Introduction
It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.
Yet even in this deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest among His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark far future there is only war. There is no peace among the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The Holy Ordos of the Emperor's Inquisition, more commonly known as the Inquisition, are a powerful organisation and secret police of the Imperium responsible for guarding the souls of humanity. The purpose of the Inquisition is to identify and destroy the myriad of potential threats to the Imperium and humanity. The organisation's members are agents known as Inquisitors.
The actual founding of the Inquisition is shrouded in mystery and there are at least two different stories surrounding its formation.
The first is that in the twilight hours prior to His internment within the Golden Throne, while Terra lay besieged by the traitor forces of Warmaster Horus, the Emperor of Mankind commanded Malcador the Sigillite to seek out "men of character, skill, and determination" to be tested and trained so that an elite group of investigators might be tasked to discover the alien, mutant, and heretic. Immediately prior to his assault on Horus's battlebarge, Malcador presents twelve individuals to the Emperor, eight Astartes and four humans who he has gathered in response to the Emperor's commands. The Astartes are described as having cast aside their allegiance to their Primarch and Legion who sided with Horus; Malcador goes on to say that they are blessed with paranormal skills which are most apt in combating the horrors that have recently emerged from the warp9. Although the identities of the twelve presented to the Emperor are never revealed, it is known that among those individuals recruited by Malcador were Captain Nathaniel Garro of the Death Guard, Captain Iacton Qruze of the Luna Wolves, and Sister of Silence Amendera Kendel.
The second story is that immediately after the Emperor was interred in his Golden Throne, four trusted servants of the Emperor gathered in secret to discuss what was to happen next. Their opinions were divided; two believed the Emperor could be returned to life, the other two believed it folly to interfere with the events that had unfolded. The two resurrectionists, known as Promeus and Moriana, left Terra to begin their quest to bring the Emperor back to life. The two that remained acted quickly to establish themselves with the Senatorum Imperialis and created an organisation to combat the efforts of Promeus and Moriana; and it was from this seed, the Inquisition was formed.
It is not known whether these two stories are simply a case of conflicting background, or whether both stories contain some element of truth. It is said that when the Senatorum Imperialis was convened on the first anniversary of the Emperor's Ascension, a grim-faced man joined the council and identified himself as a representative of the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition. The fact that they called themselves "Orders" plural could be taken to suggest that the early Inquisition was an amalgamation of several organisations.
Within the modern Inquisition of M41 there are three Ordos Majoris; Xenos, Malleus, and Hereticus, and an unknown number of Ordos Minoris. Each branch specialises in the combat and investigation of specific threats to the Imperial domain. While Inquisitors from any Ordo are trained to deal with all potential dangers, it is the role of the Ordos to produce agents who are particularly adept at understanding and destroying specific abominations. Membership of an Ordo is not mandatory, and there are those Inquisitors who prefer not to join one.
Ordo Malleus (The Threat Beyond) - Destroys daemonic threats and investigates the nature of the Daemon. The Ordo came into being immediately after the Horus Heresy, and therefore has been a part of the Inquisition from the beginning.
Ordo Hereticus (The Threat Within) - Investigates and roots out heresy, mutation, and rogue psykers from humanity, and polices the Ecclesiarchy. The Ordo Hereticus was founded following the events of the Age of Apostasy.
Ordo Xenos (The Threat Without) - Investigates and eliminates alien influence and plots against the Imperium. It is not known when the Ordo Xenos was founded, however it is believed to be of a similar age to the Ordo Malleus.
In addition to the three major Ordos, there are an unknown number of Ordos Minoris. To date, only two of the minor Ordos have been explored in detail, however rumours abound of Ordos created to police the workings of the Blackships, the Imperial military and others whose sole task is to purge the ranks of the Inquisition itself.
Ordo Sepulturum - Researches current plagues afflicting the Imperium and determines how best to contain, destroy, and cure them. Created to investigate an increase in outbreaks of the Zombie Plague just before the 13th Black Crusade.
Ordo Sicarius - Founded to police the activities of the Officio Assassinorum following the events of the Wars of Vindication which resulted from the events of Vandire's Reign of Blood.
Ordo Chronos - A ill-fated organization in which all members vanished.
As well as the Ordos, there are many types of Inquisitorial groupings that an Inquisitor may belong to, however as with the Ordos, membership of these is not mandatory.
Conclaves - Inquisitorial Conclaves can take two forms. The first is a gatherings called by an Inquisitor (if called by an Inquisitor Lord it is termed a "High Conclave") to discuss a particular subject 6. There are also more permanent regional Conclaves; these are federations of Inquisitors who watch over a particular area of Imperial space. The larger of these regional Conclaves may have resources such as ships, armies, fortresses, and libraries for the use of their members. Not all sectors of Imperial space are covered by a Conclave, and some areas are devoid of a permanent Inquisitorial presence. The head of each regional Conclave is normally an Inquisitor Lord, and is nominally appointed by the High Lords of Terra. There are also Conclaves operating at the Segmentum level, again headed by an Inquisitor Lord.
Cabals - A Cabal is a rare body instituted by a Conclave and dedicated to investigating a particular matter. Generally they gather Inquisitors from varied backgrounds and philosophies to form a specialist task-force. Often, Cabals are despised by many who see them as secret societies within a Conclave.
Cells - Similar to a Cabal, a Cell is an ad-hoc group of Inquisitors who share a common goal. Often they are factional in nature, or are formed to confront a particular problem. The principle difference between Cabals and Cells is that the latter are entirely informal and are transitive in nature. Often one or more of the Inquisitors in the Cell will work overtly through investigation while the rest proceed through infiltration.
As a completely autonomous Imperial organisation beyond the power of the Adeptus Terra, the Inquisition is immensely powerful. As the Inquisition's duties involve the scrutiny and policing of the other organisations of the Imperium, the Inquisition itself is answerable to no higher power except the Emperor. No one, except the Emperor himself, is beyond the scrutiny of the Inquisition. This power is officially known as the Inquisitorial Remit or Inquisitorial Mandate.
With the exception of the Ministorum (which, in any case is still under outside Imperial restrictions), the Inquisition is the only organisation of Imperial government that is completely autonomous. Unlike other Imperial organisations, it is not a branch of the massive Adeptus Terra, but a self-contained organisation answerable only to itself. The Inquisition itself uses compounds scattered throughout the Imperium known as Inquisitorial Fortresses as its bases of operation.
The role of the ordinary Inquisitor is to investigate and deal with all potential threats to mankind and the Imperium. In the eyes of the Inquisition, there are multitudes of such potential threats. The main threat is posed not by invading aliens, but from within, by corruption and disloyalty within the Imperial organisations, as well as by psykers. The other threat posed from within is that of mutation, the constant corruption of the human gene-pool. There are no bounds to the Inquisition's area of responsibility: alien plots, mutation, political corruption, and incompetence all come under their jurisdiction.
If required, Inquisitors may call on the service and/or resources of any Imperial servant or organisation. Not even a High Lord of Terra may refuse the order of an Inquisitor without good reason. This power extends across the Adeptus Astartes and the Adeptus Mechanicus, however learned Inquisitors show discretion and request the assistance of the Space Marines and attempt not to anger the Adepts of Mars.
The role of the Inquisition requires proactivity and efficiency unbound by the dogmatic bureaucracy common to most other Imperial departments. Accordingly, there is little in the way of hierarchy or departmentalisation within the Inquisition. Authority within the Inquisition is governed by two factors - reputation and influence. Seniority is in itself no indicator of authority, however most Inquisitors will take heed of the wisdom an older and more experienced peer.
Because the Inquisition are the watchdogs of the Imperium, answerable only to themselves, given almost absolute power, along with such broad jurisdiction, corruption is an ever present danger. Its integrity is therefore upheld by constant self-policing and scrutiny. In the earliest editions of the background, this was the stated role of the Ordo Malleus, which were the Inquisition's secretive Inner Order.
As per the Inquisitorial Remit, Inquisitors hold the absolute power to judge all who fall beneath their gaze. The Inquisition holds countless paths to death that usually correspond to the level of guilt of the condemned. The horrors of arco-flagellation, Penal Legion conscription, or binding to a Penitent Engine are a small sample of unique forms of penitence and absolution that Inquisitors use on a regular basis.
Inquisitors have the authority to condemn an entire world to Exterminatus if it is deemed to be irredeemably corrupt. Exterminatus, the obliteration of a world, is only resorted to when the level of corruption a world bears is so monumental that it cannot be wiped out by any other means.
