Lady_Canoness Posted July 10, 2008 Author Share Posted July 10, 2008 That reminds me of something else that is never seen in stories along with eating and sleeping: using the washrooms. Ever hear about Gaunt having to 'time out' one of his undercover adventures because half the team really have to go? No. Ever read about Harry telling Ron and Hermione to cool their jets because he really has to pee? No. Does that mean I'm going to include Battle Sisters skipping off in the middle of a gun fight to find somewhere a little more private? No. Bathroom breaks will be kept to a minimum. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1624515 Share on other sites More sharing options...
- 7eAL - Posted July 11, 2008 Share Posted July 11, 2008 That reminds me of something else that is never seen in stories along with eating and sleeping: using the washrooms. Ever hear about Gaunt having to 'time out' one of his undercover adventures because half the team really have to go? No. Ever read about Harry telling Ron and Hermione to cool their jets because he really has to pee? No. Does that mean I'm going to include Battle Sisters skipping off in the middle of a gun fight to find somewhere a little more private? No. Bathroom breaks will be kept to a minimum. I don't know about the Sisters, but I remember that the Astartes power armour is designed to handle that kind of sh-ahem. Bathroom breaks are a bit too private to be regularly included in a story of any sort. People can write smut because there are such things as voyeurism and public sex, but passing wastes in front of an audience is not cool even for exhibitionists. The most that people usually see of washrooms in fiction are the front door: the occasional flush or splash of running water are vague sounds. "Find somewhere a little more private" could be read in an entirely different context, by the way. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1625529 Share on other sites More sharing options...
C. Barrius Matthaeus Posted July 13, 2008 Share Posted July 13, 2008 That was awesome! An excellent chase scene, and I quite liked Nerf. I shall also second 7eAL's comment about giving the Catachan some more screen time in future. At least enough for him to make some more jokes. Good stuff all around, and as always I look forward to seeing more! :) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1627314 Share on other sites More sharing options...
cryptomancer Posted July 14, 2008 Share Posted July 14, 2008 Something I've noticed as a theme throughout this story... psykers seem to be able to invade the minds of Battle Sisters at will with little trouble (though it may cause severe trauma to the Sister herself). This makes me wonder a few things. Basically, it stems from the following: Battle Sisters serve alongside the Sisters of Silence (an order of Untouchables created by the Emperor, for those of you unfamiliar with the term) on board the Inquisition's Black Ships. They work as guards for the highest concentration of psykers found anywhere outside of the Astronomican as a rule, and are chosen because their faith helps to shield them from psychic influence. Even in game (not to be used as canonical source material, to be sure, but something to keep in mind), the most powerful Space Marine, Eldar and Human (OK, and even Ork) psykers have a 1-in-3 chance of just failing to pop that psychic trick on a Battle Sister. So, what does this indicate about the Battle Sisters in this tale? 1) the Battle Sisters are weak. Could easily be the case. Protracted fighting in urban warfare is draining on the most stoic of psyches, and could leave them vulnerable. Even Aribeth herself has come through stresses that would break most people in half. 2) the psykers are supremely powerful. Bonis was a Beta-level psyker, supremely skilled and gifted. Galtman is probably fairly strong, and has had Inquisitorial training (presumably). Punching through the Shield of Faith is difficult, but hardly impossible. Makes these guys supremely scary. 3) environmental conditions. Maybe the Warp is calmer/more turbulent in this area, altering the nature of psychic abilities, making the souls of even the faithful more visible/vulnerable. Maybe the Sisters are being corrupted by something in the air/water/food/aether that they can't observe, and thus are un-aware of the corruption even as it spreads. 4) something something. Some reason that has yet to be revealed! In any case, I'm interested to see where you take this tale. Are you intending a re-write of the Fallen Saint after this (or any editing)? Given the overall improvement of your style during the SA and the increased depth of the characters, I'd like to see you address some of those chapters again and give them the high-quality treatment the new additions are getting. Again, good work and keep going! -Crypto Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1628783 Share on other sites More sharing options...
