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It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries The Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim darkness of the far future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

___

Among the billions of people of the Imperium, you stood out. In one way or another, you have been noticed. Perhaps you were exceptionally skilled at something, or perhaps you were born with certain gifts that only a select few posses. Whatever you have done to stand out from the rest, you have been chosen to serve in one of the Ordos of the Emperor's Holy Inquisition, the Ordo Hereticus, taking the fight to the enemies of the Imperium that corrupt it from within, hunting down the heretic and mutant wherever they dwell. Since having been brought into service of Inquisitor Soverin Lucius Bocarrossa, your life has changed drastically. You have done things you would never imagine you would do, and know things that would have driven others mad. You have become an acolyte of the Holy Inquisition.

___

Orbital Station Omega, Orbit of Hive World Arlentos IV

Three grey, unmarked civilian shuttles descended onto the docks of Orbital Station Omega, in an area closed to the public and, indeed, authorities, for the docks the shuttles went into were those of the Merchant House Invictus. Unbeknownst to the station's crew and the planetary government, House Invictus was secretly a sector-spanning Inquisitorial organisation, used to cover up identities of operatives throughout the Arlentos sub-sector and the near area. Thus, the docking bays of House Invictus were what Inquisitor Soverin Lucius Bocarrossa of the Ordo Hereticus had chosen to make his arrival at. More importantly, however, was that the Orbital Station was the suspected home of a heretic organisation stretching through to the entire Hive World below, the station being used to traffic illegal weapons and artifacts of Chaotic or Xenos origin. The Inquisitor and his henchmen had been dispatched to investigate and destroy the cult, as soon as possible, before moving to another world to enact the Emperor's Will there.

As the shuttles landed, their ramps opened, revealing their contents: the central shuttle had been carrying the Inquisitor and his retinue, while the other two had been carrying the retinues' supplies, and Inquisitorial stormtroopers, disguised as House Invictus guards and armsmen. As the shuttles emptied, the Inquisitorial acolytes found them handed clothes or coats to disguise them in the same way as the stormtroopers; indeed, the Adeptus Astartes among them had been forced to leave his power armor behind as it would attract too much attention. Several crates were brought forward, too, carrying the preferred equipment of the acolytes, The Inquisitor, meanwhile, waited for his acolytes and henchmen to finish unloading and preparing their disguises, so he could further explain the mission at hand.

Eversor #3329 laid dormant as he was unloaded with the Inquisitor's supplies. His Cryo-Crypt had been sealed inside a large, reinforced crate that was almost 2 metres tall labelled with signs saying, 'This way Up' and 'Dangerous Goods'. Inside of the Pod, the Eversor was curled up in the fetal position and covered in a thin layer of ice blue crystals which made him almost look benign. He would remain in that dormant state until one of two things happened; either the Inquisitor uploaded his mission details through his Neuro-link or if his pod was opened by an unauthorized entity.

His Cryo-Crypt rattled a bit as the crate was moved around on the dock. The pod's machine spirit eagerly but silently waited for the activation command, for that was the sole reason of its existence. Each time it thought, [Wait], the lights flashed a serene ocean blue, indicating that the cryo-suspension was stable.

[Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash.....

Sergeant Teodor rushed to the large, chunky box stamped with an Inquisitorial seal and broke it open. A hiss of pneumatic steam emanated from the container and the lid rose up, revealing his personal cache of weaponry. Years in the Polonian 1st Regiment had netted him an armoury that would make a Tempestor Prime green with envy. With fluid, practised grace, a pair of immaculate laspistols flew into his hand-crafted thigh holsters. His grav-chute would have to stay behind, as would his sniper rifle. He made a mental note to talk the Inquisitor about converting the weapon. Whenever convenient.
At last, pulling a finely woven greatcoat over his Stormtrooper carapace, Teodor abandoned the still steaming crate and stood stock still by Bocarrossa.

Former Arbitrator Uriah Xanthis sighed as he looked in the mirror. He was dressed in a pair of work boots, loose fitting pants and shirt with a light jacket over that to hide the light flak vest underneath. He had his power maul and knife strapped to his belt but those would be hidden by his long grey coat. His laspistol he tucked into the back of his pants. He then looked at his boltgun. He had to detach the grenade launcher, the boltgun itself dangled from a sling by his right leg and was barely hidden by the coat. The grenade launcher made a much too unsightly bulge from his side. He hardly looked like a proper Arbitrator. The man in the mirror was unshaved with long hair and appeared tired... Uriah frowned. Something wasn't right with his appearance. He still bore some air of professionalism... was it his shoulders? Were they too square and rigid? He shook his head. No matter for now. He tucked a few charge packs here and there in his pockets. As for the boltgun, well, he could only hide one magazine of bolts aside from the one already in the weapon. That he tucked in the inner breast pocket of his coat.