Although there is no formal system of ranks or command in the Inquisition, save for the recognition that the Emperor is the highest ranked figure and supreme commander, there are a number of positions that may be held by an Inquisitor. These positions do not bring any more authority (an Inquisitor's authority is already absolute), however the incumbent Inquisitor will have increased influence over his peers by virtue of his office. The powerful Inquisitorial Representative represents the organization on the High Lords of Terra.
Recruitment within the Inquisition is not centralized, and an Inquisitor is free to recruit whoever he so chooses as an acolyte. There are many different names given to acolytes, Interrogator, Explicator, Neophyte, Novitiates, Approbators, etc, but in themselves they carry no authority (only that which they are granted by their Inquisitor). Although some Inquisitors may have their acolytes pass through various "ranks" on their progression to Inquisitor, those ranks are not standardized across the Inquisition. However, within individual conclaves there may be established conventions for temporarily granting the Inquisitional remit to an acolyte within the scope of a particular assignment. Within the Calixis and surrounding sectors such an individual is known as a Legate Investigator. Legates are identified by an icon known as a Sigil of Question which contains features similar to a rosette, and a Carta of Inquiry which describes the scope of their investigation.
For an acolyte to be raised to the rank of Inquisitor, the consent of three Inquisitors or an Inquisitor Lord is required. There have been cases where the situation has called for an acolyte to take on full Inquisitorial responsibilities immediately without the blessing of three Inquisitors or a Lord. For example if their Inquisitor is killed in action, their apprentice may inherit their Inquisitorial Seal and fulfil the role of an Inquisitor subject to repeal by another Inquisitor.
The Inquisition can be broadly divided into two differing schools of thought: Puritanism and Radicalism.
To the conservative Puritans, it is of the utmost importance that Inquisition doctrine be upheld, and are often found persecuting those Inquisitors who are deemed heretical.
The pragmatic Radical Inquisitors follow the Imperial doctrines in spirit, believing that the ends justify the means, and find little value in adhering to convention too closely. They often try to fight fire with fire, using Chaos or alien weaponry, employing Daemonhosts, or committing other acts that would be deemed heretical by their more conservative brethren.
Inquisitors of both sides are found in great number, and while often at odds with each other, are equally interested in the survival of mankind and the defeat of its enemies. Puritans and Radicals are further divided into individual philosophies, leading to further friction...
Three hundred years ago Way Station Galvius DLXXVIII was a bustling port of trade and a central hub in the Galvius system. Thousands of trade ships passed through it's sphere of influence every standard cycle, melding cultures from all over the sector. It was home to hundreds of Imperial citizens, with hundreds more temporary residents, and at the very peak of it's success, for no reason at all, it disappeared.
Now, three hundred years later, it has reappeared on Imperial sensors, and the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition have sent one of their brightest, and youngest, Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne, to investigate, cleanse, and reclaim the station if possible, and destroy it if not. His personal vessel has been equipped with a battery of Laser Lances specifically for that purpose, and after three weeks in warp transit Inquisitor Osbourne and his retinue are eager to get underway.
"Madame Yolande, what is our current outgoing trajectory?"
"My Lord, we are currently two hours away from our exit point, We will be exiting the Immaterium approximately three hundred parsecs from our destination, requiring a further thirty minutes of sub-light travel via shuttle craft to dock with the station." Lady Yolande of the Navis Nobilite turned to her lord, Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne, handing him a dataslate with the ship's current readouts "Is this acceptable?"
He glanced at the data slate she handed him, "Mmh, this is perfect," He polished off the cup of tanna in his other hand with an audible sigh, "This ought to give the rest of the team ample time to make themselves presentable and gather in the briefing chamber." He walked over to his command throne and thumbed an activation rune, "All right people, you have about ten minutes to get into the briefing chamber, I'll be waiting. That is all."
An example of an Inquisitorial Dossier (A.K.A. your character sheet):
CANDIDATE RECORD
DATE: 0023052.M42
From the desk of Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne.
Citizen Identification Number: (example: xxxxx-xxx-ABCxxxx)
Name
First: MI: Last:
M: F:
Nicknames/Aliases:
Age:
Birthplace (City):
Birthplace (Planet):
Birthplace (Sector):
Birthplace (Segmentum):
Current Residence (Address):
Current Residence (City):
Current Residence (Planet):
Current Residence (System):
Current Residence (Sub-Sector):
Current Residence (Sector):
Current Residence (Segmentum):
Blood Type:
Height: (Metric Please)
Weight: (Again, Metric Please)
Eye Color:
Hair Color:
Physical Appearance:
Psychological Profile:
Psyker (Check One) Y: N:
If Yes What Category: (Use Imperial Assignment Scale. For an explanation of Assignment Scale See: http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/The_Assignment)
If Yes What Is/Are Their Psychic Abilitie(s):
Family (Alive or Deceased):
Personal Funds/ Monetary Assets:
Current Profession (If Applicable):
Skills and Aptitudes:
Personal History: (Be short and succinct, and use Imperial Dating System when writing individual events. For explanation of Imperial Dating System See: http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Imperial_Dating_System)
Intelligence Quotient: Hopefully self explanatory
Neural Wavelength Frequency: Is a relative measure of the psychic abilities of a person, a baseline human will have 20-50 and the relative psychic power of an individual increases as their NWF increases, psychic blanks obviously have an NWF of 0 an alpha+ psyker would have an NWF of 1000 or more
Spacial Reasoning Score: relates to how well you can reason and use critical thinking skills to solve problems, is represented by a percentage ranging from 0% (Emperor help you...) to 100%
Linguistic Aptitude: Relates to how well you can speak, read, and write, your first language and any other languages you may know all contribute to this score, penmanship does not count, but grammar does. It is also represented by a percentage, which can be higher than 100% for people who are exceptional linguists, these people are rare however.
Yet even in this deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest among His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark far future there is only war. There is no peace among the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
The Holy Ordos of the Emperor's Inquisition, more commonly known as the Inquisition, are a powerful organisation and secret police of the Imperium responsible for guarding the souls of humanity. The purpose of the Inquisition is to identify and destroy the myriad of potential threats to the Imperium and humanity. The organisation's members are agents known as Inquisitors.
The actual founding of the Inquisition is shrouded in mystery and there are at least two different stories surrounding its formation.
The first is that in the twilight hours prior to His internment within the Golden Throne, while Terra lay besieged by the traitor forces of Warmaster Horus, the Emperor of Mankind commanded Malcador the Sigillite to seek out "men of character, skill, and determination" to be tested and trained so that an elite group of investigators might be tasked to discover the alien, mutant, and heretic. Immediately prior to his assault on Horus's battlebarge, Malcador presents twelve individuals to the Emperor, eight Astartes and four humans who he has gathered in response to the Emperor's commands. The Astartes are described as having cast aside their allegiance to their Primarch and Legion who sided with Horus; Malcador goes on to say that they are blessed with paranormal skills which are most apt in combating the horrors that have recently emerged from the warp9. Although the identities of the twelve presented to the Emperor are never revealed, it is known that among those individuals recruited by Malcador were Captain Nathaniel Garro of the Death Guard, Captain Iacton Qruze of the Luna Wolves, and Sister of Silence Amendera Kendel.
The second story is that immediately after the Emperor was interred in his Golden Throne, four trusted servants of the Emperor gathered in secret to discuss what was to happen next. Their opinions were divided; two believed the Emperor could be returned to life, the other two believed it folly to interfere with the events that had unfolded. The two resurrectionists, known as Promeus and Moriana, left Terra to begin their quest to bring the Emperor back to life. The two that remained acted quickly to establish themselves with the Senatorum Imperialis and created an organisation to combat the efforts of Promeus and Moriana; and it was from this seed, the Inquisition was formed.
It is not known whether these two stories are simply a case of conflicting background, or whether both stories contain some element of truth. It is said that when the Senatorum Imperialis was convened on the first anniversary of the Emperor's Ascension, a grim-faced man joined the council and identified himself as a representative of the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition. The fact that they called themselves "Orders" plural could be taken to suggest that the early Inquisition was an amalgamation of several organisations.
Within the modern Inquisition of M41 there are three Ordos Majoris; Xenos, Malleus, and Hereticus, and an unknown number of Ordos Minoris. Each branch specialises in the combat and investigation of specific threats to the Imperial domain. While Inquisitors from any Ordo are trained to deal with all potential dangers, it is the role of the Ordos to produce agents who are particularly adept at understanding and destroying specific abominations. Membership of an Ordo is not mandatory, and there are those Inquisitors who prefer not to join one.