- 7eAL - Posted July 14, 2008 Share Posted July 14, 2008 Something I've noticed as a theme throughout this story... psykers seem to be able to invade the minds of Battle Sisters at will with little trouble (though it may cause severe trauma to the Sister herself). This makes me wonder a few things. Basically, it stems from the following: Battle Sisters serve alongside the Sisters of Silence (an order of Untouchables created by the Emperor, for those of you unfamiliar with the term) on board the Inquisition's Black Ships. They work as guards for the highest concentration of psykers found anywhere outside of the Astronomican as a rule, and are chosen because their faith helps to shield them from psychic influence. Even in game (not to be used as canonical source material, to be sure, but something to keep in mind), the most powerful Space Marine, Eldar and Human (OK, and even Ork) psykers have a 1-in-3 chance of just failing to pop that psychic trick on a Battle Sister. So, what does this indicate about the Battle Sisters in this tale? 1) the Battle Sisters are weak. Could easily be the case. Protracted fighting in urban warfare is draining on the most stoic of psyches, and could leave them vulnerable. Even Aribeth herself has come through stresses that would break most people in half. 2) the psykers are supremely powerful. Bonis was a Beta-level psyker, supremely skilled and gifted. Galtman is probably fairly strong, and has had Inquisitorial training (presumably). Punching through the Shield of Faith is difficult, but hardly impossible. Makes these guys supremely scary. 1 and 2 together would probably be sufficient. Aribeth's increasing doubt is also pitted against her faith, and it weakens her resolve just as much as it gives her insight to matters that simpler minds would never face. Galtman also has a great deal more experience with mind-wars than Aribeth, who has much less experience than the Sisters who serve and run alongside the Black Ships. With the material so far, Aribeth and her Sisters have little experience with psykers in general despite their years on the battlefield, and prior to Galtman's arrival none of them had any experience of dealing with the Inquisition and its members. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1628880 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted July 14, 2008 Author Share Posted July 14, 2008 A very interesting comment crypto, and one that I should add to. Psykers, I believe, are unimaginably powerful, and are almost impossible to resist without exceptional training. Note that even Eisenhorn need untouchables around him to accomplish his objectives without psyker interference. Only Aribeth herself has been affected by Galtman while Clara and Serinae were overpowered by Bonis. Bonis, being a beta level psyker, is almost impossible to resist without protection - he killed Montrose's team with ease, and the only reason Montrose survived was due to the warding equipment that he wears as part of his dress. When Bonis forces his mind on the Sisters, there is really nothing they can do to resist it. Bonis was unskilled as a psyker however, and as such I tried to show that his powers were unstable and far from the subtle uses of Galtman's powers. Galtman, on the other hand, while less powerful than Bonis, has for more control over his powers. In chapter 2 of part 1, we see that Galtman uses his powers like a '1 - 2 punch' in that he gives a little nudge first (as if testing the strength of his target's mind) then forces his way in if they cannot resist. It is also important to note that Galtman is not delicate in his mind invasions - he doesn't care what the effects are on the subject; all he cares is that he gets what he wants. You are correct in #1 as well, for while Clara and Serinae are not 'weak', Aribeth is. Doubt is eroding her resolve at a steady pace and leading her to question more and more about what she is doing and where her loyalties are. She's also very headstrong and impulsive, making it hard for her to close down her mind against Galtman's intrusions. 7eAL pretty much hit the nail on the head with his answer, but I just thought I would add my own commentary from the writer's perspective. As to the rest of my writing on Aribeth's tale, yes I will be altering the Fallen Saint to increase both its length and bring it up to speed with the current story. The outline will not change, though I will be adding new trials that she has to overcome upon leaving the red planet (it will have a name too), and I will also be expanding her experiences in the realm of Chaos to incorporate a longer journey in which all of the four major powers are mentioned. The supporting cast of Montrose, Galtman, and maybe even the Chaos chaps will also be making larger appearances in the Fallen Saint and the Saint Redeemed. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing! Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1629229 Share on other sites More sharing options...
