed out," Palais says, in a voice dry as tinder. She leans forward, resting a gauntlet against her cuisses."Hrm. I dare say Sister Maria may have a point. Ought to have the menials touch your plate up once we're done here."
She watches the Arch-Priest and his Cherubim go, the rain parting before them as he makes for one of the Cathedral's less grandiose entrances. "Young lad. And handsome besides. I suppose the most excitement you had with him was fending off salacious socialites and stealing sweetmeats?" She chuckles. "Well, time for something equally exciting. Pacing around a Cathedral.
The Holy Port of Baptismus at least has a Cathedral worth of the name. The interior of the Cathedral is vast enough to comfortably fit a tank company with room to spare. Blue marble floors and pillars shine under the brilliant electro lighting, several levels of seating rising high above Squad Palais. Shrines bearing votive candles and the honoured skulls of holy martyrs fill the recesses of the room, as Cherubim whip overhead carrying incense at all times. High above the stained glass windows are lit by the Cathedral's external lights, the most prominent Selverus' ancient symbol. There is a hint of irony to the name of the Cathedral of the Blade of Liberation, the fiery image of Selverus' sword somewhat ironic on a world primarily known for the production of flammable promethium, but there is nonetheless splendor to see the Burning Sword glittering on the windows rising high above the main hall, held over the liberated worlds of Araxes alight with cleansing flame.
The Cathedral is relatively quiet at the moment. Hymnals are sung by servitors, and scores upon scores of Ministorum servants, functionaries, and priests bustle through the hall and the adjoining chambers and offices, but against the size of the main hall it still feels hauntingly empty. Even the Adepta Sororitas feel small again the environs, the clatter of armour plates, the hum of servo-musculature and the rumble of warplate reactors failing lost amid the depths of the Cathedral.
Squad Palais makes the rounds about the Cathedral, performing a winding circuit between the columns focused on the narthex and aisles surrounding the main nave. Ministorum adepts and officials bustle by the squad, or absently give greetings as they converse in shadowed corners of the Cathedral. Other squads from the Mission pass on by, completing their own patrol routes, as well as a squad of Battle-Sisters from Cannoness-Commander Jessira's command, who slow to make the sign of the aquila as Squad Palais nears.
"Good evening, Sisters. I have heard you are to leave us soon? If so, may Leanna guide you and your Mission," their Superior says solemnly, before continuing on their route.
It is an action all Sisters have performed in the past, from the very Abbess of the Adepta Sororitas, to the lowliest of novitiates. To be a member of the Sisterhood is to be a defender of the faith, and whether it be in the glory of the heart of battle, or the humility of patrolling a Cathedral like a common security guard, it is a necessary task. For some it is a chance at contemplation, for others a trial of boredom. But even in this smallest of deeds is a test of faith and dedication, to walk the halls without distraction nor complaint. The minutes draw on, the mark of an hour coming and going, and the patrol continues.
Passing by the gates leading up one of the main transepts, Squad Palais finds eyes upon them. A quartet of priests trail off as Squad Palais begins to approach, the emerald eyes of the ranking Archpriestess at their head glinting in the light. She steps forward, hands folded into the sleeves of her orange robes, her eyes furrowed.
"Is something the matter, Arch-Priestess?" Palais asks, coming to a halt.
"The script on the edge of your pauldron, it says Palais. Is that your name, Sister-Superior?" The older woman demands, glaring from under her mantle.
"Sister-Superior Palais Kavarea, your Excellency, and this is my command. Do you require something of me?"
The edges of the Arch-Priestess' mouth curl in an unhappy smile. "An apology foremost, Sister-Superior. I have been most grateful for the work of your sisterhood in cleansing our holy port of the heretics that so assail it, but your Squad's behavior has been nothing short of shocking. Do you have any idea how aggrieved I was when I heard that my good friend, Andreas Masoun, and his fellow members of the Honorable Guild of Masons were fired upon with boltguns? He was struck by shrapnel, Sister-Superior! You could've killed the man responsible for the Triumph of Saint Kaisen, the Renovation of the Shrine of the Tormented Martyr, and the renovations of the Bridge of the Harbinger! You could've turned him into red mist and bloody chunks!" She pauses, taking a breath. "Forgive me, that outburst was unbecoming of me. But you must understand, Sister-Superior, I do not approve of bolt rounds being shot at the finest architect in Port Baptismus! Do you have any idea how concerned we all were when he was trapped behind that damnable quarantine? And all because the Pontifex wanted him to renovate the local holy buildings!"
Palais stares for a long moment. "I...Beg your pardon?"
"Andreas Masoun. He and his fellow guilders were forced to take shelter with some rather undesirable sorts in order to fend off a wave of heretics, and you almost decided to kill them all and let the God-Emperor sort them out? I-forgive me," she says, taking a deep breath. One of the lesser priests whispers in her ear, and she waves her off. "Yes, of course, Lucilla, I understand it was a confused situation, and at least nobody was killed, but by the Emperor-bolt rounds. Pontifex Arcadia was beside herself!"
"I am sorry to hear that, Archpriestess...?" Palais begins.
"Olivia." The woman replies, glaring at each of the Sisters in turn. "And the way he told me he was treated was beyond brutish. Like he was a common criminal!"
"With all due respect, your Excellency, he was in the company of anarchists harboring an avowed witch, and weapons fire went in our direction. He should be grateful that he was not killed," Palais states.
"Grateful?" The Archpriestess hisses. "You took a Witch alive and treated with rioters, but a respected member of society and servant of our Church is less deserving of Leanna's Mercy?" She pauses, taking in a breath. "Your...Palatine explained to me the situation, and it is for that reason I have declined to seek your censure. But I would still know which one of your squad dared to fire upon Andreas Masoun, and which of you threatened him."
Palais glances over her shoulder at the rest of the squad, then turns her helmet back to the Archpriestess. "Or what, Archpriestess? I am a Sister of the Burning Rose, not some menial. I will not order my Sisters to apologize for something that is no crime. Your friend was in the company of recidivists and rebels, and it is by Leanna's Mercy alone that he lives."
Olivia's face flushes with fury, the priests behind her looking increasingly nervous. One of them smiles apologetically at Squad Palais, clearly discomfited.
OOC:
There have been edits to the end of the last update because sections were accidentally left off. Notably, they include telling you why you're even at the bloody Cathedral. Please read that.
"In short, it's been nothing short of exhilarating, Sister Caelia. You truly missed out," Palais says, in a voice dry as tinder. She leans forward, resting a gauntlet against her cuisses."Hrm. I dare say Sister Maria may have a point. Ought to have the menials touch your plate up once we're done here."
She watches the Arch-Priest and his Cherubim go, the rain parting before them as he makes for one of the Cathedral's less grandiose entrances. "Young lad. And handsome besides. I suppose the most excitement you had with him was fending off salacious socialites and stealing sweetmeats?" She chuckles. "Well, time for something equally exciting. Pacing around a Cathedral.
"Heretics made their attempt, but it was too half hearted to be anything but disappointing." Caelia says, shrugging. "Otherwise it was just the socialites, and that's only entertaining the first time."
She decides she'd withhold sharing the incident with the student until later, if ever.
Caelia simply nods at the new duty. Boring, but that was expected.
The Holy Port of Baptismus at least has a Cathedral worth of the name. The interior of the Cathedral is vast enough to comfortably fit a tank company with room to spare. Blue marble floors and pillars shine under the brilliant electro lighting, several levels of seating rising high above Squad Palais. Shrines bearing votive candles and the honoured skulls of holy martyrs fill the recesses of the room, as Cherubim whip overhead carrying incense at all times. High above the stained glass windows are lit by the Cathedral's external lights, the most prominent Selverus' ancient symbol. There is a hint of irony to the name of the Cathedral of the Blade of Liberation, the fiery image of Selverus' sword somewhat ironic on a world primarily known for the production of flammable promethium, but there is nonetheless splendor to see the Burning Sword glittering on the windows rising high above the main hall, held over the liberated worlds of Araxes alight with cleansing flame.
The Cathedral is relatively quiet at the moment. Hymnals are sung by servitors, and scores upon scores of Ministorum servants, functionaries, and priests bustle through the hall and the adjoining chambers and offices, but against the size of the main hall it still feels hauntingly empty. Even the Adepta Sororitas feel small again the environs, the clatter of armour plates, the hum of servo-musculature and the rumble of warplate reactors failing lost amid the depths of the Cathedral.
Squad Palais makes the rounds about the Cathedral, performing a winding circuit between the columns focused on the narthex and aisles surrounding the main nave. Ministorum adepts and officials bustle by the squad, or absently give greetings as they converse in shadowed corners of the Cathedral. Other squads from the Mission pass on by, completing their own patrol routes, as well as a squad of Battle-Sisters from Cannoness-Commander Jessira's command, who slow to make the sign of the aquila as Squad Palais nears.
"Good evening, Sisters. I have heard you are to leave us soon? If so, may Leanna guide you and your Mission," their Superior says solemnly, before continuing on their route.
It is an action all Sisters have performed in the past, from the very Abbess of the Adepta Sororitas, to the lowliest of novitiates. To be a member of the Sisterhood is to be a defender of the faith, and whether it be in the glory of the heart of battle, or the humility of patrolling a Cathedral like a common security guard, it is a necessary task. For some it is a chance at contemplation, for others a trial of boredom. But even in this smallest of deeds is a test of faith and dedication, to walk the halls without distraction nor complaint. The minutes draw on, the mark of an hour coming and going, and the patrol continues.
Turn left, scan for intruders along this side entrance.
Clear
About Face, follow Sister Superior's Lead, keep Bolter pointed down.
To be truthful, Caelia had trouble thinking this was much worse than the bodyguarding duty.
Not because it was at all exciting or interesting in an intellectual sense of course-she'd not taken the requisite interest in religious architecture to find staring at Gargoyles and pillars all day interest-but because it was back to a routine. It was boring, but it was a familiar boring, and one without the potential pitfalls of the unfamiliar bodyguarding duty. She knew the steps already, and she carried them out with rote and mechanical efficiency.
Passing by the gates leading up one of the main transepts, Squad Palais finds eyes upon them. A quartet of priests trail off as Squad Palais begins to approach, the emerald eyes of the ranking Archpriestess at their head glinting in the light. She steps forward, hands folded into the sleeves of her orange robes, her eyes furrowed.
"Is something the matter, Arch-Priestess?" Palais asks, coming to a halt.
"The script on the edge of your pauldron, it says Palais. Is that your name, Sister-Superior?" The older woman demands, glaring from under her mantle.
"Sister-Superior Palais Kavarea, your Excellency, and this is my command. Do you require something of me?"
The steps ran through Caelia's head, more on her mind than what the Priest was saying. It was probably some minor function of ceremony or a greeting for Palais, so she busied herself with maintaining overwatch. It was supremely unlikely the church might be attacked, and if so it was unlikely it would be in a section in the interior such as this, but such details were only tangentially related to these duties. Constant vigilance was a virtue all it's own, and a faithful performance of a task even if it logically might not be strictly necessary was as well.
The edges of the Arch-Priestess' mouth curl in an unhappy smile. "An apology foremost, Sister-Superior. I have been most grateful for the work of your sisterhood in cleansing our holy port of the heretics that so assail it, but your Squad's behavior has been nothing short of shocking. Do you have any idea how aggrieved I was when I heard that my good friend, Andreas Masoun, and his fellow members of the Honorable Guild of Masons were fired upon with boltguns? He was struck by shrapnel, Sister-Superior! You could've killed the man responsible for the Triumph of Saint Kaisen, the Renovation of the Shrine of the Tormented Martyr, and the renovations of the Bridge of the Harbinger! You could've turned him into red mist and bloody chunks!" She pauses, taking a breath. "Forgive me, that outburst was unbecoming of me. But you must understand, Sister-Superior, I do not approve of bolt rounds being shot at the finest architect in Port Baptismus! Do you have any idea how concerned we all were when he was trapped behind that damnable quarantine? And all because the Pontifex wanted him to renovate the local holy buildings!"
Palais stares for a long moment. "I...Beg your pardon?"
"Andreas Masoun. He and his fellow guilders were forced to take shelter with some rather undesirable sorts in order to fend off a wave of heretics, and you almost decided to kill them all and let the God-Emperor sort them out? I-forgive me," she says, taking a deep breath. One of the lesser priests whispers in her ear, and she waves her off. "Yes, of course, Lucilla, I understand it was a confused situation, and at least nobody was killed, but by the Emperor-bolt rounds. Pontifex Arcadia was beside herself!"
"I am sorry to hear that, Archpriestess...?" Palais begins.
"Olivia." The woman replies, glaring at each of the Sisters in turn. "And the way he told me he was treated was beyond brutish. Like he was a common criminal!"
"With all due respect, your Excellency, he was in the company of anarchists harboring an avowed witch, and weapons fire went in our direction. He should be grateful that he was not killed," Palais states.
"Grateful?" The Archpriestess hisses. "You took a Witch alive and treated with rioters, but a respected member of society and servant of our Church is less deserving of Leanna's Mercy?" She pauses, taking in a breath. "Your...Palatine explained to me the situation, and it is for that reason I have declined to seek your censure. But I would still know which one of your squad dared to fire upon Andreas Masoun, and which of you threatened him."
Palais glances over her shoulder at the rest of the squad, then turns her helmet back to the Archpriestess. "Or what, Archpriestess? I am a Sister of the Burning Rose, not some menial. I will not order my Sisters to apologize for something that is no crime. Your friend was in the company of recidivists and rebels, and it is by Leanna's Mercy alone that he lives."
Olivia's face flushes with fury, the priests behind her looking increasingly nervous. One of them smiles apologetically at Squad Palais, clearly discomfited.
Caelia only noticed that this might not be some simple greeting or ceremony several sentences into the priestess' accusation.
Andreas Masoun? Who was that, and why was he relevant. Some friend of the Arch-Priestess? When had they had the occasion to open fire on an officer of the Church? Why would such a man be in the line of fire at all?
Was this Arch-Priestess mistaken? Had this happened on some task that Caelia had not been present for? Did she perhaps have the wrong squad?
The sudden cavalcade of questions is almost, but not quite enough to make her break discipline. A question furrows on her lips, almost as she is instinctively half shrugging half recoiling in confusion.
She straightens herself, maintaining the parade ground poise, Boltgun pointed down, and limbs stiff and unmoving. It would hardly do for the Sister Superior's authority to be undermined by less than perfect Subordinates.
She endeavored to be a heavily armed statue until such time she was directly addressed or the patrol continued.
She only belatedly made the connection on who Masoun was, the mention of anarchists cluing her in. The Guild Militia leader, of course. The one who'd threatened them with Litigation for a few warning shots and a light manhandling. She stifled a laugh-first because she was genuinely surprised anything had come of the man's bluster. But secondly, because she had not been involved in Masoun's slight inconvenience-that duty had fallen upon Ilanna and upon the Sister Superior.
This was not her mess to deal with, which means she was entirely justified in simply sitting back and watching her sisters attempting to handle it. Perhaps it was a wrong, however minor, to take amusement from that, but she also knew well you had to find what entertainment you could in long patrols.
"With all due respect, your Excellency, he was in the company of anarchists harboring an avowed witch, and weapons fire went in our direction. He should be grateful that he was not killed," Palais states.
"Grateful?" The Archpriestess hisses. "You took a Witch alive and treated with rioters, but a respected member of society and servant of our Church is less deserving of Leanna's Mercy?" She pauses, taking in a breath. "Your...Palatine explained to me the situation, and it is for that reason I have declined to seek your censure. But I would still know which one of your squad dared to fire upon Andreas Masoun, and which of you threatened him."
Palais glances over her shoulder at the rest of the squad, then turns her helmet back to the Archpriestess. "Or what, Archpriestess? I am a Sister of the Burning Rose, not some menial. I will not order my Sisters to apologize for something that is no crime. Your friend was in the company of recidivists and rebels, and it is by Leanna's Mercy alone that he lives."
Olivia's face flushes with fury, the priests behind her looking increasingly nervous. One of them smiles apologetically at Squad Palais, clearly discomfited.
Maria glared back at the priestess and her entourage. Ridiculous. Shameful. The woman's pale, pinkish eyes spared the smiling one just a glance, but it was as felling as a stray bolt round.
"We executed our mission to the letter of Palatine Rathitta's orders and will. As we do now. As we should be doing now."
She shifted her weight, sabatons snapping on the floor as servomuscle creaked. There was purpose in service to one's sisters, even if she was built to advance and keep advancing. God's light upon them all, she could advance hard through the ill-tempered woman and would barely feel a thing.
"With all due respect, your Excellency, he was in the company of anarchists harboring an avowed witch, and weapons fire went in our direction. He should be grateful that he was not killed," Palais states.
"Grateful?" The Archpriestess hisses. "You took a Witch alive and treated with rioters, but a respected member of society and servant of our Church is less deserving of Leanna's Mercy?" She pauses, taking in a breath. "Your...Palatine explained to me the situation, and it is for that reason I have declined to seek your censure. But I would still know which one of your squad dared to fire upon Andreas Masoun, and which of you threatened him."
Palais glances over her shoulder at the rest of the squad, then turns her helmet back to the Archpriestess. "Or what, Archpriestess? I am a Sister of the Burning Rose, not some menial. I will not order my Sisters to apologize for something that is no crime. Your friend was in the company of recidivists and rebels, and it is by Leanna's Mercy alone that he lives."
Olivia's face flushes with fury, the priests behind her looking increasingly nervous. One of them smiles apologetically at Squad Palais, clearly discomfited.
Ilana glanced at the rest of her squad, noting the tension rising exponentially as their parties began to dig in their heels. A spark of concern itched at her even as her heart swelled at her squadmates stepped up to defend her. Would it be hubris to think such instead of umbrage at the Archpriestess' questioning of the orders given to them by Palatine Rathitta? No matter, it fell upon regardless that she was one of the instigators of the incident, even if it was at the behest of holy purpose.
"I am Sister Ilana Laetifica, and I am the one who threatened Andreas Masoun." Ilana stepped forward. "You have what you desire Archpriestess, I beg leave now to continue our patrol." She didn't go so far as to offer apology for her actions, she would not undermine the statements of her sisters so. But with this, hopefully Archpriestess would see fit to simply leave the matter be now that Ilana had given her what she sought before ugly feelings festered further.
The Holy Port of Baptismus at least has a Cathedral worth of the name. The interior of the Cathedral is vast enough to comfortably fit a tank company with room to spare. Blue marble floors and pillars shine under the brilliant electro lighting, several levels of seating rising high above Squad Palais. Shrines bearing votive candles and the honoured skulls of holy martyrs fill the recesses of the room, as Cherubim whip overhead carrying incense at all times. High above the stained glass windows are lit by the Cathedral's external lights, the most prominent Selverus' ancient symbol. There is a hint of irony to the name of the Cathedral of the Blade of Liberation, the fiery image of Selverus' sword somewhat ironic on a world primarily known for the production of flammable promethium, but there is nonetheless splendor to see the Burning Sword glittering on the windows rising high above the main hall, held over the liberated worlds of Araxes alight with cleansing flame.
The Cathedral is relatively quiet at the moment. Hymnals are sung by servitors, and scores upon scores of Ministorum servants, functionaries, and priests bustle through the hall and the adjoining chambers and offices, but against the size of the main hall it still feels hauntingly empty. Even the Adepta Sororitas feel small again the environs, the clatter of armour plates, the hum of servo-musculature and the rumble of warplate reactors failing lost amid the depths of the Cathedral.
Squad Palais makes the rounds about the Cathedral, performing a winding circuit between the columns focused on the narthex and aisles surrounding the main nave. Ministorum adepts and officials bustle by the squad, or absently give greetings as they converse in shadowed corners of the Cathedral. Other squads from the Mission pass on by, completing their own patrol routes, as well as a squad of Battle-Sisters from Cannoness-Commander Jessira's command, who slow to make the sign of the aquila as Squad Palais nears.
