Journey
At first Vitruvia spent the trip in meditation, physical training and prayer. It was important to prepare the mind, body and soul for the task ahead. It was a sin to be found wanting in the service of the God Emperor.
At times she would wander the corridors of the Imperator Gracili Ferro, power armor whirring as she walked among the Emperor's people, passing out blessings and praying for the protection of the crew from the horrors of the void. At times parents brought their children to her for benediction which she provided with humility. Nightly self-flagellation kept the sin of pride at bay.
Days turned into weeks. In the second week Vitruvia realized time would atrophy her skills if the trip lasted much longer. The sister begin to spend hours a day honing her hard-won skills with the chainsword, devoting hours to refining the cuts and thrusts drilled into her by scowling drill-masters at schola progenium and the advanced parries and ripostes learned at the feet of humorless Sisters Superior. Techniques had to flow reflexively from the body in battle. When possible she drilled in the fire range and acquainted herself with the ships armory, however there were limitations to the amount of bolter training that could be done aboard ship.
She also took the time to get to know her fellow Sisters. Discipline came before comradery of course but there was little harm in knowing those who served the Emperor at her side.
Arrival
Vitruvia had seen the world through the view ports as the Ferro approached. Though it was but a grain of sand in the ocean of worlds under the Emperor's dominion there was a certain propriety to its layout. A small ruling class guided the people from the peaks of their hive towers and the masses toiled below in their duties to the God Emperor. His Imperium's roots were of iron and blood and this world clearly provided both. As it should.
Later as they gathered in the lander Vitruvia listened to the Inquisitor speak with her helm tucked under her left arm and her bolter hanging loosely in her right fist. The sister of battle was prepared to face the enemies of the Imperium, mentally, physically and spiritually. Her battle-scarred power armor had been polished until gold trim gleamed and black ceramite seemed to drink the very light. Her bolt pistol and chainsword hung at her left hip, ready to be deployed at moments notice.
She had nothing to say and merely waited in silence.
Member
Whimsey
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