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Also loving the crayon drawing, which might not be quite as off peste as you think. I once did a wee junior guards first Reading book called "See Rex Run" it was all drawn in crayon. I'll see if I can dig it out for you and post it. My illustrations are rubbish though compared to your wax rendered wonders.

Gotta say, this is some excellent character-driven story that you have going on here. These characters have the kind of depth that I've always wanted to see in the worlds that GW has made, because I think the whole brainwashed "FOR THE EMPEROR" can only go so far before someone begins to develop doubts and fears. Nobody wants to die for a cause, even those that are dedicated to that point. Everyone wants to keep living, enjoying new experiences and learning new things. These are great characters with some truly human aspects to them. I say bravo, good sir, keep it coming!

Gender bending medics might well be a common facet of the grimdark far future, but fix the names by all means.

Also, I hadn't meant that Ahde would be recording a diary, more that his vox recordings may be scrutinised by the investigation and yield some interesting excerpts. It'd maybe be hard to write up, but it's a thought for another option if you're finding any part of the story tricky to approach. Totally objective, devoid of internal personal feelings or comments. Just a raw transcript of voices and sound on tape. Ok I'll stop going on about it now, it's not like I feel your story lacks Ahde's POV or anything. I totally agree on your point about less transparent characters.

Still keeping an eye out for Commissar Doyle.

Interlude: What I did on my Hollies-Days: Diary of a Commissar: Early Warnings

[ Audio Transcript: Captain Creer ] [ 727.M41] *

Thought we’d got away with it and they’d forgotten us, but we’re getting a new commissar today. His name’s Yorke, he’s quite a young one. Don’t know if that’ll make him easier or harder to deal with. The last one was a cantankerous old bastard, but he played it straight. Never nitpicked or lectured us on banal gak.
I could’ve respected that if he hadn’t been a bloody commissar. He was sharp though. Too sharp. Started noticing things toward the end, I’m sure he was keeping tabs on me, if he hadn’t been all along.
Going to keep this one at arm’s length. Sending Ahde and Gaskell to introduce themselves, and he’ll meet me later.

[Disconnect]



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [727.M41] •

“…How’s about this? I treat you all like human beings,” I held out one gloved hand, “and you don’t shoot me in the back when I go for a piss in the night?” I held out the other and smiled warmly.
After a brief pause, here was a loud murmuring of consensus and confusion amongst the troops. Some nodded, some stared at me as though I’d just grown a second head. At the back of the room, Vox Officer Ahde grasped both hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking, and beside me Captain Creer’s lower eyelid flickered, his face a mask of calm. Sticking one hand back in my pocket, I patted his shoulder politely, nodded to the assembled men, and strode off in search of a drink.

“I think that went well.” I sipped my caffeine, sitting back in my office chair, one leg across the other.
“Look, I don’t know what your game is. If this is some kind of joke, or you’re genuinely-“ Creer abruptly stopped himself from actually insulting me at the last moment. Ahde and Gaskell stood behind him, watching in silence.
“Joke?” I looked up from the mug, “On what level?”
“This soft-hearted crap. You’re a Commissar! Where’s the fire and brimstone? The rousing Imperial dogma?” he asked, his expression tired.
I laughed pleasantly, “You’d prefer I behave like that?”
“I would understand that.” he said in a low tone, his brow still furrowed.
Considering the reactions, I wondered if I’d shown my hand too early, and whether I was shortly facing a one-way trip back to the Commissariat, or worse. Searching for common ground, I tried a different approach. Carefully, I placed my mug down and sat up straight, “I don’t need to dehumanise men to convince them what they do is of importance. I’m here to motivate, improve, encourage. And I don’t have to bully or grind anyone down to do so.” I paused for a moment, considering my words, “Before I started out, years ago, a Lord Captain said to me, “Terrible things happen to men who stop viewing all lives as important.” Do you disagree, Captain?”
“Of course not.” Creer replied warily.
I smiled, “Me neither. ”
Creer stared hard at me for a moment, before saying, “We’ll see.” He then excused himself, shooting Gaskell a strange look on the way out of the door.

I turned my attention back to my cup, “You fellows wish to weigh in as well?” I asked, lifting it halfway to my mouth.
“No sir.” Ahde stepped forward, extending his hand, “I don’t rightly understand your methods, but you’ve got the Cap all on edge and that’s interesting to see.” I shook it happily, putting my drink down again.
“I don’t think our good captain likes me.” I grinned.
“Well. He doesn’t like anybody, sir. You’re just the first person he can’t actually abuse for it.” laughed Ahde. He in turn left us, waving on the way out.

I reached for my caffeine, and stopped mid-motion as Gaskell dropped into the chair opposite, “Well, you certainly know how to make a first impression, Commissar Yorke.” He studied my face, running his hand through his short cropped hair uneasily. I could see stray strands flitting loose in the lamplight. Creer must have forced everybody to clean up for my arrival, I mused. I wondered how much of a fuss he had made, and in turn how much my arrival had thrown that to the wind, “You look the spit of him, you know. Younger, but I can see it.” Gaskell waved his hand up and down, referring to my grandfather.
“Thank you. It’s good to see you again, sir.” I said, nodding.
“It’s not “sir”, Commissar. Just Sergeant Gaskell.” he shook his head.
I tilted my own, considering the ceiling, “It’s been a long time. Ten, fifteen years? You’re looking good though. You’ve barely changed, sir.” I tagged the end of my ramble, baiting him.
“You really shouldn’t call me “sir”, sir.” Gaskell sighed.
“You gonna stop me, sir sir?” I asked, my face a picture of innocence.
He rolled his eyes, “I can’t, no.”
“No sir, sir sir?” I teased.
He cracked and put his head in his hands, “I yield. Please stop.”
I leaned across and patted him on the shoulder, “I’ll try. I’m sorry Sergeant Gaskell, but you’ll always be “sir” to me, in my head.”
“Your head needs examining!” he exclaimed from his view of the floor.
I tutted, “I could write you up for that.” I could have written him up for the resulting expletives, too. Calling an end to the teasing, I said, “Ray.” quietly and held out my hand.
Looking up, he shook it, “Alright, Ray.” He allowed himself to smile, “So just why are you being so… I mean you were an upright lad when I met you, but I don’t believe the Commissariat gives out lessons in hugging these days.”
“It’s like I said. I tried blood and thunder, I really did. I even might’ve bought into it for a while, I suppose. But the more time I spent with people, the more I realised that there are so many other ways to push folk, to better them than fear alone. There’s no single magic bullet you can apply to everyone.” He caught my eye, “It’s just an expression.” I chuckled at my inappropriate use of it.
“You’re alright, Ray.” he raised his hand, and ran it through his hair again, an expression that I’d learn over time meant that he was considering the situation, “Why did you leave your last regiment though?”
I defended with a question of my own, “What happened to your last commissar?”
Gaskell looked away, “Alright, yeah. I better get going.” he straightened up and looked at me again, “Look, be serious. And be careful around Creer. Don’t try this mucking about with him.” He frowned.
“Why’s that, then?” I sat up attentively.
“He’s a sinister bastard, and I don’t mean like your lot.” I let the half-insult wash past, “People he dislikes, those that don’t toe his line, well, they don’t last especially long.”
I wondered more about the fate of their last Commissar, but said nothing, instead thinking aloud, “You and Ahde seem to have survived.”
“We’re useful. Ahde’s one of the best Vox operators around. Goes well with his mouth. And I’m able to get the lads to toe the line, even when Creer’s lost it. Watch yourself, Ray. Make sure he sees you as useful.”

Taking Gaskell’s advice, I did. For well over a year, I pushed, inspired and raised up the men in our charge. I didn’t much like Creer’s attitudes towards the troops, or his foul temper, but I made an early effort to ensure I was indispensable. He never really warmed to me, but Ahde was right, he never really warmed to anyone. There was however a begrudging respect between us. I got the job done damn well, and didn’t make his any harder. He didn’t see someone leave me for dead in a ditch when the fancy took him. It was as about as good as I could have asked for.
I found good companionship in Gaskell and Ahde, plus learning to read them especially well was a barometer for Creer’s moods. This proved crucial in ensuring I didn’t frustrate him in my occasional attempts to temper his decisions.



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Creer ] [ 727.M41] *

Is this a joke? There aren’t words. He’s either insane or taking the piss.
For starters he’s got a face like he went five rounds with an ork. I’m sure he can barely see out of one eye at the moment. His nose is broken, both eyes are completely black. I’ll find out from his record what that’s about. No point asking him until I get him sussed.
On top of that he insists that he’s not going to scream and yell about Imperial Creed to rouse everyone, he’s going to motivate us by finding personal strength. Bloody hellfire. We’ll be singing around the campfire next.