"Good evening, Sisters. I have heard you are to leave us soon? If so, may Leanna guide you and your Mission," their Superior says solemnly, before continuing on their route.
It is an action all Sisters have performed in the past, from the very Abbess of the Adepta Sororitas, to the lowliest of novitiates. To be a member of the Sisterhood is to be a defender of the faith, and whether it be in the glory of the heart of battle, or the humility of patrolling a Cathedral like a common security guard, it is a necessary task. For some it is a chance at contemplation, for others a trial of boredom. But even in this smallest of deeds is a test of faith and dedication, to walk the halls without distraction nor complaint. The minutes draw on, the mark of an hour coming and going, and the patrol continues.
Eriko goes through the motions same as Sister Caelia does. It is a task she is intimately familiar with, having done so in the not too distant past.
Her eyes wander through the corridors and niches, flicking from shadow to shadow, not with boredom or anxious energy but in the way a predator looking for prey does. Deliberate. Watching for signs of deviation in its surroundings, waiting for prey to reveal itself and taking note of the dangers around it.
For sure it is not a task her warplate is well suited for, but instead of its characteristic energy, held in check only with tight reins, its limbs and servo-muscles are sluggish and fractions of a second slower to respond to her commands. In true battle, it would be cause for concern if not danger to her life, but within the slow, rote walk of cathedral security Eriko was content to allow Storm of Summer to laze for a bit.
Passing by the gates leading up one of the main transepts, Squad Palais finds eyes upon them. A quartet of priests trail off as Squad Palais begins to approach, the emerald eyes of the ranking Archpriestess at their head glinting in the light. She steps forward, hands folded into the sleeves of her orange robes, her eyes furrowed.
"Is something the matter, Arch-Priestess?" Palais asks, coming to a halt.
"The script on the edge of your pauldron, it says Palais. Is that your name, Sister-Superior?" The older woman demands, glaring from under her mantle.
"Sister-Superior Palais Kavarea, your Excellency, and this is my command. Do you require something of me?"
Palais halts and Eriko follows, standing behind the Sister-Superior as the Arch-Priestess inquires Palais' identity with too much force in her voice to be considered friendly.
Eriko keeps an eye on the proceedings and another within her immediate surroundings. The idea the Arch-Priestess would become a threat to them was laughable, but any inkling of hostility was worth taking note of when one was on security duty. Even a small flame might turn wild, though it would be more cause of embarrassment than true danger if the Arch-Priestess further lashed out.
The edges of the Arch-Priestess' mouth curl in an unhappy smile. "An apology foremost, Sister-Superior. I have been most grateful for the work of your sisterhood in cleansing our holy port of the heretics that so assail it, but your Squad's behavior has been nothing short of shocking. Do you have any idea how aggrieved I was when I heard that my good friend, Andreas Masoun, and his fellow members of the Honorable Guild of Masons were fired upon with boltguns? He was struck by shrapnel, Sister-Superior! You could've killed the man responsible for the Triumph of Saint Kaisen, the Renovation of the Shrine of the Tormented Martyr, and the renovations of the Bridge of the Harbinger! You could've turned him into red mist and bloody chunks!" She pauses, taking a breath. "Forgive me, that outburst was unbecoming of me. But you must understand, Sister-Superior, I do not approve of bolt rounds being shot at the finest architect in Port Baptismus! Do you have any idea how concerned we all were when he was trapped behind that damnable quarantine? And all because the Pontifex wanted him to renovate the local holy buildings!"
Palais stares for a long moment. "I...Beg your pardon?"
"Andreas Masoun. He and his fellow guilders were forced to take shelter with some rather undesirable sorts in order to fend off a wave of heretics, and you almost decided to kill them all and let the God-Emperor sort them out? I-forgive me," she says, taking a deep breath. One of the lesser priests whispers in her ear, and she waves her off. "Yes, of course, Lucilla, I understand it was a confused situation, and at least nobody was killed, but by the Emperor-bolt rounds. Pontifex Arcadia was beside herself!"
"I am sorry to hear that, Archpriestess...?" Palais begins.
"Olivia." The woman replies, glaring at each of the Sisters in turn. "And the way he told me he was treated was beyond brutish. Like he was a common criminal!"
"With all due respect, your Excellency, he was in the company of anarchists harboring an avowed witch, and weapons fire went in our direction. He should be grateful that he was not killed," Palais states.
"Grateful?" The Archpriestess hisses. "You took a Witch alive and treated with rioters, but a respected member of society and servant of our Church is less deserving of Leanna's Mercy?" She pauses, taking in a breath. "Your...Palatine explained to me the situation, and it is for that reason I have declined to seek your censure. But I would still know which one of your squad dared to fire upon Andreas Masoun, and which of you threatened him."
Palais glances over her shoulder at the rest of the squad, then turns her helmet back to the Archpriestess. "Or what, Archpriestess? I am a Sister of the Burning Rose, not some menial. I will not order my Sisters to apologize for something that is no crime. Your friend was in the company of recidivists and rebels, and it is by Leanna's Mercy alone that he lives."
Olivia's face flushes with fury, the priests behind her looking increasingly nervous. One of them smiles apologetically at Squad Palais, clearly discomfited.
Eriko knew of many of their kind. Those who thought titles, accolades, and deeds meant one was entitled to be exempt from proper decorum. It was surprising how many times she had caught someone sneaking past the official entrance or cutting lines because they were so-and-so second-cousin on the maternal side of the this-and-that governor of some backwater planet she had never heard of.
She took pleasure out of putting them back into place. Such bare flaunting of the rules irked on her.
This Arch-Priestess reminded her of those people. Always demanding something only they felt entitled to. And by how her Sisters had just responded, it seemed that none felt the Arch-Priestess was owed an apology either.
Ilana glanced at the rest of her squad, noting the tension rising exponentially as their parties began to dig in their heels. A spark of concern itched at her even as her heart swelled at her squadmates stepped up to defend her. Would it be hubris to think such instead of umbrage at the Archpriestess' questioning of the orders given to them by Palatine Rathitta? No matter, it fell upon regardless that she was one of the instigators of the incident, even if it was at the behest of holy purpose.
"I am Sister Ilana Laetifica, and I am the one who threatened Andreas Masoun." Ilana stepped forward. "You have what you desire Archpriestess, I beg leave now to continue our patrol." She didn't go so far as to offer apology for her actions, she would not undermine the statements of her sisters so. But with this, hopefully Archpriestess would see fit to simply leave the matter be now that Ilana had given her what she sought before ugly feelings festered further.
"My Sisters speak truly, Arch-Priestess Olivia. We are currently set on a task, one that does not involve a shouting match one hopes," Eriko comments sideways, idly registering the notes sung by the servitors above them. "It would be very much unbecoming for the Canticle of the Burning Crusade to be disturbed in such a fashion. Doubly so considering the dignities of the persons involved."
"I could only humbly suggest that if the, ah, esteemed Mason Masoun, as the aggrieved party himself, wishes to discuss the matter civilly and without proxies then to find my Sisters when they are less indisposed."
She straightens herself, maintaining the parade ground poise, Boltgun pointed down, and limbs stiff and unmoving. It would hardly do for the Sister Superior's authority to be undermined by less than perfect Subordinates.
She endeavored to be a heavily armed statue until such time she was directly addressed or the patrol continued.
She only belatedly made the connection on who Masoun was, the mention of anarchists cluing her in. The Guild Militia leader, of course. The one who'd threatened them with Litigation for a few warning shots and a light manhandling. She stifled a laugh-first because she was genuinely surprised anything had come of the man's bluster. But secondly, because she had not been involved in Masoun's slight inconvenience-that duty had fallen upon Ilanna and upon the Sister Superior.
This was not her mess to deal with, which means she was entirely justified in simply sitting back and watching her sisters attempting to handle it. Perhaps it was a wrong, however minor, to take amusement from that, but she also knew well you had to find what entertainment you could in long patrols.
Maria glared back at the priestess and her entourage. Ridiculous. Shameful. The woman's pale, pinkish eyes spared the smiling one just a glance, but it was as felling as a stray bolt round.
"We executed our mission to the letter of Palatine Rathitta's orders and will. As we do now. As we should be doing now."
She shifted her weight, sabatons snapping on the floor as servomuscle creaked. There was purpose in service to one's sisters, even if she was built to advance and keep advancing. God's light upon them all, she could advance hard through the ill-tempered woman and would barely feel a thing.
Ilana glanced at the rest of her squad, noting the tension rising exponentially as their parties began to dig in their heels. A spark of concern itched at her even as her heart swelled at her squadmates stepped up to defend her. Would it be hubris to think such instead of umbrage at the Archpriestess' questioning of the orders given to them by Palatine Rathitta? No matter, it fell upon regardless that she was one of the instigators of the incident, even if it was at the behest of holy purpose.
"I am Sister Ilana Laetifica, and I am the one who threatened Andreas Masoun." Ilana stepped forward. "You have what you desire Archpriestess, I beg leave now to continue our patrol." She didn't go so far as to offer apology for her actions, she would not undermine the statements of her sisters so. But with this, hopefully Archpriestess would see fit to simply leave the matter be now that Ilana had given her what she sought before ugly feelings festered further.
"My Sisters speak truly, Arch-Priestess Olivia. We are currently set on a task, one that does not involve a shouting match one hopes," Eriko comments sideways, idly registering the notes sung by the servitors above them. "It would be very much unbecoming for the Canticle of the Burning Crusade to be disturbed in such a fashion. Doubly so considering the dignities of the persons involved."
"I could only humbly suggest that if the, ah, esteemed Mason Masoun, as the aggrieved party himself, wishes to discuss the matter civilly and without proxies then to find my Sisters when they are less indisposed."
Hiding in the shadow of the Archpriestess, the faces of the lower-ranking church officials pale. Olivia folds her hands behind her back, a movement of calm that belies the fury in her eyes.
Robes rustling sharply, Arch-Priestess Olivia glances across the entirety of Squad Palais. "I beg your pardon? Are you claiming that some common security work has you too busy to attend to an Arch-Priestess of the Ecclesiarchy? Do you take me for a fool?" She hisses, in equal parts bemused and infuriated. She takes in a breath. "Of course not, for that would be below ones of your station, so I must presume that your time in the field has affected your judgment. Your focus is admirable, Sisters, but misplaced. I won't delay you from your duties for long."
She is not wrong, unfortunately. It is not uncommon for a Sister on guard to be pulled away to give directions or speak to a church official in some manner.
"And you should take care with your tone, Sister, 'lest someone mishear disrespect in it," The Arch-Priestess continues, giving Maria a withering look. She turns toward Eriko. "You are always indisposed, Sister, and it is by the Emperor's own grace that I even stumbled across you here. What hope does Masoun have? Or for that matter, what sort of response would he garner from you?"
"The sort he deserves," Palais replies, flatly.
"Quite," She says, pausing to take a deep breath. "And as for you, Sister Illana Laetifica, you have my thanks for your honesty. But I don't have what I desire. What I desire is an apol-"
Sabatons ring against the rockcrete, the violent hum of power armor approaching as Legatine Lethicia approaches, flanked by a handful of Sororitas. The Legatine's helmet is off, a warm and welcome smile belying her pallid features. "Good evening Arch-Priest, Sister-Superior. Is something the matter?"
Palais clears her throat. "I believe the good Arch-Priestess Olivia has concerns over our handling of a certain Masoun we encountered on a prior mission."
"His near death, yes," The Arch-Priestess says, her fury more controlled as she meets Lethicia's gaze.
"An unfortunate business, I understand," Lethicia replies. "But as I recall you already had this conversation with our Palatine on the matter?"
Olivia frowns and shakes her head. "Which is why I agreed not to censure them, but some measure of redress is still deserved! I understand the circumstances but..." The Arch-Priestess continues, her hands waving animatedly now that she has someone of rank to speak to and express her frustrations to. They bounce off Lethicia admirably.
Palais takes a step back as Olivia and Lethicia speak with one another, her sigh of relief ringing over the squad vox. Lethicia does an admirable job of deflecting or calming down the Arch-Priestess, though her tirade does not stop before the squad notices that Lethicia isn't the only one who took an interest in the conversation. A bored looking Administratum adept adjusts her implanted monocle as she waits for the conversation to halt. After several long moments she shambles over, brushing the front of her ink-stained robes. She stands in their shadow for a moment as the rant continues, and clears her throat.
"-The Pontifex was almost rendered faint by the news! You can't possibly-" Olivia continues.
"Excuse me," The adept sighs, Olivia paying her no heed.
"-Want an apology, nothing more and nothing less. Recorded for the Masoun's-"
"Excuse me." The adept checks a chrono chained at her side, grinding her teeth together as Olivia continues.
"-Still haven't even answered which of them fired at the-" Olivia's voice cuts off as the adept taps her on the shoulder. "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"
The adept sighs, brushing down the front of her robe. "Kindly piss off, would you?"
The words ring out with all the violence of a bolt round going off. Lethicia blinks, as Palais flinches in utter surprise. The priests behind Olivia stare with slack-jaws, as Olivia herself rounds on the man.
"What?" Olivia spouts out, face red. "How dare you speak to me in such a way? Who do you think you are?"
"Ma'am," Lethicia says, hand dropping to her sidearm. "Speaking to an Arch-Priest in such a manner is-"
The adept sighs, lifting up an ident-plate. "I've had a long day, and I really don't have time for this. Piss off, already," she says, as the holographic image blares bright on the ident-plate. One of the priests behind Olivia hastily turns around and walks off, trying and failing at being inconspicuous.
The words choke in Olivia's throat, the color draining from her face. "You-That can't be real."
"Quite real," The adept replies. All eyes lock on the holographic emblem of the dreaded Inquisition, skull leering. "If you wish to, you can compare the check value against those registered at the local Administratum data-vault. Indeed, I encourage you to do that, after you've pissed off and let me do the work of the Holy Ordos."
Olivia swallows. "An-an inquisitor? Here? I-Of course I'll go. I wouldn't want to interfere with the work of an Inquisitor," she rasps, hurriedly retreating away. The adept sighs and raises a hand, but the priestess is gone by the time she begins to speak.
"I'm not a bloody Inquisitor-Ah, sod it." She shakes her head, dropping her hand to her side. "You're the Legatine? I'm guessing the Palatine is currently indisposed?"
Lethicia nods, recovering markedly quick. "I am afraid so, lady...?"
"Please, I'm just an acolyte, glorified paper pusher for the Ordo Hereticus. No titles are necessary. You can call me Sarkaphne if need be. And this would be Squad Palais?" The adept asks, her monocle augment whining as it adjusts. She gives each member of the squad a careful look over. "Convenient."
"Oh, just a servant of the Inquisition is all?" Palais asks, unbalanced. "I suppose we're at your service, Sarkaphne?"
"Nothing so serious as service," The acolyte replies. She steps forward, handing Palais a dataslate. "Intel from the Ordos to its favorite Chamber-Militant, mostly. And some review of the squad's encounters with ah, unnatural phenomena," she says, blandly.
Lethicia takes the data-slate in hand, glancing through it. "Some concern over the length of the cleansing rites...Reassignment...The Sanctuary of Oros Monastery?" She mulls, glancing upward. "I'm guessing you don't know why there?"
"That isolated mountain monastery? Not a clue, besides being isolated and holy," The adept shrugs. "Not my place to know. I am, again, just an acolyte."
Hiding in the shadow of the Archpriestess, the faces of the lower-ranking church officials pale. Olivia folds her hands behind her back, a movement of calm that belies the fury in her eyes.
Robes rustling sharply, Arch-Priestess Olivia glances across the entirety of Squad Palais. "I beg your pardon? Are you claiming that some common security work has you too busy to attend to an Arch-Priestess of the Ecclesiarchy? Do you take me for a fool?" She hisses, in equal parts bemused and infuriated. She takes in a breath. "Of course not, for that would be below ones of your station, so I must presume that your time in the field has affected your judgment. Your focus is admirable, Sisters, but misplaced. I won't delay you from your duties for long."
She is not wrong, unfortunately. It is not uncommon for a Sister on guard to be pulled away to give directions or speak to a church official in some manner.
"And you should take care with your tone, Sister, 'lest someone mishear disrespect in it," The Arch-Priestess continues, giving Maria a withering look. She turns toward Eriko. "You are always indisposed, Sister, and it is by the Emperor's own grace that I even stumbled across you here. What hope does Masoun have? Or for that matter, what sort of response would he garner from you?"
"The sort he deserves," Palais replies, flatly.
"Quite," She says, pausing to take a deep breath. "And as for you, Sister Illana Laetifica, you have my thanks for your honesty. But I don't have what I desire. What I desire is an apol-"
Sabatons ring against the rockcrete, the violent hum of power armor approaching as Legatine Lethicia approaches, flanked by a handful of Sororitas. The Legatine's helmet is off, a warm and welcome smile belying her pallid features. "Good evening Arch-Priest, Sister-Superior. Is something the matter?"
Palais clears her throat. "I believe the good Arch-Priestess Olivia has concerns over our handling of a certain Masoun we encountered on a prior mission."
"His near death, yes," The Arch-Priestess says, her fury more controlled as she meets Lethicia's gaze.
"An unfortunate business, I understand," Lethicia replies. "But as I recall you already had this conversation with our Palatine on the matter?"
Olivia frowns and shakes her head. "Which is why I agreed not to censure them, but some measure of redress is still deserved! I understand the circumstances but..." The Arch-Priestess continues, her hands waving animatedly now that she has someone of rank to speak to and express her frustrations to. They bounce off Lethicia admirably.
Palais takes a step back as Olivia and Lethicia speak with one another, her sigh of relief ringing over the squad vox. Lethicia does an admirable job of deflecting or calming down the Arch-Priestess, though her tirade does not stop before the squad notices that Lethicia isn't the only one who took an interest in the conversation. A bored looking Administratum adept adjusts her implanted monocle as she waits for the conversation to halt. After several long moments she shambles over, brushing the front of her ink-stained robes. She stands in their shadow for a moment as the rant continues, and clears her throat.
"-The Pontifex was almost rendered faint by the news! You can't possibly-" Olivia continues.
Caelia continues to stand still as a statue, only observing. When was this going to end?
She had to admit, the Archpriestess had a point, at least on one of her points. The Sisters of Battle were ever needed, and there was few enough opportunities for even an archpriestess to intercept, much less a lay Guildsman with only a reputation for stonemasonry.
The problem was this whole matter was of little consequence or use for anyone, and there was no point attempting to extract apology when no wrong had been done. She thought the Stonemason would be better off accepting that a rough handling was necessary in a combat zone, and being grateful that was all it had been.
Instead he had chosen this, and it had come to this waste of time and effort for everyone.
She stifled a sigh of relief as the Legatine arrived. Now it really wasn't their problem anymore, and no doubt they'd soon be back to something approaching productivity.
"-The Pontifex was almost rendered faint by the news! You can't possibly-" Olivia continues.
"Excuse me," The adept sighs, Olivia paying her no heed.
"-Want an apology, nothing more and nothing less. Recorded for the Masoun's-"
"Excuse me." The adept checks a chrono chained at her side, grinding her teeth together as Olivia continues.
"-Still haven't even answered which of them fired at the-" Olivia's voice cuts off as the adept taps her on the shoulder. "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"
Caelia was only barely paying attention, even as the Scribe endeavored to get a word in. Probably some message of importance to the local church, or an important administrative function, or perhaps even a reminder of some rapidly approaching appointment. Hardly anything that concerned her and rest of Squad Palais, even if it seemed quite urgent for the Archpriestess.
The adept sighs, brushing down the front of her robe. "Kindly piss off, would you?"
The words ring out with all the violence of a bolt round going off. Lethicia blinks, as Palais flinches in utter surprise. The priests behind Olivia stare with slack-jaws, as Olivia herself rounds on the man.
