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[IC] The Lesser of Two Heresies.

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Prologue: Path to hell, path to glory.

The sun flares from behind the armored glass, casting its light on the dark, ashen globe.

After two weeks of warp travel, enough to get any man sick, here it is. Malfi.
Vast mines, foundries, gun manufactures at least Hive Gunmetal big, if not bigger. Heavy machinery grinding all day, all night, producing goods, supplying three dozens of worlds.
Palaces of noblemen high in the sky, full of glamour and splendor. Crimson skies darkened with ash and fog.
Fifteen billion inhabitants, labouring every day in the name of God-Emperor, Him On Earth, The Savior of Man.

Malfi. The planet that could be the Calixis Sector capital.

But it is not.

And will never be.

The wasetland shimmers with the light of a dead lightbulb, while you gaze through the window.
"The Vigilant", gothic-class Black Ship Battlecruiser, slowly circles around the globe at its high orbit with you on board.

You find yourselves within a rectangular meeting room, the one that somehow resembles a shrine of sorts. Its walls are of polished steel, carved with many holy symbols - The Aquila, Two-Headed Eagle, the sign of the Holy Inquisition, the skull and the hammer...
The ceiling lies on four pillars of black marble, five metres high, one metre per one metre horizontally. The stone is polished and dark, flashes with the light of lamps, the ones hanging on the ceiling.
In the front, there is an altar. Behind it, on the wall - a small, square icon made in silver, the face of Saint Uthur The Cataplast, Thousand Times Wounded.
Hate to be that guy. You know, they say no statue of Saint Uthur is the same. Every single one has a thousand wounds on it. And not a single one is the same.


Funny how many ways are there to make a man bleed.

In front of an altar there are several - four on the left, four on the right - benches, with these wooden planks to kneel on. Not polished like black marble, not polished at all. Makes every faithful a martyr of some kind. Like Uthur.

You both find yourselves here, waiting. Waiting for someone.
Waiting for the Inquisitor himself, as he comes and tells you - what does he want.
Waiting for him to tell you that if you don't obey, they shall have you praying to Uthur.

Minutes pass in dead silence as Malfi spins around, breathing smoke and dust.
Three or four of small spacecraft cross the screen, flying in the delta pattern.

Before we start, it is time for you to describe and introduce yourselves. Take your time and take it good. After all, we want you to be your characters, don't we?

Let's start with the description, since naturally first impressions heavily influence the way you deal with other.

What you see is Abhuman beyond all doubt; althought humanoid in shape and human in size [about 1.70m tall] its leathery skin has just slightly too many folds, and the pale dark blue and gray hue does nothing to compensate for this. This is only of secondary importance compared to the head though: there's nothing human about that. The forehead simply passes into a snout the shape of a lizard's, with the same elongated jaws and inconspicuous nostrils. The only non-reptilian aspect are it's eyes, that are set more or less together like a human's, and have the same retinae and pupils, although the former are of a deep and warm yellow shade.

It's hard to read such an impassive face to begin with, but its whole body language exudes a lack of emotion, which could easily be mistaken for tranquility. Those familiar with them would tell you it reminds them of a coiled snake, waiting to strike. For the moment though, all it does it sit there and stare out into the void.

Regardless of its physical shape, or maybe because of it, the Emperor seems to have dealt this creature a poor hand. Quite a number of scars are visible on its legs, arms, neck and face, enough to make you wonder how many more are hidden underneath the shabby clothes it wears. There's no mistaking one thing though, it definitely wasn't on its own: the clothes clearly bear the colours and symbols of one belonging to a gang. They slightly resemble priestly robes, with a wide hood on its back and ragged cloth hanging from its waist down. The faded colours can still be distinguished as having once been something off-white, ivory most likely, and a deep blue shade of purple. Over the left breast, on the back and on the cloth, a stylized seven-pointed star can be seen, in a shade dark enough to once have been black.

The same star has also been tattooed on its right hand. Surprisingly, it wears no jewellery or other adornments that are unfailingly popular amongst gangers.

Heeeeeere we go...

At first glance, the red haired man who is sitting on the bench appears to be sleeping. But looking at him for a minute or two will tell you that he is not sleeping at all. He watches everything what happens around with his eyes.

Eyes of solid purple.

While he appears to be completely human, his eyes are different from typical human eyes. Dramatically different. The whole eye is deep purple, iris consist of two half-circles that are a lighter shade of purple and do not connect with each other, neither they connect to the black, small pupil.

The rest of the face seems to be completely human - but that is all tha can be seen. His whole humanoid body is completely covered with black and dark brown clothes, heavy boots and gauntlets. A black robe or cloak would probably finish the picture - but none of theese are present. Instead, a dark green scarf is worn.

A smile is seen on the man's face almost all the time, but every so often, it gets replaced by a mark of sorrow. But whenever it will happen, it is not going to stay for more than a several seconds.

You've seen the likes of him a thousand times before. Every imperial world is full of them - the lowest ganger scum doing their best to stay alive in these dark and grim days of the Imperium of Man. If you look closely though, you'll notice that his pale skin has been marked by many different gang markings and scars suggesting that many more markings have been removed over time. The most prominent (and it seems the oldest) tattoo is made in blue ink and as far as can be seen covers his whole body.

It seems as though he was in fact trying to blend in with others and disappear and there is precious little to distinguish him from the untold billions people living in the galaxy - his eyes give away hints of a strong personality and his hand is always playing with old splintered wooden dice.

@Silhar, I guess it's safe to assume that we do not currently have any weapons equipped?


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