DJAtomika — Roleplayer Guild

Ark watched as, one by one, their group exited the elevator. He saw the gleam of the coins within one of the elevator's reccesses, perhaps dropped by some clumsy worker. It was not for him. The Emperor despised dishonest men, especially men who were bound, soul and mind, to his service. There was no higher glory, except maybe within the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes.

He would be one of the last to leave, letting his tougher, stronger teammates forge on ahead. His body, though toughened by the years of service on Casia, was still more fragile than the others before him. He'd be content near the back.

As he left, he drew nearer to the Missionary and the Sister, who were reciting the Emperor's Prayer in soft, whispered tones. The verses were all too familiar to him, and as the Missionary trailed off into silence, he picked up on the prayer, adding the stanzas he'd learned aboard the Honour and Liberation, his home.

Praise his might,
for it is he that empowered us to crush the enemies of Man.

Worship his wisdom,
for only he could have built such splendor for his people.

Respect his grace,
for he hath the power to destroy us but he does not.

And revere his loyalty,
for within the Golden Throne he doth lead us,
forever and ever,
till all the stars are united under his rule."


With the prayer finished, he released the hold he'd had on his rosary. The prayer rang especially strong for him; his ship had been quite fervently religious, and it had rubbed off on him. To utter another prayer for the strength and support of the team was the right thing to do.

The soft, rhythmic tapping of his staff on the cold, metal floor as he walked was almost like the chant of some forgotten religion that had been subsumed by the Imperium of Man eons ago. It calmed him, but then again, many things could.

He glanced at the Sister and gave her a small, grim smile. A semblance of support in the confined space, claustrophobic and cramped as it was. He drew slightly closer and whispered under his breath.

"If it makes you feel any better, Sister Helana, I do not share his beliefs. We are all men and women under His holy graces. The Arbitrator should be happy he hasn't been accused of the treachery he so sorely despises, and should be happy that he walks with warriors of the same, fervent faith. The Emperor he worships and works for is the same Emperor we worship, after all."

With that, he drew away, taking a position between the two and slightly behind them, staff up and ready, with his other hand resting gently on the grip of his laspistol that sat snugly in his thigh holster. The tip of his staff, decorated with the metalwork and sigils of the weaponcrafters on Terra, also held his psy-focus; a lone piece of bone, upon which was etched a single skull, a promise of death to all that dared oppose him or his team.


Finish prayer
Support Sororitas
Ready staff
Ready laspistol
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