Ordo Malleus (The Threat Beyond) - Destroys daemonic threats and investigates the nature of the Daemon. The Ordo came into being immediately after the Horus Heresy, and therefore has been a part of the Inquisition from the beginning.
Ordo Hereticus (The Threat Within) - Investigates and roots out heresy, mutation, and rogue psykers from humanity, and polices the Ecclesiarchy. The Ordo Hereticus was founded following the events of the Age of Apostasy.
Ordo Xenos (The Threat Without) - Investigates and eliminates alien influence and plots against the Imperium. It is not known when the Ordo Xenos was founded, however it is believed to be of a similar age to the Ordo Malleus.
In addition to the three major Ordos, there are an unknown number of Ordos Minoris. To date, only two of the minor Ordos have been explored in detail, however rumours abound of Ordos created to police the workings of the Blackships, the Imperial military and others whose sole task is to purge the ranks of the Inquisition itself.
Ordo Sepulturum - Researches current plagues afflicting the Imperium and determines how best to contain, destroy, and cure them. Created to investigate an increase in outbreaks of the Zombie Plague just before the 13th Black Crusade.
Ordo Sicarius - Founded to police the activities of the Officio Assassinorum following the events of the Wars of Vindication which resulted from the events of Vandire's Reign of Blood.
Ordo Chronos - A ill-fated organization in which all members vanished.
As well as the Ordos, there are many types of Inquisitorial groupings that an Inquisitor may belong to, however as with the Ordos, membership of these is not mandatory.
Conclaves - Inquisitorial Conclaves can take two forms. The first is a gatherings called by an Inquisitor (if called by an Inquisitor Lord it is termed a "High Conclave") to discuss a particular subject 6. There are also more permanent regional Conclaves; these are federations of Inquisitors who watch over a particular area of Imperial space. The larger of these regional Conclaves may have resources such as ships, armies, fortresses, and libraries for the use of their members. Not all sectors of Imperial space are covered by a Conclave, and some areas are devoid of a permanent Inquisitorial presence. The head of each regional Conclave is normally an Inquisitor Lord, and is nominally appointed by the High Lords of Terra. There are also Conclaves operating at the Segmentum level, again headed by an Inquisitor Lord.
Cabals - A Cabal is a rare body instituted by a Conclave and dedicated to investigating a particular matter. Generally they gather Inquisitors from varied backgrounds and philosophies to form a specialist task-force. Often, Cabals are despised by many who see them as secret societies within a Conclave.
Cells - Similar to a Cabal, a Cell is an ad-hoc group of Inquisitors who share a common goal. Often they are factional in nature, or are formed to confront a particular problem. The principle difference between Cabals and Cells is that the latter are entirely informal and are transitive in nature. Often one or more of the Inquisitors in the Cell will work overtly through investigation while the rest proceed through infiltration.
As a completely autonomous Imperial organisation beyond the power of the Adeptus Terra, the Inquisition is immensely powerful. As the Inquisition's duties involve the scrutiny and policing of the other organisations of the Imperium, the Inquisition itself is answerable to no higher power except the Emperor. No one, except the Emperor himself, is beyond the scrutiny of the Inquisition. This power is officially known as the Inquisitorial Remit or Inquisitorial Mandate.
With the exception of the Ministorum (which, in any case is still under outside Imperial restrictions), the Inquisition is the only organisation of Imperial government that is completely autonomous. Unlike other Imperial organisations, it is not a branch of the massive Adeptus Terra, but a self-contained organisation answerable only to itself. The Inquisition itself uses compounds scattered throughout the Imperium known as Inquisitorial Fortresses as its bases of operation.
The role of the ordinary Inquisitor is to investigate and deal with all potential threats to mankind and the Imperium. In the eyes of the Inquisition, there are multitudes of such potential threats. The main threat is posed not by invading aliens, but from within, by corruption and disloyalty within the Imperial organisations, as well as by psykers. The other threat posed from within is that of mutation, the constant corruption of the human gene-pool. There are no bounds to the Inquisition's area of responsibility: alien plots, mutation, political corruption, and incompetence all come under their jurisdiction.
If required, Inquisitors may call on the service and/or resources of any Imperial servant or organisation. Not even a High Lord of Terra may refuse the order of an Inquisitor without good reason. This power extends across the Adeptus Astartes and the Adeptus Mechanicus, however learned Inquisitors show discretion and request the assistance of the Space Marines and attempt not to anger the Adepts of Mars.
The role of the Inquisition requires proactivity and efficiency unbound by the dogmatic bureaucracy common to most other Imperial departments. Accordingly, there is little in the way of hierarchy or departmentalisation within the Inquisition. Authority within the Inquisition is governed by two factors - reputation and influence. Seniority is in itself no indicator of authority, however most Inquisitors will take heed of the wisdom an older and more experienced peer.
Because the Inquisition are the watchdogs of the Imperium, answerable only to themselves, given almost absolute power, along with such broad jurisdiction, corruption is an ever present danger. Its integrity is therefore upheld by constant self-policing and scrutiny. In the earliest editions of the background, this was the stated role of the Ordo Malleus, which were the Inquisition's secretive Inner Order.
As per the Inquisitorial Remit, Inquisitors hold the absolute power to judge all who fall beneath their gaze. The Inquisition holds countless paths to death that usually correspond to the level of guilt of the condemned. The horrors of arco-flagellation, Penal Legion conscription, or binding to a Penitent Engine are a small sample of unique forms of penitence and absolution that Inquisitors use on a regular basis.
Inquisitors have the authority to condemn an entire world to Exterminatus if it is deemed to be irredeemably corrupt. Exterminatus, the obliteration of a world, is only resorted to when the level of corruption a world bears is so monumental that it cannot be wiped out by any other means.
Although there is no formal system of ranks or command in the Inquisition, save for the recognition that the Emperor is the highest ranked figure and supreme commander, there are a number of positions that may be held by an Inquisitor. These positions do not bring any more authority (an Inquisitor's authority is already absolute), however the incumbent Inquisitor will have increased influence over his peers by virtue of his office. The powerful Inquisitorial Representative represents the organization on the High Lords of Terra.
Recruitment within the Inquisition is not centralized, and an Inquisitor is free to recruit whoever he so chooses as an acolyte. There are many different names given to acolytes, Interrogator, Explicator, Neophyte, Novitiates, Approbators, etc, but in themselves they carry no authority (only that which they are granted by their Inquisitor). Although some Inquisitors may have their acolytes pass through various "ranks" on their progression to Inquisitor, those ranks are not standardized across the Inquisition. However, within individual conclaves there may be established conventions for temporarily granting the Inquisitional remit to an acolyte within the scope of a particular assignment. Within the Calixis and surrounding sectors such an individual is known as a Legate Investigator. Legates are identified by an icon known as a Sigil of Question which contains features similar to a rosette, and a Carta of Inquiry which describes the scope of their investigation.
For an acolyte to be raised to the rank of Inquisitor, the consent of three Inquisitors or an Inquisitor Lord is required. There have been cases where the situation has called for an acolyte to take on full Inquisitorial responsibilities immediately without the blessing of three Inquisitors or a Lord. For example if their Inquisitor is killed in action, their apprentice may inherit their Inquisitorial Seal and fulfil the role of an Inquisitor subject to repeal by another Inquisitor.
The Inquisition can be broadly divided into two differing schools of thought: Puritanism and Radicalism.
To the conservative Puritans, it is of the utmost importance that Inquisition doctrine be upheld, and are often found persecuting those Inquisitors who are deemed heretical.
The pragmatic Radical Inquisitors follow the Imperial doctrines in spirit, believing that the ends justify the means, and find little value in adhering to convention too closely. They often try to fight fire with fire, using Chaos or alien weaponry, employing Daemonhosts, or committing other acts that would be deemed heretical by their more conservative brethren.
Inquisitors of both sides are found in great number, and while often at odds with each other, are equally interested in the survival of mankind and the defeat of its enemies. Puritans and Radicals are further divided into individual philosophies, leading to further friction...
Three hundred years ago Way Station Galvius DLXXVIII was a bustling port of trade and a central hub in the Galvius system. Thousands of trade ships passed through it's sphere of influence every standard cycle, melding cultures from all over the sector. It was home to hundreds of Imperial citizens, with hundreds more temporary residents, and at the very peak of it's success, for no reason at all, it disappeared.
Now, three hundred years later, it has reappeared on Imperial sensors, and the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition have sent one of their brightest, and youngest, Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne, to investigate, cleanse, and reclaim the station if possible, and destroy it if not. His personal vessel has been equipped with a battery of Laser Lances specifically for that purpose, and after three weeks in warp transit Inquisitor Osbourne and his retinue are eager to get underway.
