[sub]Even as a man of the Creed, there was something foreboding about vessels such as these. Dark, mysterious, bastions of an organization so shrouded in mystery not even Corpus, an agent of this most secretive order understood it. These so called "Blackships" were dreadful enough to make one pity even the mutant, for whom they were meant to collect. Perhaps it was the turmoil the ship bred deep within its hold that made the voyage so very uncomfortable, the collective psychic echo of Emperor knew how many twisted human souls yearning for whatever release awaited them at its clandestined destination. Perhaps it was the memories, the horrors that returned to his mind's eye when reentering the warp. 

Whatever it was, the priest's hands were tied. It had been months since his last assignment had ended, the Inquisition simply leaving him to his own devices upon the humble hive world of Yusorov III. He had taken to preaching, as was his way, to the denizens of the middle hive. Good folk, who worked diligently in the name of the God-Emperor. Yet working so hard, for so long chipped at a man's soul. Day in and day out, manufacturing the equipment that kept His glorious Imperium running. It was easy for those souls to forget, in their servitor like stupor, why it was they were working. For whom it was, they were working. It did him joy to remind them, to rouse them from that trance and reignite those flames of devotion with words alone.

But such was not to be his fate. He had been called away, to a new world, on a new task, by masters too enigmatic for him to know. This black ship was merely his means of getting there, traveling a predetermined course between Yusorov and his destination. A transport of convenience, if not comfort. He had been roused from mercifully dreamless sleep by their reentry into real space. From there, a servitor alerted him in his tiny cabin that the shuttle to Arden VII would soon be leaving, with or without him. He knew better than to challenge such a notion, and frankly, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of this vessel and its foul cargo.

[hr]

The steady [i]clack[/i] of hardened wood upon steel punctuated each motion the gaunt man took, Corpus' staff announcing his presence long before he could be seen rounding the corridors within this 'gun-cutter'. Faceless men in red jumpsuits and on occasion, black body armor had directed him every step of the way, from the hangar of the dark vessel, in the cabin of the shuttle that hurdled through space for nearly an hour, to the landing platform which took him deep below this strange moon. Their curtness did little to ruin his mood, the relief of being free from that despairing atmosphere putting spring into an already jovial step. There was mirth in his eyes as the ramp to his transport descended and he disembarked.

More stormtroopers, he noted, their anonymity only forcing his hues to lock onto the sore thumb, as it were. Individuality was synonymous with authority in this organization, he found. So it was the man in the wide brimmed that the joyous priest addressed first and foremost.

[b]"Emperor's blessing, my lord. I am Corpus Ertelt, and if I've not lost my investigative touch, I'd peg you for my superior in this most imperative of tasks, no?"[/b] 

A bit wordy, sure, but Corpus was anything but a silent man. He could only hope this gentleman would not mind his babbling. For all his strength of will, it was beyond him to put a lid on it at times. 
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