Uriah took another look in the mirror, if he hunched a bit, one couldn't tell that he was carrying any weapons. He allowed himself a small smile before running a quick diagnostic on his bionics before taking his place alongside SGT Teodor.

Junior commissar Hantal Dravis stomped down the ramp of the transport, it had been a long flight and he'd had no interest in talking to the men around him.
His eyes were roving, alert for the signs. He'd yet to make planet fall on a hostile planet that didn't end up swarming with xenos filth. He wasn't going to be caught unaware this time.
His plasma pistol hung at his hip, his power sword at the other. His hat was stowed in his case, and his uniform covered by a cloak in invictus colours. He reached the bottom of the ramp and took in the bay around him. Watching with a critical eye as the others descended and spread out

Inquisitorial scion, Julius calcemo, eagerly walked toward his crate, limping slightly.
The simple crate opened with a hiss, and revealed his armaments.
He sheafed a laz-pistol at his thigh, a solid-slug hand gun on his other, a knife down his leg, another laspisyol and solid-slug pistol on his chest, and a second knife to the back of his shoulder. Some would call this over-kill, he called it mildly cautious.
On high-guard, he'd been known to carry even more.
He clipped a small bag to his belt, it contained a few las-cells.
Now he grabbed his sEcond favourite weapon, a light machine gun that ran off a bel of ammo wrapped around his body, it was smart than a las-gun, and folded further so that he could easily attach it across his chest. He left a few grenades, clips, more pitons and knives, a photo of his mother and his true weapon in the container, and then moved along.
A frown crossed his face as he saw the assassin's cryo-pod.
What the he'll was it doing here?
Oh well, he moved away.

Hantal was watching coolly as the rest of the team stowed small armouries about their person, he smirked to himself knowing faith in the emperor was a greater defence that any array of guns, which is why he carried only his power sword and plasma pistol, it never hurt to help the emperor to protect him after all. Plus the needle pistol stowed in an ankle holster of course.

He wondered how strong the faith was in this collection of miscreants and washouts. Of course, he wasn't a commissar any more so he was a washout too, but his faith was untouched, stronger even, as you'd expect after surviving so much. His new inquisitorial 'associates' had provided even more opportunities to survive against insurmountable odds and Hantal Dravis saw that as a clear indication of the Emperors watchful gaze

Teodor's hands fumbled slightly with his longcoat. The men were taking too long to unload. He had whipped men in his squad for things like this. He shot a venomous glance at the Inquisitor which said only one thing.
"When?"

Hantal Dravis had been wandering aimlessly waiting for the others to unload, he was eager to get moving, the sooner they started the sooner the inevitable xenos filth would appear, then most would die and he'd survive.
Looking back over the team again, he wondered who would survive with him this time.
A noise dragged his gaze back to the perimeter or their drop site, probably nothing, but it paid to be certain. He moved in the direction of the noise to investigate

Teodor watched the commissar break from the group, cloak billowing behind him. He shrugged away, and for the umpteenth time, practised drawing his laspistols from their holster. The awkward cloak kept catching on his carapace armoured wrists. He grunted in annoyance and rolled up the cuffs ever so slightly to allow more movement. He wasn't a fan of espionage and deceit. Less so when it hindered what he did best: kill remorselessly.
Teodor glanced back at Dravis. He briefly considered escorting him. Briefly. The sergeant resumed his drill.

[Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash ....

Stormtrooper Dyana slowly and carefully steps off the shuttle as if she was unsure of her ability to walk off of vehicles. She adjusts the uniform she is given, stretches out and makes a beeline for the nearest crate. The Trooper doesn't even acknowledge her comrades as she passes by. Bak uses a crowbar to pry open one of the crates. She lifts out a Hotshot Lasgun and the backpack mounted battery for it. The Trooper recites the litany of asssembly, presses the sacred rune of unison and joins the hungry cable of the Lasgun itself to the backpack to receive electrical nourishment. A satisfied beep indicates that the machine spirit is pleased with her faithful application of Adeptus Mechanicus doctrine.

She puts the backpack on and slings the Lasgun. She takes out an Autopistol and attatches the holster it is in to her webbing. Dyana equips herself with a few frag and krak grenades, a canteen and some rations. After she is all set the Trooper simply leans against a stack of crates and awaits orders.

Rats, big ones but just rats.
Hantal was getting jumpy, but there was something odd. The rats were running in one direction, away from something.
He hoped he was wrong, but he'd seen that behaviour before.
The emperor protects, thought Hantal Dravis again, before marching back to the supply crates and stowing additional weapons about his person

Warrior-Priest Cvask glanced around at his comrades and shook his head worryingly. They were going to get him killed. Throne, if it haden't been one of the Emperor's chosen Inquisitors he would've never joined the mission. They were going to stick out like a sore thumb.

