[@Kratesis][@Andreyich][@jbeil][@BCTheEntity]


Taniea Primus was a planet not unlike that of Ancient Terra in geographical composition, a planet made up of several continents, with expansive oceans and varying zones – from temperate areas where the rains fell often, to scorching hot deserts and two poles of frozen ice; the planet also had a population of some five billion souls spread across it, most living in miniature hive-cities, mostly unlike the cavernous and immense bee-hive cities of other planets but still able to house millions of loyal Imperial citizens, just as many choosing to dwell in the wide open spaces of the Taniean Steppes or elsewhere away from the cities.

It was in one of the planets mountain ranges that the Preceptory of the Order had been constructed centuries ago, one side of the mountain hollowed and out and consecrated as hallowed ground by members of the Ecclesiarchy who accompanied the Sisters on their crusade of flame and blade across the sector during its earliest days. Within the range was created the Orders headquarters in the sector, a titanic series of halls and chambers beneath arching ceilings and towering spires – the pointed tips of which brushed roof of the highest caverns – combining monastic and Gothic architecture with a military installation defended by a veritable army of highly trained warrior-women and numerous missile silos and embedded defence batteries.

Inquisitor Kliment was [b]not[/b] all that impressed however, having seen far greater edifices to the God-Emperors glory in his hundred-and-thirty years serving His most holy of organisations. Here was a man who had seen things that would turn a mere citizens bladder to water, their hair grey, and likely as not their body inside out; it had been his utmost honour to fight against the vile filth of the witch and heretic, and now he was here on Taniea Primus to begin one more another such errand in His most blessed name.

Brushing gloved a hand through his snow-white hair, his bionic left eye whirring a little as he focused on the woman standing ramrod-straight next to him, Kliment gave a smile that made his acid-burnt face seem as if it were a piece of meat stretched tightly over his skull...which it was.

“Canoness,” he said with a quiet cough, catching the attention of the mature figurehead of the Preceptory and receiving a stern glare, “erm...were they not supposed to be here some hours ago? Surely something has not happened to them.”

Coming into her eighty-seventh year, yet still handsome in the way of a more developed woman, the Canoness-Preceptor was everything that a Sororitas should be and more. Standing at somewhere around six feet and two inches, the same height as many men, her flawless pale skin was covered in the usual power armour of the Order – trimmed with a specifically gold edge, and the vestments beneath of a rich purple to show her rank – with her sharp-cheeked and thin-lipped face framed by a bob of white hair, naturally that colour rather than the sometimes dyed hair of others. On one hip she wore a Sororitas pattern bolt pistol, a power sword sheathed and inert for the moment on her other. In one hand she clutched a string of prayer beads, locking her stormy grey eyes onto Kliment momentarily before deigning to reply; when she did speak her voice was oddly youthful, her tone like that of a fresh-faced innocent, rather than the trained killer she was.

“My dear Inquisitor,” she responded softly, her eyes moving down to take in the shimmering rosette nestled in the centre of his chest for the third time in the last hour, the waistcoat he wore beneath his long-tailed jacket holding it neatly in place, “their Aquila may not be on time, but they shall be here. You have my word.”

Before Kliment could make some quip or other about the tardiness of the Sororitas they were interrupted by a young novitiate, her sparkling eyes peering at him as if he had just stepped from the pages of legend, the girl – for she was no more than a girl, judging by her demeanour and the robes she wore – turning quickly to Aubrie and making the sign of the Aquila.

“The lander has arrived, Canoness-Preceptor, they are being shown through now.”


[hr]


“Follow me, please, and do keep up.”

Sister-Celestian Victorine lead the just arrived group of fellow Sororitas (and one Confessor with extravagant facial hair!) from the confines of the Aquila lander, taking them down off of the landing platform and into the mountains, down a winding staircase of some seventy steps worn smooth by constant usage, and into the main nave of the Preceptory; everywhere one looked there were dedications to the Emperor and the Imperium at large, from statues of saints to busts in alcoves of heroes and heroines of the Imperium, stain glass windows illuminated by some artificial light source (for the entire place was encased within the mountains after all) that gave the entire place a more sanctified feel overall. Here and there went huddled groups of Sisters, or lone wanderers of the halls, many clad in the white habits or training fatigues of the Militant Order, all going about their duties with the utmost dedication and ceremony.

It took half an hour to reach the hall in which the Inquisitor and the Canoness-Preceptor stood, both turning to watch as the group of some two dozen or so assemble in a rough semi-circle before them, Victorine saluting her superior and gesturing to the group.

“The requested assistance, Canoness-Preceptor.”

Victorine Blandine was a women of very few words, often finding that it was true what they said about actions speaking louder, a veteran of a dozen conflicts and with the multitude of scars to prove it; from head-to-toe she had the bearing of a fighter, straight backed and broad-shouldered, around five feet and ten inches in height and with full lips that very rarely were set in anything but a calm slash across her otherwise serene features. Unlike many of her sisters she was of a darker copper skin tone, her hair somewhat longer than that of others and a deep chestnut in colour, eyes of an equally heavy brown looking out from arched brows.

Such was the way it was when one was born and raised on a Feral world.

As with all those assembled she wore the power armour of her Order, yet for some reason she seemed to truly [i]fit[/i] it – or it fit her – as if even without it she would still be able to propagate war in the Emperor's name and come out on top.

“You have all been chosen!” Aubrie pronounced with somewhat of a smile, her voice echoing from the arched ceiling, light flooding the wide and otherwise empty chamber, “and and shall be accompanying Inquisitor Kliment in his appointed task.”

Kliment stepped forward and inspected the mass, his eyes resting particularly on the Confessor who stood out from the women around him, the Ecclesiarchy apparently not finding it prudent to send him any more than this. Well, it was more than he had hoped for from those crusty old fools.

“Who is it I have the pleasure of honouring with protecting my life in the heat of battle? Speak up now and let me know you.”