"Madame Yolande, what is our current outgoing trajectory?"
"My Lord, we are currently two hours away from our exit point, We will be exiting the Immaterium approximately three hundred parsecs from our destination, requiring a further thirty minutes of sub-light travel via shuttle craft to dock with the station." Lady Yolande of the Navis Nobilite turned to her lord, Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne, handing him a dataslate with the ship's current readouts "Is this acceptable?"
He glanced at the data slate she handed him, "Mmh, this is perfect," He polished off the cup of tanna in his other hand with an audible sigh, "This ought to give the rest of the team ample time to make themselves presentable and gather in the briefing chamber." He walked over to his command throne and thumbed an activation rune, "All right people, you have about ten minutes to get into the briefing chamber, I'll be waiting. That is all."
An example of an Inquisitorial Dossier (A.K.A. your character sheet):
CANDIDATE RECORD
DATE: 0023052.M42
From the desk of Inquisitor Volsk Osbourne.
Citizen Identification Number: (example: xxxxx-xxx-ABCxxxx)
Name
First: MI: Last:
M: F:
Nicknames/Aliases:
Age:
Birthplace (City):
Birthplace (Planet):
Birthplace (Sector):
Birthplace (Segmentum):
Current Residence (Address):
Current Residence (City):
Current Residence (Planet):
Current Residence (System):
Current Residence (Sub-Sector):
Current Residence (Sector):
Current Residence (Segmentum):
Blood Type:
Height: (Metric Please)
Weight: (Again, Metric Please)
Eye Color:
Hair Color:
Physical Appearance:
Psychological Profile:
Psyker (Check One) Y: N:
If Yes What Category: (Use Imperial Assignment Scale. For an explanation of Assignment Scale See: http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/The_Assignment)
If Yes What Is/Are Their Psychic Abilitie(s):
Family (Alive or Deceased):
Personal Funds/ Monetary Assets:
Current Profession (If Applicable):
Skills and Aptitudes:
Personal History: (Be short and succinct, and use Imperial Dating System when writing individual events. For explanation of Imperial Dating System See: http://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Imperial_Dating_System)
Intelligence Quotient: Hopefully self explanatory
Neural Wavelength Frequency: Is a relative measure of the psychic abilities of a person, a baseline human will have 20-50 and the relative psychic power of an individual increases as their NWF increases, psychic blanks obviously have an NWF of 0 an alpha+ psyker would have an NWF of 1000 or more
Spacial Reasoning Score: relates to how well you can reason and use critical thinking skills to solve problems, is represented by a percentage ranging from 0% (Emperor help you...) to 100%
Linguistic Aptitude: Relates to how well you can speak, read, and write, your first language and any other languages you may know all contribute to this score, penmanship does not count, but grammar does. It is also represented by a percentage, which can be higher than 100% for people who are exceptional linguists, these people are rare however.
- 6 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
Artcuras was sitting at his desk, calmly reading from what reports on their destination he could find, that still existed in any useful and attainable form, of course. A rather bustling and successful feat of Imperial Trade, in the Galvius system, suddenly disappeared without a trace roughly 300 years ago. Not silent, not attacked, just gone, which was more akin to an Imperial Vessel vanishing in the warp, and being spat out Emperor knows how long later as a Space Hulk, fused with how many other vessels into some heretical nightmare of a mess. Emperor help those who had to clear those things, but that kind of activity didn't fit here, it was a void station, not a traveling vessel, and he believed something had to have claimed it, something strong enough to pull an entire station into the warp, and only spat it out now. He wished they had time to research any potentially darker history of the station further, but they clearly did not, both by the overall Inquisitorial command, and by Osbourne himself, calling out the formal briefing in ten minutes.
Knowing that call was bound to be coming, Arcturas was already in full carapace, the rebreather hanging from his neck as he stood, and grabbed his greatcoat and pulled it on over his twin slugthrowers, a pair of Stub Revolvers that his compatriots equally praised and mocked, for they were, round for round, individually more powerful, but carried fewer rounds than most other stub and auto pistols. Still, he preferred them, and it was his right to use the paired weapons, so he did so. Tugging the coat in place, he checked his inhibitor, making sure it was on and functioning as it should. It was, so his blank field would not affect anyone around him, so he strode out of his quarters, the door sealing behind him, and he did not take more than a few minutes to reach the briefing chamber, not being too early, and he bowed in greeting to Inquisitor Osbourne. "Good day, Inquisitor. Arcturas, reporting as requested." Straightening, he took his place at the wall, waiting for the others to show up before he seated himself.
Knowing that call was bound to be coming, Arcturas was already in full carapace, the rebreather hanging from his neck as he stood, and grabbed his greatcoat and pulled it on over his twin slugthrowers, a pair of Stub Revolvers that his compatriots equally praised and mocked, for they were, round for round, individually more powerful, but carried fewer rounds than most other stub and auto pistols. Still, he preferred them, and it was his right to use the paired weapons, so he did so. Tugging the coat in place, he checked his inhibitor, making sure it was on and functioning as it should. It was, so his blank field would not affect anyone around him, so he strode out of his quarters, the door sealing behind him, and he did not take more than a few minutes to reach the briefing chamber, not being too early, and he bowed in greeting to Inquisitor Osbourne. "Good day, Inquisitor. Arcturas, reporting as requested." Straightening, he took his place at the wall, waiting for the others to show up before he seated himself.
Deckard snapped awake from the light doze he'd slipped into, and out of another nightmare, one of the recurring ones that plagued his sleep. He never could remember the specifics, but there were two of them: The first involved his late wife, Elissia, and the raid that had killed her. No matter how fast he ran, how many of the foe he cut down, he was never fast enough. In truth, he'd been finalizing an agreement with the Cadian Kasrkin Academy to act as an instructor, and hadn't been in any sort of position to save her. The hab-block they'd resided in was flattened from orbit, and he'd spent the next seventeen hours holding the street corner outside of the Administratum building against what forces made it past the orbital defense batteries. The news had crushed him when he'd attempted to go home, and found he no longer had one. Deckard had left the Kasr that day, as soon as the shipping lanes were safe enough for travel.
The second was a lot more simple, a small reminder from his sub-conscious to train harder. He never could remember the details of the dream, but the general gist was that the stub-pistol in his hand didn't work, no matter how many immediate-action drills, reloads, or squeezes of the trigger, it simply wouldn't fire. The remedy for this one was simple, at least; he'd spend a few hours over the next few days drilling reloads, jam-clearances, dry-fire practice, close-combat drills, anything and everything he could think of until his own edge was as fine as he was capable of honing it without actual combat.
Swimming in the dark fog of the tail-end of a bottle of amasec, Deckard heaved himself upright on the cot. His alarm had another ten minutes before it went off; he'd given himself plenty of time to get cleaned up before the meeting in the briefing room. As usual, the specifics of the dream were foggy, but the cold sweat was a give-away. It'd been about Elissia again, he was sure of that. Blood-shot violet eyes drifted towards the small gilded frame on the table opposite the cot. While the frame was ornate, the pict itself was rather tattered. It was the last picture he had of her; he'd had it in his wallet at the time when she'd been taken from him, along with every other pict and memento he'd collected over the years.
Groggy, he swiped a meaty paw across his face, rubbing grit out of his eyes. Despite the dreams, he felt well-rested. Deckard cast a glance around the small room briefly, before hauling himself up out of the cot and more or less dragging himself into the small hygiene unit, cranking on the shower. He had an hour and ten standard minutes to get clean before they expected him, and he made the most of them. As he stepped out of the shower, he caught a glance of himself in the polished steel sheet that served as the mirror, above the small sink. Deckard was a large individual, constructed of slabs of tattooed and scarred muscle, his hair hadn't been trimmed in a while, and while it was still a neat high-fade, the brown hair was graying at the temples. His strong jaw line and square chin were covered with stubble, the same graying brown color as his hair. He looked every inch the old mercenary he was...
'Or an old drunk...'