cryptomancer Posted July 15, 2008 Share Posted July 15, 2008 Thanks for the replies, guys. I felt that since I'd been enjoying the story so much so far, I should make a meaningful contribution at some point ;) -Crypto Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1630109 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted July 22, 2008 Author Share Posted July 22, 2008 Considering that it has been a good few weeks without a progress report, I figured that I might jot one down before I go hopping off for another 8 1/2 hours of work :pinch: So, you can expect to see the next instalment before Friday! This time around the focus is being brought back to the Battle Sisters, more specifically the power struggle between the newly arrived veterans and Aribeth & her crew. The Pieces are on the board and moving into place - soon, very soon, will the action begin again and keep goind to the climax. I estimate that there are a good 4 or 5 installments left in the Saint Ascendant, and I will *try* to get them all out before September, but I can't make any promises at this time. Also, Nerf fans can rest assured that he is not a 'one hit wonder' character, and that he will be back in the future :D Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1638256 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted July 24, 2008 Author Share Posted July 24, 2008 After hours of mental toil and sleepless nights (ok, not so much) and plenty o' days where I really kicked myself for not writing as much as I wanted to, I am finally able to start posting the fifth chapter of the Seed of Martyrs: My Sister's Keeper. As these instalments grow longer and more complex, I regret that they take so long to compose. Characters have to be built, connections have to be made, and the plot has to be understandable to people aside from myself. So far your responses have given me hope, and as such, I soldier on with all due confidence. This chapter once again homes in on the Sisters of the preceptory and the drama therein. Canoness Helena Cerador is so far the most in-depth character I have created. With 100+ years of experience to back her up, her motives and true personality is a mystery lost amongst the folds of her rank. Last time we saw her she was both benevolent and ruthless, and this time we see that she is even more. Like several other characters, Helena has a near unlimited potential for development, but despite this, her role in Aribeth’s tale is relatively small, so the vast majority of that potential will remain untapped. Helena should come across as a character of intrigue, but one that is near impossible to understand. Who is she? She is the ideal leader of the tale and she embodies many of the traits that Aribeth will never be able to fully grasp, the most important of which being the sacrifice of your own beliefs and morals in the name of duty – a leader must do what is best for those they lead even if they themselves find it abhorrent. Aribeth does not learn this lesson, and as Hildegard said “there will be a time when you have nothing left to sacrifice.” Since her introduction in the very first chapter, Clara has been a character that I am fond of. She is (in my eyes) the best friend that anyone could ask for – always there when you need her, kind, supportive, understanding, and always acting with her best intentions at heart. In a time of uncertainty and chaos, Clara is the one part of Aribeth’s life that stays true to her throughout everything. She is, without a doubt, the purest ‘Good Guy’ in the Saint Series. She is her own person however, and as we go on we learn more and more about her and her connection to Aribeth. I am trying to make her more dynamic and alive as a character while keeping to her general good nature. She has her own personal demons riding on her back, and for reasons as of yet unexplored, Centario weights very heavily on her mind… Cauline is another character who is going to undergo some serious development in the next few instalments. I don’t want to blow her character wide open, but suffice to say that she is a nasty piece of work. So yes, this instalment really tries to bring the supporting cast of characters into the light so that you (the reader) can better understand how they all fit in to the tale, and how each one of them pushes or pulls Aribeth in different directions. It is now with great pleasure that I give you -------------------------------------- The Saint Ascendant, Part II: the Seed of Martyrs Chapter 5: My Sister's Keeper <part 1 of 2> -------------------------------------- At four hundred yards, the servitor stopped moving and turned itself around to face the way it had came, exposing the wrinkled fabric flesh that covered the thick plaster casing that was wrapped carefully around its armoured vitals. It was a crude humanoid mannequin, and designed with only one purpose in mind. A chunk of the roughly made head was blasted off in an explosion of smashed plaster and torn fabric. A second round followed the first, then another, then another, until the doll’s head was little but a ruined crater of grey dust and torn cloth. The rest of the shots screamed into its chest one after the other, until little remained of the humanoid form. It’s designated task complete, the servitor made its way along the pre-ordained rout to the bowels of the range where other servitors would refit it and send it back into queue. Four hundred yards away at the firing step, Sister Clara tugged the spent magazine free from her bolter and set both it and the weapon down on the ledge before her alongside other clips, both spent and full, and several loose rounds that rolled about as the weight of the weapon shook the table. Clara was all alone, and now that her bolter was empty, she was all alone in silence. She didn’t mind solitude, in fact she often enjoyed it – in