"What?" Olivia spouts out, face red. "How dare you speak to me in such a way? Who do you think you are?"
"Ma'am," Lethicia says, hand dropping to her sidearm. "Speaking to an Arch-Priest in such a manner is-"
The adept sighs, lifting up an ident-plate. "I've had a long day, and I really don't have time for this. Piss off, already," she says, as the holographic image blares bright on the ident-plate. One of the priests behind Olivia hastily turns around and walks off, trying and failing at being inconspicuous.
The words choke in Olivia's throat, the color draining from her face. "You-That can't be real."
"Quite real," The adept replies. All eyes lock on the holographic emblem of the dreaded Inquisition, skull leering. "If you wish to, you can compare the check value against those registered at the local Administratum data-vault. Indeed, I encourage you to do that, after you've pissed off and let me do the work of the Holy Ordos."
It took Caelia several seconds to realize what had just happened, as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Had the Adept really just said that? Told a Archpriestess to piss off to her face, in front of two whole squads of Adeptas Sororitas.
She blinked, and resisted the urge to shake her head in confusion. Going by everyone's reactions, it seemed like the Adept had in fact actually said those highly improbable worlds. Caelia tensed. Was this prelude to some sort of Assassination attempt? A local political split she had not been aware of? Was the Adept simply insane or suicidal?
Olivia swallows. "An-an inquisitor? Here? I-Of course I'll go. I wouldn't want to interfere with the work of an Inquisitor," she rasps, hurriedly retreating away. The adept sighs and raises a hand, but the priestess is gone by the time she begins to speak.
"I'm not a bloody Inquisitor-Ah, sod it." She shakes her head, dropping her hand to her side. "You're the Legatine? I'm guessing the Palatine is currently indisposed?"
Lethicia nods, recovering markedly quick. "I am afraid so, lady...?"
"Please, I'm just an acolyte, glorified paper pusher for the Ordo Hereticus. No titles are necessary. You can call me Sarkaphne if need be. And this would be Squad Palais?" The adept asks, her monocle augment whining as it adjusts. She gives each member of the squad a careful look over. "Convenient."
"Oh, just a servant of the Inquisition is all?" Palais asks, unbalanced. "I suppose we're at your service, Sarkaphne?"
"Nothing so serious as service," The acolyte replies. She steps forward, handing Palais a dataslate. "Intel from the Ordos to its favorite Chamber-Militant, mostly. And some review of the squad's encounters with ah, unnatural phenomena," she says, blandly.
Lethicia takes the data-slate in hand, glancing through it. "Some concern over the length of the cleansing rites...Reassignment...The Sanctuary of Oros Monastery?" She mulls, glancing upward. "I'm guessing you don't know why there?"
"That isolated mountain monastery? Not a clue, besides being isolated and holy," The adept shrugs. "Not my place to know. I am, again, just an acolyte."
The Inquisition was here, and more so they had an interest in the squad. A hopefully mundane one, but if the Inquisition was involved then that didn't seem likely. Something else might be going on.
Not that true purpose was unrighteous-the Order of the Burning Rose had chains of alliance with the Ordo Hereticus for a reason, and together they were the the scourge of heretics. But the Inquisition meant dark forces were afoot. The Beholden and other horrors of the Cult perhaps was enough to inspire their presence, but it might not have been. No way to tell.
Still, there was nothing to it but to obey orders. Hopefully it wouldn't be serious, like the Adept said.
Hiding in the shadow of the Archpriestess, the faces of the lower-ranking church officials pale. Olivia folds her hands behind her back, a movement of calm that belies the fury in her eyes.
Robes rustling sharply, Arch-Priestess Olivia glances across the entirety of Squad Palais. "I beg your pardon? Are you claiming that some common security work has you too busy to attend to an Arch-Priestess of the Ecclesiarchy? Do you take me for a fool?" She hisses, in equal parts bemused and infuriated. She takes in a breath. "Of course not, for that would be below ones of your station, so I must presume that your time in the field has affected your judgment. Your focus is admirable, Sisters, but misplaced. I won't delay you from your duties for long."
She is not wrong, unfortunately. It is not uncommon for a Sister on guard to be pulled away to give directions or speak to a church official in some manner.
"And you should take care with your tone, Sister, 'lest someone mishear disrespect in it," The Arch-Priestess continues, giving Maria a withering look. She turns toward Eriko. "You are always indisposed, Sister, and it is by the Emperor's own grace that I even stumbled across you here. What hope does Masoun have? Or for that matter, what sort of response would he garner from you?"
"The sort he deserves," Palais replies, flatly.
"Quite," She says, pausing to take a deep breath. "And as for you, Sister Illana Laetifica, you have my thanks for your honesty. But I don't have what I desire. What I desire is an apol-"
Eriko arched her chin up and visibly braced as the Arch-priestess redoubled her efforts against the members of Squad Palais. The words, while as harmless as a flightless bird flapping its wings at them, was unfortunately also very distracting. The Arch-priestess threw so many words at them that Palais was only able to get a short rebuttal in. When they could get a word edge-wise once again, Eriko did not know but she was ready to jump at the merest hint of a chance to.
The Arch-priestess was bound to take a breath.
Any moment now.
She did and Eriko jumped in, her vox-enhanced voice mixing with Olivia's own in a cacophonic screech of sound. "Thankyoufortime, Arch-priestess, but we really should be off now. Hope you understand. Church-goers to direct--"
Sabatons ring against the rockcrete, the violent hum of power armor approaching as Legatine Lethicia approaches, flanked by a handful of Sororitas. The Legatine's helmet is off, a warm and welcome smile belying her pallid features. "Good evening Arch-Priest, Sister-Superior. Is something the matter?"
Palais clears her throat. "I believe the good Arch-Priestess Olivia has concerns over our handling of a certain Masoun we encountered on a prior mission."
"His near death, yes," The Arch-Priestess says, her fury more controlled as she meets Lethicia's gaze.
"An unfortunate business, I understand," Lethicia replies. "But as I recall you already had this conversation with our Palatine on the matter?"
Olivia frowns and shakes her head. "Which is why I agreed not to censure them, but some measure of redress is still deserved! I understand the circumstances but..." The Arch-Priestess continues, her hands waving animatedly now that she has someone of rank to speak to and express her frustrations to. They bounce off Lethicia admirably.
Palais takes a step back as Olivia and Lethicia speak with one another, her sigh of relief ringing over the squad vox. Lethicia does an admirable job of deflecting or calming down the Arch-Priestess, though her tirade does not stop before the squad notices that Lethicia isn't the only one who took an interest in the conversation. A bored looking Administratum adept adjusts her implanted monocle as she waits for the conversation to halt. After several long moments she shambles over, brushing the front of her ink-stained robes. She stands in their shadow for a moment as the rant continues, and clears her throat.
Just in the nick of time, the Legatine had arrived, allowing the squad to edge away from the Arch-Priestess. Eriko saw what their officer was doing and the ex-Hospitaller spoke secretly in the squad's vox. "We should leave, Sister-Superior Palais, while the Legatine Lethicia is buying us space and the Archpriestess is distracted."
Eriko glanced at the ongoing tirade before them. The Arch-Priestess' hands continued waving in the air, the center of attention amid the small group composed of her entourage and the Battle-Sisters.
"The Legatine can only hold her for so long. The Arch-Priestess' stubbornness would be amusing, were it not so annoying."
"-The Pontifex was almost rendered faint by the news! You can't possibly-" Olivia continues.
"Excuse me," The adept sighs, Olivia paying her no heed.
"-Want an apology, nothing more and nothing less. Recorded for the Masoun's-"
"Excuse me." The adept checks a chrono chained at her side, grinding her teeth together as Olivia continues.
"-Still haven't even answered which of them fired at the-" Olivia's voice cuts off as the adept taps her on the shoulder. "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"
The adept sighs, brushing down the front of her robe. "Kindly piss off, would you?"
The words ring out with all the violence of a bolt round going off. Lethicia blinks, as Palais flinches in utter surprise. The priests behind Olivia stare with slack-jaws, as Olivia herself rounds on the man.
"What?" Olivia spouts out, face red. "How dare you speak to me in such a way? Who do you think you are?"
"Ma'am," Lethicia says, hand dropping to her sidearm. "Speaking to an Arch-Priest in such a manner is-"
The adept's words rang off like a bolt round, and in the silence Eriko could hear the rustle of metal and cloth as everyone's demeanor shifted at once. She could feel her hands moving to her weapon, as the very intentional and unpredicted faux pas sent alarm bells ringing in her head. She waited, for fractions of a second, ready to act at a moment's notice.
It wasn't long before the next set of steps was shown to her.
The adept sighs, lifting up an ident-plate. "I've had a long day, and I really don't have time for this. Piss off, already," she says, as the holographic image blares bright on the ident-plate. One of the priests behind Olivia hastily turns around and walks off, trying and failing at being inconspicuous.
The words choke in Olivia's throat, the color draining from her face. "You-That can't be real."
"Quite real," The adept replies. All eyes lock on the holographic emblem of the dreaded Inquisition, skull leering. "If you wish to, you can compare the check value against those registered at the local Administratum data-vault. Indeed, I encourage you to do that, after you've pissed off and let me do the work of the Holy Ordos."
Olivia swallows. "An-an inquisitor? Here? I-Of course I'll go. I wouldn't want to interfere with the work of an Inquisitor," she rasps, hurriedly retreating away. The adept sighs and raises a hand, but the priestess is gone by the time she begins to speak.
"I'm not a bloody Inquisitor-Ah, sod it." She shakes her head, dropping her hand to her side. "You're the Legatine? I'm guessing the Palatine is currently indisposed?"
Lethicia nods, recovering markedly quick. "I am afraid so, lady...?"
"Please, I'm just an acolyte, glorified paper pusher for the Ordo Hereticus. No titles are necessary. You can call me Sarkaphne if need be. And this would be Squad Palais?" The adept asks, her monocle augment whining as it adjusts. She gives each member of the squad a careful look over. "Convenient."
"Oh, just a servant of the Inquisition is all?" Palais asks, unbalanced. "I suppose we're at your service, Sarkaphne?"
"Nothing so serious as service," The acolyte replies. She steps forward, handing Palais a dataslate. "Intel from the Ordos to its favorite Chamber-Militant, mostly. And some review of the squad's encounters with ah, unnatural phenomena," she says, blandly.
Lethicia takes the data-slate in hand, glancing through it. "Some concern over the length of the cleansing rites...Reassignment...The Sanctuary of Oros Monastery?" She mulls, glancing upward. "I'm guessing you don't know why there?"
"That isolated mountain monastery? Not a clue, besides being isolated and holy," The adept shrugs. "Not my place to know. I am, again, just an acolyte."
Eriko's mouth dropped. Thankfully she had her helmet on and no one was privy to that small embarrassment, but that was nothing to what the Arch-Priestess must have been feeling now. Eriko watched as she retreated, barely keeping face from all those gathered around.
Slowly and purposefully, Eriko shut her mouth. The Legatine and Palais were well on their way to conversing with the adept, now named Sarkaphane. Then Legatine Lethicia was given a data-slate, reading the orders aloud for everyone to hear.
"If-- when the Holy Ordos wishes for us to speak in person of our experiences then I don't think most will object. When will our presence be needed in the Sactuary of Oros Monastery, Adept Sarkaphane?"
It was plain enough to know what unnatural phenomena Sarkaphane spoke off. There was the issue with the dyybuks, but those were small things compared to the Possessed they had faced near the top of the Carmine Tower. Still, why the Ordo Hereticus were not satisfied with the recorded debriefings that they could have easily taken from the Mission, Eriko did not know. Neither was it her place to ask, even if the adept had known the answer.
"And you should take care with your tone, Sister, 'lest someone mishear disrespect in it," The Arch-Priestess continues, giving Maria a withering look. She turns toward Eriko. "You are always indisposed, Sister, and it is by the Emperor's own grace that I even stumbled across you here. What hope does Masoun have? Or for that matter, what sort of response would he garner from you?"
There was a clank as Maria managed to rise to even stiffer attention. She spoke in the same dull, nearly affectless drone that she always did, but there was a faint quiver of something. Pride maybe.
"I will take that into consideration arch-priestess, though on the authority of my old Drill Abbot Tiber it should be noted that ah...'any insouciance ought to have been beaten out of her, and all that remains is the dreariness of whatever Geldovan burrow she crawled forth from.' I am afraid my tone is what it is, and what it shall be."
She remained statue stiff, chin raised and eyes boring straight ahead above the woman's head. "It is in my record, and apparently my blood."
"Nothing so serious as service," The acolyte replies. She steps forward, handing Palais a dataslate. "Intel from the Ordos to its favorite Chamber-Militant, mostly. And some review of the squad's encounters with ah, unnatural phenomena," she says, blandly.
Lethicia takes the data-slate in hand, glancing through it. "Some concern over the length of the cleansing rites...Reassignment...The Sanctuary of Oros Monastery?" She mulls, glancing upward. "I'm guessing you don't know why there?"
"That isolated mountain monastery? Not a clue, besides being isolated and holy," The adept shrugs. "Not my place to know. I am, again, just an acolyte."
Maria nodded along slowly with the unfurling tale of the acolyte (she believed not a word), and what appeared to be their new assignment (certainly more at play than they'd be told). She tapped one armored finger against her greave, the satisfying metallic impact metronomic in its precision.
"I suppose...kit out with more blessed bolts. Or holy flamer?"
A hint of a smile curled the corners of her lips.
"It has been a fair while since I had call to requisition a flamer..."
The adept sighs, lifting up an ident-plate. "I've had a long day, and I really don't have time for this. Piss off, already," she says, as the holographic image blares bright on the ident-plate. One of the priests behind Olivia hastily turns around and walks off, trying and failing at being inconspicuous.
The words choke in Olivia's throat, the color draining from her face. "You-That can't be real."
"Quite real," The adept replies. All eyes lock on the holographic emblem of the dreaded Inquisition, skull leering. "If you wish to, you can compare the check value against those registered at the local Administratum data-vault. Indeed, I encourage you to do that, after you've pissed off and let me do the work of the Holy Ordos."
Olivia swallows. "An-an inquisitor? Here? I-Of course I'll go. I wouldn't want to interfere with the work of an Inquisitor," she rasps, hurriedly retreating away. The adept sighs and raises a hand, but the priestess is gone by the time she begins to speak.
Perhaps it was cowardly of Ilana to inwardly breathe a sigh of relief as the Archpriestess' hasty retreat, even as some primal remnant within her soul quailed briefly at blazing the cold sigil of the Inquisition. Their legend was one seared into her from childhood, the baleful shadow of the Emperor's judgment. It had been whispered in her ear from her earliest memories what they represented, of just and sinner, of holy and heathen, how all would be judged in the end, for His Immortal Shadow laid bare them all.
A shiver, evidence of which was hopefully confined forever to the depths of her warplate, before discipline reasserted herself once more. She was Chamber Militant now, an instrument of judgement that demanded her rise above the scars of childhood. She could not show weakness, not even to the Inquisition, especially the Inquisition.
"Nothing so serious as service," The acolyte replies. She steps forward, handing Palais a dataslate. "Intel from the Ordos to its favorite Chamber-Militant, mostly. And some review of the squad's encounters with ah, unnatural phenomena," she says, blandly.
Lethicia takes the data-slate in hand, glancing through it. "Some concern over the length of the cleansing rites...Reassignment...The Sanctuary of Oros Monastery?" She mulls, glancing upward. "I'm guessing you don't know why there?"
"That isolated mountain monastery? Not a clue, besides being isolated and holy," The adept shrugs. "Not my place to know. I am, again, just an acolyte."
"Nothing that would warrant putting a place of the Emperor to the torch I hope, as eager as dear Sister Maria is to bring the purity of flame to the heretic and daemon." Ilana's voice held a hint of a chuckle as she glanced at Maria. By the Geldovan's standards that was an outburst giddy with the anticipation of holy war, not that Ilana could bring herself to blame her. Then she shook her head, taking on a more serious tone. "I hope, but this galaxy is all too keen to betray hope. However, better yet a waste of our time than witness such tragedy."
The Inquisition was here, and more so they had an interest in the squad. A hopefully mundane one, but if the Inquisition was involved then that didn't seem likely. Something else might be going on.
Not that true purpose was unrighteous-the Order of the Burning Rose had chains of alliance with the Ordo Hereticus for a reason, and together they were the the scourge of heretics. But the Inquisition meant dark forces were afoot. The Beholden and other horrors of the Cult perhaps was enough to inspire their presence, but it might not have been. No way to tell.
Still, there was nothing to it but to obey orders. Hopefully it wouldn't be serious, like the Adept said.
Eriko's mouth dropped. Thankfully she had her helmet on and no one was privy to that small embarrassment, but that was nothing to what the Arch-Priestess must have been feeling now. Eriko watched as she retreated, barely keeping face from all those gathered around.
Slowly and purposefully, Eriko shut her mouth. The Legatine and Palais were well on their way to conversing with the adept, now named Sarkaphane. Then Legatine Lethicia was given a data-slate, reading the orders aloud for everyone to hear.
"If-- when the Holy Ordos wishes for us to speak in person of our experiences then I don't think most will object. When will our presence be needed in the Sactuary of Oros Monastery, Adept Sarkaphane?"
It was plain enough to know what unnatural phenomena Sarkaphane spoke off. There was the issue with the dyybuks, but those were small things compared to the Possessed they had faced near the top of the Carmine Tower. Still, why the Ordo Hereticus were not satisfied with the recorded debriefings that they could have easily taken from the Mission, Eriko did not know. Neither was it her place to ask, even if the adept had known the answer.
The Adept sighs, brushing the front of her robe. "I doubt the Holy Ordos will be interviewing you. The only reason they even sent me is that it was faster than a servo-skull. But feth if I know for sure, I'm just an acolyte. They barely tell me anything. As for when you'll leave, that's up to your Cannoness. Or Palatine. Whichever it is."
"Palatine would be the proper address in this case, acolyte," Lethicia says, politely. "It seems Squad Palais will go at the Mission's earliest convenience," Lethicia says, voice crackling. "Squad Ophania as well."
Palais shakes her helmed head slowly. "How kind of the Holy Ordos."
"Being Chamber Militant has its privileges, sometimes," the adept replies. "Nicer than shoving a black bag over your head and dragging you off into a passing cargo-8. That's how they did me."
Maria nodded along slowly with the unfurling tale of the acolyte (she believed not a word), and what appeared to be their new assignment (certainly more at play than they'd be told). She tapped one armored finger against her greave, the satisfying metallic impact metronomic in its precision.
"I suppose...kit out with more blessed bolts. Or holy flamer?"
A hint of a smile curled the corners of her lips.
"It has been a fair while since I had call to requisition a flamer..."
"Nothing that would warrant putting a place of the Emperor to the torch I hope, as eager as dear Sister Maria is to bring the purity of flame to the heretic and daemon." Ilana's voice held a hint of a chuckle as she glanced at Maria. By the Geldovan's standards that was an outburst giddy with the anticipation of holy war, not that Ilana could bring herself to blame her. Then she shook her head, taking on a more serious tone. "I hope, but this galaxy is all too keen to betray hope. However, better yet a waste of our time than witness such tragedy."
Sarkaphne squints at Maria from the shadows of her hood. "Oh yes, the Inquisition has a top-secret mission for you that will determine the very fate of Dreverarch," she says, drily. "Your cover is that you will be undergoing penance and ritual purification at an isolated mountain monastery for several weeks. An Inquisitor will be by shortly to brief you."
"The sarcasm isn't called for. Maria is simply eager to serve," Palais says, as politely as she can muster.
"As eager as you lot ever are," Sarkaphne sighs, tapping at her dataslate. Dark eyes glance back up at the Sisters. "Look. You brushed the dark. Perhaps you Sisters of Battle can shrug that off, but my masters are nothing if not cautious."