Despite his abilities, Deckard didn't think highly of his own off-duty habits. Still, they let him sleep. He'd stayed away from the hard stuff, avoiding the drugs and tempering his borderline alcohol abuse with an intensive exercise regimen that allowed him to maintain his impressive physique. He dressed simply, throwing on the void-rated fatigues and rolling the sleeves up around his elbows, revealing forearms covered in Imperial script, High Gothic prayers and benedictions for both him and the fallen. While the Law of Legibility protected the fallen men in his team for as long as their grave-markers could be read, they'd be remembered forever inked in Deckard's flesh, sheathing his left fore-arm. The left bicep, hidden by the void-fatigues, was a large Cadian Gate motif. His right fore-arm was completely dedicated to prayers and benedictions, written in the same fine script as the names of the fallen. His right bicep, however, was dominated by the regimental banner of the Cadian 110th. A massive, battle-worn Aquila sat proudly on his broad chest, but it was hidden by the shirt. Aside from the arm tattoos, the only visible ink was his blood type, a simple 'A+' inked on his neck, above the line of the armor he was about to don.
Deckard gently kissed the plain golden ring hanging from the chain on his neck before tucking it into his fatigue top and shrugging the heavy carapace vest over his head. He'd staged the equipment the night before, already filling the magazines and speed-feed tubes for the Accatran MK IX with his preference of shells. All he had to do was buckle the clasps on the armor, and adjust the carapace knee-pads. Once he'd secured the vest, Deckard slapped a magazine into each of the Scipio stub-pistols, deftly cycling the slide and flicking the safety into the 'on' position before slipping the right one into its holster first, followed by the left one on the breast-plate of his carapace armor. Six magazines followed, three on either side of his belt. The knife was next, sliding into its sheath at the small of his back, below the survival pouch. The boots were next, followed by the gloves.
The last thing Deckard did before he left the room was open the action and slip a single anti-personnel load into the open breach before shucking it closed again. Slowly, he thumbed eight more into the under-barrel tube magazine and flicked the safety into the 'on' position before letting the weapon hang, tapping the rail-mounted stab-light to ensure function. He followed suit with the smaller hand-held model on his belt, and then assured himself that he'd remembered to fill the medical pouch with hemorrhage control gauze and a tourniquet. It was a basic set-up, but it had kept him alive more than once.
The brawny Cadian snatched his helmet up off the night-stand, checked the re-breather filter and the low-light vision batteries, then mag-clipped it behind his left shoulder, opposite the melta line-charges he'd opted for in the event they needed to breech a heavy bulkhead. Braddock was a foot-solider, unaccustomed to the concept of boarding actions, but there couldn't be a great deal of difference between clearing buildings and clearing a void-station. He'd find out soon enough. The luminators killed themselves as he left the room, his heavy boots ringing on the metal deck as he made his way towards the briefing room.
Inquisitor Osbourne was a new client, an unknown quantity. He'd come well-recommended through Deckard's contacts in the Ordo Hereticus, however, and Deckard was sure the opposite was also likely true. The communique was brief, and within a day or so he'd been on the Inquisitor's ship bound for whatever warp-damned location his order had deemed worthy of his attentions.
As he entered the briefing room, he nodded towards the Inquisitor and to the other man already there. He'd forgotten the fellow's name, but he remembered he was an Arbites of some type or description. There was also a vague sense of 'wrong' about the man, but Deckard wasn't able to put his finger on it. Instead, he simply leaned on the bulk-head next to the briefing room door, his augmentic lung faintly snap-hissing as he drew breath. His void-fatigues were a dark grey color, the armor matte-black like the gloves and the boots. Deckard debated on feeling around in one of his utility pouches for a cigar and a lighter, but thought better of it. For now, he'd content himself with simply standing...
The second was a lot more simple, a small reminder from his sub-conscious to train harder. He never could remember the details of the dream, but the general gist was that the stub-pistol in his hand didn't work, no matter how many immediate-action drills, reloads, or squeezes of the trigger, it simply wouldn't fire. The remedy for this one was simple, at least; he'd spend a few hours over the next few days drilling reloads, jam-clearances, dry-fire practice, close-combat drills, anything and everything he could think of until his own edge was as fine as he was capable of honing it without actual combat.
Swimming in the dark fog of the tail-end of a bottle of amasec, Deckard heaved himself upright on the cot. His alarm had another ten minutes before it went off; he'd given himself plenty of time to get cleaned up before the meeting in the briefing room. As usual, the specifics of the dream were foggy, but the cold sweat was a give-away. It'd been about Elissia again, he was sure of that. Blood-shot violet eyes drifted towards the small gilded frame on the table opposite the cot. While the frame was ornate, the pict itself was rather tattered. It was the last picture he had of her; he'd had it in his wallet at the time when she'd been taken from him, along with every other pict and memento he'd collected over the years.
Groggy, he swiped a meaty paw across his face, rubbing grit out of his eyes. Despite the dreams, he felt well-rested. Deckard cast a glance around the small room briefly, before hauling himself up out of the cot and more or less dragging himself into the small hygiene unit, cranking on the shower. He had an hour and ten standard minutes to get clean before they expected him, and he made the most of them. As he stepped out of the shower, he caught a glance of himself in the polished steel sheet that served as the mirror, above the small sink. Deckard was a large individual, constructed of slabs of tattooed and scarred muscle, his hair hadn't been trimmed in a while, and while it was still a neat high-fade, the brown hair was graying at the temples. His strong jaw line and square chin were covered with stubble, the same graying brown color as his hair. He looked every inch the old mercenary he was...
'Or an old drunk...'
Despite his abilities, Deckard didn't think highly of his own off-duty habits. Still, they let him sleep. He'd stayed away from the hard stuff, avoiding the drugs and tempering his borderline alcohol abuse with an intensive exercise regimen that allowed him to maintain his impressive physique. He dressed simply, throwing on the void-rated fatigues and rolling the sleeves up around his elbows, revealing forearms covered in Imperial script, High Gothic prayers and benedictions for both him and the fallen. While the Law of Legibility protected the fallen men in his team for as long as their grave-markers could be read, they'd be remembered forever inked in Deckard's flesh, sheathing his left fore-arm. The left bicep, hidden by the void-fatigues, was a large Cadian Gate motif. His right fore-arm was completely dedicated to prayers and benedictions, written in the same fine script as the names of the fallen. His right bicep, however, was dominated by the regimental banner of the Cadian 110th. A massive, battle-worn Aquila sat proudly on his broad chest, but it was hidden by the shirt. Aside from the arm tattoos, the only visible ink was his blood type, a simple 'A+' inked on his neck, above the line of the armor he was about to don.
Deckard gently kissed the plain golden ring hanging from the chain on his neck before tucking it into his fatigue top and shrugging the heavy carapace vest over his head. He'd staged the equipment the night before, already filling the magazines and speed-feed tubes for the Accatran MK IX with his preference of shells. All he had to do was buckle the clasps on the armor, and adjust the carapace knee-pads. Once he'd secured the vest, Deckard slapped a magazine into each of the Scipio stub-pistols, deftly cycling the slide and flicking the safety into the 'on' position before slipping the right one into its holster first, followed by the left one on the breast-plate of his carapace armor. Six magazines followed, three on either side of his belt. The knife was next, sliding into its sheath at the small of his back, below the survival pouch. The boots were next, followed by the gloves.
The last thing Deckard did before he left the room was open the action and slip a single anti-personnel load into the open breach before shucking it closed again. Slowly, he thumbed eight more into the under-barrel tube magazine and flicked the safety into the 'on' position before letting the weapon hang, tapping the rail-mounted stab-light to ensure function. He followed suit with the smaller hand-held model on his belt, and then assured himself that he'd remembered to fill the medical pouch with hemorrhage control gauze and a tourniquet. It was a basic set-up, but it had kept him alive more than once.
The brawny Cadian snatched his helmet up off the night-stand, checked the re-breather filter and the low-light vision batteries, then mag-clipped it behind his left shoulder, opposite the melta line-charges he'd opted for in the event they needed to breech a heavy bulkhead. Braddock was a foot-solider, unaccustomed to the concept of boarding actions, but there couldn't be a great deal of difference between clearing buildings and clearing a void-station. He'd find out soon enough. The luminators killed themselves as he left the room, his heavy boots ringing on the metal deck as he made his way towards the briefing room.
Inquisitor Osbourne was a new client, an unknown quantity. He'd come well-recommended through Deckard's contacts in the Ordo Hereticus, however, and Deckard was sure the opposite was also likely true. The communique was brief, and within a day or so he'd been on the Inquisitor's ship bound for whatever warp-damned location his order had deemed worthy of his attentions.
As he entered the briefing room, he nodded towards the Inquisitor and to the other man already there. He'd forgotten the fellow's name, but he remembered he was an Arbites of some type or description. There was also a vague sense of 'wrong' about the man, but Deckard wasn't able to put his finger on it. Instead, he simply leaned on the bulk-head next to the briefing room door, his augmentic lung faintly snap-hissing as he drew breath. His void-fatigues were a dark grey color, the armor matte-black like the gloves and the boots. Deckard debated on feeling around in one of his utility pouches for a cigar and a lighter, but thought better of it. For now, he'd content himself with simply standing...