reasonable amounts – as it gave her time to clear her head and unwind from preceptory life. Three weeks had passed since the Canoness’ arrival, and already much had happened within the preceptory walls. The most obvious change was the militant attitude with which the Canoness governed the convent. Gone were the long days of prayer and training, to be replaced by organized patrols of the city, raids, garrison duties, and many other things that made the capital city seem less and less like the rebuilding city that it was, and more and more like a newly conquested prize in the heart of hostile world. Every Sister was almost always armed and armoured as the Canoness brought the ancient preceptory about into its new role as a fortress rather than a place of worship. The gates were always barred, and the ramparts always manned. Armoured convoys were dispatched with increasing regularity into city streets as if searching for some hidden enemy which might be engaged. Holy sites were always under guard, and anyone caught breaking any of the Ecclesiarchy’s laws were subject to sever punishment. Just earlier that day Clara had stood witness as destitute slum dwellers were lashed without mercy for the crime of defiling a holy site with their presence. One of the men died later from his wounds. Clara believed herself to be a woman devoted the Emperor and His Imperium, and while prosecuting suspected heretics and deviants was one thing, flogging a blameless man to death was another all together. One should fear the Emperor and His servants, not hate them. Other things had changed too. Rumour had spread that Cassandra and Sylvia, the crew of the command Immolator, had died the day of the Canoness’ arrival. Clara didn’t know whether or not she believed it – it just seemed so impossible to imagine – but then again, she hadn’t seen either of them since that day. She would have asked Aribeth about it, but the two of them hadn’t had a moment alone since the Canoness had arrived, in fact Clara had hardly even seen her dearest friend at all – it was like Aribeth was run off her feet all the time, and being purposely elusive. Clara didn’t like it, but if something was wrong with Aribeth she would let her make the first move when she was ready. Clara picked up her bolter from the table – feeling the reassuring weight of the weapon in her bare hands – and loaded a special ten round training clip. She didn’t need the practice – her aim was as sharp as ever – but she did need something with which to distract herself with while she adjusted to the new pace of the convent. All in good time, she reminded herself; transition is difficult, but in a few weeks everything should be feeling normal. She raised the bolter and focused down the cold steel sights. No modifications for her weapon; no targeters, no rangefinders, no scopes of any sort. No, Clara had learned her craft the good old fashion way – with her eyes. Raise the weapon, sight, make any adjustments for precieved distance or obstacles, and squeeze the trigger. It really was that easy for her. She had a steady hand, she knew the feel of the gun’s recoil, she’d smoothed the barrel to allow for maximum accuracy, and she always took care of the weapon as if it where forged using her own flesh and blood. ‘A special bond’, her mentor, a Sister by the name of Daxan, had once told her, ‘between weapon and wielder is the greatest feat any warrior can hope to achieve. To sense that the weapon is indeed an extension of yourself, and that you are the weapon.’ As far as Clara was concerned, Daxan had been right about a warrior and her weapon, though that had not saved her at Centario – that hadn’t saved any of them. No, there was only one reason she was alive today… A crying wail shook Clara from her reverie, and drew her attention to the range’s entrance as the warning klaxon sounded, alerting her to stay her weapon to avoid any accidents. Why they used a high-pitched scream as a warning to Sisters carrying high powered guns, Clara would never know, and she was surprised there weren’t more accidents, especially when the range was busy. The door behind the firing step slid open with a groan of unmaintained metal, admitting a lone Sister into the range. Like Clara and most other Sisters, the woman had chosen to remain in full battle dress; evidently she doubted that she could afford to remove her armour lest the Canoness once again call for a mustering of force to maintain vigilance over certain portions of the capital city. The woman approached with a friendly smile, and Clara vaguely remembered her from the Rhino when she and Aribeth’s honour guard had greeted the Canoness. What had been her name? The woman walked up to the step near Clara and summoned up a targeting servitor from a nearby control pannel. The dummy moved to one-hundred yards, and the Sister proceeded to blast it apart with concentrated bursts of bolter-fire, before drawing her bolt pistol and finishing it off as soon as the bolter ran dry. She lowered both weapons onto the step before dismissing the servitor and summoning another to fill its place. Only then, when she was reloading, did she notice that Clara was still watching her. “Something I can do for you, Sister… ?” the green eyed young woman asked as she