Palais leans forward, her chin raised. "We're the Daughters of the Emperor, our faith without question. Caution isn't necessary, but if the Emperor asks reflection of us rather than battle...Then I'll be gladdened to do his will."
Lethicia nods her head, gauntlet running along her chin. "With the fighting dying down, we can spare two squads. It isn't an unreasonable time for Squad Palais and Ophania to go on sabbatical. Thank you, Acolyte." She bows her head, making the sign of the aquila at the adept.
The adept shrugs then turns for the door, head buried in her dataslate again.
"Brazen one, her," Palais mutters. "So what's this Sanctuary of Oros, anyway?"
Lethicia raps a gauntleted finger against the glass frame of the dataslate. She smiles, brightly. "One of the oldest monasteries on the planet, set into the Kaledos Spine near where legends say that the liberation fleet first arrived during the Selverus Crusade. Quite nice, actually. A gorgeous view."
Palais tilts her head. "I'm sorry Legatine, I think my autosenses are malfunctioning. Did you say it was 'quite nice'?"
The Sanctuary of Oros, the Kaledos Spine Mountain Range
The seemingly endless churn of swamps and mud give way to hills and valleys. Above it all the Kaledos Spine juts out, white-capped mountains spreading as far as the eye can see, carved into Dreverarch's surface with all the surety of the stroke of a blade. Harsh and unyielding compared to the muck and damp that lay in the range's shadow.
The Thunderhawk rattles quietly as it plows through the harsh winds around the mountain, the passengers shifting in their crash harnesses lined along the cavernous interior of the craft. With only two squads of Battle-Sisters in their full wargear abord, the Thunderhawk feels nearly empty. The other passengers aboard don't make up the difference, not even the bulky arming servitors, and certainly not the familiar faces. Vahn Zayneth turns a page in a book labeled 'A Pilgrim's Guide to Dreverarch', whilst a notably reduced number of the Brassneck mercenaries that accompanied the squad in their venture shift nervously in their seats, all of them looking significantly more haggard than memory suggests. The bounty hunter leans back in her crash seat, scratching at a fading scar.
"Look, I'm just sayin', the Enforcers coulda at least waited to grab me 'til after I was done at the tavern," the bounty hunter says, motioning a hand animatedly at Battle-Sister Katia Salvus in the crash-chair next to her, the Squad Ophania member listening attentively.
Katia quirks an eyebrow, a laugh in her eyes. "Seriously? The first thing you do after surviving multiple witches and that daemon-thing is trying to score free drinks?"
The bounty hunter tries to shrug, a motion blocked off by the restraints of her chair. "Hey, being a Daemonslayer gets you a lot of attention," she says, smirking. "So I changed the details a lil'. For security reasons, 'course. It got me all the free drinks I could've wanted, and that one lass looked mighty interested..." She trails off with a sigh. "And c'mon, you can't tell me you didn't want to get shitefaced after all that. Err, pardon my tongue."
"Mrm. I'm not exactly the right person to be asking about getting, 'shitefaced',"Katia replies, flexing her fingers in the air. "You should consider yourself lucky. A loose tongue could have gotten you in so much more trouble than a trip to the Sanctuary of Oros alongside us."
"And a few weeks in a hole, aye," the bounty hunter mutters, scratching absently at the fading scar. "Wonder if there'll be anything to do here. What do people even do at monasteries, really? Pray all day?"
Final approach is called, the Thunderhawk swinging around with all the grace of a main-battle tank as it lumbers into position. With a whine the rear hatch drops, cold air and flakes of white snow billowing into the troop compartment. Restraints are raised, and Squad Palais takes the lead rushing down the ramp. Sworls of snowflakes dance wildly around the squad, kicked up by the Thunderhawk's thrusters, snow crunching and hand-carved brick thudding underfoot. After weeks and months in the choking smog and cloying swamp air of the Holy Port, the chill, crisp air that fills the Sisters' lungs is almost enough to stop them in their tracks. Every breath is clean, fresh, and despite the chill, markedly refreshing. Behind Squad Palais Ophania leads her larger squad in disembarking, confidently spreading out across the landing pad.
The monastery stretches across the mountain side, each hard-carved brick coated in a frosting of snow. Icicles dangle from elegantly angled rooftops, mural laden archways and the outspread wings of Angelic statues that overlook the valleys that stretch out far below, like a blanket of green. The mountains rise up around the monastery, crowned in vibrant grays from sweet blue-slate to silver-gray, and in the chill air there is not a single insect buzzing at the squads' heels.
Palais gives a sceptical look around the place, brushing a few flakes of snow from her hair as the Servitors off-load the cargo from the Thunderhawk. "So this is the monastery."
Ahead, a quartet of figures emerge from a sheltered archway, robes billowing in the crisp breeze. Three bear the drapery of monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, where the fourth lumbers after them in their carapace plate, their sabatons ringing off the stone as their skeletal frame hanging from their tower shield jangles in the snowy gusts. A Crusader, no doubt.
"Ave Imperator!" the aged nun at their head calls out cheerily, hands folded in the sign of the aquila. "You must be the Sisters from the Order of the Burning Rose! Welcome, welcome to the Sanctuary of Oros! We're honoured to have you visiting us."
"Look, I'm just sayin', the Enforcers coulda at least waited to grab me 'til after I was done at the tavern," the bounty hunter says, motioning a hand animatedly at Battle-Sister Katia Salvus in the crash-chair next to her, the Squad Ophania member listening attentively.
Katia quirks an eyebrow, a laugh in her eyes. "Seriously? The first thing you do after surviving multiple witches and that daemon-thing is trying to score free drinks?"
The bounty hunter tries to shrug, a motion blocked off by the restraints of her chair. "Hey, being a Daemonslayer gets you a lot of attention," she says, smirking. "So I changed the details a lil'. For security reasons, 'course. It got me all the free drinks I could've wanted, and that one lass looked mighty interested..." She trails off with a sigh. "And c'mon, you can't tell me you didn't want to get shitefaced after all that. Err, pardon my tongue."
"Mrm. I'm not exactly the right person to be asking about getting, 'shitefaced',"Katia replies, flexing her fingers in the air. "You should consider yourself lucky. A loose tongue could have gotten you in so much more trouble than a trip to the Sanctuary of Oros alongside us."
"And a few weeks in a hole, aye," the bounty hunter mutters, scratching absently at the fading scar. "Wonder if there'll be anything to do here. What do people even do at monasteries, really? Pray all day?"
"Well, since you seem to be so enamoured with alcohol," Ilana responded dryly, "some of the most famous alcoholic drinks in the sector are brewed by monasteries. Starippa for example originates from a oceanside monastery in Apodeite. Said to imbue such serenity that it wards away even the temptations of the Dark Prince. There are other institutions that take pride in monastic traditions such as sculpture or the maintenance of some of the greatest repositories of knowledge for light-years around. Even with the support of the Ecclesiarchy there are many monks with trade skills to maintain their lifestyles."
A brief jolt to punctuate the conversation, and not for the first time Ilana somewhat regretted the absence of windows in the Thunderhawk. It would make a finer sight to look at than plasteel at least.
"And if you make it through the visit without insulting the monks, perhaps they will even let you go home with a sample from the vineyard!" She exclaimed with faux-cheerfulness.
Final approach is called, the Thunderhawk swinging around with all the grace of a main-battle tank as it lumbers into position. With a whine the rear hatch drops, cold air and flakes of white snow billowing into the troop compartment. Restraints are raised, and Squad Palais takes the lead rushing down the ramp. Sworls of snowflakes dance wildly around the squad, kicked up by the Thunderhawk's thrusters, snow crunching and hand-carved brick thudding underfoot. After weeks and months in the choking smog and cloying swamp air of the Holy Port, the chill, crisp air that fills the Sisters' lungs is almost enough to stop them in their tracks. Every breath is clean, fresh, and despite the chill, markedly refreshing. Behind Squad Palais Ophania leads her larger squad in disembarking, confidently spreading out across the landing pad.
The monastery stretches across the mountain side, each hard-carved brick coated in a frosting of snow. Icicles dangle from elegantly angled rooftops, mural laden archways and the outspread wings of Angelic statues that overlook the valleys that stretch out far below, like a blanket of green. The mountains rise up around the monastery, crowned in vibrant grays from sweet blue-slate to silver-gray, and in the chill air there is not a single insect buzzing at the squads' heels.
Palais gives a sceptical look around the place, brushing a few flakes of snow from her hair as the Servitors off-load the cargo from the Thunderhawk. "So this is the monastery."
Ahead, a quartet of figures emerge from a sheltered archway, robes billowing in the crisp breeze. Three bear the drapery of monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, where the fourth lumbers after them in their carapace plate, their sabatons ringing off the stone as their skeletal frame hanging from their tower shield jangles in the snowy gusts. A Crusader, no doubt.
"Ave Imperator!" the aged nun at their head calls out cheerily, hands folded in the sign of the aquila. "You must be the Sisters from the Order of the Burning Rose! Welcome, welcome to the Sanctuary of Oros! We're honoured to have you visiting us."
Ilana took a deep breath of the frozen mountain air, not even minding the scalding chill it sent down her throat in protest. After months of enduring the insect-infested, bog-ridden, thick and hotly cloying air of the swamplands hundreds of meters below them this was a heavenly change of scenery. She formed the sign of the aquila in response to the greeting of the leading nun, for one glad to be here despite doing so under Inquisitorial orders. "Ave Imperator Sister, and the honour is ours. I am Sister Ilana Varkhat Laetificat, battle-sister of Squad Palais. You'll have to forgive the looks of surprise at the beauty of your monastery, Dreverarch had given us a very different impression of the planet thus far."
Sarkaphne squints at Maria from the shadows of her hood. "Oh yes, the Inquisition has a top-secret mission for you that will determine the very fate of Dreverarch," she says, drily. "Your cover is that you will be undergoing penance and ritual purification at an isolated mountain monastery for several weeks. An Inquisitor will be by shortly to brief you."
"The sarcasm isn't called for. Maria is simply eager to serve," Palais says, as politely as she can muster.
"As eager as you lot ever are," Sarkaphne sighs, tapping at her dataslate. Dark eyes glance back up at the Sisters. "Look. You brushed the dark. Perhaps you Sisters of Battle can shrug that off, but my masters are nothing if not cautious."
Palais leans forward, her chin raised. "We're the Daughters of the Emperor, our faith without question. Caution isn't necessary, but if the Emperor asks reflection of us rather than battle...Then I'll be gladdened to do his will."
Lethicia nods her head, gauntlet running along her chin. "With the fighting dying down, we can spare two squads. It isn't an unreasonable time for Squad Palais and Ophania to go on sabbatical. Thank you, Acolyte." She bows her head, making the sign of the aquila at the adept.
The adept shrugs then turns for the door, head buried in her dataslate again.
"Brazen one, her," Palais mutters. "So what's this Sanctuary of Oros, anyway?"
Lethicia raps a gauntleted finger against the glass frame of the dataslate. She smiles, brightly. "One of the oldest monasteries on the planet, set into the Kaledos Spine near where legends say that the liberation fleet first arrived during the Selverus Crusade. Quite nice, actually. A gorgeous view."
Palais tilts her head. "I'm sorry Legatine, I think my autosenses are malfunctioning. Did you say it was 'quite nice'?"
Caelia listened in, and held back a laugh. The Inquisition had gotten involved to request a simple ritual purification. She almost didn't believe it if not for the agent's brazeness and blunt manner.
Didn't they have better things to do? Did the Ordo Hereticus have slow days?
She quickly cleared away such thoughts. Clearly they must have a better reason for this, but it was not her place to question.
She almost didn't hear what the Legatine said about the Monastery.
"Did she just say Quite Nice?" Caelia speaks for the first time, restricting herself to Squad Comms. "Is this some form of cultural mistranslation?" She asked, for lack of a better guess what that could possibly mean.
Final approach is called, the Thunderhawk swinging around with all the grace of a main-battle tank as it lumbers into position. With a whine the rear hatch drops, cold air and flakes of white snow billowing into the troop compartment. Restraints are raised, and Squad Palais takes the lead rushing down the ramp. Sworls of snowflakes dance wildly around the squad, kicked up by the Thunderhawk's thrusters, snow crunching and hand-carved brick thudding underfoot. After weeks and months in the choking smog and cloying swamp air of the Holy Port, the chill, crisp air that fills the Sisters' lungs is almost enough to stop them in their tracks. Every breath is clean, fresh, and despite the chill, markedly refreshing. Behind Squad Palais Ophania leads her larger squad in disembarking, confidently spreading out across the landing pad.
Snow on Dreverarch. Of all the things she'd seen on this planet, it was simple snow that seemed the most unbelievable.
Even better, Snow that her autosenses was telling her was not chemically or radiologically contaminated, nor of a temperature unsuited for medium term human survival. Entirely unlike her experience on the homeworld or in survival training.
How novel.
"Never thought we might need Cold Weather gear for Dreverarch." She adds quietly to her sisters over Squadcom, only half in jest. With an armored shrug, she reached up and removed her helmet, and let the crisp air and snowfall touch her skin.
Then, after only a half second to enjoy it, she stepped forward to speak with the Nuns, as was customary.
Palais gives a sceptical look around the place, brushing a few flakes of snow from her hair as the Servitors off-load the cargo from the Thunderhawk. "So this is the monastery."
Ahead, a quartet of figures emerge from a sheltered archway, robes billowing in the crisp breeze. Three bear the drapery of monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, where the fourth lumbers after them in their carapace plate, their sabatons ringing off the stone as their skeletal frame hanging from their tower shield jangles in the snowy gusts. A Crusader, no doubt.
"Ave Imperator!" the aged nun at their head calls out cheerily, hands folded in the sign of the aquila. "You must be the Sisters from the Order of the Burning Rose! Welcome, welcome to the Sanctuary of Oros! We're honoured to have you visiting us."
"Ave Imperator, and thank you for welcoming us." Caelia replies, glancing over the greeting party. "Sister Caelia Valeriania, Battlesister of Squad Palais."
The Nuns certainly didn't look like some Inquisition affiliates of any sort, but looks could be deceiving. The Crusader, perhaps, but then, what monastery would go without such sanctified protectors?
No, they were likely just Nuns, as they said. Yet another surprise, merely by what had been said openly.
Ilana took a deep breath of the frozen mountain air, not even minding the scalding chill it sent down her throat in protest. After months of enduring the insect-infested, bog-ridden, thick and hotly cloying air of the swamplands hundreds of meters below them this was a heavenly change of scenery. She formed the sign of the aquila in response to the greeting of the leading nun, for one glad to be here despite doing so under Inquisitorial orders. "Ave Imperator Sister, and the honour is ours. I am Sister Ilana Varkhat Laetificat, battle-sister of Squad Palais. You'll have to forgive the looks of surprise at the beauty of your monastery, Dreverarch had given us a very different impression of the planet thus far."
"Sister Illanna speaks truth." Caelia says, biting back a comment that perhaps she instead was if anything understating their impression of Dreverarch. "This place is most beautiful, and most out of the usual of what we've come to expect."
Caelia listened in, and held back a laugh. The Inquisition had gotten involved to request a simple ritual purification. She almost didn't believe it if not for the agent's brazeness and blunt manner.
Didn't they have better things to do? Did the Ordo Hereticus have slow days?
She quickly cleared away such thoughts. Clearly they must have a better reason for this, but it was not her place to question.
She almost didn't hear what the Legatine said about the Monastery.
"Did she just say Quite Nice?" Caelia speaks for the first time, restricting herself to Squad Comms. "Is this some form of cultural mistranslation?" She asked, for lack of a better guess what that could possibly mean.
"Apparently not, Sister Caelia," Eriko replies. "Though what constitutes nice around here must be either environmentally-sealed thrice over or in the midst of a small terraformed continent."
Still, no matter here dismissal of whatever constituted as "Quite Nice" amid the planet's swamps, Eriko had to admit she was curious as to their location of meditation. Adept Sarkaphane was right. Being the Chamber Militant had benefits and one of those was a free ticket to a Sanctuary instead of days locked in a cell.
"Well, since you seem to be so enamoured with alcohol," Ilana responded dryly, "some of the most famous alcoholic drinks in the sector are brewed by monasteries. Starippa for example originates from a oceanside monastery in Purgatus. Said to imbue such serenity that it wards away the temptations of the Dark Prince. There are other institutions that take pride in monastic traditions such as sculpture or the maintenance of some of the greatest repositories of knowledge for light-years around. Even with the support of the Ecclesiarchy there are many monks with trade skills to maintain their lifestyles."
A brief jolt to punctuate the conversation, and not for the first time Ilana somewhat regretted the absence of windows in the Thunderhawk. It would make a finer sight to look at than plasteel at least.
"And if you make it through the visit without insulting the monks, perhaps they will even let you go home with a sample from the vineyard at a discount!" She exclaimed with faux-cheerfulness.
"Or do not be so obvious in your preoccupation with drink," Eriko continues, sitting beside Ilana. "The monks and nuns might take care to not pour you anymore than they would prefer." She half shrugs as another jolt of the Thunderhawk interrupts her talking. "As to what we could do. Pray, yes. Meditate and contemplate. Talk to your heart's content about your spiritual journey. Eat good food. Enjoy the silence. Smell the flowers. It is a period of quiet, away from the bustle of life."
Daintily, she lays her fingers over her gorget. "I personally hope they've kept the hot springs in sufficiently good shape. It has been a while since I've relaxed in a good and natural bath."
Final approach is called, the Thunderhawk swinging around with all the grace of a main-battle tank as it lumbers into position. With a whine the rear hatch drops, cold air and flakes of white snow billowing into the troop compartment. Restraints are raised, and Squad Palais takes the lead rushing down the ramp. Sworls of snowflakes dance wildly around the squad, kicked up by the Thunderhawk's thrusters, snow crunching and hand-carved brick thudding underfoot. After weeks and months in the choking smog and cloying swamp air of the Holy Port, the chill, crisp air that fills the Sisters' lungs is almost enough to stop them in their tracks. Every breath is clean, fresh, and despite the chill, markedly refreshing. Behind Squad Palais Ophania leads her larger squad in disembarking, confidently spreading out across the landing pad.
The monastery stretches across the mountain side, each hard-carved brick coated in a frosting of snow. Icicles dangle from elegantly angled rooftops, mural laden archways and the outspread wings of Angelic statues that overlook the valleys that stretch out far below, like a blanket of green. The mountains rise up around the monastery, crowned in vibrant grays from sweet blue-slate to silver-gray, and in the chill air there is not a single insect buzzing at the squads' heels.
Palais gives a sceptical look around the place, brushing a few flakes of snow from her hair as the Servitors off-load the cargo from the Thunderhawk. "So this is the monastery."
"Never thought we might need Cold Weather gear for Dreverarch." She adds quietly to her sisters over Squadcom, only half in jest. With an armored shrug, she reached up and removed her helmet, and let the crisp air and snowfall touch her skin.
Then, after only a half second to enjoy it, she stepped forward to speak with the Nuns, as was customary.
"It's a finer place to be than in the lowlands, whatever else one might say about it."
Eriko glances at the monastery, hands on her hips. It was a sight better indeed than most things in the city. Well-kept architecture and most of all, peaceful. No crowd buzzing at the edge of her hearing, no snap of steel on steel, or the rattle of autoguns.
Ahead, a quartet of figures emerge from a sheltered archway, robes billowing in the crisp breeze. Three bear the drapery of monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, where the fourth lumbers after them in their carapace plate, their sabatons ringing off the stone as their skeletal frame hanging from their tower shield jangles in the snowy gusts. A Crusader, no doubt.
"Ave Imperator!" the aged nun at their head calls out cheerily, hands folded in the sign of the aquila. "You must be the Sisters from the Order of the Burning Rose! Welcome, welcome to the Sanctuary of Oros! We're honoured to have you visiting us."