Oddly he seems less sane the more rationally he acts. Bloody Commissariat, messes with your head that way. Makes you suspicious of someone being nice.

[Disconnect]



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Creer ] [ 727.M41] *

I found him sweeping the mess tent this afternoon. Nobody else in there, he was just doing it by himself. Hat off, sleeves rolled up, just cleaning.
"What the actual feth are you doing?" I asked.
He looked at me and just said, "I dropped a tray. Then I figured the rest of the floor in here could use a brush up."
I were confused to say the least, "You're a commissar. Get someone else to do it."
"Nah, it's my mess." and he just went back to it, "You need me for anything, Captain?"
"Nay, not right now."
"Have a good one, then."
Funny bugger. Not sure if he's doing this to confuse me, or he's actually a decent person. Either way, he bears watching.

Singleton was easy to deal with, black and white enough. This guy's... Well he's hard to get the measure of. No wonder Commissariat sent him over in a hurry. Probably didn't know what to do with him either.
He hasn't told anyone why he left the previous regiment, and my sources turned up nothing. At a guess he was either sent over to keep an eye on me after Singleton... Or he's disposable enough that they sent him here knowing our track record.
From his behaviour I'm feeling it's the latter. That makes things a lot easier if he gets funny. Funnier, he's already a strange excuse for an officer.

[Disconnect]

Yorke came off a bit like Ciaphis Cain, but isn't just faking his niceness towards soldiers. Of course, being like Cain isn't a bad thing, and it's always nice to see a different turn of events for a commisar than "if you won't serve on the field you will serve on the firing line" shtick. Of course, this personality has already been established but its nice to see the first intrductions.

[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Day 3 - Jallen - 732.M41 ] *

It’d been another hellishly hot day. Thankfully it faded as the sun set. Ahde and I stood breathing in the cool evening air. Well, one of us did.
Ahde nudged me, "You shouldn't smoke, Cat. It's not good for you."
"Neither is being shot at, launched into orbit and dropped on the enemy. At least I get a choice about this."
He sighed, "I see now how you got your position as a motivational speaker."
I chuckled, "You got me; it's a bad habit. If I ever find something I want to live for, I'll stop. Happy?"
He grinned, "Or someone?"
"Let's not get fantastical." I snorted.

The camp was calmer, a little of the energy was starting to return after the horrors of the previous night. Reconnaissance during the day had turned up nothing. Ahde had tried again to contact the next came further across the peak, but had no reply. We were cagey about the horrors that could be there, and didn’t press it by trying again. Tomorrow, early, we’d move on, before the sun reached its highest point. Gaz had decided that trying to travel in the midday heat would only serve to make us sick, and slow down progress. Some might call it soft, but we were headed into the unknown, arriving there barely able to function was suicidal over-thought.
We’d posted guard around the camp, but it was bare enough up here that very little could get the drop on us. Still, as we’d learned in only the short time here, this planet had plenty surprises.

I shivered slightly, “You feel that? It’s chill.”
Ahde looked at me curiously, “Just the air, fella.”
“Suppose.” I frowned and stubbed out my smoke, “I’m going to get some kip. Don’t stay out too long listening to the static, okay?”
He chuckled, “I’m doing it for a reason you berk. It’s much easier to hear any stray frequencies at night when the air is thinner.”
“Just so long as it doesn’t start listening back.” I raised my hands and mimed the movements of a spectre.
“Cretin.” he sighed, smiling.
“Commissar Cretin.” I raised my chin indignantly.
“Piss off, go on.”
“Night, Ahde.”



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell ] [ Day 3- Jallen - 732.M41] *

It were my fault. I didn’t tell anyone to guard the cliffs. They were so high and barren that we hadn’t thought anyone could scale them. Or that anyone would try. Who could get up there, and certainly not in numbers that could cause any bother.
We’ve never been so wrong.

[Disconnect]



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Day 3 - Jallen - 732.M41 ] *

Still evening. I woke to the sound of yelling, gunshots, and a guttural roar that shook the walls of the tent. Spinning out of bed, I threw on my coat, and in the confusion strapped my weapon belt around it. Neatness is no use if you’re dead. I crammed my hat on my head and ran out of the tent.
And then I found one of the missing Astartes. Or what had once been one. I nearly ran straight into the back of him, but threw myself behind cover and huddled there briefly while I gathered my thoughts. I reached to my ear, but in my rush I’d left my vox piece somewhere else. Now there was a raging marine between me and the rest of the regiment, and I had no comms. Feth. Well done.

I was hiding behind a pile of dry palettes we’d been preparing to axe for firewood, around three metres from the edge of the cliff. Another three or so metres further, the marine was making its presence known. The plate was distinctive, but had been gouged and defaced. Some of the symbols were familiar, others horrible and unclear. Mercifully he didn’t seem to have a gun. However one huge fist was clearly sporting a vicious set of lightning claws. They were sparking and active, the comparably tiny noise lost.
By his feet lay the torn remains for at least three of our men. caught as they ran out into the clearing. I felt a burn of anger at the senseless loss. This man would once have been a warrior with honour, one of the Emperor’s own.
What was far more alarming was the bestial screaming. I couldn’t make out words amongst the howling, rolling sound. I knew there were some there, I felt them. I also felt how foaming mad the creature that had once been a man was. Head thrown back at the night sky, he was roaring. It echoed in the valley below, it could probably be heard for miles. I realised the point was to terrify us. It wasn’t affecting me, but the newer lads were likely crapping themselves. Without seeing them, I knew they were in danger of losing their nerve without support.

Drawing my powersword, I rose unsteadily, the noise was disorientating. But what was the very point of a commissar if not to assist and rally? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Morn behind another stack of palettes. His tent ad been nearby as well, but he’d had the forethought to come out prepared. He signalled to me that he was laying charges. We needed to buy him time. Nearby I could just about hear Gaz and Ronson calling out orders, the men were rallying from all around the camp, they’d be there in a moment. Well disciplined lines stood a chance on stunning the marine if they could focus fire. I got ready to run past, the thing hadn’t seen me yet, too caught up in its own fury.

To my horror, a three troopers burst out of a tent right in front of the monster. I felt my jaw drop involuntarily at the gak luck. Talsen, Patricks and a third I could barely make out in the dark. Andrews? For a split second I thought that they could get away with it, that the raving giant would let them pass unseen. In that split second, those claws proved me wrong in the most hideous way possible.
In one snaking, unnaturally agile movement, the marine bore down on Patricks and Andrews, it’s hooked claws tearing through both of their torsos without slowing down, killing them where they stood. Time slowed as the arc of the lightning claws continued, trailing flesh, blood and fragmented bone alike as it swept along. Then, taking what felt like an eternity, the two men collapsed, dead before they could know what hit them.

Talsen was stood frozen, coated in his friends’ dark gore, and staring blankly up at their killer. His lasgun was unsteady in his hands, and the lad was silently mouthing something that I couldn't make out. The huge creature turned fully toward him, and self-preservation deserted the young trooper as he stood his ground and fired up at it instead of running.
Shrugging off the hits, the marine raised the massive fist again and took a slow but steady step in his direction. I broke cover, unable to watch another man die pointlessly, and bolted toward Talsen.
I shoved him hard, startling him from the dazed state, "Go! Get further back!"
He ran, regaining his senses, and moments later I barely dodged the clawed gauntlet that swept down as we scattered, slamming into the earth, sending up a blinding column of dust and debris. The blades crackled and sparked against the rocky ground, leaving after images in my vision.
I remembered where I'd last seen the arm itself, and struck as best I could into where I thought the joint of the inner elbow to be. My power sword skidded along plate, but I'd struck close enough and felt it jam home in the less protected area, carving away the thinner lining, cutting flash slightly. The howling scream told me that I'd partly succeeded. The depth didn't matter. The cut itself had not been my objective.
Using my sword as reference, I  quickly whipped it back and fired into the point of the arm I'd connected with, the blinding shot leaving my vision further dazzled. Staying my hand, I fired again, twice, feeling the burning heat of the hellpistol's shot in close proximity. The resulting bellow of pain and rage near deafened me.