momentarily set her bolter back on the step. “Sister Clara,” Clara said quickly with an embarrassed hand raised to dismiss herself. “Sorry,” she added, “I just got a little distracted, that’s all.” The woman smiled back genuinely. “That’s okay,” she said in a friendly tone, “I’m Kia, by the way. I think we met a few weeks ago, with Sister Serinae.” Clara nodded, then turned back to call up her own target servitor, and once again sent it to the maximum range of four hundred meters. “Do you really expect to be able to hit that, Sister?” Kia asked; now it was her turn to watch. “I know I can hit that,” Clara replied. She raised her prized bolter, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion – the top of the target’s plaster head exploding in a spray of white dust as the single explosive round detonated within it. Kia just stared at it; four hundred yards was a long way away by most standards, but Sister Clara had just made shooting that dummy’s head off seem like the easiest thing she had ever done. “How did you do that? I was sure that shooting at such range would be just unnecessary expenditure of ammunition,” Kia asked, looking at the Celestian with a mixture of awe and respect. “Practice, skill, and faith in your weapon as well as yourself,” Clara answered casually, bringing up her bolter and planting another round into the target’s chest with extreme precision. “Besides,” she added, “you are far more likely to waste ammunition than I am.” Kia recoiled slightly at the insult, and regarded the Celestian as if wounded, “what do you mean, Sister Clara? I am not as skilled as you in the ways of war, but I would hardly call my skills so unesteemed as to say that they are wasteful!” “I didn’t mean that,” Clara said coolly, looking at the Sister’s upturned expression and finding that the woman was genuinely stung by the comment, “I was simply implying that I have yet to meet a foe that required an entire clip of successive bolter rounds to stop. Conserve your ammunition, one clip goes a long way.” Kia blinked at her for a moment, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find the words to say. “Are you lecturing me?” she finally asked. “I am not some novice who requires instruction in the ways of war, Sister Clara. I am a Celestian, and I have fought numerous times, and killed many foes – I know how to use my weapon. It is your skill that is unique, Sister, not mine; many Sisters train the way I do.” Clara nodded, “I understand, Sister Kia. I meant no disrespect, though you have to understand why I might be curious.” “Curious?” Kia responded sceptically, “why would you be curious? You are the one who just demonstrated amazing skill with a bolter, not me.” Clara shrugged, laying her weapon down on the raised step, “I just found it interesting that everyone in the Canoness’ honour guard was noticeably older than either you or I, and wondered why it was that you were chosen to accompany hardened veterans.” “Well!” Kia said, looking away and folding her arms across her chest, “Aren’t you one for pointed questions!?” “I’m only asking,” Clara added quickly, watching her use of words for anything that might antagonize the Sister further, “if you are uncomfortable talking about it, then you don’t need to tell me anything.” “Why do you assume that I might be uncomfortable with it?” Kia replied sharply, going on the defensive, “I have nothing to hide about my duty!” “By the way you are speaking, it sounds like you do.” “That’s… that’s not true!” Clara leaned forward against the step. “Sister Kia,” she started, her voice slow and easy, “I can tell by the way you are getting so defensive that something is obviously amiss. I can’t guess at what, and I can’t judge you for it, but if you wanted to talk about it…” Clara left it hanging, to press further would likely cause Kia to withdraw altogether. The younger woman sighed reluctantly, then changed her mind. “No,” she said, “you probably wouldn’t understand.” “Kia,” Clara said, careful not to pry too obviously, “as a fellow Celestian – and admittedly a young Celestian – I probably know a thing or two that you can relate to. After all, I have hardly been here my whole life.” Kia thought about it for a moment, then glanced back at Clara. “But your Palatine is young – you wouldn’t imagine the difference that makes!” “Oh I think I might,” Clara said, purposefully leaning back a bit to give the impression of reminiscing about days past, “the Palatine and I go back a long ways, long before she was even Palatine, but just because I follow her now doesn’t mean that I haven’t served under more venerable leaders.” Kia shrugged, still not looking at Clara. “Well I suppose,” she admitted with a heavy sigh, “I mean, it’s not like what I’m going through is unheard of, is it?” “We all go through it,” Clara nodded, pressing just a little further. “Exactly!” Kia agreed, finally meeting the tawny-haired Celestian’s azure eyes. They were silent for a moment. Clara’s lips broke into a smile, revealing her white teeth as she laughed softly, “still not going to talk about it, are we?” “Give me a second! I’m working on it!” Kia replied with an oppressive hint of sarcasm as she waved her hands about as if preparing a sermon on her life. Before long the firing range had