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


Night was coming to cover what had been done at Sarton that day - the ruin, the glory and the pain of it all - thick layers of cloud hampering any pursuit of the orange-clad enemy, the result being small groups of weary returning Guardsmen and women who only wished to rest and replenish themselves.

It was well past midnight when lights were spotted on the road approaching the village, half-a-dozen armoured cars and at least three Chimera APCs coming to a halt just at the fringe of what had once been a thriving settlement and agricutural society. Now all but dead and gone.

Ranks of Cekrov troopers piled efficiently out of the transports, a stern looking Captain making it so that dear Corproal Delafare was no longer the officer in command - nor did the exhausted man look any the worse for it, having sat silently as Horacio made the rounds to take confession and give a moral boost to those that would soon face their twisted countrymen again.

As Victorine stood talking to a young Guard sergeant she was very much interrupted, the Emissary making its way over to her in what seemed to be quite a lot of haste; what spurted from its grille-mouth came out as the same emotionless drivel as always, but the words made the Celestian grit her teeth and give a deep growl of irritation.

"My lady, the Governor's secretary sent an urgent message. It appears that the palace itself is under attack. We have been ordered to return to the capital, while our soldiers proceed against the enemy in the mountains."

If the saint was truly in the mountains then by all laws she should go and help... but if the Governor truly was under attack... why did the God-Emperor have to bring such hard times upon her and hers?

"By the Throne," she said in frustration, "let us go and relieve our good Diokletion De'mange then. Lead on, Emissary."


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A militarily enforced curfew had been placed upon the capital by the time they arrived in the early hours of the morning, Victorine inwardly bemoaning the lack of sleep but also well aware of her duty and how it would like to voice such opinions openly.

As they made their way through the streets there was not a soul to be seen, lights flickering in windows and shapes and shadows but no more, troopers patrolling the avenues and streets with caution and hesitance, their pinched-face expressions showing that, although they were taking the situation seriously, they were nevertheless shaken by it.

The Palace of Bovange loomed ahead of them, figures silhouetted by flame moving about from vehicle to vehicle, the Palace Guard and PDF facing toward the Governors residence as if expecting an attack from within.

"There were multiple teams of them," confirmed a stuffy Guardsman when questioned, his head moving from the group back to the palace more than once, "they entered the palace dressed as dignitaries, servants... and guards."

Victorine could not keep a scowl off of her face, pressing the shorter man for more information. How many exactly? Where did they go? Was anyone leading them?

"I do not know exactly, but they have the Governor trapped within his own chambers, a hostage."

"Have they given any demands?"

"Yes... they want him," the man pointed to the silent Emissary, the half-man giving no sign of anything disturbing him, "and the Sororitas that had come to this planet, I am sorry m'lady."

The Celestian gave a grunt as she pulled her arm from the sling across her chest, Sister Alexa having made sure it would be of some use at least, a quick movement showing that there was pain but nothing she couldn't keep under control for the moment.

"Well?" She asked the others who had been stood nearby, "I would suggest a rapid insertion to seize the Governor, but we are not at our full strength and I do not wish to risk further lives."

She recalled Sister Adalard and her face grew dark, her expression illuminated by a shimmer of flame - what had once been the main doors into the palace, now so much burning timber.

"Nor can we simply allow an Imperial Governor to be killed, otherwise I would have not bought us back here."

She looked at the towering Alexa, then to the Confessor and his impressive facial hair, and finally at the battered-but-standing Lisbeth. The last being the one she feared for the most.

"What say you Sisters? Confessor? How we proceed here will shape the future, I believe."