As the hellish figure straightened up, it's forearm remained on the ground, nearby separated from its master. Charred flesh and smoking armour circuitry protruded from the stump. The scream of anger that filled the air rendered me almost senseless, I struggled to form coherent thought, as it filled my world. Whatever possessed the marine was beyond furious, and the sense of anger was permeating the world around it. I staggered back a pace, and through the dust, through the world-enveloping bellow, I was faintly aware of Morn several short yards away. It could have been miles, for all I was capable of in close proximity to that terrible sound. Morn was frantically signalling for me to get clear as he ran. I couldn't hear what he was calling out. He must have placed the charges, I realised.

I turned fully, attempting to stagger back to the camp, still disoriented by the thick noise. Had it ended? Was it merely in ringing my head at this point?
Caught off guard, I choked as a gauntlet tightly gripped the back of my collar, hauling me off my feet. Dropping my weapons, I tried frantically to free myself from my coat before he could slam me to the ground, or worse, into the ravine beneath us. The pressure on my throat increased as the beast raised me to eye height and I could no longer breathe.
Through the haze, I saw two eyes blackened with pure madness, and feral teeth in a face so consumed by anger that it no longer passed for human. It slowly mouthed something that I couldn't hear for the blood pounding in my ears. I focused groggily.
-you too, will understand. You will-

The world around us erupted. Lasgun fire rained upon the marine, concentrating enough to blast a fist sized hole in his plated torso, causing him to stagger back toward the edge. The shots continued, punching yet more holes in several places, pushing us further back. Thankfully the Hollies were well trained and their shots were in slim danger of hitting anything else, I remained unharmed. But the giant still gripped my collar. Still struggling to free myself, I had no purchase to relieve the choking, and had now run out of air.

There was a brief break in the incoming fire. Looking past my captor, I could see Ahde amongst the front line, calling orders into his headset as they began to fall back. Our eyes met, horrified. As both of us realised what was about to happen, we couldn’t look away. It must have been seconds at most, but it felt like an hour.

Then, I could hear nothing, see nothing, as the charges detonated around and beneath the tainted marine. The ground rose to meet the pair of us, throwing us sideways and outward. The pressure on my throat lessened, and I was able to seize enough air to scream as we went over the cliff together.



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell ] [ Day 3- Jallen - 732.M41] *

We killed it. I can’t say it feels like an achievement. Worth it? We lost seven men tonight. Our medic Timothy. Patricks, his squad-mate Andrews, three more troopers. And Cat.
Can’t even bury him; that thing took him with it, into the night when it fell. We could hear him screaming all the way down. Then it stopped and we heard them hit. Must be two, three hundred feet of sheer cliff, I don’t think there’s a way we can get down there safely. What would be do if we could? There’s no earth up here, just more blasted stone.
Those dead we could find, we walled up in a cave. We’re supposed to burn anyone touched by chaos, but nobody could face it, and I don’t think cut to pieces counts as touched anyway.
Ronson has been carving a stone for them, we’ll put it up before we leave. Cat, he deserved better. They all did.

Ahde's taken it hard, of course he has. He was nearest when Cat and the others were thrown down. Tried to get there in time, saw his face up close.
He wouldn't leave the edge until I asked him to, "There's people here need you, lad. Come away."
He actually stopped smiling and making funny for the night. I were dumbfounded.

[Disconnect]



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell ] [ Day 4- Jallen - 732.M41] *

Woke up hopeful, with an idea. But Cat’s vox piece is still by his bedside. None of the lads we lost are responding either. Too much to hope for.
We lowered Dennis down, it took forever, our initial assessment was right - a three hundred foot drop, through trees, bushes, Den was a real mess by the time he got down, never mind back up. I don’t know what we expected. Found nothing down there, a smoking pile where the marine must have landed, a few more nearby. One of them… One of them must have been Cat. Dennis asked what to do, we didn’t have him move anything.

We moved out this morning. Sergeant Ronson and the lads put the stone up. Ahde said a few words, I were, well I were glad for him doing it. I know I couldn't.

He knew the lads we lost, had remembered something personal about all of them. When we get out of here, I'll never bad mouth his endless questions again. I see now that they're important.
He spoke of Cat briefly, too. How he was a bloody maverick, dangerous, but always on our side. “Kind.” he said. I never considered it that way.
I would've struggled to be concise, and Ahde usually never shuts up, but he somehow got it right with only a few words.

We all were very quiet this morning, understandable.

And now we’re to carry on. Find the next post, report back. The next. Report back. And so on. At the end then, we wait for assistance.

I keep turning to speak to him about the route, and the bastard’s not here.

[Disconnect]



[ Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell ] [ Day 4- Jallen - 732.M41] *

We gathered up Cat's things as we left, such as they were. A small satchel with very little in it, and his vox piece.

I had a look through this evening. There's a small folder with his Commissariat info, a few photos and his old medical data. Other than that, a few packs of smokes he pre-rolled, a dead lighter and a small mail packet with a torn address label on the side, in his handwriting. There's four small regimental flags folded up in that, one for each of the groups we've served alongside in the past four years, and one of ours with that stupid bee motif.

I don't know why he had those, or who they're even for. I thought that there was precious little left he could do to surprise me, but there's always one last puzzle, it seems.

[Pause]

Feth. Closest thing I ever had to a son, that... That utter cretin.
We all die out here sooner or later, but the older you get, the harder it is to see the young ones taken down. I still think of him as young. feth’s sake. I can remember the day we met, strewth he was young then. Twelve? Angry and wanting to do his best. Now he’s cold, laid out next to a monster in an unnamed crater, and we’re here. Still here.

Cat, he once said this was some kind of punishment, outliving others, watching the young die. I said we were lucky to survive so long. Cat, well, he didn't see it that way, “You call this luck, Gaz? Ask yourself how- why we’re still here. It’s our punishment for something. feth knows what.” Maudlin bastard.

If my punishment was watching him die as well, then what are we being punished for?

[Disconnect]

♬ You can certainly see how fulfilling a life,
From the cost and size of stone, of our final resting home.

[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Day 3 - Jallen - 732.M41 ] *

I don't know why I didn't die. I fell, screaming, for what felt like hours, the giant hand still clasped my collar. Unseeing and terrified for the first time, in moments I expected the final impact with the earth below.
But then we both collided with a massive tree, in an explosion of noise, debris and splintering, I was shaken loose from his gauntlet. Thrown aside, I hung on, winded, my arms frantically gripping a branch.

I hung there in the dark, shaking and confused as terrible crashing continued below. The broken marine continued to fall, howling and screaming as his weight damned him to plummet to his death. With a sickening crack I heard his last moments, and then silence from below.
I had no idea where the ground was, or how high above I’d stopped. Hearing distant yells from human voices, I tried to call up to the camp above, but still winded and coughing, couldn't catch my breath enough to make the sound. Clinging there like a stranded cat, I inched towards the trunk of the tree that held me up. With an awful lurch, an echoing snap, the branch holding me finally gave way, and I offered up a silent expletive before following the marine downwards.

There's an expression about falling out of the ugly tree and hitting every branch on the way down. I was testing it physically as I pin-balled to the ground. branches and foliage breaking my fall every few feet, before the final drop that left me upended in a large, thick bush. Landing hard on my back, cushioned by curling greenery, but not terribly well.

I lay still, the world above span, my personal world of pain catching up with me as I gasped and hacked. Gradually able to breathe, I tested each limb gently, starting at my fingers, and finally sitting up shakily. Bruised and probably badly sprained in a few places, I'd survived somehow. The temptation to lie back down was immense, but I had a job to do down there, remembering the dead men who had been cast down along with me, and the corrupted Astartes.

Coughing, I staggered across the small clearing and looked for signs of life. The marine lay still, around him pieces of carnage and men that I recognised. We must have fallen two to three hundred metres, I couldn't see much light amongst the trees if I peered up. Perhaps my name-sake was holding true, or perhaps it was an extension of the curse of survival.
The air was cooling, evening paling to night, and I could hear nothing from above. I set about the task of finding the poor bastards who'd been torn apart by the chaos warrior, and putting them to flame, preventing them from rising again or being scavenged by whatever lurked nearby. Where I could, I gathered their dog tags and placed them into an inside pocket.
Feeling briefly like a grave-robber, I also collected a satchel from one headless corpse, finding a basic supplies kit, two canteens and some ammunition within. With time, I even found my hat, weapons and the Astartes’ severed arm. I set the limb atop one of the pyres, knowing it could likely do nothing, but feeling it necessary anyway.

My work was nearly done. I turned finally to the fallen Astartes. "Who were you, soldier?" I whispered, as I gazed up to the ruined form. I took a pace back involuntarily when he answered. 