devolved into uncontrollable snickering and bursts of laughter, a sound that had never been heard before within its cold walls, and would never be heard again. * * * * “Ten more suspected deviants were executed today, my Lady, and thirty more were taken into custody.” “Do you think that any of them were actually guilty of any recognized crime?” “It’s not my place to say, my Lady. The Confessors in charge had reasons to believe that they were in the wrong, though they did not see fit to share their findings with us.” “I know what the Confessors said, Sister, but I asked you for your opinion.” “Mine?” “Yes, yours.” “I do not agree with the Ecclesiarchy’s handling of the situation, my Lady, though I do understand why such an approach might be necessary.” “You think that they are being too heavy-handed – fanatical even – in their pursuits?” “‘It is better that a thousand innocents perish than one guilty man go free’.” “But you don’t really believe that applies, do you?” “No, my Lady.” “Good,” Aribeth said, disengaging from her conversation with the Celestian Superior, “then we are of like minds on this.” “I’m glad to hear it, Lady Palatine,” Augusta replied, not moving from where she stood as the Palatine moved over to the office window. The Canoness’ office was empty save for the two of them, and even though both Sisters had stood in the office numerous times they could not deny the angst that gnawed inside their stomachs as the Canoness kept them waiting for her arrival. Every day at the same time for the past three weeks the two of them had been called into the Canoness’ office to discuss various aspects of the preceptory. Canoness Helena had asked many things over their hours spent together, and had proved herself to be quite interested by Aribeth’s account of the revolt and the war that followed it, which, Aribeth had to admit, had been quite reassuring: to know that her superior had an interest in the details of battle despite her obvious experience helped to bridge the gap that Aribeth had felt fall into place after Cassandra’s execution. The Canoness was making subtle attempts to win back the Palatine’s confidence and trust, for without those, loyalty was shallow indeed. Aribeth suspected that the Canoness probably knew about her divided opinions in the Ecclesiarchy’s handling of the restoration efforts in the capital, and she was also likely privy to her Palatine’s concern over Helena’s new governance of the preceptroy, but rather than forcibly reminding the Palatine of her place as the Canoness’ second, Canoness Helena had adopted a gentler method to ease the Palatine into her new responsibilities and expectations. The twin oak doors to the Canoness Preceptor’s office swung open and both the Palatine and Celestian Superior stood stiffly to attention as Helena Cerador - her golden power armour replaced with a more suitable white and black battle plate – and Cauline Antoinette entered the room. The Canoness’ office was a spacious room – far larger than the Palatine’s – and was embellished in true fashion for the preceptory’s leader. The room was roughly thirty feet wide and forty feet long, and was covered by a beautiful restored chestnut paneled ceiling with support beams and arches made from wonderfully rendered oak. The floor, much like that of the rest of the preceptory, was fashioned from polished stone – a type that was not dissimilar to granite, but Aribeth didn’t recognize it anyway. In the middle of the room sat a truly monstrous desk that had been carved several centuries beforehand from a single slab of marble by the finest craftsmen that could be found in the Proctor system. The desk must be unimaginably heavy, thought Aribeth, and due to its size – and being too wide to fit through the office doors – the young Palatine could only guess that the office had been constructed around the magnificent stone behemoth, for any other method of moving the desk seemed entirely impossible. Perhaps the desk had been built in this very room and had never been moved. Either way, she reminded herself, the desk was here now, and marvelling about its construction was entirely pointless. Like in her own office, the Canoness’ desk also had its back to a grand arched window that overlooked the preceptory grounds and towards the towering walls of the Basilica, next to which the preceptory looked like mere child’s play. Flanking the window and lining the walls on either side of the desk hung the personal pennants of every Canoness who had died in the service of the Emperor whilst living at the preceptory. Amongst the ranks of the celebrated dead, there was only one pennant that Aribeth recognized well. She did not look at it. Finally, a modest door in the back corner of the office led to the Canoness’ personal chambers – a room that no one aside from the Canoness herself and the serfs who maintained it ever saw. Indeed the office of the Canoness Preceptor was far superior to her own, but all things considered, Aribeth could not envision herself sitting here – it was far too draughty and oppressive for her liking, and she constantly found it to be uncomfortably cold. Emperor forbid she ever find herself confined to it… “Please, be at ease,” Canoness Helena said to the two waiting Sisters as she entered