"Sister Eriko Keontamo," Eriko introduces herself after Ilana and Caelia and performs the sign of the Aquila. She gives the lead nun a smile. "And if I may be so bold, we too are honoured to be called to your monastery. I look forward to enjoying your hospitality."
"The sarcasm isn't called for. Maria is simply eager to serve," Palais says, as politely as she can muster.
"As eager as you lot ever are," Sarkaphne sighs, tapping at her dataslate. Dark eyes glance back up at the Sisters. "Look. You brushed the dark. Perhaps you Sisters of Battle can shrug that off, but my masters are nothing if not cautious."
Palais leans forward, her chin raised. "We're the Daughters of the Emperor, our faith without question. Caution isn't necessary, but if the Emperor asks reflection of us rather than battle...Then I'll be gladdened to do his will."
Lethicia nods her head, gauntlet running along her chin. "With the fighting dying down, we can spare two squads. It isn't an unreasonable time for Squad Palais and Ophania to go on sabbatical. Thank you, Acolyte." She bows her head, making the sign of the aquila at the adept.
Maria's face composed itself once more into a grim mask. "Of course acolyte. Reflection, penance, mortification then." There was a glint in her eye, and a severity to the hard line of her mouth. She put perhaps just a little too much emphasis on the end of the list, but then the sister was prone to being her own harshest confessor.
Palais gives a sceptical look around the place, brushing a few flakes of snow from her hair as the Servitors off-load the cargo from the Thunderhawk. "So this is the monastery."
Ahead, a quartet of figures emerge from a sheltered archway, robes billowing in the crisp breeze. Three bear the drapery of monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, where the fourth lumbers after them in their carapace plate, their sabatons ringing off the stone as their skeletal frame hanging from their tower shield jangles in the snowy gusts. A Crusader, no doubt.
"Ave Imperator!" the aged nun at their head calls out cheerily, hands folded in the sign of the aquila. "You must be the Sisters from the Order of the Burning Rose! Welcome, welcome to the Sanctuary of Oros! We're honoured to have you visiting us."
Maria had grown up in tunnels, hunted rad-blasted marshes and valleys, trained in hive cities and stood vigil over warm and pleasant world. Stepping out of the Thunderhawk bareheaded she found herself utterly out of her element. She couldn't help but widen her eyes at the sight of the scattering flakes, only to narrow them against the painful brilliance of the snowfields. Blinking away at the whiteness around them she made the sign of the aquila to their welcoming comittee.
"Sister Illanna speaks truth." Caelia says, biting back a comment that perhaps she instead was if anything understating their impression of Dreverarch. "This place is most beautiful, and most out of the usual of what we've come to expect."
"Well, since you seem to be so enamoured with alcohol," Ilana responded dryly, "some of the most famous alcoholic drinks in the sector are brewed by monasteries. Starippa for example originates from a oceanside monastery in Apodeite. Said to imbue such serenity that it wards away even the temptations of the Dark Prince. There are other institutions that take pride in monastic traditions such as sculpture or the maintenance of some of the greatest repositories of knowledge for light-years around. Even with the support of the Ecclesiarchy there are many monks with trade skills to maintain their lifestyles."
A brief jolt to punctuate the conversation, and not for the first time Ilana somewhat regretted the absence of windows in the Thunderhawk. It would make a finer sight to look at than plasteel at least.
"And if you make it through the visit without insulting the monks, perhaps they will even let you go home with a sample from the vineyard!" She exclaimed with faux-cheerfulness.
"Or do not be so obvious in your preoccupation with drink," Eriko continues, sitting beside Ilana. "The monks and nuns might take care to not pour you anymore than they would prefer." She half shrugs as another jolt of the Thunderhawk interrupts her talking. "As to what we could do. Pray, yes. Meditate and contemplate. Talk to your heart's content about your spiritual journey. Eat good food. Enjoy the silence. Smell the flowers. It is a period of quiet, away from the bustle of life."
Daintily, she lays her fingers over her gorget. "I personally hope they've kept the hot springs in sufficiently good shape. It has been a while since I've relaxed in a good and natural bath."
The bounty hunter leans back in her crash chair, listening intently to Ilana's words. "Huh. Didn't know that, nah. Always thought they were jus' like the temples, 'cept farther away? I guess it makes sense, jus' never thought of it."
"Unsurprising, given your lack of travel," Vahn's nasal tone rings out. "Quite the boon for someone as well-traveled as myself, truth be told. Easier to find than an inn, and typically more pleasant asides, particularly if you can get a guest room and not sleep in the common room like the other dregs. Still, prefer a noble's household where it can be done."
The bounty hunter turns toward Vahn, but Ilana's comment gets her attention. "Free sample?" The bounty hunter asks. "Not much of an amasec sort of gal myself, but I wouldn't complain about free. Or..." She trails off as Eriko interjects, her face falling and shoulders slumping. "Well. Meditation and quiet, huh? Those certainly sound very much like a...thing. I guess I'll do my best to enjoy the silence?" she says, deeply skeptical.
Snow on Dreverarch. Of all the things she'd seen on this planet, it was simple snow that seemed the most unbelievable.
Even better, Snow that her autosenses was telling her was not chemically or radiologically contaminated, nor of a temperature unsuited for medium term human survival. Entirely unlike her experience on the homeworld or in survival training.
How novel.
"Never thought we might need Cold Weather gear for Dreverarch." She adds quietly to her sisters over Squadcom, only half in jest. With an armored shrug, she reached up and removed her helmet, and let the crisp air and snowfall touch her skin.
Then, after only a half second to enjoy it, she stepped forward to speak with the Nuns, as was customary.
"It's a finer place to be than in the lowlands, whatever else one might say about it."
Eriko glances at the monastery, hands on her hips. It was a sight better indeed than most things in the city. Well-kept architecture and most of all, peaceful. No crowd buzzing at the edge of her hearing, no snap of steel on steel, or the rattle of autoguns.
Palais glances around at the frost-capped mountains, sprawling from horizon to horizon. "I...Suppose it makes sense that there's more than miserable swamp and miserable swamp towns on Dreverarch, but this feels wrong. It really is pleasant. It's not too cold you can't enjoy it."
"Dreverarch's not that bad," The bounty hunter protests. She mutters under her breath, though the Sisters' autosenses pick her up with ease. "I bet your homeworlds aren't even that nice."
Ilana took a deep breath of the frozen mountain air, not even minding the scalding chill it sent down her throat in protest. After months of enduring the insect-infested, bog-ridden, thick and hotly cloying air of the swamplands hundreds of meters below them this was a heavenly change of scenery. She formed the sign of the aquila in response to the greeting of the leading nun, for one glad to be here despite doing so under Inquisitorial orders. "Ave Imperator Sister, and the honour is ours. I am Sister Ilana Varkhat Laetificat, battle-sister of Squad Palais. You'll have to forgive the looks of surprise at the beauty of your monastery, Dreverarch had given us a very different impression of the planet thus far."
"Ave Imperator, and thank you for welcoming us." Caelia replies, glancing over the greeting party. "Sister Caelia Valeriania, Battlesister of Squad Palais."
The Nuns certainly didn't look like some Inquisition affiliates of any sort, but looks could be deceiving. The Crusader, perhaps, but then, what monastery would go without such sanctified protectors?
No, they were likely just Nuns, as they said. Yet another surprise, merely by what had been said openly.
"Sister Illanna speaks truth." Caelia says, biting back a comment that perhaps she instead was if anything understating their impression of Dreverarch. "This place is most beautiful, and most out of the usual of what we've come to expect."
"Sister Eriko Keontamo," Eriko introduces herself after Ilana and Caelia and performs the sign of the Aquila. She gives the lead nun a smile. "And if I may be so bold, we too are honoured to be called to your monastery. I look forward to enjoying your hospitality."
The monks and nuns glance between one another and exchange knowing smiles. "Believe me, Sisters. You're not the first off-worlders to make such statements," the head nun states, bowing her head at the two squads. "But we are glad you appreciate the beauty of the Sanctuary of Oros. It is a very sacred place on Dreverarch."
Palais introduces herself as well, followed by the members of Squad Ophania and their own Sister-Superior. Vahn Zayneth introduces himself, and with a motion of his hand introduces the entire mercenary demi-squad as "Contractors from the Swords of Virtue," before inclining his head toward the bounty hunter.
"Pythia, just Pythia," the bounty hunter coughs. She gestures at Vahn with her thumb. "I'm with 'im."
"Ave Imperator, Sisters. I am Sister Emeline Merraenes, Guest-Master Primus of the Sanctuary of Oros. You'll be my charges whilst you're under the care of the Sanctuary," she says, clasping her hands together. "You may find that you have time aplenty to linger on our Monastery's beauty, Sister Maria, but as the saying goes, 'Idleness leads to heresy'. You will be expected to perform tasks in and around the monastery."
"Around the monastery?" Palais asks, sparing a glance back over the edge of the monastery walls into the rolling hills below.
"Of course. We have certain obligations to the surrounding villages, which I am certain you would do well to apply yourselves to," Emeline replies.
The Crusader steps forward, the bones hanging from their stormshield shifting quietly in the soft wind. "Some of which, albeit uncommonly, is even of a martial bent," her voice rings out, cold and harsh from beneath her helmet. "But do not expect much befitting your talents, Battle-Sisters. These are peaceful lands."
"Quite so," Emeline says. "Now, let's show you where you'll be staying."
The Sanctuary of Oros hardly compares to the towering mega-Cathedral of the Rise or the sprawling estate of the Planetary Governor, but it is far from a modest location. It spreads out across the mountainside, long open-air galleries and terraces allowing one to walk all around the structure and take in the harsh beauty of the mountains from all number of angles, and which eventually lead to two hidden but well-maintained hydra-batteries secreted among the monasteries' gantries. Marble railings and pillars bedecked in iron-worked finery or planters full of winter flowers line the walkways. In places, the sections are roofed but not fully enclosed, and here a number of monks can be seen meditating in the chill, soaking in the calm of the mountain. Some of these chambers are filled with men and women partially stripped down despite the cold.
"Pilgrims, mostly, seeking to face the cold as Saint Oros did whilst lost in the wilderness," Sister Emiline explains. "You should come in from the cold, child! I think you've had enough!" She calls out at one such pilgrim, her teeth chattering heavily. Reluctantly the pilgrim sits up and begins redressing, one hand on her jaw to try and futilely control her teeth.
The interior of the structure is no less grand. Large windows, many of them paned glass images of Saints or holy events, allow natural light to flood into many of the corridors and main galleries. Those rooms not blessed with such windows are kept well lit by a mixture of lumens and crackling fireplaces, kept stoked with wood collected from the lowlands. According to Sister Emiline, there's a winding footpath down the mountainside, but most 'Just take the elevator'. Each hall is well furnished with tapestries, paintings, colorful vases, benches, and display cases, or engraved stone plaques hung from the walls. You are introduced to the guest quarters where you will be staying first, modest but comfortable private chambers given to guests of honor, and the monasteries primary armory, a modest but acceptable room with arms lockers, stations for power armor, reloading benches, and a small firing range. Other rooms you are shown include the sizeable main chapel, the lower guest rooms, the main dining hall resplendent with a statue of the God-Emperor himself, the main library, a greenhouse, a tasting room for the amasec made from the vineyard in the lowland the monastery owns, the chambers of the monastery's sole tech-priest whose primary role is to help maintain the small refueling center, the hydra turrets, the elevator and examine the product of the workshop. After taking you through the Monastaries' main courtyard Sister Emeline and her fellows take the group to the monasteries' inner parlour where a monk is currently playing an auto-lute for his colleagues.
Then she leads you into what is perhaps the heart of the Sanctuary of Oros. First, the series of workshops from which the monastery gains much of its income, trained artisans among the monks working stone and metal into pieces of art, whether they be statues and engraving for display, or a chainsword meant for war. Fine weapons and art are sold by the monastery across Dreverarch. "Though we supplement it with amasec sales. Sometimes cheese, on a good year," Emeline explains. Secondly, however, are the sacred springs that as the Guest-Master Primus informs the group, Saint Oros was led by the God-Emperor to find, during the Saint's long isolation amidst the mountain.
"I apologize, Guess-Master, but I'm not familiar with the story of Saint Oros," Sister Gwynais comments. The elderly sister Emeline pauses mid-discussion, then nods her head sadly.
"Of course. Even for the Sisters of Battle, our Imperium is vast, and so are the ranks of Saints. I'd be happy to tell you the full story of her beatification, Sister, but for now, it will suffice that she was one of Saint Selverus' Generals. This place was her salvation and in time her burial place. Her mausoleum is connected to the holy springs themselves."
The springs themselves are located in a natural cavern deep into the monastery, faint steam rising from the waters and twining along the natural pillars that fill the expansive space. These pillars have been carved with Imperial sigils and scenes from Saint Oros' life. Small walkways line the paths between the pools, lit with electro-torches and burning incense candles. Cherubrim hover overhead, censers swinging in their hands as they watch over a few bathing in the cleansing waters, servitors dredging the waters afterward to ensure they remain pure. At the end of the walkway, a great door awaits, guarded by pair of heavy guard Servitors standing at attention. Beyond them is the mausoleum of the Saint themselves, a handful of pilgrims filtering into the room under the careful gaze of a Crusader, stormshield and powersword held at ready to defend the reliquarium of the Saint's most sacred bones.
Squad Palais and their guests are far from alone among the halls, though they are relatively sparsely occupied. Most that they see are monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, alongside a small number of oblates, laypersons who serve the Monastary but haven't taken on the full oaths. Many others are apparently pilgrims, including a wealthy merchantman found listening to a Friar's lecture, but many others are poor, such as a haggard-looking family carrying along a sickly looking man on a litter. Alongside Servo-Skulls and Cherubrim, Servitors patrol the monastery halls at regular intervals, mostly choristers and servant servitors that aid around the complex, but several are armed gun-servitors commanded by a half dozen or so Crusaders charged with defending the monastery, along with a Battle-Sister of the Order of the Burning Rose currently in prayer. Although few in number even for a modest complex such of this, such warriors are quite elite and a sign of the location's importance. Of Frateris Militia, there are exactly two for the entire monastery apparently, local volunteers taking shifts guarding the lower entrance to the elevator.
"Besides what you've seen today, the Sanctuary of Oros has an extensive undercroft, much of it millennia old," The elder nun explains as she leads the group through the halls. "It's not part of our tour, but some sections are still used, including libraries, storage rooms and our main genetorium. Unfortunately, a great deal has gone unused or been abandoned over the years, and large sections of the undercroft are effectively unmapped. Some of our brothers and sisters explore the undercroft, but it can be hazardous work given their poor repair."
"Just poor repair? No rogue Servitors? Angry wild life that wandered in?" Sister Katia asks, clearly eager. Sister-Superior Ophania shoots her a meaningful look.
Emeline hesitates a moment as she walks. "There have been other hazards in the undercroft, very rarely. A wild Grox was found nesting in there just last year, and almost took a Sister's arm off. But largely, yes, just poor repair. In any case...The monastery also has some annexes, including greenhouses and the complex down the mountain where the lift arrives at. Several of the structures surrounding it are also owned by the Monastery, along with a guard post on the mountain path. The surrounding villages also are tied to the monastery, in various fashions. You'll likely see all of it during your time here, and even beyond. There are some tribes in the wetlands whom our brothers sometimes prostelyze to."
The tour rounds a corner, coming at last back to the monastery's central lobby where a crackling fireplace fills the room with warmth and light. "This concludes the tour of the Sanctuary of Oros. Before we continue on, are there any questions you may have of me?"
The bounty hunter leans back in her crash chair, listening intently to Ilana's words. "Huh. Didn't know that, nah. Always thought they were jus' like the temples, 'cept farther away? I guess it makes sense, jus' never thought of it."
"Unsurprising, given your lack of travel," Vahn's nasal tone rings out. "Quite the boon for someone as well-traveled as myself, truth be told. Easier to find than an inn, and typically more pleasant asides, particularly if you can get a guest room and not sleep in the common room like the other dregs. Still, prefer a noble's household where it can be done."
The bounty hunter turns toward Vahn, but Ilana's comment gets her attention. "Free sample?" The bounty hunter asks. "Not much of an amasec sort of gal myself, but I wouldn't complain about free. Or..." She trails off as Eriko interjects, her face falling and shoulders slumping. "Well. Meditation and quiet, huh? Those certainly sound very much like a...thing. I guess I'll do my best to enjoy the silence?" she says, deeply skeptical.
"Deep reflection on one's faith is like a sharpening one's sword on a whetstone," Eriko says patiently, noting the bounty hunter's skepticism. "It renews one's connection to the Emperor, and as such is an act I would recommend to any of the laity. Even if the religious members of the Sanctuary do not require of us a spiritual retreat now, it might do one well to attempt to spend even half an hour everyday in genuflection to the Throne."
Erikoe gives the bounty hunter a knowing smile. "Perhaps you might be surprised and find it to worthy of time.
The Sanctuary of Oros hardly compares to the towering mega-Cathedral of the Rise or the sprawling estate of the Planetary Governor, but it is far from a modest location. It spreads out across the mountainside, long open-air galleries and terraces allowing one to walk all around the structure and take in the harsh beauty of the mountains from all number of angles, and which eventually lead to two hidden but well-maintained hydra-batteries secreted among the monasteries' gantries. Marble railings and pillars bedecked in iron-worked finery or planters full of winter flowers line the walkways. In places, the sections are roofed but not fully enclosed, and here a number of monks can be seen meditating in the chill, soaking in the calm of the mountain. Some of these chambers are filled with men and women partially stripped down despite the cold.
"Pilgrims, mostly, seeking to face the cold as Saint Oros did whilst lost in the wilderness," Sister Emiline explains. "You should come in from the cold, child! I think you've had enough!" She calls out at one such pilgrim, her teeth chattering heavily. Reluctantly the pilgrim sits up and begins redressing, one hand on her jaw to try and futilely control her teeth.
The interior of the structure is no less grand. Large windows, many of them paned glass images of Saints or holy events, allow natural light to flood into many of the corridors and main galleries. Those rooms not blessed with such windows are kept well lit by a mixture of lumens and crackling fireplaces, kept stoked with wood collected from the lowlands. According to Sister Emiline, there's a winding footpath down the mountainside, but most 'Just take the elevator'. Each hall is well furnished with tapestries, paintings, colorful vases, benches, and display cases, or engraved stone plaques hung from the walls. You are introduced to the guest quarters where you will be staying first, modest but comfortable private chambers given to guests of honor, and the monasteries primary armory, a modest but acceptable room with arms lockers, stations for power armor, reloading benches, and a small firing range. Other rooms you are shown include the sizeable main chapel, the lower guest rooms, the main dining hall resplendent with a statue of the God-Emperor himself, the main library, a greenhouse, a tasting room for the amasec made from the vineyard in the lowland the monastery owns, the chambers of the monastery's sole tech-priest whose primary role is to help maintain the small refueling center, the hydra turrets, the elevator and examine the product of the workshop. After taking you through the Monastaries' main courtyard Sister Emeline and her fellows take the group to the monasteries' inner parlour where a monk is currently playing an auto-lute for his colleagues.
Then she leads you into what is perhaps the heart of the Sanctuary of Oros. First, the series of workshops from which the monastery gains much of its income, trained artisans among the monks working stone and metal into pieces of art, whether they be statues and engraving for display, or a chainsword meant for war. Fine weapons and art are sold by the monastery across Dreverarch. "Though we supplement it with amasec sales. Sometimes cheese, on a good year," Emeline explains. Secondly, however, are the sacred springs that as the Guest-Master Primus informs the group, Saint Oros was led by the God-Emperor to find, during the Saint's long isolation amidst the mountain.