[Journal Entry: Renan] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

His eyes flickered shut, and Yorke slid off the chair softly in a sideways heap.
Celena stepped over and laid him out carefully on his side. He'd fallen unconscious. Or deeply asleep. His body starting to slow his frantic heart-rate and effects of the drug in his system, demanding peace. Combined with the exhaustion of his recent mission, and previous physical trauma, I was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had.
We'd got enough recorded to go on for today, I shook my head and prevented Aaric from administering adrenaline to wake the poor man up again. We'd let him come round on his own terms. Kindness or diplomacy, even I’m unsure these days.

As they pulled him upright into the chair, the assassin remembered her errand, and reached into her robes, pulling out a small bolt-gun shaped device. Holding the barrel to the back of Yorke's neck, she squeezed the trigger and it let out a sharp clacking sound. He didn't react to either sound or impact. Upon withdrawing the stubby gun, there was barely a mark on his skin to indicate the tracker's insertion.

"I thought we were trusting him?" I asked, feeling uncertain at the invasion of his privacy.
"I trust him. It's for his own safety as well." she replied tiredly, "The bio report will alert us immediately if anything untoward should happen."
"Sharp." I murmured.
"Amongst other things. It's not uncommon for someone in custody to feel a little... desperate."
I tilted my head, feeling uncharitable, "And you would care if he did?"
"I would care if a source of information were closed to us." she shrugged.
I felt some revulsion to the callous disregard for life, but accepted that I'm often alone in that view. For the good of others, we continue.

We took the opportunity to review the information gathered, whilst waiting for the commissar to come round. Some of the recorded information was useless, the rest I earmarked for later.
After about half an hour, Yorke stirred and rubbed his face, "Wzzt?"
“You’re safe, Commissar. Take it slow. Aaric will take you back to your barracks. You are to remain there, understand?" I said slowly.
He watched me with tired, bleary eyes and nodded, standing up shakily after a fashion, leaning heavily on the chair back.
The judge supported him under one arm, and led the groggy man away. I went back to processing the recordings and marking out pertinent areas.

My assassin colleague was watching with some interest, "So do you think he's one of them?" she gestured to her head, making a circle, a sign for tainted cultists.
"No. Whatever issues that man has, he's certainly no agent of chaos. Not willingly anyway." I paused, "Though his behaviour is deeply unusual; that bears closer inspection." I didn't voice my underlying problem with the commissar. As of yet it served no purpose, and would temper their approach unnecessarily.

Interlude: What I did on my Hollies-Days: Diary of a Commissar: Meddles

[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [732.M41] •

Soup. There’s always soup, and it’s not always great. Today it was grim and brown. But on the other hand, it’s honest. And doesn’t require a lot of attention to eat it. Which is just as well, considering that gobshite Ahde had been dogging my steps all morning. He was bored, and I was the current victim of his wandering mind.
“Cat?”
“Emperor’s throne, Ahde. What now?”
He picked up his meal tray and stepped after me, “How long have you been a full Commissar?”
“Long enough.” I sat down beside Gaskell and Halas on the bench, attempting to carefully place down my tray, without accidentally flinging soup across it.
“And you’re pretty good at it, otherwise you wouldn’t have lasted… So how come you’ve not got you know, medals like? Even Gaskell’s got brass and he keeps his head down. Hell, even I’ve got one.”
I squinted at his chest at a small circular brass disc with concentric rings sat, “Is that for shutting your mouth for half an hour? If you like we could try and I could put you in for another.”
Next to me, Gaskell choked on his soup.
Ahde rolled his eyes, “You know what it’s for! They even named a road after me when they rebuilt the city.”
“What, Bellend Lane?” I sniggered.
He ignored me, “My point is, why don’t you wear any?”
I chewed my bread roll, “Maybe I never had any. Why, do you think they’d suit me? Maybe they’d go with my purse?”
Gaskell leaned over, “Cat, stop winding him up. He did, Ahde. Stubborn bastard keeps sendin’ ‘em back. Commissariat thinks he’s making funny.”
Ahde looked bemusedly at the pair of us, “Ugh. Now I don’t know who to believe.” he grumbled.
Grinning to myself, I started on my soup.

Interlude: What I did on my Hollies-Days: Diary of a Commissar: Schola Daze I - Making a name

[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [M41] •

“Hey! What are you doing?” I came around the end of a ceiling-height bookcase in the library and to my surprise, found three students in their late teens pinning a far younger boy against a wall.
He must have been eight, if that. His dark uniform and pale hair askew from the struggle, and his face blotchy. I wasn’t sure if he was flushed from tears or being partly choked, but both were grounds to rile me greatly. The tallest of the boys was familiar to me. Warren, who was just under my height and a year or two older, perhaps seventeen. Pale haired and hard-faced, he was known across the schola for being an exceptional swordsman, but sadly not a modest one. His right cheek bore a long, slanted scar that he had earned from duelling without a mask. Such marks were considered a point of great pride amongst his peers. I thought he was an arse of the highest order, but I also appreciated that my view was perhaps ill-educated. The two lads with him, I also recognised but knew little of.

“Piss off, Yorke. This doesn’t concern you.” The leftmost boy growled over his shoulder. I thought that I remembered his name being Day.
I neatly shelved the book I was holding, “I am concerned. Three senior students taking an interest in a kid? Unless you are helping this lad with his homework, I would have you put him down.”
Warren half-turned to face me, scowling, and despite the low lights of the book-racks, I noticed a glint of metal by his hand, “It doesn’t concern you. Walk on.”
I narrowed my eyes, “What did he do?”
Warren fixed me with a grin, “This one were staring at me face. Thought I’d give him something of his own.” Idiot.
“He’s just a child; let him go.” I gestured to the boy who’s eyes were already welling up with tears.
The bully snarled, “Child? Even children must be taught respect.” He started to turn back.
“By those who deserve it, not lunatics like you!” I stepped closer. I am at times, not very smart. This was one of them.

He stiffened and faced me, raising an arm. The two lads behind him released the young boy who slid to the floor, pulling his hands over his face. Run, kid. Use some initiative…
“Yorke, was it? I can’t say I know anything about you.” He snaked out the still-raised arm and seized my lower jaw, slowly turning my head back and forth, examining my face, “No. Not memorable at all.”
Bristling, I took hold of his wrist firmly and pulled it away, releasing it at waist-height, “I do not aim to be memorable. I was sent here so that I could learn to better others, not make a name for myself!”
He laughed, sneering at my words, “You cannot hope to better others without yourself being great.” Looking back at his two friends, he grinned, facing me, “You, me, a piste, tomorrow evening. No masks. Let’s see if we can’t achieve both ends. I’ll give you something to be remembered by, and doing so will make me better.” 
Refusing to rise to his baiting, I shrugged, and replied calmly, “If you wish.” What are you doing? Inside, my heart was thudding in my chest, and my mind was screaming at me to back down.
“It’s settled, then.”  The three boys slunk off, and left me alone with the young lad, still curled up against the wall. 

Waiting until I could no longer hear their footfall, I sat down beside the huddled boy, my back against the same wall. He barely reached my shoulder, I leaned over towards him slightly, “I think that went well, don’t you?”
He raised his head and sniffed, whispering, “I d-didn’t mean to.”
“It wasn’t you, fella. Folk like him would find something to be angry about on a sunny day.” I patted his shoulder, “What’s your name?”
“Lewis. Lewis Cathery. You’re… Yorke?” He gazed at me with red, swollen eyes. They would have been a clear sky blue if he hadn’t rubbed them so much.
I smiled “Call me Ray. If they give you trouble again, you can let me know.” Not that I can do anything about it.
Lewis nodded, “Are you going to fight him?”
“Aye. I don’t look forward to it. Warren, big fella? He’s probably the best swordsman in the schola, outside of the coaches, and I reckon he could give some of them a short run for their money.” speaking it aloud brought home quite how screwed I was.
“What about you?” he asked.
I shook my head, “Adequate I believe is the word used most often. Mediocre, occasionally.” I saw the confusion in his face, remembering he was much younger, “No, I’m not great.” 
He was still visibly confused, “Then why?”
“I don’t like bullies.” I said simply, then considered, “We are here to learn how to set examples to others. Or so I thought. By allowing him to be cruel to you, I’m letting both of you down.”
Understanding dawned across Lewis’s face as he seized the idea, “Because you’d be letting him learn that being mean is okay?”
Glad that he grasped where I was headed, I smiled, “Exactly.”

