Well. Truth be told you were expecting something like this, and while the timing and the form is both surprising and deeply inconvenient you have to admit it could certainly be worse. There were always going to be elements in the Imperium that resisted your message and stood in the way of your work, enough to make up a majority in all likelihood, and while you believe you can overcome such challenges with time it would be the height of arrogance to expect such work to be conducted quickly.
You could say that you don't have a choice, but that is one line of thinking you are determined to avoid for as long as humanly possible. Far too many of your peers and predecessors have told themselves such things; that there was no choice, that the result was inevitable, that they carried no moral culpability for what they did. The result is an Imperium that lauds those that die in its service without ever once attempting to make such grisly fuel unnecessary, and if you are to cut the sickness out then you cannot permit it to take root in your own mind as well.
There is always a choice.
In this particular circumstance your array of choices are far from spectacular, but you think you could likely attempt persuasion or flight with a reasonable chance of success, at least in the short term. Alas, such a course would remove all but the most unlikely routes of acquiring the loyalty and support of the Adepta Sororitas on this world, and you are not such a fool as to underestimate the cost that such a loss would entail. You will need the Sisters before too long, or at the very least will need them to remain neutral instead of taking up active opposition, and that means demonstrating the humility and good sense that retains cooperation as a possibility for the future.
"Very well then, Sister," you say with a weary sigh, "I cannot claim I am pleased by the thought, not when there is so much to do, but neither can I reasonably expect you to simply let me proceed down this path without first verifying the truth of who and what I am. Lead on, and I will follow."
"Thank you, Cardinal," the Dialogus says in turn, inclining her head ever so slightly, and for a moment you think you hear what might almost be relief in her tightly controlled words, "please, follow me. We have a transport waiting."
She turns, her back to you, and hidden from view makes some sort of hand gesture that conveys your intent to her assembled sisters. The bolt rifles are lowered, a fact that brings you much relief, and with the kind of smooth motions that only discipline can provide the squad splits into two equal teams of five. One moves to take up position at your rear, the other leads the way down the ramp and away from the landing pad, each keeping a careful eye out for threats.
You glance around, and are pleased to see Sister Mina being beckoned to her feet and allowed to fall in with the rearguard. You suppose that under the terms of this 'Silver Redoubt' protocol her sisters had to consider her as most likely compromised; she has, after all, been in your immediate presence alone for a prolonged period of late. That she is allowed to accompany her kin, if unarmed, is a hopeful sign that her loyalty will not be rewarded with a place on the pyre at your side.
Not that things will get that far, hopefully, but the possibility should not be discounted even so.
You move off at a swift pace, the Sororitas thankfully limiting themselves to a speed that you can be reasonably expected to maintain without an embarrassing show of bluster and breathlessness. Across the pad you move, and from there down the long ramp towards the gates and the perimeter fence. Beyond the confines of the landing field you can see the imposing form of several nearby shrines, each sacred to one of Sanguis' millions of martyrs. Around and amid them swirl the faithful throng, citizens and pilgrims going about their day or lingering close to the fence in hopes of catching a glimpse of some visiting Ecclesiarchal dignitary.
At the sight of your arrival, a great cheer goes up, and many among the crowd sink to their knees and press forehead to stone in a gesture of almost theatrical reverence. From such a distance the Sororitas must look like nothing more than an appropriate escort for one of your exalted station, and so none among the mass raise any kind of protest or concern at the sight of you bound in phantom chains.
You raise a hand in turn, and pretend not to see the way your escorts pause as the thunderous roar of the crowd washes over them.
The transport the Sisters mentioned turns out to be one of their own vehicles; a Rhino, if you remember the designation correctly, an armoured troop carrier designed to transport a squad of Sororitas and all their equipment from one end of an active battlefield to another with speed and at least a modicum of safety. It is a stark white in hue, save for the plates around the treads where not even the most diligent of maintenance can keep the paint pristine, and on every bolt and rivet the tightly etched forms of Imperial iconography are displayed proudly. The Sororitas have never been believers in the principles of camouflage.
You enter via the rear hatch, conscious of the wandering gunsights of your escorts that never quite reach the point of establishing an outright target lock, and find the interior to be surprisingly roomy for such a squat and boxy looking machine. Icons and devotional litanies are everywhere, but aside from a bronze brazier that hangs on chains from the centre of the troop compartment there are surprisingly few pieces of religious paraphernalia to be found. Perhaps the Sisters are concerned with it obstructing their movements in the field.