the room and motioned them to a pair of high-backed chairs. Aribeth sat down in her usual spot across the desk from the Canoness’ seat (Helena disdained the use of a throne in her office) with Augusta taking her place slightly back from her and to the Palatine’s right. Helena then seated herself with a satisfied air and smiled pleasantly across at her guests as she casually removed her gauntlets and placed them down on the smooth surface before her. “Can I offer you any refreshments, Sister, or shall we begin?” the Canoness asked. She had asked the very same question at the beginning of every session thus far, and every day Aribeth’s answer had been the same – every day other than today. “I would appreciate some water, my Lady; I am rather thirsty from this morning’s events.” “Understandably so,” Helena replied kindly – Aribeth could hardly believe that a face so sincere was actually the face of a warrior – then turned to her Celestian Superior who was standing patiently to the side; “In fact I think I might also benefit from some water, so could you get two?” The masked woman nodded in silence, then strode from the room. “Right then,” the Canoness began, leaning forward and resting her elbows against the desk and capturing Aribeth’s undivided attention, “last time we discussed the revolt and the fighting that followed, as well as the actual deployment of forces. Is there anything that in retrospect you wish to add to that discussion, Palatine Aribeth?” “No, my Lady, I believe that we have discussed the battle in every detail,” Aribeth replied truthfully. She had relayed all of what had occurred with as much accuracy as her memory would permit, and though she did not delve into her personal beliefs at the time, there was nothing left to tell. “Very well,” the Canoness said, removing her eyes from the Palatine and moving several leafs of paper and data-slates around her desk and occasionally scanning one with her venerable eyes. “Today I would like to diverge from our current discussions about the preceptory, and talk about something different,” she said, looking back at the Palatine and linking her fingers in her lap; “I would like to talk about you.” “Me, my Lady?” Aribeth replied with a tone of surprise that was impossible to conceal. Behind her, Sister Augusta stiffened slightly. “Yes, Sister Aribeth, you,” Helena replied. “As my second in command, I want to know you better so that we are better united in our service to our Emperor and this Order.” “I – I understand, my Lady,” Aribeth replied breathlessly, “though I hardly think that I am of much consequence to - ” Helena Cerador cut her off with a raised palm. “Your modesty is not in question, Sister Palatine, but I wish to discuss any expectations or grievances you might have now or have had in the past so that we might avoid any difficulties in the future. Do you understand? This is not an interrogation of your personality.” “I understand, Lady Canoness,” Aribeth said, sitting up a little straighter in her seat as she composed herself. “I am pleased to hear it, Palatine,” the Canoness gave a reassuring nod, “All too often I find that Sisters are too modest for their own benefit, and things that shouldn’t be kept secret remain unspoken for far too long: the faithful need not fear the words of their own tongue – that is my belief.” “I agree wholeheartedly,” Aribeth commented truthfully, “there is a time and a place for everything.” “Exactly,” the Canoness responded, and for the faintest moment Aribeth sensed that the older woman was genuinely impressed, though as soon as the moment passed it was impossible to be certain, “so long as you have the wisdom to understand when and where such words are used best.” Aribeth did not know whether or not Helena’s words had been in chastisement or simply an impartial observation, but she thought it best to play it safe; “I surrender that judgement unto you, my Lady, as I think that whatever wisdom I may possess pales in comparison to your own.” “There is no one judge as to the determinism of words, Sister Palatine,” Helena said reflectively, then with a smile added, “though you are correct in that in this case my judgement is of more consequence than your own.” One of the double doors swung open, and the masked Sister re-entered the room with two silver cups filled with clear, pure water and placed them on the desk before the Canoness, before returning to her usual seat at the rear of the office and sitting down in silence. Aribeth’s eyes followed her. “With respect, Sister Cauline,” Aribeth said as the Canoness handed her a cup and took one for herself, “why do you wear what appears to be a death mask?” The Celestian Superior looked first at the Canoness with her silver face, then – seeing that the Canoness posed no objection to the question – turned slowly to address the Palatine. “Three years ago, nearing the conclusion of the rebellion on Pann’s World, I was captured alongside fifty of my Sisters by the forces of the traitor governor.” She paused for a moment, her eyes never wavering from Aribeth’s face; “The mad governor removed my face, along with the faces of every other prisoner he had taken, as trophies to adorn his throne-room. I was the only one to survive capture, and when I was rescued, the