[Only Heresy - Chapter III - A Sharp Interruption]

[Journal Entry: Renan] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

Mere moments after Boorman and the commissar left the room, Yorke's bio-tracker went berserk, causing alarms to sound and the screen to flash alerts on the pad. His pulse had spiked indicating sudden shock, or possibly worse.
Looking at Celena, I leapt to my feet, and ran in the direction the pair had been headed, "Stay here, secure this room!"
She didn’t question the order and as I cleared the dooway he had already swept up all of the files on the desk.
I found the two men halted a little way up the corridor, Yorke still leaning unsteadily over Aaric's shoulder. Their progress had been impeded by two hooded figures in hooded robes, I recognised them as we approached. Acolytes working for another Ordos Malleus inquisitor. One we had just barely beaten to the punch…

I put myself quickly between the two acolytes and the unlikely pair accompanying me, "You have no right to impede our passage. Kindly remove yourselves." I kept my voice calm, but worked a low-level influence towards the pair. If receptive it would merely make them more amenable to my request.
“They do not; I however, do." the voice came from behind us, and I span to see the last man in the sector that any of us wished to encounter.
Inquisitor Sharp had arrived.

Hooded himself, he was of medium height, with hard steel eyes in a heavily scarred face. But the first thing most people noticed about the inquisitor wasn’t his face or height.
"Sharp. Ordos Malleus." he nodded to me curtly, "Renan, I have encountered before during your time with Inquisitor Cape. Judge Boorman I assume, and... I do not believe I have the pleasure of knowing this one." he gestured Yorke with one hand.
"Sparkly!" exclaimed the commissar.
I could only see Boorman's back, but he had clearly just closed his eyes and placed his spare hand over them.

"That would be Commissar Yorke," I said quietly, "he's just been through an interview, and is still under the influence."
Yorke turned his head to face me and grinned happily.
I nodded sympathetically and with one hand, pointed back to the inquisitor, indicating he should pay attention in that direction.
"I see." Sharp raised an eyebrow, "That certainly simplifies matters. You will hand him over to us now."
"With respect, Inquisitor, we will not. You indeed have rank on us, but our orders came directly from Inquisitor Cape, and he has issued an edict protecting the 183rd regiment from external investigation. To violate that would be both a transgression of their trust, and his."
Sharp's eyes narrowed at us, and I sensed he was about to speak again.
I continued, "However as fellow Ordos Malleus, there is no reason we cannot share our information, resources and findings directly with you, or that you cannot observe the investigation in person."

The inquisitor considered this for a moment, before replying, "I see why he sent you along with his new recruits. That is acceptable. And, as you say, there’s no reason to double up the amount of work or energy in investigating this matter." he gestured again, and behind us his two acolytes departed, "I will attend your further interviews."
I nodded, "Of course. I will prepare an unedited copy of today's recordings for you."
He turned to leave, and I remembered one of the conditions of Yorke's trust.
"Inquisitor Sharp-"
"Yes?"
"-the 183rd Mordian barracks are to be left undisturbed by the investigation, unless it is believed absolutely necessary, or that our sources are unreliable." I suspected this would not sit well.
A strange expression flickered across Sharp's face but was then gone, "As Inquisitor Cape would have it." he departed.

"Let's get you to bed." I sighed at Yorke.
"That man had shiny hands!" he whispered, his eyes wide in delight.
I nodded patiently, "Yes he did, shiny metal hands."
Yorke smiled, “Is he good people too? I liked him."
I glanced back down the corridor, "That... Remains to be seen."



[Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

The judge brought Cat back hours later. I don't know what they'd done to him, but he could barely walk. His eyes were black and he looked pale as hell. Boorman, wanted to take him him towards his room, but I had to stop him. For one, the place were trashed. During the interview some of the ship's orderlies had stripped it down, by order of the Inquisition. Taken all his belongings. They were about as graceful as a bunch of people who really didn't want to do something, could be expected to be about it.
For two, I didn't want him taken back through the barracks where anyone could see him. We didn't know what he'd be coming back like, if at all.

To get him away from the lads and all that, Adhe had set up a hammock in the signal office. We just didn't expect Cat to be in such a state.
"What did you do?" I stopped Boorman before he left.
He were open about it, "The commissar has been drugged. He will sleep; it'll wear off soon. There will be no lasting effects. We'll collect him again tomorrow."
I weren't convinced, "He looks like gak." I said.
"He looked like that before we took him. You're just seeing it now he's not capable of putting on a front." and he just left.
Arse.

Ahde and I had to drag Cat pretty much. He could stand up, but he were out of it. He were smiling throughout, that in itself were really odd.
With the adept gone, I asked him, "Are you okay, fella? Did they hurt you?"
He just spun and hugged me, and mumbled some gibberish about there being nice people with sparkly hands while he hung there.

And then he fell asleep, then and there. If you've ever had a six foot tall officer fall dead asleep on you, whilst you’re both still standing up, you're part of a very limited club.
Thankfully Ahde were in the room. We managed to put the idiot in the hammock. We would’ve laughed but it was actually frightening to see him spark out like that. That bastard Judge should have warned us. Shouldn't have drugged him to begin with. I know he's awkward at times, but Cat's loyal to a fault, there’s nothing he wouldn’t have told them.

In the evening there's a meal and a sort of social party-thing to celebrate our victory down there, and the arrival of two Astartes. They've come to bear witness to the fall of their brothers, it's very important to them.

I'm staying out of the way, I hate formal do’s and with these Inquisition, I don't have a good feeling about any of it.

[Disconnect]



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

The air had the start of evening chill to it as I woke face down. One arm trailing inelegantly out of the hammock, the other as it turned out from flexing it, wrapped around my face. I enjoyed the stretch, feeling a little relieved, it had been the hard, thick kind of sleep, without dreams. I allowed my thoughts to roll around my head, celebrating the comparable ease and clarity that the rest had brought.
Shifting, I noticed a weight on my back, someone had done their best to throw a dark blanket over the hammock. It slid off as I righted, and I spotted the addition of an upturned bucket, sporting a mug of soup. I drank. It was cold filth, but someone had made the effort.

Unable to excuse sitting there any longer, I made way back to the the main barrack. My neck itched, and my clothes were still stuck to me. Acutely aware that I badly needed a wash, a shave and a conversation that didn't orbit around the last month.

After those mercies, I hoped for a few hours of distraction before the night's shindig and then after that, probably a fight between Cape’s’ group and Sharp over the first honour of scraping my brain tomorrow. I winced. In Renan’s case at least, it may not be literal. I wondered how many claws they were hiding inside the glove of their softly-softly approach. How long their patience would last.

I was unsure who was the more dangerous, the slighted Inquisitor or the acolytes straining to prove themselves.

~

The annoying part about fight scenes (for me anyway) is you can only go too far before it's the same descriptionsituation over and over. Of course, melee gets a bit easier for me because it's not just "the lasround bursts through his skull (x20)" but actual dodging swings and counter strikes. I guess that's part of the reason why I write for Kroot, they go for melee, and have a tendency to bite you, which I find morbidly entertaining.

Yeah, I have the same problem, but for a run of the mill traitor. Basically I cycle through heretic, cultist, and traitor sporadically enough so it sounds good. I would hate doing space marine. (I've got nothing besides space marine/just marine, and astartes)

I think you'll do fine, your conversations are the strong point of your stories, and you have strong characters. Just let them loose in the room and see where they go, because in the end, if it is just a soiree you can always just write it off later as them being too tipsy, on the other hand if something comes up and the wrong person gets insulted it could be a setup for some serious backstabbing in the future. Yorke has a snappy wit, let him get a few in him and start firing off some scathing zingers without his normal (albeit transparent) restraint that stops him from saying the wrong thing about the wrong people while the wrong ears are listening. Or let someone else do something along those lines, get somebody in hot water and then figure out how they're going to get out of it or watch them cook to death, so long as it furthers the story then it sounds like you've got some good material to work with. Also, you have some great established characters, let them do the talking.

While I'm no raging fanatic, I'm fine with having some Wolves turn rabid so to speak, just don't make them hush up about it like another certain chapter.

Oh, hello nice Dark Angel, that's a nice black bag, what are yo-

*is sent on a very nice, permanent, vacation*

As a Space wolf player, I don't see a problem with that at all, every chapter has corruption within their ranks (honestly, I wonder if there has ever been a member of the opposite team turn back from chaos...).

Also, why does there need to be a reason for a party? What if they just had a big fight that they narrowly escaped and just want to blow off some steam? What if they've just helped a colony that has a high female population concentration and the younger troops wanna have fun so some of the older ones simply get together to reminisce or have fun in their own way? Like I said, your characters should be able to carry themselves, trust that they'll do something interesting when you put them in a room together, even if it isn't for the best constructed reason.

[Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

We managed to avoid the party. Well, I did. Cat and I were hanging around in the mess hall, talking over how today had gone. Why the mess hall? It has the most exists. An office only has one. Ahde were off sleeping now that Cat had recovered enough from the drug to not scare us both. Wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he worries.

Two posh nobs swept in while we were all talking. Aides or junior officers, dressed up like right tarts. They spied Cat and me. Bees to sugar, or flies to gak, I'm not sure.

I was not having it, and Cat wasn’t really in a fit state to deal with them either. He’d scrubbed up okay, sorted himself out, but he looked rough and dog tired still. The time on Jallen hadn’t treated him well, it were easy to forget, but to me he looked like he’d lost about a third of his original bodyweight. He were never exactly lardy to start with.
"Oh, you are not yet at the dinner either! You must join us, Captain! Commissar!" probably thinking that turning up with us would cover their tardy entrance.
"I'm afraid Captain Gaskell and I are… Still discussing something rather important." Cat is not a good liar, and I must admit I really had it on me tonight.
"Nonsense, Commissar Yorke! You must attend, after all, it would be shameful for one not to show up at our own celebration." I gave him the best gak-eating grin I could pull. He smiled back. His eye was twitching. I wanted to see what he’d do.
"So you'll be coming as well then." he tried, bless him.
"Ah no, these formal occasions are hardly my forte. You go with my blessings."

They dragged Cat away, nearly left his heel marks on the tiles. I'd feel bad, but it were hilarious to see him try and escape it. Lanky bugger shooting me looks over his shoulder, mix of frustration and fear.
He’ll be okay. Schola teaches them all about formality and social graces. I’d probably pick up the wrong glass, or pour my wine into the wrong fork. Besides, been to one of those ball-ache events, been to them all.

[Disconnect]



[Journal Entry: Renan] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

I can’t say that I was greatly enthused by the party held this evening, but it was certainly a more light-hearted affair than those we usually attend. In one of the larger conference halls, many of the Nubila’s upper command and staff had come to greet two Astartes. Namely elder Space Wolves, Raoul Dromgoole and Brynjar Davis.
There were also a number of Charlen officers, and a scattering of the Mordian 183rd. Sharp and two of his acolytes were in attendance, though stayed silent throughout the introductions. I had suggested that Aaric, Celena and I attend in hope of making the acquaintance of the two Astartes, and keeping an eye on proceedings.
It also beat listening to giggly commissar recordings all night if I’m quite honest.

Speaking of which, whilst their sergeant was there, Captain Gaskell was noticeably missing, alongside his friend, Commissar Yorke. a little later into the evening, Yorke arrived, flagged by two of the Nubila’s crew.
He looked greatly uncomfortable to be there, and there were frost particles in the air when Inquisitor Sharp was introduced to him by a slightly inebriated Captain Sibley. From the looks of things, the accompanying handshake was deeply painful.
Yorke managed to neatly vanish into the crowd shortly after, leaving Sharp stuck in conversation with the Charlen captain.

However, I was watching Commissar Yorke. He stepped towards the two great Astartes, saluting and gesturing politely. When Raoul turned to greet him, Yorke took an involuntary step back, appearing suddenly terrified. He blanched as though seeing a ghost. Little did I know that it was actually the case.
I listened in carefully, wandering a little closer under the pretence of distractedly keying into my dataslate.

“You have seen my face before, Commissar?” Raoul asked him gently.
“Y- How?” Yorke was pale, and had lost much of his composure.
“Many of our brothers share a family resemblance.” the Space Wolf smiled, trying to put the man at ease.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that— he was-“ the commissar stared ahead, thousands of miles away, lost in troubled memory, “I- I was asked to return something of importance to you.”
The second Astartes, Brynjar, spoke quietly, “Then you were the man who encountered our fallen brothers on Jallen.”
“Yes.” Yorke spoke but his thoughts were still back on the planet. He shook his head slightly, as if to attempt to clear it, “The last time I saw your face, it was dying.” Realising, he clasped both of his hands to his mouth, horrified at his own words.

Raoul reached out carefully and put his hand on the commissar’s shoulder as if to reassure him. It seemed to have the opposite effect as Yorke tensed.
“Then you know what happened?” asked Brynjar.
The commissar answered, “Some of it, sir.”
“If we meet later, would you tell us of it?” Raoul asked the terrified man.
“I can certainly try.” Yorke caught sight of Inquisitor Sharp approaching out of the corner of his eye, and flinched again, “But I must go, sirs, I’m sorry. I will find you this evening if I’m allowed the time to myself. If not then, tomorrow.”
Without waiting for their reply, the commissar departed, vanishing into the crowd. I couldn’t follow his movement, as he disappeared. Inquisitor Sharp arrived shortly after, glancing around to see where his target escaped to, his visage calm, but his body language crackling with annoyance. He bowed his head curtly to the Space Wolves, and set off after Yorke into a side corridor.
I slipped back to where Boorman and Celena were stood, about to suggest that we perhaps follow the odd couple, when Celena’s bio tracker alarm started beeping frantically. Sharp had caught up with his prey, it seemed. I allowed them to scan the dataslate and locate Yorke by themselves, it seemed churlish to lead the way, as I in theory, am here to observe, not lead.

Yorke was puzzling to me.
Like staring at the sun, the longer I spent in his company, the harder it became to get a clear image. I still felt from him an over-riding sense of duty to assist others. But then, whole sections of his consciousness shifted before I could get my bearing on them, like spiralling flocks of birds. I don't think it was voluntary, or conscious, nor was he remotely gifted with psychic ability. Which made my difficulty all the more concerning. Something was gently obscuring him from me, and not necessarily to his own knowledge. It went well beyond any level of Commissariat training.

In comparison, Sharp had carefully constructed the walls around his own mind, training himself or tampering to block all but the most basic emotional readings. Staring toward him was as dangerous as standing on the edge of an abyss with no handrail. There was seemingly nothing, a deeply volatile trap to navigate. I was not prepared to even try.
Even the others in my company seemed to sense the devil in him, or some other level of danger. They spoke of him little, and didn’t look directly at him when he joined us for any length of time.



[Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell] [Day 2 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

I should have gone with him. Throne knows what I was thinking letting them take him out of my sight. Getting Cape's inquisition bladdered. With the Astartes! Getting his arse chewed out by Sharp! Love notes and wine from the kitchen staff! 

Really could do without having to babysit the new lot as well. They're fractious, nowty and who could blame them. We're cooped up again after a month in the free air. I've had to break up two fights this past day, and it's only going to get worse. I'm only thankful that Cape is protecting us from Sharp's lot. I see them skulking around the place. I'd rather have gone to that nobby dinner than spend ten minutes with any of them. They can't touch us, but they're like dogs at the gate. Barely controlled and waiting for one of us to slip.

[Crashing noise] Again? Might not even have to wait too long. I'll end up starting it myself if things don't loosen up soon.

[Disconnect]



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 1 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

Measurably, the Inquisitor.
“Do you think you are being smart?" the Inquisitor spat, as my back hit the wall, "You think you have snatched something back from this?"
Evidently Sharp had found out more about the agreement with his fellow Inquisitor Cape, the rushed edict protecting the Hollies. They were not his target, but the move had rubbed him badly. It slighted him on a level he was seemingly unprepared to deal with.
"No, sir." I looked away, down the corridor hoping someone may come this way. No such luck. I was unsure who I was hoping for. Sharp had a facade to maintain, that much I knew. My best chance would be forcing him into raising it again.
His steel grip pinned my left arm above my head against the wall, the other arm at my side. He was hissing venom into my ear, causing my guts to chill. Vivid descriptions of methods that that I couldn't believe came from his mouth. I called on my ability to appear impassive, which was entirely the wrong response. I was causing him to rapidly lose his temper. His grip was turning my hands as cold as my innards.

My best chance arrived.
“Is there a problem, Inquisitor?” Emperor bless you, Boorman.
Sharp relaxed his grip long enough for me to slide free, not missing the chance to murmur behind my neck final time. Renan caught my eye as I failed to stop the last threat from affecting my expression.
"A... Personal matter." Sharp turned with a fixed smile, showing entirely too much teeth.
Celena stepped forward, her face shadowed, “Inquisitor Sharp, we had an agreement that you would not interfere with the 183rd regiment. That particularly includes their commissar!”
Sharp turned fully to face the trio, “I do not have to answer to you, nor your new recruits, Renan.”
“You do not, but if you wish to take the matter up personally with Inquisitor Cape himself, we can certainly arrange that, right now.” I felt something emanate from Renan. It was subtle, but the atmosphere had most definitely changed.