You take a seat upon one of the low benches, not requiring the support harnesses that the Sororitas use to hold their armoured forms in place, and more with some bleak amusement that the straps here are all but identical to the ones on board the shuttle you just departed. Securing yourself in the interests of habit more than anything else, you watch with a pensive frown as the rest of your escort boards and the rear hatch slams closed.
You tell yourself there is no symbolism in that last glimpse of the afternoon light.
There is no signal that you can detect, but with a faint rumbling the Rhino lurches into motion, heavy treads carrying it forward at what feels like a somewhat excessive speed. After a few minutes you stop trying to track the route by the way it shifts and sways - you don't know the streets even nearly that well in any case - and instead opt to simply close your eyes and bow your head in prayer. The Sisters will not take kindly to attempts at communication, and you could use some divine guidance and favour to see you safely through the trials ahead.
Nothing dramatic happens, of course, for the Emperor has always been a distant figure in your life; the light at the end of the tunnel rather than the watchman at your shoulder. Recent events were atypical in that regard, to say the least, but it is enough for you to know that he is watching, and should you die your soul will have a place safely by his side.
How long the journey through the streets takes, you cannot rightly say, but eventually the transport rolls to a halt and the rear hatch clangs open once more. Revealed beyond is the chill, cavernous space of a subterranean barrage of some sort, filled to the brim with vehicles kin to the one that brought you hence. Likely you are underneath one of the Sororitas' own convents, then, where they live and train and store the equipment that makes them one of the finest military forces in the Imperium.
You try not to focus on how many of the vehicles here are armed with flamethrowers.
Half of the squad disembarks first, after which you rise as directed by sharp hand gestures and follow in their wake. As you go you note that there isn't nearly as much noise from the Sister's power armour as you would have expected; a faint hum at the edge of hearing, nothing more, even with ten of them arrayed around you in close proximity. The near-silence makes them feel curiously inhuman, an impression not helped by the smoothly coordinated ways in which they move, but you know better than most that the women beneath those shining silver plates are as mortal as the next person.
Not that such fallibility necessarily works in your favour, mind. It would be a sick joke on the part of the galaxy to see your righteousness proven but misinterpreted, and you resolve to guard against such an outcome as best you can, just in case. One should never underestimate just how cruel the universe can be.
No words are spoken as you are escorted across the hall, nor do you encounter any other signs of life within the narrow corridors and tunnels beyond. Whoever else occupies this place, they have been instructed to keep well clear of your line of travel, and the place feels strangely abandoned as a result. You see signs of past habitation, old scuff marks and minor changes made to wall and doors, but nothing that seems recent or suggests current residence. The sheer amount of equipment in the garage behind you virtually requires at least some long-term presence, but…
Eventually your musings are interrupted, this time by the arrival at what appears to be your destination; a small metal door in the middle of the corridor, opposite which stands a grim-faced statue of some nameless Imperial hero. You half expect to find a torture chamber or execution ground on the far side, but instead there is only a small suite of rooms - a small bedchamber, a meditation cell, a small alcove for hygiene purposes and a collection of scrolls on shelves in what you think is meant to be a personal library.
You have the strong impression that some mid-ranking Battle Sister has been displaced by the sudden need to hold you in something approaching a respectful yet secure fashion, and endeavor not to smile at the thought.
"You will reside here until the judgement is complete," the Sister Dialogus says in her sharp, unemotional way, "it will take some time for the necessary materials and expertise to be gathered. Food will be brought, as will other necessities. Do not attempt to leave."
She hardly needs to explain why, not when a simple glance backwards confirms that two of your escort are taking up position on either side of the imposing statue, but you nod politely all the same. Again you hold your tongue, wishing not to provide your assessors with any possible hint of manipulation or maleficence.
Satisfied that you understand, the Dialogus nods sharply and exits the room, slamming the door shut in her wake. There is a faint
thump as some kind of lock slams home, and just like that you are left alone with your thoughts.
It would appear that you have some time to kill.
How do you occupy yourself?
[ ] Drill. You cannot avoid personal danger forever, and when it finds you it would be prudent to stand ready. Run through some katas and your personal exercise routine. (Trains Brawl, also Athletics)
[ ] Meditate. The trials ahead will be of mind and soul as much as body, so you would be well served to take some time and centre yourself, making sure you have a true understanding of where you stand. (Trains Integrity, also Willpower)
[ ] Rehearse. You will be entitled to speak in your own defense eventually, so when the moment comes you should have an argument ready and waiting. You know more of the Church and matters of theology than most, so put that understanding to work. (Trains Lore, also Presence).
[ ] Write in (Should specify method of training, as well as which abilities you wish to see improved)