Arkus looked at himself hard in the mirror once again. It was the first time he’d really used it. Possibly the first time he’d ever used one, he wasn’t quite sure. He had no idea why he had felt the sudden impulse to observe his body after ritually purifying it prior to dressing for the coming mission. He slowly traced his hand across the ugly seams and scars where flesh met metal and biology became bionic. The only thing that sprang to mind was how frail he looked.
‘You don’t look like a soldier…’ he thought over and over again. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have minded, but he had accessed the secure pict feeds of the other personnel that would be accompanying him when assisting with some routine maintenance, and seen that they were warriors all. From experience he knew that strength only respected strength, and Arkus certainly didn’t look like he had any strength. Now that he saw himself he realised you wouldn’t guess he was capable of tipping a Chimera single-handedly by looking at him. He almost looked spindly enough that he would struggle to lift a book.
Suddenly it dawned on him why people always assumed he was going to be a burden or a liability despite his lengthy combat record. ‘You just don’t look tough enough…’ he mused. Let them think what they would. The Inquisitor was aware of his skills and that was enough. He briefly wondered how the Inquisitor had changed in the years since they last met. Arkus prayed to the Omnissiah that he had learnt the value of patience and caution or he had a feeling that this would be a very short mission.
Then again, Arkus was struggling to shake the sense that this might be his final undertaking as it was. Ever since Bek’s World he had had a sense of impending doom, and he knew where its origins lay. The Tyranids. That chittering mass of teeth and claws had shaken his belief in the Omnissiah more than anything he had ever experienced. All his life he had been taught that the flesh was weak and the machine strong, but he had seen with his own eyes that that wasn’t always the case. Briefly an overlay appeared recalling footage of whole formations of Leman Russ tanks drowning beneath a tide of flesh, but he removed it almost immediately. He had no wish to see the battle that had nearly destroyed his regiment again.
At the end of the day, none of that mattered. He would do his duty to Imperium and Omnissiah, and if that meant giving his life he would. The soldiers would tolerate him for the knowledge he possessed until such time as he had proven himself to them. So it had always been, so it would be. There was a chime as the intercom activated, snapping him from his thoughts. The Inquisitor gave a ten minute warning, and a countdown timer overlaid itself on the edge of his vision automatically. Arkus briefly considered whether or not he should arrive early. If this were a Mechanicum operation everyone would arrive exactly on time, but in the past several generals had found this somewhat irritating. Magos Erhardt had been very clear in his transfer orders that he was to do anything in his power to keep the Inquisitor happy, and promote the role of the Mechanicus as much as possible provided that did not mean giving up any secrets. Better to be early then, in case that was what the Inquisitor was expecting. It took him just two minutes to dress and gather his equipment, all pre-prepared since a week before. He spared a thought for all the machines lying around his room that would likely never be repaired, before commanding Jorma to follow him and striding from the room without looking back.
It was a minute’s walk to the briefing room, and Arkus used this time to review the information he had on the Waystation. He was still trying to work out what could have caused it to disappear. It didn’t have a warp drive, so it couldn’t have vanished the way many space hulks did. He knew from bitter experience that the Eldar had the technology to make ships disappear, but he had never heard of them taking something the size of a Waystation and struggled to find a reason for them to do so. Despite all his knowledge this was something he simply couldn’t explain, and that made him uneasy. That feeling of foreboding began to creep to the surface again, and he crushed it brutally, activating several emotion-suppressant systems. This was no time for doubts.
Ceremonial axe clanking rhythmically from the floor of the ship, Arkus strode into the briefing room and noted with some disappointment that only two individuals were there before him. That meant that he probably could’ve spent the remaining seven minutes fixing something without irking the Inquisitor. He would remember that in future. Nodding to the Inquisitor he strode to the far end of the room without even glancing at the other two men, the whine of Jorma’s servos obediently echoing his own footfalls, before standing behind a chair as they were. Evidently this was some form of etiquette, that was surely the only reason that they would choose to stand when sitting was more efficient.
Whilst he may have looked frail in the mirror he knew from experience that when he was in full battle-dress, with just the two glowing green dots of his eyes shining out from the darkness beneath his hood and his mechadendrites twitching occasionally of their own accord, he cut an unsettling enough figure. For once he almost took pleasure in that fact, as he waited for the briefing to begin…
‘You don’t look like a soldier…’ he thought over and over again. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have minded, but he had accessed the secure pict feeds of the other personnel that would be accompanying him when assisting with some routine maintenance, and seen that they were warriors all. From experience he knew that strength only respected strength, and Arkus certainly didn’t look like he had any strength. Now that he saw himself he realised you wouldn’t guess he was capable of tipping a Chimera single-handedly by looking at him. He almost looked spindly enough that he would struggle to lift a book.
Suddenly it dawned on him why people always assumed he was going to be a burden or a liability despite his lengthy combat record. ‘You just don’t look tough enough…’ he mused. Let them think what they would. The Inquisitor was aware of his skills and that was enough. He briefly wondered how the Inquisitor had changed in the years since they last met. Arkus prayed to the Omnissiah that he had learnt the value of patience and caution or he had a feeling that this would be a very short mission.
Then again, Arkus was struggling to shake the sense that this might be his final undertaking as it was. Ever since Bek’s World he had had a sense of impending doom, and he knew where its origins lay. The Tyranids. That chittering mass of teeth and claws had shaken his belief in the Omnissiah more than anything he had ever experienced. All his life he had been taught that the flesh was weak and the machine strong, but he had seen with his own eyes that that wasn’t always the case. Briefly an overlay appeared recalling footage of whole formations of Leman Russ tanks drowning beneath a tide of flesh, but he removed it almost immediately. He had no wish to see the battle that had nearly destroyed his regiment again.
At the end of the day, none of that mattered. He would do his duty to Imperium and Omnissiah, and if that meant giving his life he would. The soldiers would tolerate him for the knowledge he possessed until such time as he had proven himself to them. So it had always been, so it would be. There was a chime as the intercom activated, snapping him from his thoughts. The Inquisitor gave a ten minute warning, and a countdown timer overlaid itself on the edge of his vision automatically. Arkus briefly considered whether or not he should arrive early. If this were a Mechanicum operation everyone would arrive exactly on time, but in the past several generals had found this somewhat irritating. Magos Erhardt had been very clear in his transfer orders that he was to do anything in his power to keep the Inquisitor happy, and promote the role of the Mechanicus as much as possible provided that did not mean giving up any secrets. Better to be early then, in case that was what the Inquisitor was expecting. It took him just two minutes to dress and gather his equipment, all pre-prepared since a week before. He spared a thought for all the machines lying around his room that would likely never be repaired, before commanding Jorma to follow him and striding from the room without looking back.
It was a minute’s walk to the briefing room, and Arkus used this time to review the information he had on the Waystation. He was still trying to work out what could have caused it to disappear. It didn’t have a warp drive, so it couldn’t have vanished the way many space hulks did. He knew from bitter experience that the Eldar had the technology to make ships disappear, but he had never heard of them taking something the size of a Waystation and struggled to find a reason for them to do so. Despite all his knowledge this was something he simply couldn’t explain, and that made him uneasy. That feeling of foreboding began to creep to the surface again, and he crushed it brutally, activating several emotion-suppressant systems. This was no time for doubts.
Ceremonial axe clanking rhythmically from the floor of the ship, Arkus strode into the briefing room and noted with some disappointment that only two individuals were there before him. That meant that he probably could’ve spent the remaining seven minutes fixing something without irking the Inquisitor. He would remember that in future. Nodding to the Inquisitor he strode to the far end of the room without even glancing at the other two men, the whine of Jorma’s servos obediently echoing his own footfalls, before standing behind a chair as they were. Evidently this was some form of etiquette, that was surely the only reason that they would choose to stand when sitting was more efficient.
Whilst he may have looked frail in the mirror he knew from experience that when he was in full battle-dress, with just the two glowing green dots of his eyes shining out from the darkness beneath his hood and his mechadendrites twitching occasionally of their own accord, he cut an unsettling enough figure. For once he almost took pleasure in that fact, as he waited for the briefing to begin…
Aina sat at the desk in her quarters, checking over the last reports of Waystation Galvius for the countless time. And there was still nothing, nothing to give even the slightest hint as to why the station had disappeared from the face of the galaxy. A Warp storm seemed the most likely answer, it's foul nature constantly unpredictable and dangerous. Entire planets had been swallowed up in it's fury and lost forever. But there had been a sign of such an occurrence, the storms rarely appeared and evaporated so quickly. And now the station had reappeared after centuries. A curious and disturbing matter. One that Aina intended to investigate fully.