Eriko accompanied Sister Emeline on the tour around the Sanctuary of Oros. Yes, it was not as grand as many of the places she has watched over as sentinel or fought for, but it was nonetheless a place sufficiently grand that she could enjoy its religious splendor and beauty for its own sake. The flowers, the architecture, the comforting light and firesides that brought warmth and cheer to the monastery's halls, and all the furnishings that showed an appreciation for the living and common spaces, all garnered approval from Eriko.
Their guest rooms, while modest, where private and appropriately set aside for them. This may as well have been a vacation, away from the warzone she and her sisters have fighting in for the past few weeks.
Then they past through more of the Sanctuary, and each primary room and its function confirmed more that there were things aplenty to keep one's mind and senses occupied, even as they rested from their duties. The library no doubt housed works or poetry that would interest her, and though she was no gardener or wine connoisseur, she could imagine that the greenhouse and amasec tasting room offered a variety of new tastes she could experiment with. There were the workshops too, and Eriko imagined she could practice her craft there.
"I apologize, Guess-Master, but I'm not familiar with the story of Saint Oros," Sister Gwynais comments. The elderly sister Emeline pauses mid-discussion, then nods her head sadly.
"Of course. Even for the Sisters of Battle, our Imperium is vast, and so are the ranks of Saints. I'd be happy to tell you the full story of her beatification, Sister, but for now, it will suffice that she was one of Saint Selverus' Generals. This place was her salvation and in time her burial place. Her mausoleum is connected to the holy springs themselves."
"Perhaps you might direct us to a biographical of her life, Guest-Master Emeline," Eriko replies. "As the guardian of this monastery, I would imagine that your Sanctuary would hold numerous writings about the Saint Oros."
The springs themselves are located in a natural cavern deep into the monastery, faint steam rising from the waters and twining along the natural pillars that fill the expansive space. These pillars have been carved with Imperial sigils and scenes from Saint Oros' life. Small walkways line the paths between the pools, lit with electro-torches and burning incense candles. Cherubrim hover overhead, censers swinging in their hands as they watch over a few bathing in the cleansing waters, servitors dredging the waters afterward to ensure they remain pure. At the end of the walkway, a great door awaits, guarded by pair of heavy guard Servitors standing at attention. Beyond them is the mausoleum of the Saint themselves, a handful of pilgrims filtering into the room under the careful gaze of a Crusader, stormshield and powersword held at ready to defend the reliquarium of the Saint's most sacred bones.
Squad Palais and their guests are far from alone among the halls, though they are relatively sparsely occupied. Most that they see are monks and nuns dedicated to the monastery, alongside a small number of oblates, laypersons who serve the Monastary but haven't taken on the full oaths. Many others are apparently pilgrims, including a wealthy merchantman found listening to a Friar's lecture, but many others are poor, such as a haggard-looking family carrying along a sickly looking man on a litter. Alongside Servo-Skulls and Cherubrim, Servitors patrol the monastery halls at regular intervals, mostly choristers and servant servitors that aid around the complex, but several are armed gun-servitors commanded by a half dozen or so Crusaders charged with defending the monastery, along with a Battle-Sister of the Order of the Burning Rose currently in prayer. Although few in number even for a modest complex such of this, such warriors are quite elite and a sign of the location's importance. Of Frateris Militia, there are exactly two for the entire monastery apparently, local volunteers taking shifts guarding the lower entrance to the elevator.
"Besides what you've seen today, the Sanctuary of Oros has an extensive undercroft, much of it millennia old," The elder nun explains as she leads the group through the halls. "It's not part of our tour, but some sections are still used, including libraries, storage rooms and our main genetorium. Unfortunately, a great deal has gone unused or been abandoned over the years, and large sections of the undercroft are effectively unmapped. Some of our brothers and sisters explore the undercroft, but it can be hazardous work given their poor repair."
"Just poor repair? No rogue Servitors? Angry wild life that wandered in?" Sister Katia asks, clearly eager. Sister-Superior Ophania shoots her a meaningful look.
Emeline hesitates a moment as she walks. "There have been other hazards in the undercroft, very rarely. A wild Grox was found nesting in there just last year, and almost took a Sister's arm off. But largely, yes, just poor repair. In any case...The monastery also has some annexes, including greenhouses and the complex down the mountain where the lift arrives at. Several of the structures surrounding it are also owned by the Monastery, along with a guard post on the mountain path. The surrounding villages also are tied to the monastery, in various fashions. You'll likely see all of it during your time here, and even beyond. There are some tribes in the wetlands whom our brothers sometimes prostelyze to."
The tour rounds a corner, coming at last back to the monastery's central lobby where a crackling fireplace fills the room with warmth and light. "This concludes the tour of the Sanctuary of Oros. Before we continue on, are there any questions you may have of me?"
"I must first commend your monastery and the many activities your home allows pilgrims, Guest-Master Emeline. It was a gift to be shown around." Eriko says quite sincere and satisfied by what she had been witness to. The last part of the journey, especially the holy springs brought much satisfaction to her heart. The mausoleum however had found Eriko looking quickly away. The presence of such a place within the Sanctuary conflicted with the essential the purity of the monastery. She would not enter the mausoleum if she could help it nor set eyes upon the Saint's bones, such a dark symbol of death as it was.
Eriko gave a small bow to Sister Emeline, acknowledging the latter's efforts.
"However there was made mention of tasks to perform in and around the monastery, including those of a martial bent. May we be enlightened as to the specific tasks the Sanctuary would have us do?"
"I apologize, Guess-Master, but I'm not familiar with the story of Saint Oros," Sister Gwynais comments. The elderly sister Emeline pauses mid-discussion, then nods her head sadly.
"Of course. Even for the Sisters of Battle, our Imperium is vast, and so are the ranks of Saints. I'd be happy to tell you the full story of her beatification, Sister, but for now, it will suffice that she was one of Saint Selverus' Generals. This place was her salvation and in time her burial place. Her mausoleum is connected to the holy springs themselves."
"I await the story, Guest-Master. It is only proper we know the story of the Saint whose sanctuary we enjoy the hospitality of." Caelia says. She tried to think of what she knew of Selverus' generals, to see if she recalled the name.
"Besides what you've seen today, the Sanctuary of Oros has an extensive undercroft, much of it millennia old," The elder nun explains as she leads the group through the halls. "It's not part of our tour, but some sections are still used, including libraries, storage rooms and our main genetorium. Unfortunately, a great deal has gone unused or been abandoned over the years, and large sections of the undercroft are effectively unmapped. Some of our brothers and sisters explore the undercroft, but it can be hazardous work given their poor repair."
"Just poor repair? No rogue Servitors? Angry wild life that wandered in?" Sister Katia asks, clearly eager. Sister-Superior Ophania shoots her a meaningful look.
Emeline hesitates a moment as she walks. "There have been other hazards in the undercroft, very rarely. A wild Grox was found nesting in there just last year, and almost took a Sister's arm off. But largely, yes, just poor repair. In any case...The monastery also has some annexes, including greenhouses and the complex down the mountain where the lift arrives at. Several of the structures surrounding it are also owned by the Monastery, along with a guard post on the mountain path. The surrounding villages also are tied to the monastery, in various fashions. You'll likely see all of it during your time here, and even beyond. There are some tribes in the wetlands whom our brothers sometimes prostelyze to."
Caelia's eyebrows raise at the mention of the "Wild Grox". The Grox's tenacity and stubbornness was equaled only by it's ubiquity. A hunt might be a diversion worth the time. To make it a challenge she could go with only her combat knife, or maybe even without her power armor...
All to alleviate a threat to the Brothers and Sisters of the Monastery of course, and not all to relieve something else entirely.
The tour rounds a corner, coming at last back to the monastery's central lobby where a crackling fireplace fills the room with warmth and light. "This concludes the tour of the Sanctuary of Oros. Before we continue on, are there any questions you may have of me?"
"I must echo Sister Eriko." Caelia says, trying to hide her annoyance at Eriko asking first. "What tasks would be required of us?"
She decided to add her own question. "Besides that which you would ask of us, will we be able to train? We must keep our skills sharp." She had to admit, she'd never tried her skills against a Crusader proper, and perhaps she could help by testing the militant brothers of this monastery, should the Monks allow it.
"Perhaps you might direct us to a biographical of her life, Guest-Master Emeline," Eriko replies. "As the guardian of this monastery, I would imagine that your Sanctuary would hold numerous writings about the Saint Oros."
"I await the story, Guest-Master. It is only proper we know the story of the Saint whose sanctuary we enjoy the hospitality of." Caelia says. She tried to think of what she knew of Selverus' generals, to see if she recalled the name.
"Of course. The Sanctuary of Oros holds many of the relevant hagiographies. I would personally recommend the Viti Sancti Oros, or Cardinal Celestine Marcyn's The Humbled Saint. For a briefer overview, the Sainted Paragons of the Dragon's Teeth, is an excellent introduction to Saint Oros."
Caelia and Eriko both readily recognize the lattermost title. It's a popular handbook to the many Saints of the Dragon's Teeth, including many little known planetary or even sub-planetary Saints, many of whom have never been officially recognized by the Holy Synod of Terra nor the Synod Ministra of Ophelia VII, or sometimes even the Araxean Synod. The former two tomes are much more obscure, but Celestine Marcyn is a notable author and retired Cardinal who has written many popular commentaries on Araxean faith, among other works.
"As for the story, well. I would, of course, be more than happy to share the abridged version," Emeline says, smiling warmly. "There is an old expression. "Loss is acceptable. Failure is not." Perhaps none prove that saying so true as Saint Oros, known as the Humbled Saint. As I said, Saint Oros was one of Selverus' generals, a great leader of men with a mighty army under her command. During the Crusade to liberate Araxes from its Long Dark it had fallen into, Selverus charged her to liberate Dreverarch. Oros was an accomplished commander, with a powerful war-host, and to her, but with that came arrogance. She underestimated Dreverarch and so she paid the price."
"Dreverarch devoured her armies alive, until in the end, only Oros herself remained. There was no glorious martyrdom for her, no last stand of defiance. There was a great prince among Dreverarch's people known as the Deathless Scion, said to have been a child-prince possessed by a terrible daemon. The Deathless Scion took Oros as prisoner, and paraded her as a trophy across Dreverarch before, eventually, growing tired of her. So shamed was Oros that the Deathless Scion simply cast her from its household for Dreverarch itself to slay, considering her unworthy of the effort of killing. She was alone, with nothing more than the rags on her back, amid a hostile world. Even the lowliest of slaves could justly consider themselves above the fallen general Oros, and none would give her shelter. By all rights, Oros should've died on Dreverarch, forgotten and scorned by history."
There are nods and murmurs of agreement from among the Sisters, as well as Vahn Zayneth.
Emeline makes the sign of the Aquila across her chest, shaking her head softly. "But the God-Emperor still had need of the fallen general. As winter fell on Dreverarch, Oros stumbled blindly through the snow. She cried out to the God-Emperor not for His succor or aid, but to apologize for her failings. And so the God-Emperor was merciful. He led her through the snow and ice, to this place of warmth and fresh water and life, amidst a barren and frozen mountainside. This was her Sanctuary, and here she survived, healed, and grew strong. When the winter came to its end, she ventured forth to the surrounding villages to spread the word of the Imperial Creed. They were much afeared, amazed that she had somehow survived the winter. The heretics among them, of course, took umbrage with her words and tried to kill her, but always, they failed. She survived all their attempts against her life, and again and again persevered and prevailed against her many enemies. The God-Emperor was with her."
"In the end, many would convert to the Creed and rise up against the enemies of the Imperium. The Deathless Scion would lead a mighty army to halt Saint Oros, but with a prayer to the Emperor, the daemon was cast from the boy's body, and the once fearsome prince was sworn to the Emperor's Creed by the Saint. The wars for Dreverarch were long and hard, but in the end, Saint Oros would present Selverus Dreverarch, though not in the way anyone could have possibly imagined, save of course, for the Master of Mankind himself."
Emeline bows her head, nodding at the Adepta Sororitas. "And so goes the shortened tale of Sainted Oros, who was Humbled, and in the end, had but the Throne to Cleave to. As it is said in the scriptures, "Even a man who has nothing, can still have faith." And so it is that Saint Oros, with nothing but her faith, prevailed over all the legions of the faithless. Nothing so glamorous as the tale of the legendary Saint Leanna, but it is not meant to be. Oros lost everything, but rose again thanks to her faith in the God-Emperor. I pray this satisified your curiosity, Sisters?"
"I must first commend your monastery and the many activities your home allows pilgrims, Guest-Master Emeline. It was a gift to be shown around." Eriko says quite sincere and satisfied by what she had been witness to. The last part of the journey, especially the holy springs brought much satisfaction to her heart. The mausoleum however had found Eriko looking quickly away. The presence of such a place within the Sanctuary conflicted with the essential the purity of the monastery. She would not enter the mausoleum if she could help it nor set eyes upon the Saint's bones, such a dark symbol of death as it was.
Eriko gave a small bow to Sister Emeline, acknowledging the latter's efforts.
"However there was made mention of tasks to perform in and around the monastery, including those of a martial bent. May we be enlightened as to the specific tasks the Sanctuary would have us do?"
"Thank you, Sister. It warms my heart to hear your appreciation," the Guest-Master Primus replies. "As for Tasks, Sisters, since you are so eager to get to work, I would ask you open the door to your left."
A gesture at the door's palm-slate opens it in an instant, revealing what lies within: A closet, full of brooms, mops, a lone cleaning-servitor on recharge, and sundry other cleaning supplies. A Sister from Squad Ophania stares uncomprehendingly through the door, and though she is not alone, she is the first to speak
"Is there a mistake, Guest-Master Primus? This seems to be a janitor's closet."
Emeline nods her head. "Keenly spotted, Sister, and no, there is not. The two Sisters-Caelia and Eriko, if I recall correctly-should collect a pair of brooms and dust-pans and get to work sweeping this corridor."
Sister-Superior Palais raises a hand in bewilderment, then glances back at Sister-Superior Ophania, who simply shakes her head. After a moment's hesitation, Squad Palais' leader steps forward. "With all due respect, Guest-Master Primus, I must protest. We are the Adepta Sororitas, the Sword and Shield of the Ecclesiarchy. Such work is below our station, fit for serfs and servitors."
The Guest-Master Primus nods solemnly. "I have to agree, Sister-Superior, this is beneath you. But this is the Sanctuary of Saint Oros, who was humbled. And so shall you also be humbled. Obedience must be unquestioning, and it must be blind. Were it my choice, we would be happy to treat you to nothing more than fine dinner and amasec and prayer readings, but we are bound by our oaths and orders as much you are. As it is said, 'Accept your lot'," she says. "This is where a Saint came to find her faith anew after they had been sorely tested by Dreverarch. It's a place of restoration, salvation, and growth but also of tests and trials. You aren't the first to have arrived here under your...Circumstances. Know that you will have time to reflect and serve the Throne, often in ways you may not have done so before. But for now, dinner."
The Guest-Master Primus' bright mood returns. "I pray you enjoy tonight's dinner and will settle in well to the Sanctuary of Oros. The sweet cheese is a particular favorite among our visitors. Alas, you're hardly here to dine on sweet cheeses, no?"
As it happens, the sweet cheese is indeed worthy of praise. There is fortunately still enough for Caelia and Eriko, after they arrive late. The next days come swiftly as the sun rises over the Kaledos Spine, gleaming through the paned glass windows across the monastery. The holy words of the Prayer of Adulation to the Emperor reach out to embrace the new day, light shining into the side chapel where Squad Palais and Ophania have gathered for their morning prayers. So the two squads sing together, meeting the new dawn with their love for the Master of Mankind upon distant Holy Terra.
A humble breakfast follows. A lightly sweetened pastry, studded with nuts and dried fruits is the core of the meal, served with a dollop of cream, is the core of the breakfast. Modest portions of grox sausage and a tart local fruit are served alongside watered-down amasec to complete the meal.
It is after that Sister-Superior Palais addresses her squad, peering over a data-slate. "Alright, Sisters. I shan't pretend this is glamorous, but how does that Guard saying go? The Emperor points and we obey or some such?" She shakes her head. "Most of what's on our agenda is a mixture of prayers, meditative sessions, and menial labor. First up is cleaning up blood from the flagellant chambers. Yay," Palais says with mock cheer. "Some of the tasks are of greater import, however. None require the full squad, so I will be taking volunteers and partitioning out the squad. I expect you all to perform these tasks to your utmost ability, as though this were no different from us fighting on a battlefield in the Emperor's name.
Due to the nature of your assignment, a list of many tasks will be provided, representing more important tasks out of the various the players are performing over the course of their stay at the Sanctuary of Oros. Each player will select one key task (and may select a task another Sister is performing-they'll work together to accomplish it) to perform. Once they have performed it, they return to the Monastery and may select another Key Task to perform. Key Tasks may be chosen in any order, and not all Key Tasks need to be completed. Once enough IC time, regardless of Tasks completed, the mission will be considered complete.
Each time the players may select a Key Task, they must also select a Penance. Penances noted as Tasks require your full attention and are quite difficult, and as such take the place of a Task. Penances noted as Challenges make a Key Task more difficult.
Key Tasks Outside the Monastery
1. The Monastery maintains a number of granges, worked by a mixture of lay-brothers of the Order and paid laborers. One of the Monastery's granges was recently damaged in a storm, allowing for a number of the grox raised there to escape. The laborers have requested the aid in recovering the stray Groxes. Alive, preferably.
2. Lord Surillan Beon-Zaray is a noble land-owner near the Sanctuary of Oros Monastery with humble holdings. As late, there have been rumors of his house being haunted by ghosts and other such fearmongering among his servants. As such, Lord Surillan has requested the monastary send someone to put his servants at ease by excorcising the building.
3. Prior to the arrival of Squad Palais and Squad Ophania, there was a single Sister-Militant in residence at the monastery. She is looking for Sisters to accompany her on her penitent vigil along the treacherous pilgrimage path that carries along the mountain side.
4. The Monastery has been keeping a member of the Missionarius Galaxia, who makes frequent trips to prostelyze to the non-Imperial tribes of Dreverarch. Though no violence is expected, some of the Sisters of the Burning Rose will escort the Missionary Celestine Marcyn on an expedition carrying food and holy books to one of the local villages.
5. Elements of the 571st Leanna's Rest Light Infantry have been garrisoned in the surrounding area. As late, a number of their boat patrols have disappeared, with Imperial Guard search teams combing for the missing patrols. The Monastery has volunteered the Sisters-Militant to assist in the effort.
6. A merchant whom does dealings with the Monastery has reported that the last shipment of goods sent to him never arrived. Local enforcer presence is minimal, so the Monastery has offered to send someone to look into the matter.
7. The recent storm damaged a bridge leading to the Monastery. The construction-crew has reported delays, and the Monastery wishes for someone to check-up on their progress.
Inside the Monastery
8. The Monastary's undercroft is dilapidated and largely abandoned, but there are ongoing efforts to refurbish and restore these lower wings. Recently, monks of the Order discovered what appears to be an intact archive of great age, perhaps dating back as late as M39, but the security remains likewise intact. The monks were unable to gain access to the archive, and were ordered off by the archives' gun-servitors. Each of them is clearly a work of artifice, decorated richly with symbols of the Church and Creed, and so the Monastery is reluctant to simply have them destroyed or break into the archive with explosives. It is hoped that the Sisters-Militant may be able to gain access.
9. A group of pilgrims have been growing increasingly unruly in the Monastery's guest quarters. It is hoped that some of the Sisters-Militant may calm them down.
10. Amasec has been disappearing from the Monastery's cellar. It's not exactly ferreting out heresy, but the Monastery wants the thefts found.
11. Eternal service demands eternal vigilance, and so the Monastery is guarded at all times. The Crusaders' request the Sisters of Battle join them in their long vigil along the Monastery.
12. The Crusaders rarely get a chance to test their talent against warriors of skill that are not from among their own ranks. They have requested that the Sisters join them in duels, so that they may keep their skills sharp.