He had waved off the black strict uniform that the Inquisitor had insisted on him wearing and instead he kept his unkempt red and black flowing robes that he had fought with for a long time. Old and new blood stains cracked the fabric here and there but it was perfectly useable and he wouldn't look like such an idiot amongst these tight-asses.

He had left his armoured skeleton suit behind reluctantly though, for he was not about to storm into the middle of a battlefield. But he twirled his long staff in his hands, breaking the pole in to the new gravity. The barbed wire coiled around the pole hissed and clanged as it smacked against the pole. He finished off his routine and rolled his shoulders, feeling refreshened.

His bolt pistol layed in its holster. He resented the blasted thing; it was bulky, loud and dangerous to both him and the person he was shooting. But it was the best he had, and he had a rule; never borrow, never steal. Though, the ganger he took it from was lying in a morgue, so he didn't really need it.

"Let's move out Acolytes." Grumbled the Inquisitor. They stepped off the bay and into the world of Arlentos IV...

"Be the symbol"
Common teachings of the commissariat. Well now Hantal Dravis was being a symbol. His person covered in a variety of weaponry and support equipment he drew his cloak around himself, patting the plasma pistol at his hip and got into step behind the inquisitor.
He looked again to where he'd seen the rats, something was nagging at him...
"Be the symbol"
He shook it off, no use getting jumpy early.
He moved out with the team

"No step further, Cvask and Hantal. I don't know what you thought you heard, but it has been noted. Now that we are all here, I shall inform you all of what you will be doing."

The Inquisitor straightened his back, and pulled on a flashy coat, the like of which would be worn by nouveau-riche merchants. Inside the coat's pockets were several arcane devices, some weapons, and a small book.

"We will spread out across the station. Remember that you are all members of House Invictus. We believe that the station is being used to process weapons and other resources of Xenos or Chaotic origin. You will all travel in groups, asking around if anyone has some items of particular rarity that might someone who deals in such things. Do not use violence unless necessary. Squad Omega," he motioned to one of the groups of Militarum Tempestus, "will carry Eversor #3329's cyro-case. He has already been informed of our mission and is waiting to be activated. Squad Omega and Gilliam Teodor shall accompany me. Codicier Daceus and Hantal Dravis will search the lower levels facility together, as will Uriah Xantis and Cvask Albak. Arliana Kulmen, Julius Calcemo and Dyana Back, you will head towards the upper levels. Any information you receive shall be given through me using the comm-beads you have all been issued. Move."

"Inquisitor, please define 'necessary'?"

"Unless you are assaulted or an individual or group threatens to either make your life very unpleasant or to end it entirely, do not resort to violence unless permitted to. Exceptions will be made for interrogation - out of public. It is top priority that these cultists and smugglers do not find out the Inquisition is here unless I want them to."

Hantal Dravis stopped at the pronouncement of the inquisitor.
The space marine?
Dravis had worked with space marines before, or at least had seen them slaughtered by tyranid forces. He was under no doubt regarding their ability and prowess but the omens didn't look good.
At least loyalty to the emperor couldn't be called into question, though without ceramite armour the marine would be hoping for the emperors protection as much as any loyal human

"As you wish, my Lord."

Uriah Xanthis allowed himself a small smile. The lower levels, the dredges probably lived down there. And amongst the scum, there was bound to be some with connections to the case at hand.

"Very well then Inquisitor," Uriah said before departing, a sneer growing upon his face. It was time for the Law to return.

Julius looked over his new partner.
"so, we're working together huh. meh. how's a girl like you get in an inquisitor's crew?"
he wasn't usualy so cocky, but he was in a bad mood, and felt like stirring things a little.

Cvask huffed in annoyance. He was glad he was going to a place similar to where he was born, he would be able to find out the Cultists with ease.

But he knew the types he was working with. A Space Marine would stand out like a sore thumb; being huge and built like a tank. Xanthis was a total hardass who would probably lose his cool when the people start busting out their drugs and doing shady deals. And the other man was a Commissar, he could tell. His back was straight, his eyes forever watching the shadows and his hands upon his holster.

He prayed to the Emperor in annoyance in order to calm himself. He was born among the dredges of society and knew how to work. These people would be spotted as easily as if an Ork Warboss walked straight into a bar and ordered a pint of human blood.

After a few breaths he leaned on his long staff and limped off to join the ramp, grumbling his unluckiness and how he was going to die.

"Emperor who reigns in this realm of men, protect me in this dark hour. I am your instrument of wrath." He whispered.