Her contemplation was interrupted as a tinny voice came from the room's communicator, indicting Inquisitor Osbourne's order for her to report to the bridge. She grimaced briefly as she pulled on her hat and overcoat over her armor. Aina did not relish the thought of being subordinate to an Inquisitor of such youth, much less with his blatantly unorthodox retinue. She had scarcely believed the crewmen she had questioned when they spoke of the presence of a greenskin, but of course they would be quite foolish to lie to an Inquisitor. At least that was the worst of it, the rest of her brief and polite investigations amidst the ship revealing the usual manner of mercenaries and assorted Imperial personnel. Of course, the priority was the matter of Waystation Galvius. The presence of Chaos was likely, and the orders by her own superior had been to cooperate and see to the quarantine of any heresy that could come from the situation. The opportunity to observe such a young and upcoming member of the Ordo Xenos was left unspoken. She checked over her assorted weapons, the laspistol and power sword on her belt, and various other smaller weapons concealed in her armor. Finally Aina checked that her Inquisitorial seal was displayed proudly around her neck, and then she made her way to the bridge.
Glancing around the bridge as she entered, Aina took note of the others, nodding briefly to them. She did not stand by them, instead moving to the side, in front of the group but not beside Osbourne. After all, she was hardly a common mercenary or Imperial grunt, but this was still his command. She bowed her head respectfully to the Inquisitor, though her gaze did not lower in deference.
Her contemplation was interrupted as a tinny voice came from the room's communicator, indicting Inquisitor Osbourne's order for her to report to the bridge. She grimaced briefly as she pulled on her hat and overcoat over her armor. Aina did not relish the thought of being subordinate to an Inquisitor of such youth, much less with his blatantly unorthodox retinue. She had scarcely believed the crewmen she had questioned when they spoke of the presence of a greenskin, but of course they would be quite foolish to lie to an Inquisitor. At least that was the worst of it, the rest of her brief and polite investigations amidst the ship revealing the usual manner of mercenaries and assorted Imperial personnel. Of course, the priority was the matter of Waystation Galvius. The presence of Chaos was likely, and the orders by her own superior had been to cooperate and see to the quarantine of any heresy that could come from the situation. The opportunity to observe such a young and upcoming member of the Ordo Xenos was left unspoken. She checked over her assorted weapons, the laspistol and power sword on her belt, and various other smaller weapons concealed in her armor. Finally Aina checked that her Inquisitorial seal was displayed proudly around her neck, and then she made her way to the bridge.
Glancing around the bridge as she entered, Aina took note of the others, nodding briefly to them. She did not stand by them, instead moving to the side, in front of the group but not beside Osbourne. After all, she was hardly a common mercenary or Imperial grunt, but this was still his command. She bowed her head respectfully to the Inquisitor, though her gaze did not lower in deference.
Letting out a loud sigh, Caroline placed the dataslate on her desk and rubbed her one good eye. She had just come from war zone and she was now being thrust into a... a what? Search and destroy? Liberate? She didn't know what to make of the mission. Apparently this station had vanished without a single trace 300 terra years ago and had recently showed up on Imperial radar, and from what meager information she had been given, this station had not been an overly popular place for pirates to visit, so the assumption that the whole station had been hijacked was out of the window. Whatever the case was, this Inquisitor Volsk had gone a great length to get his hands on Caroline, who was just released from intensive care and long overdue to return to her regiment for retraining and redeployment.
"Argh bullocks," Caroline cursed, using common underhive Scintilla slang. Her biotic eye had repaired since her confrontation with the orks on the Imperial colony Zel Tertius, though every now and then it would 'twitch' just painful enough for it to be annoying. Additionally, an ork grenade had exploded dangerously close to the back of her head, and she had a metal plate inserted to protect her brain (thankfully they had done it well enough for her to take showers).
She then began to clean her laspistol, just to be certain that it would live up to her (strict) regimental standards. Caroline hadn't brought much more than her usual equipment with her (she honestly didn't have anything else) and had been placed at the deeper and farther end of the ship, closer to the machines, much to her comfort, though she had not encountered the Inquisitor in person, or anyone else that he may had enlisted. Caroline had instead spend time amongst the slave leaders, and (re)cleaning her uniform and las weapons, something her strict regiment had slowly made her enjoy.
Many non-Scintillans had mistaken her regiment for PDF troops, or parade glorified soldiers, as their uniforms were unrealistically well maintained though it was seen as a crucial part of the regiment's discipline, and in Caroline's case, it had paid off. Being a former underhive ganger, she had been force conscripted by Scintilla and the military training had brought control over her otherwise renegade behavior, though some habit never truly died, and Caroline had her fair share of scars from that habit.
Though Caroline was usually the exception, the left side of her face had been deformed from boiling hot steam during a boarding assault on an eldar ship, blinding her left eye and it was subsequently replaced with an unstable biotic eye instead.
"Well, time to get serious." Caroline said to herself as she noted the time was getting closer for the debriefing meeting. Having set up her uniform and equipment in an emergency response manner, Caroline was swiftly in her sharp uniform. Checking herself in her mirror she made sure that minor adjustments were made in order to look better presentable in front of an Inquisitor, and for the sake of ceremony, she only brought along her laspistol, and as always, she wore her red beret with a golden aquila attached.
The march through the ship was good for her, being hiveborn she had a natural instinct for finding her way around ships and give her hot temper it was usually a good thing for her to walk some steam off before the debriefing. As she stepped into the debriefing room, she saluted as she would to any superior officer, "Sergeant-Major Caroline Holsten reporting for duty milord...s" Caroline quickly added as she saw there were two inquisitors present, plus those who took the time to read her facial expression could see she was clearly taken aback by this fact. Nevertheless, she placed herself closer to the large soldier, though with enough distance for it not to be uncomfortable. She then spend a brief moment looking at the other members that had showed up.
Well, at least we will have two that will know which end of a gun to use, Caroline thought as she had finished looking at the large man she stood closest to. So far the only issue she could pull up was his facial expression; he looked too stern for Caroline's liking (which was a lot considering her regiment was modelled after the Mordian Iron Guard), though his tats of imperial writing and prayers served to assure her that the man was loyal to the Imperium.
A tech-priest. Good, our weapons won't jam and any technical problems can be dealt with properly, she thought as she looked at the servant of the Omnissiah. Caroline had seen a good deal of tech-priests during her tours with the Scintilla 234th, especially when their light cruiser needed refueling and checkups, though she had rarely spoken to them unless her equipment couldn't be fixed.
When she came to the arbiter looking man, she stopped and gave him a hard look. Though pass her ganger times, her experiences with the lawmen had never been a friendly one, I know the Inquisitor has his reasons but why the hell him? We don't need the lawmen coming and poking their noses in war business.
Finally, Caroline turned to the other Inquisitor, giving her a quick look as for not look disrespectful, I'll be damned. Two Inquisitors. Shit just got serious.
"Argh bullocks," Caroline cursed, using common underhive Scintilla slang. Her biotic eye had repaired since her confrontation with the orks on the Imperial colony Zel Tertius, though every now and then it would 'twitch' just painful enough for it to be annoying. Additionally, an ork grenade had exploded dangerously close to the back of her head, and she had a metal plate inserted to protect her brain (thankfully they had done it well enough for her to take showers).
She then began to clean her laspistol, just to be certain that it would live up to her (strict) regimental standards. Caroline hadn't brought much more than her usual equipment with her (she honestly didn't have anything else) and had been placed at the deeper and farther end of the ship, closer to the machines, much to her comfort, though she had not encountered the Inquisitor in person, or anyone else that he may had enlisted. Caroline had instead spend time amongst the slave leaders, and (re)cleaning her uniform and las weapons, something her strict regiment had slowly made her enjoy.
Many non-Scintillans had mistaken her regiment for PDF troops, or parade glorified soldiers, as their uniforms were unrealistically well maintained though it was seen as a crucial part of the regiment's discipline, and in Caroline's case, it had paid off. Being a former underhive ganger, she had been force conscripted by Scintilla and the military training had brought control over her otherwise renegade behavior, though some habit never truly died, and Caroline had her fair share of scars from that habit.