Penances
1. <Task> The cold of the mountain side is harsh indeed, but there are many pilgrims who endure the cold as Saint Oros did. Flagellate yourself through meditation in the frost.
2. <Task> The Falcida are winged lizards native to the mountain range, frequently nesting in the warmth created by the hot-springs. Saint Oros hunted these creatures to survive during her long exile, and now it is considered a sacred rite to hunt and kill one of these creatures and burn their meat in offering to the God-Emperor.
3. <Challenge> As Oros spread the word, so shall you. Take a standard of the Ministorum and carry it far and wide, so that you may know the weight of your duty. Even in power armor, its weight is uncomfortable. Without, the weight is nearly crushing. (Carry an impractically heavy icon of the Ministorum with you)
4. <Challenge> Take on a Vow of Silence, so you may better reflect on the word of the Immortal Emperor as you perform His duties. (May not speak during missions, but may communicate via hand signals or written language).
5. <Challenge> Fast, and hunger only to serve the God-Emperor. You will endure your hungry belly, in order to prove of purity of purpose. (Suffer automatic Fatigue)
6. <Challenge> Pain is righteousness entering the body. Mark thine flesh and so purge whatever darkness may have entered thine soul. (Suffer an automatic crit of the GM's choice, and may not heal non serious injuries)
"As for the story, well. I would, of course, be more than happy to share the abridged version," Emeline says, smiling warmly. "There is an old expression. "Loss is acceptable. Failure is not." Perhaps none prove that saying so true as Saint Oros, known as the Humbled Saint. As I said, Saint Oros was one of Selverus' generals, a great leader of men with a mighty army under her command. During the Crusade to liberate Araxes from its Long Dark it had fallen into, Selverus charged her to liberate Dreverarch. Oros was an accomplished commander, with a powerful war-host, and to her, but with that came arrogance. She underestimated Dreverarch and so she paid the price."
"Dreverarch devoured her armies alive, until in the end, only Oros herself remained. There was no glorious martyrdom for her, no last stand of defiance. There was a great prince among Dreverarch's people known as the Deathless Scion, said to have been a child-prince possessed by a terrible daemon. The Deathless Scion took Oros as prisoner, and paraded her as a trophy across Dreverarch before, eventually, growing tired of her. So shamed was Oros that the Deathless Scion simply cast her from its household for Dreverarch itself to slay, considering her unworthy of the effort of killing. She was alone, with nothing more than the rags on her back, amid a hostile world. Even the lowliest of slaves could justly consider themselves above the fallen general Oros, and none would give her shelter. By all rights, Oros should've died on Dreverarch, forgotten and scorned by history."
There are nods and murmurs of agreement from among the Sisters, as well as Vahn Zayneth.
Emeline makes the sign of the Aquila across her chest, shaking her head softly. "But the God-Emperor still had need of the fallen general. As winter fell on Dreverarch, Oros stumbled blindly through the snow. She cried out to the God-Emperor not for His succor or aid, but to apologize for her failings. And so the God-Emperor was merciful. He led her through the snow and ice, to this place of warmth and fresh water and life, amidst a barren and frozen mountainside. This was her Sanctuary, and here she survived, healed, and grew strong. When the winter came to its end, she ventured forth to the surrounding villages to spread the word of the Imperial Creed. They were much afeared, amazed that she had somehow survived the winter. The heretics among them, of course, took umbrage with her words and tried to kill her, but always, they failed. She survived all their attempts against her life, and again and again persevered and prevailed against her many enemies. The God-Emperor was with her."
"In the end, many would convert to the Creed and rise up against the enemies of the Imperium. The Deathless Scion would lead a mighty army to halt Saint Oros, but with a prayer to the Emperor, the daemon was cast from the boy's body, and the once fearsome prince was sworn to the Emperor's Creed by the Saint. The wars for Dreverarch were long and hard, but in the end, Saint Oros would present Selverus Dreverarch, though not in the way anyone could have possibly imagined, save of course, for the Master of Mankind himself."
Emeline bows her head, nodding at the Adepta Sororitas. "And so goes the shortened tale of Sainted Oros, who was Humbled, and in the end, had but the Throne to Cleave to. As it is said in the scriptures, "Even a man who has nothing, can still have faith." And so it is that Saint Oros, with nothing but her faith, prevailed over all the legions of the faithless. Nothing so glamorous as the tale of the legendary Saint Leanna, but it is not meant to be. Oros lost everything, but rose again thanks to her faith in the God-Emperor. I pray this satisified your curiosity, Sisters?"
"Thank you, Sister. It warms my heart to hear your appreciation," the Guest-Master Primus replies. "As for Tasks, Sisters, since you are so eager to get to work, I would ask you open the door to your left."
A gesture at the door's palm-slate opens it in an instant, revealing what lies within: A closet, full of brooms, mops, a lone cleaning-servitor on recharge, and sundry other cleaning supplies. A Sister from Squad Ophania stares uncomprehendingly through the door, and though she is not alone, she is the first to speak
"Is there a mistake, Guest-Master Primus? This seems to be a janitor's closet."
Emeline nods her head. "Keenly spotted, Sister, and no, there is not. The two Sisters-Caelia and Eriko, if I recall correctly-should collect a pair of brooms and dust-pans and get to work sweeping this corridor."
Sister-Superior Palais raises a hand in bewilderment, then glances back at Sister-Superior Ophania, who simply shakes her head. After a moment's hesitation, Squad Palais' leader steps forward. "With all due respect, Guest-Master Primus, I must protest. We are the Adepta Sororitas, the Sword and Shield of the Ecclesiarchy. Such work is below our station, fit for serfs and servitors."
Caelia does not speak her words of dissent, letting the Sister Superior speak for herself, but on the inside she cursed this fate. Of course it had come to pass, that finding themselves in a place dedicated to a Saint of Humility, they might find themselves bent to common labor as penance. It made sense, but that did little to prevent her from resenting it. Why could it not have been something more befitting their station, such a purging, or perhaps a flagellation session?
She held her tongue, even as the point was made clear. What use was further resistance?
She sighed and stepped forward, picking up the broom. At the very least, she would do this task with all the pride and dignity she could muster.
A minute, then two, the broom swept across the floor. She drew out the other tool as a neat pile of dust and detritus was formed.
She paused, broom still held in the other hand. A question slipped out.
"Sister Eriko, do you know how to operate this 'Dust Pan'?"
1. The Monastery maintains a number of granges, worked by a mixture of lay-brothers of the Order and paid laborers. One of the Monastery's granges was recently damaged in a storm, allowing for a number of the grox raised there to escape. The laborers have requested the aid in recovering the stray Groxes. Alive, preferably.
The next morning, Caelia stretches, preparing for the ordeal ahead. This was a mundane task, but it was also a task more suited to her combative skills than something so passive as sweeping a floor. Certainly more challenging ahead, lack of knowledge of such esoteric tools aside.
A grox was an unusual foe to fight, but she remembered her biological studies decently well. An armored and strong creature, a struggle to keep contained. And most importantly, belligerent, and in the case of the escaped ones, currently outside of their enclosures and rampaging into the wild.
She'd prefer to have her Bolter, but it was time for penance. More humble tools would have to suffice, especially as the things were wanted alive.
"Of course. The Sanctuary of Oros holds many of the relevant hagiographies. I would personally recommend the Viti Sancti Oros, or Cardinal Celestine Marcyn's The Humbled Saint. For a briefer overview, the Sainted Paragons of the Dragon's Teeth, is an excellent introduction to Saint Oros."
Caelia and Eriko both readily recognize the lattermost title. It's a popular handbook to the many Saints of the Dragon's Teeth, including many little known planetary or even sub-planetary Saints, many of whom have never been officially recognized by the Holy Synod of Terra nor the Synod Ministra of Ophelia VII, or sometimes even the Araxean Synod. The former two tomes are much more obscure, but Celestine Marcyn is a notable author and retired Cardinal who has written many popular commentaries on Araxean faith, among other works.
"As for the story, well. I would, of course, be more than happy to share the abridged version," Emeline says, smiling warmly. "There is an old expression. "Loss is acceptable. Failure is not." Perhaps none prove that saying so true as Saint Oros, known as the Humbled Saint. As I said, Saint Oros was one of Selverus' generals, a great leader of men with a mighty army under her command. During the Crusade to liberate Araxes from its Long Dark it had fallen into, Selverus charged her to liberate Dreverarch. Oros was an accomplished commander, with a powerful war-host, and to her, but with that came arrogance. She underestimated Dreverarch and so she paid the price."
"Dreverarch devoured her armies alive, until in the end, only Oros herself remained. There was no glorious martyrdom for her, no last stand of defiance. There was a great prince among Dreverarch's people known as the Deathless Scion, said to have been a child-prince possessed by a terrible daemon. The Deathless Scion took Oros as prisoner, and paraded her as a trophy across Dreverarch before, eventually, growing tired of her. So shamed was Oros that the Deathless Scion simply cast her from its household for Dreverarch itself to slay, considering her unworthy of the effort of killing. She was alone, with nothing more than the rags on her back, amid a hostile world. Even the lowliest of slaves could justly consider themselves above the fallen general Oros, and none would give her shelter. By all rights, Oros should've died on Dreverarch, forgotten and scorned by history."
There are nods and murmurs of agreement from among the Sisters, as well as Vahn Zayneth.
Emeline makes the sign of the Aquila across her chest, shaking her head softly. "But the God-Emperor still had need of the fallen general. As winter fell on Dreverarch, Oros stumbled blindly through the snow. She cried out to the God-Emperor not for His succor or aid, but to apologize for her failings. And so the God-Emperor was merciful. He led her through the snow and ice, to this place of warmth and fresh water and life, amidst a barren and frozen mountainside. This was her Sanctuary, and here she survived, healed, and grew strong. When the winter came to its end, she ventured forth to the surrounding villages to spread the word of the Imperial Creed. They were much afeared, amazed that she had somehow survived the winter. The heretics among them, of course, took umbrage with her words and tried to kill her, but always, they failed. She survived all their attempts against her life, and again and again persevered and prevailed against her many enemies. The God-Emperor was with her."
"In the end, many would convert to the Creed and rise up against the enemies of the Imperium. The Deathless Scion would lead a mighty army to halt Saint Oros, but with a prayer to the Emperor, the daemon was cast from the boy's body, and the once fearsome prince was sworn to the Emperor's Creed by the Saint. The wars for Dreverarch were long and hard, but in the end, Saint Oros would present Selverus Dreverarch, though not in the way anyone could have possibly imagined, save of course, for the Master of Mankind himself."
Emeline bows her head, nodding at the Adepta Sororitas. "And so goes the shortened tale of Sainted Oros, who was Humbled, and in the end, had but the Throne to Cleave to. As it is said in the scriptures, "Even a man who has nothing, can still have faith." And so it is that Saint Oros, with nothing but her faith, prevailed over all the legions of the faithless. Nothing so glamorous as the tale of the legendary Saint Leanna, but it is not meant to be. Oros lost everything, but rose again thanks to her faith in the God-Emperor. I pray this satisified your curiosity, Sisters?"
"Very much so, Guest Master Emeline," Eriko says with a thoughtful smile. "She is a warrior but it is not her by the skill of her blade or keenness of mind that defines her blessedness, though I would not doubt her skill in either. She is humble, moreso when faced with her tribulations. I will remember your recommendations when I take to the library. I could only imagine the trials of her time here would help mold her own philosophy. To understand her mind and the mind of her adherents is a task I look forward to."
"Thank you, Sister. It warms my heart to hear your appreciation," the Guest-Master Primus replies. "As for Tasks, Sisters, since you are so eager to get to work, I would ask you open the door to your left."
A gesture at the door's palm-slate opens it in an instant, revealing what lies within: A closet, full of brooms, mops, a lone cleaning-servitor on recharge, and sundry other cleaning supplies. A Sister from Squad Ophania stares uncomprehendingly through the door, and though she is not alone, she is the first to speak
"Is there a mistake, Guest-Master Primus? This seems to be a janitor's closet."
Emeline nods her head. "Keenly spotted, Sister, and no, there is not. The two Sisters-Caelia and Eriko, if I recall correctly-should collect a pair of brooms and dust-pans and get to work sweeping this corridor."
Sister-Superior Palais raises a hand in bewilderment, then glances back at Sister-Superior Ophania, who simply shakes her head. After a moment's hesitation, Squad Palais' leader steps forward. "With all due respect, Guest-Master Primus, I must protest. We are the Adepta Sororitas, the Sword and Shield of the Ecclesiarchy. Such work is below our station, fit for serfs and servitors."
Eriko nods her head in agreement with as her Sister-Superior voices her dissent and soon Eriko adds her own voice. "Perhaps there was a misunderstanding, Guest Master Primus?" Eriko says, letting the question hang for a second for the Emeline to agree. When she does not, Eriko continues. "By tasks, I meant tasks such as standing guard over a shrine or a pilgrim's path. Perhaps the undercroft has need of securing or village folk to cure and not--"
A shrill, tilting laugh escapes Eriko's mouth and she quickly clamps down on it. Her face is flustered from the uncontrolled spell of emotion but she presses on, clearly modulating her voice. "And not something as menial as sweeping dust off the floor."
"Forgive the misunderstanding, Guest Master Emeline," she finishes quickly and gives a small bow.
The Guest-Master Primus nods solemnly. "I have to agree, Sister-Superior, this is beneath you. But this is the Sanctuary of Saint Oros, who was humbled. And so shall you also be humbled. Obedience must be unquestioning, and it must be blind. Were it my choice, we would be happy to treat you to nothing more than fine dinner and amasec and prayer readings, but we are bound by our oaths and orders as much you are. As it is said, 'Accept your lot'," she says. "This is where a Saint came to find her faith anew after they had been sorely tested by Dreverarch. It's a place of restoration, salvation, and growth but also of tests and trials. You aren't the first to have arrived here under your...Circumstances. Know that you will have time to reflect and serve the Throne, often in ways you may not have done so before. But for now, dinner."
The Guest-Master Primus' bright mood returns. "I pray you enjoy tonight's dinner and will settle in well to the Sanctuary of Oros. The sweet cheese is a particular favorite among our visitors. Alas, you're hardly here to dine on sweet cheeses, no?"
As it happens, the sweet cheese is indeed worthy of praise. There is fortunately still enough for Caelia and Eriko, after they arrive late.
Caelia does not speak her words of dissent, letting the Sister Superior speak for herself, but on the inside she cursed this fate. Of course it had come to pass, that finding themselves in a place dedicated to a Saint of Humility, they might find themselves bent to common labor as penance. It made sense, but that did little to prevent her from resenting it. Why could it not have been something more befitting their station, such a purging, or perhaps a flagellation session?
She held her tongue, even as the point was made clear. What use was further resistance?
She sighed and stepped forward, picking up the broom. At the very least, she would do this task with all the pride and dignity she could muster.
A minute, then two, the broom swept across the floor. She drew out the other tool as a neat pile of dust and detritus was formed.
She paused, broom still held in the other hand. A question slipped out.
"Sister Eriko, do you know how to operate this 'Dust Pan'?"
But to no avail. The next minute found Eriko with broom and dustpan on hand. She turned as Caelia asked her a questions and Eriko started. She drew herself up, a faint smile of knowingness as she readied to give a lecture. "A dust pan, Sister Caelia? Surely you've seen servants sweep the floors before? If one remembers their observances, it is quite... simple."
Eriko's voice falters as she looks down at her instruments. Well, it was simple wasn't it?
"Observe." She said with a finality she did not feel. Nose held high as to keep the dust from billowing unto her nostrils, she swept broom against the floor with all the dignity of a lord knighting a loyal vassal. She stepped forward and did the same again. Eriko frowned as she looked down. The dust did not seem to be entering.
Ignoring the empty dust pan, she turned back to Caelia. "See? Simple. Why don't you give it a try?"
The next days come swiftly as the sun rises over the Kaledos Spine, gleaming through the paned glass windows across the monastery. The holy words of the Prayer of Adulation to the Emperor reach out to embrace the new day, light shining into the side chapel where Squad Palais and Ophania have gathered for their morning prayers. So the two squads sing together, meeting the new dawn with their love for the Master of Mankind upon distant Holy Terra.
A humble breakfast follows. A lightly sweetened pastry, studded with nuts and dried fruits is the core of the meal, served with a dollop of cream, is the core of the breakfast. Modest portions of grox sausage and a tart local fruit are served alongside watered-down amasec to complete the meal.
It is after that Sister-Superior Palais addresses her squad, peering over a data-slate. "Alright, Sisters. I shan't pretend this is glamorous, but how does that Guard saying go? The Emperor points and we obey or some such?" She shakes her head. "Most of what's on our agenda is a mixture of prayers, meditative sessions, and menial labor. First up is cleaning up blood from the flagellant chambers. Yay," Palais says with mock cheer. "Some of the tasks are of greater import, however. None require the full squad, so I will be taking volunteers and partitioning out the squad. I expect you all to perform these tasks to your utmost ability, as though this were no different from us fighting on a battlefield in the Emperor's name.
Eriko looked down at her own data-slate. In it her own schedule was set clearly out and what Palais said was shown to be true. It was filled with prayer and meditation, menial labor too as befit the Saint of Humility, though Eriko deeply wished they would not go through the trial of last night. It was a mess, a shame, she thought before strongly clamping down on that memory.
No, she would do better. If she could fight and heal as well as the best of them, then she could surely learn to work. To succeed was the only way.
4. The Monastery has been keeping a member of the Missionarius Galaxia, who makes frequent trips to prostelyze to the non-Imperial tribes of Dreverarch. Though no violence is expected, some of the Sisters of the Burning Rose will escort the Missionary Celestine Marcyn on an expedition carrying food and holy books to one of the local villages.
3. <Challenge> As Oros spread the word, so shall you. Take a standard of the Ministorum and carry it far and wide, so that you may know the weight of your duty. Even in power armor, its weight is uncomfortable. Without, the weight is nearly crushing. (Carry an impractically heavy icon of the Ministorum with you)
Eriko still knew her craft and if there was something common to all Sisters Hospitaller and those former Hospitallers, it was the care they gave to the common man. They were gifted by the Emperor and in turn gave what they learned to benefit His subjects.
Clad in Storm of Summer by the serfs of the Sanctuary, Eriko moved to where she was to attend to Missionary Celestine Marcyn along with her fellow Sisters. And there she would find her penance, one that will not impinge upon her skills of healing when it was time to use them. There she would bear the Aquila as a banner for the faithful to flock towards.
Eriko nodded at the thought, satisfied that it would sufficiently remind her of the burden she bore.
Diagnosticator/Medi-Spex. Req 10.
A diagnostor can be used to identify almost any condition or malady a victim may be suffering from. Using a diagnostor is a Full Action, after which the user gains a +30 bonus to uses of the Diagnose Special Use of the Medicae Skill. If the user fails the test, the device will still provide advice on treatment for the symptoms of what they are suffering from, if not the root cause.
Emeline makes the sign of the Aquila across her chest, shaking her head softly. "But the God-Emperor still had need of the fallen general. As winter fell on Dreverarch, Oros stumbled blindly through the snow. She cried out to the God-Emperor not for His succor or aid, but to apologize for her failings. And so the God-Emperor was merciful. He led her through the snow and ice, to this place of warmth and fresh water and life, amidst a barren and frozen mountainside. This was her Sanctuary, and here she survived, healed, and grew strong. When the winter came to its end, she ventured forth to the surrounding villages to spread the word of the Imperial Creed. They were much afeared, amazed that she had somehow survived the winter. The heretics among them, of course, took umbrage with her words and tried to kill her, but always, they failed. She survived all their attempts against her life, and again and again persevered and prevailed against her many enemies. The God-Emperor was with her."