Unbeknownst to Eversor #3329 within his cryo-crypt, he and his pod had been picked up by Tempestus scions from Squad Omega. Even though the Scions were regular gym-monkeys, they appeared to be struggling with the weight. Eversor #3329 was blissfully unaware of any and all things that occurred between his periods of activation and sometimes even decades would pass before he was awoken.

[Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash [Wait] Flash ....

"Strong words Mr Cvask," Dravis had picked up the whispered prayer of the man as he passed, "your faith will be your greatest weapon in the low...."
Dravis cut himself off, realising he was a 'former' member of the commissariat, he wasn't there to inspire those around him. He was here for his xenos knowledge and apparent inability to die when all around him were lost.
*scratches*
Dravis pulled himself from the brink of his reverie at the sound, the whine of his plasma pistol rising as he dragged it from his holster and aimed it at the source.
"Sir...?" A concerned looking stormtrooper slowly raised his arms, revealing he'd just been scratching his ass.
Dravis dialed down his pistol and returned it to it's holster, "at ease soldier."

'Careful' Hantal Dravis told himself, releasing the breath he'd held. still something nagged at him! something wasn't right, but he couldn't quite work it out

Cvask turned around and eyed the Commissar. He was inspecting the shadows. Cvask knew the signs, he was suffering from shell shock. Cvask had seen it on many a civilian he had guarded over the years. They jumped at every shadow, every movement.

The shuttles roared into the bay, metal containers that shook violently like wet beasts as they descended upon the Earth. They were the common Civilian Transports Mark 8. A bucket of bolts, Cvask thought bitterly.

Dravis shrugged off his concerns, eyes moving over a lot of slow moving individuals.
'We're going to die if this is how we operate' he thought to himself
"Gentleman lets mobilise shall we?"
He wasn't a symbol, but he was still a loyal member of the imperium and his training and experience still stood for something.
He was keen to get moving before his fears overcame the certainty he was feeling

Xanthis looked over his teammates. Too many lone wolves it felt. True, he did prefer operating alone, but to root out unknown heresy... unless one held a significant advantage, teamwork would be needed. Xanthis cast a glance over at Cvask. He seemed to be a bitter presumptuous man, his eyes giving way to disdain and a sense that he assumed the worst of everyone. Working with that one, would be hard...

Xanthis then looked over at the Space Marine, Daceus. He had never seen one before but he had worked with ogryns and the space marine merely looked like a more intelligent ogryn albeit a bit on the small size... no matter. Xanthis had heard of Space Marines and understood that while one space marine was worth 1,000 men, they still believed in teamwork. Xanthis's gaze then fell on the Space Marine's partner, Dravis, former member of the commissariat. He let a small grin form on his face. Those two should know the value of team work. While Xanthis himself was not part of their team, he hoped that he could work in concert with them. Especially in the case that Cvask and himself failed as a team. Xanthis quickly made his way over to them.

Cvask hesitated before boarding onto the bucket of bolts. He sat onto the cold steel decking cross legged and meditated, centring himself for the trials to come. He was a devoted warrior of the Emperor first, and he would work alone if need be to achieve the objective. This was a bloody trail he was walking down, a trail clouded by too many objectives and so little time. But he had grown up in adversity, and he was going to be the vessel of the Emperor.

Xanthis gave another look full of contempt and Cvask and Cvask shot him one back. Xanthis was a loner, Cvask could see it in his eyes. He judged his best meal and took full advantage when need be. He was sitting beside a shell-shocked Commissar and a giant human Ork. They were not going to do him much good.

Cvask centred himself for the mission, his body completely and totally eased as the shuttle prepared for takeoff. Everyone took their seats, but he just sat there, contemplating the grand scheme of the Emperor's divine work. He was completely unfazed at the shuddering of the ship and escaped to his soul to communicate with the Emperor.

Arliana Kulmen watched the dataslate. Not in the literal sense, of course. She had no eyes. But she did not need any. The sight of witches was more than enough to compensate for any crude sensory organs. She drew one lithe finger across its surface, adjusting the view. She would most likely not encounter the Inquisitor for some time yet, but the hour drew close nonetheless.

She looked to her side. She was clad in a large, dark green robe, hiding her entire body from sight except the hands and face, and even there nothing above the nose was visible due to the shadow cast by the hood. A long staff with an ornate eye symbol at its top was fixed to her back, angled slightly to the side, and she wore a necklace with the same symbol.

The dataslate revealed interesting things. She was impressed that he managed to blend in an Astartes. Such was his colossal size and warlike gait that blending him in must be like blending in an Ork leader at an Astropath meeting. Otherwise the gathering seemed ordinary. Soldiers, aides and living tools of various types. Nothing out of place for an Inquisitor.

She smiled, revealing perfect, shining teeth. From behind her, two other dataslates moved until they were next to the first. No physical hand needed to touch them, for to the telekine, her mind was her hand.

'Now, just to wait...'