Sharp's back was up, and I seized the moment to slip away. Out of the corridor, across the hall, and into an empty function chamber, before I allowed the raw panic to take me over. One of the two groups would find me eventually, but Renan’s seemed to have the edge in this regard. As I dropped onto a cloth covered table and shook slightly, I considered this. Their timing, their uncanny timing.
My neck itched.
Removing a glove, I carefully examined the back of my neck with my fingertips. A tiny raised lump, barely noticeable. It prickled fiercely as I touched it, the centre small, but firm. Some kind of tracker?
Those bastards had me tagged like an animal. The further indignity of the situation hit me with equal measures anger and desperation.

Not allowing the despair to take hold, I decided it was time to make things a little more interesting for the Inquisition. I needed to buy time and consider how. As I looked around the room, the empty glasses on the sideboard gave me the seeds of an idea.

*

“Well. You owe me a drink, Raoul. I bet you if I held my breath they'd arrive!" I gestured as the Acolytes appeared in the doorway. The two lightly garbed Astartes filled the small chamber with their deep laughter.
Raoul slapped me on the back, rocking me forwards, "Their faces!"
It was the turn of the two Acolytes to be indignant as they slowed their pace entering the chamber.
"Perhaps I should have let you carry on with your perfect timing routine?" I teased gently.
“Commissar, I would have words with you.” Aaric gave me an exceptionally stern glare that probably would’ve worked quite well on anyone else.
I met it with a polite, and probably quite irritating, smile.
"No, not tonight!" announced Raoul, his face serious, "Tonight we mourn our fallen brothers, and celebrate their honour. You will join us, this Cat tells us you are likely good men. These names should be remembered by good men." he raised his arms wide before saluting the three Inquisition, who returned the gesture in kind.
Brynjar carefully cradled a small black cloth bundle in one hand, "Your friend here returned tokens of those who fell. He carried these and their names with him until he could return. We may pay respect to our brothers."

Boorman frowned, and gave me another exceptionally hard stare, “I thought that all of your belongings were confiscated.”
"I am not entirely without my methods." I answered Aaric’s raised eyebrow, "Whilst thorough, your searches are somewhat... Linear in thought." enjoying the brief frustration on their faces. Truth is, I had stashed the tokens in Gaskell’s satchel the moment the inquisition showed their faces, expecting a check on my own gear, the pieces were entirely overlooked.
"He has also," Raoul smiled broadly, a not entirely unpleasant view, "Remembered to indulge another tradition of ours."
Brynjar lifted the pale tablecloth of the nearest bench slightly, revealing a crate of glass bottles, "You will join us." he repeated, and gestured to the crate before leaving the room.
I tried to read the faces of the acolytes as they hauled up one of the tinkling crates. The scribe Renan looked quietly amused, as far as I could tell. He winked to me as they left the room, and slipped away in another direction. I returned it, he’d grasped what I was up to, and yet was prepared to let the acolytes learn this particular lesson on their own.

The second best advice I ever received: Always respect the folk who do things for you, aboard ships, in buildings, colleges, any establishment really. Doormen, security, maintenance, mailmen, and in this case, kitchen staff. For one, they have amazing stories, as they see everything, and scarce anyone truly notices them. For two, they remember those of us who take the time to give back, and don’t treat them like gak. Now and then, they can be trusted to return a favour when you most need it.

~

(Cat discovered his microchip far earlier than expected. Remember to spay and chip your commissars! Only you can prevent unwanted litters)

[Bonus Scene]

I very rarely comment on this aspect of my characters, but I was so-so about putting this entry in after a friend raised concerns in a pre-read. I hadn't cottoned on to it potentially reading like Cat slept with a space marine. That is not what happened. Whilst he's ambitious, he's not that ambitious. Or sturdy.


[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 2 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732.M41] *

Carrying on the recent tradition of waking up in unusual places, I jerked upright in the dark and cracked my head on the underneath of a hard metallic surface, inches above my face.
My skull was already rattling. I gripped it with both hands, "Fttthhh."
"He wakes!" a voice cried out, and I began to scramble out confusedly as the giant Brynjar dragged me out from under the table by the shoulders, and pulled me to my feet.
"Little less hands-on, please, sir." I mumbled. The man lifted me as easily as he would a child, despite my height.
"You weren’t saying that last night!" chided Raoul from across the room.
I jolted back in confusion, whilst Brynjar almost doubled over, failing to control his amusement, "You're easy to ruffle, Cat!"
"Ngh. You're outsmarting a man who just concussed himself. I hope you're proud." I shook my head, smiling. That smile dropped as I glanced down, "Where is my shirt?" realisation, and slight panic set in, “And my sash?” My headache pulsed, competing for attention.
Another laugh, "Do you need us to dress you, Kitten?"

“No. Now you're just being ridiculous." I sighed. I held up my hands and looked at the ceiling. There was no salvaging dignity; I sat down on the edge of the nearest chair and cupped my aching head. I felt strangely vulnerable without anything to hide the scar raking my back.
Brynjar’s eyes followed me as I moved, and recognition flickered across his face that the game had gone too far. He changed tack, "Well Cat. Let me show you something you'll enjoy."
I sighed, as he winked wickedly, expecting more jokes at my expense. However he held his finger to his lips and motioned for me to follow him outside.
"How- How did they manage to get up there?" I whispered. I couldn't help but tilt my head and marvel. From the looks of it, Celena and Boorman were going to have a far more eventful waking than I did.

*

Well, that bought me the morning away from their investigation efforts, at the very least. A fair exchange for the skull-splitting headache that was building.
I eventually located my shirt and sash, both hanging on chairs under the table I’d slept beneath. They were soaked through with water for some reason. The possibilities were endless, but the most likely that I’d either fallen victim to a prank and taken them off to dry, or I’d joined some kind of fully-clothed swim-team. It would have perhaps been easier to find them had i not awoken by slamming my head into the nearest available surface, Bidding pleasant farewells to the Wolves, I set off to try and catch up with my friends, and hopefully nip past Michelle’s station for some headache tablets.

I walked smack into Renan coming from the opposite direction.
"Oh please, no." I muttered, miserably.
Instead of any officious response, he regarded me with kind amusement, "You gave them the slip, then."
"You might very well think that, but I couldn't possibly comment." I examined the ceiling tiles.
He chuckled, "Quite."
Wordlessly, we parted ways.
“Ramirez?” Renan called quietly from down the corridor as I approached a split in the path.
I turned my head, and he indicated to the left silently, and gave me a small hand signal for all clear. For whatever reason, he was helping me to avoid Sharp, and I nodded, gratefully.

[Only Heresy - Chapter IV - Investigation Resumes]

[Journal Entry: Renan] [Day 2 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732.M41] *

“Inquisitor Sharp, these are yesterday’s recordings in full.” I handed a dataslate and accompanying cable across his desk.
Sharp accepted them with a nod, “Thank you, Renan. Are you still allowing me to sit in on your little chat today?” he raised an eyebrow.
“If you indeed wish to attend,” I ignored his sarcasm, but answered with some of my own, “but if you would permit things to take their course naturally, that would be preferable. I doubt the commissar needs you to hold his hands again.”
He smiled, “Of course. When?”
“We have just sent Boorman to collect him.”
Sharp slid the pad into a drawer by his knee, “I’ll accompany you then, if that is agreeable.”

The office was quite spartan, which was no great surprise. The desk was standard, metal, blocky and produced in their thousands. What did bear inspection was the furniture that Sharp had brought with him.
In a secured, tall glass cabinet behind his desk, sat a few books, battered and highly worn, their covers most unreadable from age. A few were bound in materials that I had a rising suspicion would cause many people alarm or disgust. Celena had noticed them too, though she did not comment. 

What primarily caught my attention on the shelf was a small statue, casually placed up there, almost being used as a bookend. It was incredibly unpleasant, and the shape alone told me that it was a confiscated artefact. I would have trouble describing the form, esoteric and painful to consider for long. It was also unusually cold. I could feel from across the room that it drew warmth from its surroundings and tiny beads of water clung to the glass closest to it, as it chilled the surface from within.
Distracted from the task at hand, I wondered why a vigilant man such as Sharp would have brought these foul things with him. But I also supposed even when travelling the galaxy, investigation continues. Often the safest place to store the unknown is close by. Not a comforting thought for the rest of us.