The story resonated within Maria. It was, in many ways, the exact place she lived. Where she'd come from. When all appeared lost, when you were abandoned and discarded...He was there. She bowed her head and made the sign of the aquila, murmuring the names of father, grandfather, and back up the family line. The God Emperor was with them, no matter where, no matter how, and what did not destroy them left you free to fight on in His name.
It is after that Sister-Superior Palais addresses her squad, peering over a data-slate. "Alright, Sisters. I shan't pretend this is glamorous, but how does that Guard saying go? The Emperor points and we obey or some such?" She shakes her head. "Most of what's on our agenda is a mixture of prayers, meditative sessions, and menial labor. First up is cleaning up blood from the flagellant chambers. Yay," Palais says with mock cheer. "Some of the tasks are of greater import, however. None require the full squad, so I will be taking volunteers and partitioning out the squad. I expect you all to perform these tasks to your utmost ability, as though this were no different from us fighting on a battlefield in the Emperor's name.
"Maintaining a hygienic environment for the purgation of one's sin is as noble as it is inglorious Sister Superior. It would be my honor to do so before I seek my own time for flagellation."
She was somber and serious as ever, not really chiding, but certainly not seeing the drudgery or mess as a detracting factor. After all, the sister superior had warned her of diminished combat readiness due to too much of the lash. Infections of the blood could cripple squad cohesion! If they were being sent here to ensure the purity of their souls though there would be much more punishment of the flesh needed than a usual round at a forward chapel.
She would be cleaner tomorrow than she was today, but certainly less ready for battle for it.
8. The Monastary's undercroft is dilapidated and largely abandoned, but there are ongoing efforts to refurbish and restore these lower wings. Recently, monks of the Order discovered what appears to be an intact archive of great age, perhaps dating back as late as M39, but the security remains likewise intact. The monks were unable to gain access to the archive, and were ordered off by the archives' gun-servitors. Each of them is clearly a work of artifice, decorated richly with symbols of the Church and Creed, and so the Monastery is reluctant to simply have them destroyed or break into the archive with explosives. It is hoped that the Sisters-Militant may be able to gain access.
6. <Challenge> Pain is righteousness entering the body. Mark thine flesh and so purge whatever darkness may have entered thine soul. (Suffer an automatic crit of the GM's choice, and may not heal non serious injuries)
Requisition:
-Good Dataslate (3 pts), +10 to Lore Technology, War, last slot open to record additional data
-Tool Kit (6 pts)
-Rule of Sororitas (1 pt)
The next days come swiftly as the sun rises over the Kaledos Spine, gleaming through the paned glass windows across the monastery. The holy words of the Prayer of Adulation to the Emperor reach out to embrace the new day, light shining into the side chapel where Squad Palais and Ophania have gathered for their morning prayers. So the two squads sing together, meeting the new dawn with their love for the Master of Mankind upon distant Holy Terra.
A humble breakfast follows. A lightly sweetened pastry, studded with nuts and dried fruits is the core of the meal, served with a dollop of cream, is the core of the breakfast. Modest portions of grox sausage and a tart local fruit are served alongside watered-down amasec to complete the meal.
It is after that Sister-Superior Palais addresses her squad, peering over a data-slate. "Alright, Sisters. I shan't pretend this is glamorous, but how does that Guard saying go? The Emperor points and we obey or some such?" She shakes her head. "Most of what's on our agenda is a mixture of prayers, meditative sessions, and menial labor. First up is cleaning up blood from the flagellant chambers. Yay," Palais says with mock cheer. "Some of the tasks are of greater import, however. None require the full squad, so I will be taking volunteers and partitioning out the squad. I expect you all to perform these tasks to your utmost ability, as though this were no different from us fighting on a battlefield in the Emperor's name.
"As demanding the task is to provide a hygenic environment which our Sisters offer penance to the Emperor, I think I shall personally miss kitchen duty. Smells more pleasant at the very least." Ilana chuckled. "Yet where holy duty rests, so we must obey.
2. <Task> The Falcida are winged lizards native to the mountain range, frequently nesting in the warmth created by the hot-springs. Saint Oros hunted these creatures to survive during her long exile, and now it is considered a sacred rite to hunt and kill one of these creatures and burn their meat in offering to the God-Emperor.
There were few things in this galaxy as holy and honourable as to follow in the footsteps of a saint, to do honour to their memory by keeping the torch of those traditions they lit, to prove to the God-Emperor that even with the passing of millennia that His supplicants remember the lessons imparted by His Saints. It was an immense honour, one whose weight that Ilana had not the opportunity to bear before. But there was no helping it, she bore the torch now, and it was all she could do to see it through.
There were few things in this galaxy as holy and honourable as to follow in the footsteps of a saint, to do honour to their memory by keeping the torch of those traditions they lit, to prove to the God-Emperor that even with the passing of millennia that His supplicants remember the lessons imparted by His Saints. It was an immense honour, one whose weight that Ilana had not the opportunity to bear before. But there was no helping it, she bore the torch now, and it was all she could do to see it through.
There is something unduly amusing about being clad in the full warplate, and yet being armed with little more than a wooden stick with a sharpened stone for a point. Motors and actuators buzz as Sister Ilana closes her grip around the wooden haft of the throwing spear, only furthering the bizarre contrast.
"Don't be too delicate," Guest-Master Primus Emeline notes. "It may be wood but it's still good solid oak, harvested not far from here. Of course, if you're too worried about breaking it, you could always don more traditional raiment."
One may well presume that to be little more than furs if they're lucky, or rags if not, but it is bitterly cold out on the mountainside and it is humbling enough for a Daughter of the Emperor to hunt with such an archaic weapon. Besides, armouring up had taken even longer than usual. The Sisters of Battle were trained to be able to armour themselves without a tech-priest, but the Sisterhood's knowledge of the rites of armouring was slow and fumbling in comparison and even with the aid of arming servitors it had taken unpleasantly long. There is an unsteady growl in the thrum of Ilana's reactor pack that makes her wonder if her plate is annoyed at her or the task laid before them, and she swears there is a drag in her left knee.
The elderly woman smiles, handing over a leather pack of some sort full of additional throwing spears. "Stay safe and stay warm then. Make sure to collect the Falcida's bodies when you were done, as it's part of your penance. If you have any questions, now's the time to ask. If not? Well. Oros grant you patience in your hunt.
The cold outside beckons, the crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath the Sister's sabatons, the growl of her armour in the crisp, cold air. Soft snow falls over the Sanctuary of Oros as Ilana exits the monastery interior, drifting flakes nestling in the crooks of her armour and melting down her reactor pack. She isn't the only one out on the chill morning. Lay-servants of the monastery take breakfast to the anchorites sealed in their chambers along the Sanctuary's exterior pathways, and a monk nods at the Sister as he tends to a bed of florescent blue flowers poking from the frost. Another face is more familiar to Sister Ilana.
"So the musclebound freak's just shaking around Vahn like he owed him money, yeah, and the other scum-suckers thought they had me dead to rights. Three to one, and the real ugly un' had his gun right to the back of me hea-Oh hallo there, Sister," The bounty hunter Pythia says in greeting, her very animated hand gestures probably doing a better job keeping her warm than the threadbare cloak she's thrown over her clothing.
The finely polished armour of the Crusader besides her gleams in the morning sun. He grunts in recognition of the Sister, pressing his chainblade against his cuirass in salute. "Out hunting?" he asks, his voice as hard and guttural as the engine of his blade. [Scrutiny Check Fail]
"Hunting Falcida, huh? Wish ya' luck, Sister. Would love to offer a hand, used to love hunting the lil' blighters as a lass," Pythia comments, looking wistfully at the sunlit mountain slopes.
The Crusader sighs. "You're not allowed off monastery grounds."
"So you keep remindin' me. I do have a working memory mate," she sighs. "But hey no worries, jus' your job, and you're cute so I forgive ya'. Anyway Sister, another of your Sisters went out earlier. With some of the same...Sticks," she says, waving at the throwing spears Ilana has. "Not that you can't do some good work with sticks, just as I was telling this handsome lad here. Three on one, a gun to the back of my head, and all I 'ad on me was a broken length of table leg. But 'ey, if they wanted to make it an even fight, they should've brought more lads, eh?"
"We ran similar scenarios in training," The Crusader remarks, dryly. He glances at Sister Ilana, wearily. "Do you require any assistance or advice in your hunt, Sister?"
"I could give you a few tips for tracking," The bounty hunter suggests. "Hey, that reminds me. I ain't e'er been to the Kaledos Spine, but I've seen my fair of snow. Once tracked a recidivist twelve hours through a snowstorm. Now there's a story. Not even the Enforcers could get their hands on Vinicius. They called him 'Stubproof', 'cause it seemed nothin' could touch him. How'd you like to hear about how I proved 'em wrong, eh?"
"Perhaps later," The Crusader grunts, focusing his attention on Sister Ilana. Beyond him the pilgrim paths through the mountains beckon, the jagged rocks and snowswept peaks of the Kaledos Spine. Somewhere out there, her prey awaits. The only question is, where?"
The next morning, Caelia stretches, preparing for the ordeal ahead. This was a mundane task, but it was also a task more suited to her combative skills than something so passive as sweeping a floor. Certainly more challenging ahead, lack of knowledge of such esoteric tools aside.
A grox was an unusual foe to fight, but she remembered her biological studies decently well. An armored and strong creature, a struggle to keep contained. And most importantly, belligerent, and in the case of the escaped ones, currently outside of their enclosures and rampaging into the wild.
She'd prefer to have her Bolter, but it was time for penance. More humble tools would have to suffice, especially as the things were wanted alive.
Eriko still knew her craft and if there was something common to all Sisters Hospitaller and those former Hospitallers, it was the care they gave to the common man. They were gifted by the Emperor and in turn gave what they learned to benefit His subjects.
Clad in Storm of Summer by the serfs of the Sanctuary, Eriko moved to where she was to attend to Missionary Celestine Marcyn along with her fellow Sisters. And there she would find her penance, one that will not impinge upon her skills of healing when it was time to use them. There she would bear the Aquila as a banner for the faithful to flock towards.
Eriko nodded at the thought, satisfied that it would sufficiently remind her of the burden she bore.
Diagnosticator/Medi-Spex. Req 10.
A diagnostor can be used to identify almost any condition or malady a victim may be suffering from. Using a diagnostor is a Full Action, after which the user gains a +30 bonus to uses of the Diagnose Special Use of the Medicae Skill. If the user fails the test, the device will still provide advice on treatment for the symptoms of what they are suffering from, if not the root cause.
Even with the added strength of her armour, Sister Eriko finds herself straining with the man-sized Ministorum Sigil she has been oathsworn to carry. For someone without the benefit of power armour it would be backbreaking to carry. With it at the least, her armour's whining servo-musculature takes on the worst of the weight, leaving it only tiring. The awkward proportions of it do not help either. But she will carry it with her nonetheless. The makeshift manner in which she had donned her armour adds another layer of discomfort, something she can't quite place feeling off about Storm of Summer. Was it the timbre of its reactor, the speed at which it reacted to her movements? She couldn't quite tell, and that made it all the more discomfitting.
In comparison, Sister Caelia feels almost naked without the comforting weight of her boltgun and blades. Her power armour offers its only methods of violence and protection of course, but there is something disconcerting about the comforting weight of a boltgun in hand. Not that even her power armour feels as comfortable to wear as it usually does. Lacking the Mission's tech-priests, the Sisters were forced to rely on themselves, one another, and the arming servitors to equip their warplate, and though they performed the rites as they'd been taught, something feels uncomfortably taut in Caelia's armour.
Their tasks, at least for the moment, bring the two Sisters together as they enter the lift that serves as the quickest route down the mountain side. They are accompanied by two sisters from Dominion Squad Ophania, neither of them Sisters the two are too familiar with. A Sister Junita and Sister Catiro by the rune-marks on their armour and the helmet displays, both Dominions. Even with all four Sisters within the lift, it remains quite spacious and comfortable.
"Take us down to ground level," Sister Junita orders the servitor implanted into the lift's control cogitator, the machine-serf groaning its affirmation as the gears of the lift begin to grind and turn. The Sister turns back to the squad, shifting her empty hands uneasily. "So, anyone know anything about wrestling Groxes? Hrm, Groxes. Is that the right plural? Feels off."
It isn't too long before the lift rumbles to a stop and the gate grinds open to the arched service tunnel beyond, lit by braziers held in the grips of faceless, robed statues. Beyond, daylight beckons. The double-doors at the end of the hall are open to the rolling hills beyond. A soft dusting of white paints the hilly expanse and the rooftops of the village that sprawls out across them. Grox pens, vineyards, and fields of indeterminate plants spread out yet further. Cloth rustles as the Sisters near the entrance, two figures appearing in the shadow of the alcoves by the tunnel exit. Two weathered old men bearing crude Ecclesiarchal badges pinned to the lapels of their coats stand in a poor semblance of a soldier at attention, old autoguns rested against their shoulders. Frateris Militia. Their eyes are wide as they look the four Battle-Sisters up and down, their scarlet armour catching in the light of the early morning sun as it rises over the horizon.
"Whew...Emperor bless you this fine day, Sisters," the first one says, smiling through yellowed teeth as he shifts his wood-stocked autogun in his grip. "Emeline said you'd be coming on by, but boy...You're...Uh, wow..."
The other militiaman rolls his eyes, elbowing the other man. "This isn't your first time seeing a Sister of Battle. Stop stammering like you're a teenage boy speaking to his crush for the first time."
"Well, you're one to know," The first one snorts, his weathered cheeks colouring. "Maybe not the first but you sorts don't come by very often, not in all our years watching this gate. And they aren't usually in full armour right as the sun's coming on up. Beautiful sight." He says, shaking his head. "But enough rambling from an old man. My husband and I are natives to the area, and Emeline said you might want some directions. Maybe answer any questions you might have. We're locals, been round these parts our whole lives."
"Auspicious start to the day," Catiro comments, looking at the sun as it alights on the hilltops and the distant shortline. Her helmet turns, down toward the winding stone path that winds between rockcrete and wood structures stamped with the Sanctuary's sigil. "Hrm. Who's that on a horse? Local Enforcer?"
Far down the road a figure atop a mount canters down the road, silhouetted by the sun. Other figures follow in the mounted one's wake. The two old men squint down the road, shaking their head.
"Nobody rides those around 'ere, save pilgrim and foreign sorts," One of them says, bringing a set of magnoculars to his eyes. "Soldierly sort. Looks like...A Paladius Free-Lancer, I think they're called. Some sort of mercenary pilgrims."
"Maintaining a hygienic environment for the purgation of one's sin is as noble as it is inglorious Sister Superior. It would be my honor to do so before I seek my own time for flagellation."
She was somber and serious as ever, not really chiding, but certainly not seeing the drudgery or mess as a detracting factor. After all, the sister superior had warned her of diminished combat readiness due to too much of the lash. Infections of the blood could cripple squad cohesion! If they were being sent here to ensure the purity of their souls though there would be much more punishment of the flesh needed than a usual round at a forward chapel.
She would be cleaner tomorrow than she was today, but certainly less ready for battle for it.
Requisition:
-Good Dataslate (3 pts), +10 to Lore Technology, War, last slot open to record additional data
-Tool Kit (6 pts)
-Rule of Sororitas (1 pt)
Maria's back, even after having been treated, still stings beneath the weight of her power armour. The strike of her lash against her back would leave its scars, undoubtedly, but care was taken to ensure that there would be no serious damage. Pain was righteousness entering the body, but disease and bloodloss were anything but. The wounds had been shallow, disinfected and bound, but there would be no morphia. The pain would be a reminder as to the weight of the evils she had faced, and the importance of cleaving to the God-Emperor of Mankind.
[Suffer two fatigue and Damaged Torso (First Aid)].
Maria's marches through the halls, shifting uncomfortably in her armour. Besides the wounds of her flagellation, without tech-priests to perform the rites of armament she and her Sisters had been forced to rely on one another and the arming servitors. It was something they were trained for, certainly, even armouring up entirely alone God-Emperor forbid, but there is an odd timbre to the whine of her armour's servos and motors, a snag around the shoulder actuators. Their lack of understanding of the mysteries more than reveals itself.
The same whine of her armour seems to clash with the quietness of the Sanctuary's halls, the bowed heads of monks and nuns in greeting to her own stiff movements. The contrast only grows deeper as she takes the long route downstairs, the well-lit corridors fading away as the Sister descends into the depths of the monastery, deep within the mountain. Here there is still activity. Members of the clergy or the occasional servo-skull or lay-servant making their way among the halls, but they are few and far between. The sanctuary's architecture is old, but this feels of a different style altogether. More geometric shapes, not as many of the flying buttresses and pointed archs so common in Imperial architecture, but there remains a strong emphasis on symmetry, proportion, geometry and the regularity of parts. Perhaps more use of pillars? But then, there is an arch down that corridor, a greater sense of familiarity. There something more baroque, a corridor perhaps more reminiscent of that of a Mechanicus forge-shrine? Different styles blended together? Or perhaps it was simply Maria's imagination. She was no architect.
What one didn't need to be an architect to notice was the dust, building up in the corners or completely coating like disused service-tunnels. Crumbling stone walls and rusting metal pipes running the length of the shadowed undercroft. The flickering and dead lights, powered by wiring perhaps gone untouched in centuries or more. Stairways descend into dead-ends, or lead to identical tunnels that loop into one another. Corridors suddenly end in collapsed piles of rubble, or are cut through by renovations from a begotten era that were never completed. Construction and repair efforts break the silence here and there, teams of monastery clergy, lay-techs and servitors working to dig out collapsed corridors, clean out vaults, or repair long broken generators, but these only add to the confusion. One of the teams even seems to be painting over a large mural, above which the words 'Goge is Terra' are still halfway visible. Only a childhood's recollection of navigating long-abandoned tunnels allows her to keep her bearings. Even so, she must ask for directions twice. One could wander these tunnels for a century and never find their way back to the top of the Sanctuary. In these shadows, beneath the dust, there is an almost suffocating sense of secrets. One can only ponder at what ancient secrets may lie forgotten in the depths of the monastery.
Though not all secrets, perhaps, are forgotten beneath the weight of history. A loud thump and groan had caught on Maria's auto-senses as she passed by a long-disused greenhouse, and she paused a moment to check if someone had been hurt. Fortunately, nobody seems injured physically, judging by the quite vigorous activity of the monk and nun she finds coiled together against an old fountain. Though, judging by their flushed faces and wide eyes, their pride may not be so unwounded.
"Emperor-!" The monk hisses in surprise, flinching at the Adepta Sororitas' presence hard enough he almost falls over and bangs his knee against the fountain. Judging by the cursing, Maria is forced to alter her analysis of 'nobody injured physically'.
"What the feth-Oh-that's a...Uhhm," The nun groans, hastily snatching up her robes. "G-good morning, Sister?" She croaks, beet-red.
Maria, satisfied that nothing untoward is going on, beats her retreat and continues on her way. It isn't too long after the incident that she finally finds her way. Heavy digging gear and mounds of piled-up rock are the first sign she is nearing her destination. The excavated tunnel leads into a grand vault, dimly lit at best, mostly by the stablights and glow-globes set out by the Monastery's dig team. Hired workmen and a handful of clergy are sat at temporary tables and chairs erected in what may have once been some sort of study or gallery, eating a morning breakfast. Beyond, Sister Maria makes out barricades established down the corridors leading away from the opening chamber, a Crusader in full battle-plate standing at guard, shield and sword held at rest as they peer down the shadowed hallway.
A brief commotion rises up as the Sister of Battle enters the work area, workmen and monastic clergy alike turning from their morning prayers and meals to observe the Battle-Sister in their midst. The Crusader glances back, briefly, before returning to their sentry duty.
"Excuse me. You're Sister Maria, I believe? The one sent to help us?" A mousy-looking monk asks, nervously pushing his glasses-no, photovisors-up the bridge of his nose.