Though Caroline was usually the exception, the left side of her face had been deformed from boiling hot steam during a boarding assault on an eldar ship, blinding her left eye and it was subsequently replaced with an unstable biotic eye instead.
"Well, time to get serious." Caroline said to herself as she noted the time was getting closer for the debriefing meeting. Having set up her uniform and equipment in an emergency response manner, Caroline was swiftly in her sharp uniform. Checking herself in her mirror she made sure that minor adjustments were made in order to look better presentable in front of an Inquisitor, and for the sake of ceremony, she only brought along her laspistol, and as always, she wore her red beret with a golden aquila attached.
The march through the ship was good for her, being hiveborn she had a natural instinct for finding her way around ships and give her hot temper it was usually a good thing for her to walk some steam off before the debriefing. As she stepped into the debriefing room, she saluted as she would to any superior officer, "Sergeant-Major Caroline Holsten reporting for duty milord...s" Caroline quickly added as she saw there were two inquisitors present, plus those who took the time to read her facial expression could see she was clearly taken aback by this fact. Nevertheless, she placed herself closer to the large soldier, though with enough distance for it not to be uncomfortable. She then spend a brief moment looking at the other members that had showed up.
Well, at least we will have two that will know which end of a gun to use, Caroline thought as she had finished looking at the large man she stood closest to. So far the only issue she could pull up was his facial expression; he looked too stern for Caroline's liking (which was a lot considering her regiment was modelled after the Mordian Iron Guard), though his tats of imperial writing and prayers served to assure her that the man was loyal to the Imperium.
A tech-priest. Good, our weapons won't jam and any technical problems can be dealt with properly, she thought as she looked at the servant of the Omnissiah. Caroline had seen a good deal of tech-priests during her tours with the Scintilla 234th, especially when their light cruiser needed refueling and checkups, though she had rarely spoken to them unless her equipment couldn't be fixed.
When she came to the arbiter looking man, she stopped and gave him a hard look. Though pass her ganger times, her experiences with the lawmen had never been a friendly one, I know the Inquisitor has his reasons but why the hell him? We don't need the lawmen coming and poking their noses in war business.
Finally, Caroline turned to the other Inquisitor, giving her a quick look as for not look disrespectful, I'll be damned. Two Inquisitors. Shit just got serious.
All right people, you have about ten minutes to get into the briefing chamber,
I'll be waiting. That is all.
I'll be waiting. That is all.
The voice echoed loudly within the simplistic chambers that Varus had been assigned upon arrival causing the Vindicare to sigh softly to himself before resuming what he had been doing. Laid out on the table in front of him was an assortment of parts which at first glance seemed that several looked almost archaic while others seemed almost outlandish and bizarre; yet to his eyes were simply tiny parts of his soul awaiting assembly so that he would be complete again. He felt his jaw twist slightly as a wry smile marred his features for a moment as his delicate hands danced across the brushed metal surface, ignoring the summons for the moment. Lightly lifting components and slotting them together, faint clicks followed by soft hisses of air as tubes became joined and sections began to realign. In a matter of seconds his hands now rested on the fully assembled Exitus Rifle. His soulmate. Viktoria.
He chuckled softly at the odd attachment to his weapon, something that Luna had always chided him for at the schola. Shaking his head slowly to dislodge the memories of his life before, he lifted it up and rested it against his shoulder, testing the weight and dialling in the ranges and measurements. It wasn’t needed. He’d done this a hundred times since boarding the ship and thousands if not millions of times before that. But some habits die hard, and he’d never live it down if the one time he didn’t check his tools they failed him. Flicking the safety leaver into place and locking the weapon down, he holstered it behind his back into the mag-clasps running the length of his stealth suit, his fingers lingering on the well-worn grooves left in the leather and metal handle from his years of use.
Cracking his neck to the right he rotated his shoulders to loosen the muscles slightly before tracing his eyes along the rows of bullets that lined almost every surface. Many were simple armour piercing rounds with little purpose than ripping through the ‘righteous’ armour that protected many a fool from his sudden death. Though it would be petty to call any tool of the Officio simple, since the armour these had been designed to pierce included those of the Adeptus Astartes, after all, targets were targets. His suit was already covered in several pockets of bullets designed for much more dangerous targets than a space marine, though he did wonder given his assignments vagueness exactly what would be needed here.
Shrugging to himself he reached down and lifted up his mask, fitting it over his head and securing the seals against even the vacuum of space itself, before picking up the camo-cloak from his bed and fastening it around his shoulders. He walked over to the doorway and activated security protocols and mechanisms that had been installed when he moved his equipment in and duly made his way towards this meeting. After all he was only running down to less than a few minutes to arrive on time, but then for all they know he could have been there all along. He smiles to himself letting his fingers caress the equally worn handle of his Exitus pistol, the twin to his Viktoria, as his suit and cloak wavered faintly as they began to warp his visibility slightly before he deactivated their system for the moment.
As he reached the doorway into the meeting room he took a soft breath before touching the activation rune to open it. He stroke in calmly and without fear, even though he raised his eyebrow behind his glowing green eye plate at the sight of not one but two inquisitors. Clearly this was unlikely to be a mission that he was going to enjoy. Looking towards the current leader of the ground he nodded towards him and spoke softly, his voice crackling slightly through the vox systems of his mask.
“Good Evening, Inquisitors. Reporting as requested."
He then took up position leaning against the wall nearest the door and watching events more closely, with his mechanical eye examining the other members already in assembly as well as these two Inquisitors in an attempt to discover any immediate threats from them before whatever was to occur did so.
- 6 posts here • Page 1 of 1
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View All » Add Character » 12 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Captain Alaric Helldorn Teutonicus
"Inquisitor Osbourne, I am to be your shield and sword against any and all physical threats."
Aina Harker
"Live for the Imperium, die for the Emperor."
Deckard Braddock
"I'm not paid for my witty one-liners. Get out of my face..."
Varus Ibram
Exitus Acta Probat: The Outcome Justifies The Deed.
Tiberius Metallus Sacrimentum
"Life is the Emperor's currency; spend it well" (WIP, sorry it's late will finish in the morning)
Arkus Dylock
"Ah, a challenge worthy of my skill."
Caroline Holsten
"I'll gut 'em if a butter knife if I have to!"
Grag Badruk
"I live ta serve da finehst man of da Emprah!"
Grit
"Yuu be 'ard, but are ya dead 'ard?"
Clarissa Harding
"What's a girl without her muscle?"
Trending
Caroline Holsten
"I'll gut 'em if a butter knife if I have to!"
Tiberius Metallus Sacrimentum
"Life is the Emperor's currency; spend it well" (WIP, sorry it's late will finish in the morning)
Grag Badruk
"I live ta serve da finehst man of da Emprah!"
Captain Alaric Helldorn Teutonicus
"Inquisitor Osbourne, I am to be your shield and sword against any and all physical threats."
Detective Arcturas Serdali
Detective of the Adeptus Arbites, and Psionic Blank
Grit
"Yuu be 'ard, but are ya dead 'ard?"
Varus Ibram
Exitus Acta Probat: The Outcome Justifies The Deed.
Clarissa Harding
"What's a girl without her muscle?"
Aina Harker
"Live for the Imperium, die for the Emperor."
Arkus Dylock
"Ah, a challenge worthy of my skill."
Most Followed
Varus Ibram
Exitus Acta Probat: The Outcome Justifies The Deed.
Aina Harker
"Live for the Imperium, die for the Emperor."
Caroline Holsten
"I'll gut 'em if a butter knife if I have to!"
Clarissa Harding
"What's a girl without her muscle?"
Detective Arcturas Serdali
Detective of the Adeptus Arbites, and Psionic Blank
Grit
"Yuu be 'ard, but are ya dead 'ard?"
Arkus Dylock
"Ah, a challenge worthy of my skill."
Grag Badruk
"I live ta serve da finehst man of da Emprah!"
Deckard Braddock
"I'm not paid for my witty one-liners. Get out of my face..."
Captain Alaric Helldorn Teutonicus
"Inquisitor Osbourne, I am to be your shield and sword against any and all physical threats."
Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » Waystation Galvius: Out of Character
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Waystation Galvius
1 ... 8, 9, 10by cha-kun on Fri Jul 19, 2013 3:37 pm
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Waystation Galvius
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Real Life Only War RP [complete]
1, 2by Saxious on Thu Aug 22, 2013 8:36 am
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Real Life Only War RP [complete]
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Personal kit and quarters
by cha-kun on Fri Jul 19, 2013 5:18 pm
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on Wed Jul 31, 2013 10:09 pm
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Personal kit and quarters
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