RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION pt.1 #3
Inquisitor Darkhour stared wearily at the piles that covered his desk. Dataslates, scrolls, books and loose parchments cluttered every inch of visible surface space. Multi-pronged candelabras line the perimeter of the room creating deep shadows and flickering pockets of light. With a groan, the Inquisitor rises from his chair and reaches for another dataslate. As he begins reading he walks a casual path around the circumference of his. He snaps his twice, quick, sharp noises that shatter the silence. Almost instantly a blank-faced servitor, its legs replaced by triangular treads, rolls out of the shadow, presenting a silver tray holding glasses. ice and a bottle of Amsec. He momentarily stops his patrol to fix himself a drink and then, glass in hand he resumes his combination of pacing and reading. Hours go by in the same manner, Inquisitor Darkhour only stopping to switch out dataslates. For each new dataslate, a fresh drink in hand. Finally, he reaches the end of the last report, disguarding it with a toss, he slumps back down into his chair with a contented sigh. He had finally come to a decision, perhaps the most important decision of a 1000 lives over a 1000 lifetimes…he had chosen his Kill-Team. 

He had not come to this decision lightly, he had browsed through hundreds of worthy candidate profiles. He had been selective to the point to suspicion, or so some of the other members of the Inquisition thought. Darkhour had even delayed the deployment of the Righteous Indignation twice since the repairs had been completed. So long had she sat idle, the servitor-crew had time to repair most of the nonessential damage as well, the signs of any kind of imperfection now invisible to the human eye. Watch Fortress and Stations from across the cosmos had sent him progress reports and personnel files on hundreds Astartes and he had diligently combed through all, looking for the secret traits in each he desired. 

Looking over the list of names one last time he slowly nodded his head in acceptance. Grabbing his glass from the desk Inquisitor Darkhour quickly drained its contents with a toss back of his head, slamming the empty glass down in satisfaction. Leaning back in his chair, the antique wood frame creaks as he shifts his weight, he begins to speak with the confidence of one who knows his commands will be explicitly followed. His blue eyes sparkle in the flickering light and a thin smile creeps across his lips as he speaks.

“Kill-Team, report to Hanger Bay A. Some of your brothers are coming to stay with us for awhile, do show them a proper welcome. 
Captain Black, to me. I would have words with you before your team arrives.”
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