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 2 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732.M41] *

"You could save us all an awful lot of time and just have me shot." I murmured as I sat down.
Renan smiled, “Relax Ramirez, I very much doubt that is going to happen."
Inquisitor Sharp gave an unpleasant grin from across the room, “Absolutely. For one, tall, well conditioned servitors are hard to come by out here. No point in wasting a useful body."
I involuntarily froze, looking back and forth between the pair of them. I had absolutely no idea or not if Sharp had been joking. I also didn't know if he'd somehow gained information on what I'd thought was a well-buried phobia of the fething things.

"That was unkind." Renan sighed, “Inquisitor, if you're going to deliberately antagonise our charge, I'm going to have to request that you leave."
Sharp nodded and drew his hand across his mouth with an invisible zipping motion. He then winked at me and gave the grin again. It was somehow worse.
Renan clearly sensed my apprehension, "Nothing you've told us so far has raised suspicion of you as a traitor or a heretic, Ramirez. We are here to gather information, not put you on trial." he smiled and that was at least reassuring.
His two colleagues exchanged a glance beside him. I suspected that they didn't share his view. they at least, were partly cowed to Renan’s authority. Since Sharp’s arrival, they had taken a step back, and had been considerably less forthright. At a guess, his presence foxed them.

The judge handed me the beaker of drugs again, and I drank. It took considerably longer to relax with Sharp in the room. Perhaps I was less physically exhausted, perhaps an animal part of my brain was fighting against the drug with the predatory presence nearby. Either way, this time I felt markedly less safe, right until it took me completely.



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 3 - Jallen - 732.M41] *

Something unknown to me drew me closer, and I climbed the heap of shale, pieces scattering by my clumsy ascent. I stood I looking over the giant Astartes. A broken sapling lay across his waist, the trunk smeared thick with his blood, the foliage mercifully shielding the view of his lower body from us both.
I looked at his face, and was surprised when this time, two entirely human eyes met my own. His skin was greyed, but with every second, gradually returning to a more healthy shade where it was visible beneath blood and matted hair. The fatal wounding had chased away the corruption. Abandoning him at the end, I thought bitterly. Else it was a trick, a last perversion of the chaos taint. 
My hand traced to my waist, for my hellpistol. We were to end those affected by chaos. To fail to do so, to sympathise with the enemy was traitorous at best. I was torn. It was also my duty to understand what had happened, and to respect the life around me. I relaxed my arm and sat down warily on a shattered rock by the head of the once proud warrior.

The damage would have killed a human, but the superior physiology of an Astartes was keeping the poor bastard alive, prolonging the end. His breathing was shallow and pained, but he was unmistakably conscious.
Unsure why, I reached out and gently cleared the mess of tangled hair and blood from his face, allowing him to see better and speak.
"Allfather forgive me." he whispered, "Forgive us all."
The words set a chill through my spine. More of them? I pushed away thought for the time being.
"Rest, sir." I tried not to look farther down to where the tree lay. I kept my eyes on his face. The distinctive features and dark brow wracked more with guilt than physical pain.
A movement flickered beside me as he tried to raise an arm. It would not cooperate, so much damage. The other lay far from us, burned and barely recognisable. Realisation hit and he stopped, "This is it."
I nodded, "Yes sir." Despite my misgivings, he deserved the truth.
"Thank you for the honesty." he gave a grim smile, "Appreciate it."
"I've been told I'm terrible at lying." I returned the smile, trying and likely failing, to mask the concern in my face.

"It will be night soon." he then murmured a phrase in a rough tongue, looking up toward the sky. It had been a long time since I'd heard it, an old Fenrisian expression about the night’s reflection. I nodded absentmindedly.
He spotted the movement, his tired eyes became curious and intense.
"I started my life in a system the wolves liberated, sir. Many of the tales we studied were of your history. I’m very rusty, but I remember a small amount.”
“Hah. How did we end up here, on this dry blighted rock?" he laughed, the movements juddering in his chest.
"Perhaps it is repayment for something we did." I grinned bitterly.

We spoke for a while, him speaking of old lands and ice, of winds, and of stars neither of us would likely ever see again. Some that doubtless no longer existed. I told him of some of the worlds I’d experienced, limited and humble in comparison, but as time drew on, he needed the breaks from speaking it provided.
As the dark began to fade, his voice was becoming quieter, and his skin was gradually losing its regained colour. I reached out instinctively and touched my hand to his brow, feeling it cold and sticky, as the final acts of his body pulled the blood to his core.
I leaned back and cursed.
He understood, and made to distract me, "There is something I would ask you do."
“Sir?” I sat up straight and attentive.
“If you make it off this world, I would have you return my name to my brothers. Let them know that I died as a man within my own mind, not as some ravening perversion of myself.” his words were slow and carefully chosen.
“I’ll do my best.” I wasn’t certain I’d even make it out of the jungle, but I could certainly try to honour the warrior’s last request.

*

I stayed with the wolf until he passed. The dust had long settled around us, and the stillness caused by his breath finally ceasing was a roaring silence in the dark. Strange stars gave faint light, along with a half-shaded moon I found myself staring at.
I felt deeply unsettled, a dead Astartes was not unheard of, but with them held up as small gods amongst us, if felt as though I should not have witnessed this. But the thought of leaving a man, even a proud man, alone in a strange world to die was more obscene. 
I looked at the broken figure, unsure if it would rise again, twisted further by forces no longer held at bay. Our instruction was to burn all tainted by the chaos, to prevent spread. In the night, the fire and smoke would be covered enough that I could get a good distance away before noticed. But burning an Astartes, even a fallen one, my gut twisted as I wrested with the decision.



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 4 - Jallen - 732.M41] *

In the cold morning light, I lay on my front, hidden in the dry ditch, listening intently to the crashing footfall nearby. I had failed to crack my dislocated shoulder back into place, my sword arm useless in combat for the time being. At least I still had my pistol, for all the use it would be against so many.
The vegetation by my hiding spot was thick along the ground, shielding me from view, but not tall enough to afford me the luxury of crouching. I’d stumbled this way in the night, mistaking the camp for Guard. It had been theirs at some point, but even from this distance I’d realised something was deeply wrong, and thrown myself down into the ditch. The smell alone had alerted me to what lay within. As the morning came, more horrors had become visible.

A one-armed, battered human in a jungle full of nightmares. I kept still, the urgency of strategic concealment allowing me to stave off feeling pathetic just yet. I just needed to wait for nightfall and I could move again. The stench of rot rose on the air, and travelled thick in the slow breeze. But the horror and flies paled against the pain across my shoulders.
After leaving the hasty pyre, I’d wandered in the dark, surmising that downhill would be roughly the right direction if I were to ever hope of meeting up with the squad. Exhaustion or poor judgement, I’d found another sheer drop, feet first, and fallen badly. Catching myself in a tree, I’d managed to break my fall, but in the process, neatly dislocated my arm at the shoulder. Climbing down had been extraordinarily foul.

Looking out across what had once been an Imperial Guard camp, I felt uneasy. Cultists? Warped minds now loyal to some screaming lunatic ideals, all of them once guard themselves. So many more dead. Then there as the potential for more corrupted Astartes. I shuddered involuntarily. If there was one, could others have fallen? On the way to the ditch, I'd come across scores of dead men, guard and cultist alike, torn apart, burned, mutilated, but no sign of the other Space Wolves sent down here. I pushed the thought away. There was nothing I could do about any of it for now. I settled down to wait.

A sudden howl of anger was thrown up from inside the camp, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement. Turning my head slowly, I nearly swore aloud in disbelief as a small green and brown blur was sprinting erratically through the open spaces between tents. A tiny xenos. A greenskin, his path arcing past my chosen hiding spot. 

Feth.

The grot was an opportune thief, I guessed, disturbed by the camp’s movements. Maybe thirty metres behind him, someone unseen was shouting, and a second, human figure could be heard, giving chase. At this rate the fething grot was fast-tracking me to an even less dignified death than expected.
I felt something akin to pity for the small creature, and to this day I don't know why I did it. But as the tiny greenskin made his way past, I lunged forwards through the foliage, threw my good arm up and pulled him into the ditch by his ankle with a brief yelp. Releasing him just as quickly, I held a finger to my mouth as he span like a cat to right himself. Suspicion flooded his sharp features, but he mercifully understood, staying silent and still. The gamble paid off, as seconds later, his pursuer thumped straight past us. 
My sudden action caught up with me, pain lancing through my torso, causing me to convulse onto my side, shaking, and any moment of relief was stolen from me.
The small creature huddled up against the inner bank of the ditch, watching me intensely. 

~