throne-room was burnt to the ground – eradicating every memory of the heathen and those who had suffered him. I chose to wear this mask rather than having a new face grafted for me so I might honour the suffering of the Sisters who died at the hands of that wretch. My face is theirs, and so shall it be until I am dead and this face is destroyed.” “A fitting honour, no doubt,” Aribeth replied solemnly. “I believe so,” said the masked woman. “A well set example that all the faithful could benefit from,” Canoness Helena added with a appreciative nod, “for it is through sacrifice and duty that we a brought closer to Him.” Helena turned back in her chair to face Aribeth across the marble desk – her features once again set for severity. “Sister Cauline has served under me for thirteen years, and in all my years as a Canoness I have never met a woman more worthy than Cauline.” Aribeth glanced towards the masked woman, but – for all she could tell – the Celestian Superior remained impassive. “I trust her completely both on and off the field of battle, and to this day I have never had any reason to doubt her.” Helena stopped to take a small sip from her cup. Aribeth simply swilled hers around in her hands. “With time,” Helena resumed, “I hope for the same degree of trust to exist between us.” “I would pray for nothing less,” Aribeth added respectfully. The Canoness nodded and swallowed another sip from her cup, and cleared her throat with a little cough before speaking again. “Tell me then, Palatine, how is it that you came to your rank? And please, do not restrain yourself for the sake of humility.” “I was transferred to this preceptory two standard years ago with a handful of my Sisters. I was promoted by the late Canoness Naomi upon arrival,” Aribeth said, meeting the Canoness’ eyes squarely with her own. “You were a Celestian before your promotion, I presume?” “Yes, my Lady,” Aribeth replied, “I had been recommended for advancement after my actions during the purging of Magna Hive on Centario that had occurred three years prior to my transfer.” The Canoness cocked her head slightly to the left and leaned back in her seat, linking her fingers together over her lap as she did so. “Centario?” she asked with curiosity, “I am unaware of what happened there. Would you care to explain?” Behind the Palatine, Augusta straightened slightly in her chair – she had often wondered about the events at Magna Hive, but had never seen it fit to ask. “As you wish, my Lady,” Aribeth said slowly, but kept her eyes forward. She rarely spoke of Centario to anyone other than Clara – they simply wouldn’t understand, for Centario was unlike any battle she had ever fought. For a day and a half, she and her Sisters had scoured the darkest recesses of the underhive in search for the Genestealers’ hidden lair, and though the target was eventually destroyed, not one of the Sisters who survived re-entered the upper-hive unaffected by what they had endured down there in the shadows. Granted, there had only been two of them – two Sisters who emerged alive: she and Clara. “At the time I was serving at the Mission Convent in Cardinal Hive on Centario. We received word that Magna Hive had been infected with alien inflitrators – Genestealers – and, at the request of the Inquisition, I along with five squads of my Sisters and three squads of specialised Inquisitorial troops were tasked with rooting out the alien menace from the underhive.” Aribeth hesitated momentarily as memories resurfaced from the depths of her consciousness – memories that she would rather remain buried. To say that a battle is hard, she thought, is an understatement. Every battle she had ever fought had been hard, and no one battle deserved credit over the rest, for in battle one’s life is always at stake. Lose your life – or a part of yourself – and the particulars of the battle fade into oblivion. She could be fighting hoards of brutish orks, or helping to squelch a riot – each was equally demanding, and each could steal away her life or the lives of her Sisters. No, the true test of a battle did not lie in the fighting itself, but rather in the warrior who was fighting it. It was in her training, it was in her head. If she understood who or what she was fighting, how she was fighting, and where she was fighting, no matter how hard the fighting felt she would walk away knowing that duty had been done that day. However, if she did not understand who she was fighting, how she was fighting them, and where she was fighting them, no matter how hard the actual fighting was, she would walk away (if she proved so lucky) feeling broken and defeated. Centario was like the latter. When she and Clara had walked from the mega-lift in the Arbites green-zone, they had both known that even though the objective had been completed it had been no victory for them that day. At what price was victory won? And what price was too high to pay? “Palatine?” Aribeth glanced up at the Canoness – the older Sororita was looking back at her with a quizzical air. “Sorry, my Lady,” Aribeth said apologetically, her thoughts resurfacing from the melancholy of her memories, “Centario is not something of which I have fond memories. Suffice to say that I and one other of my Sisters were the only survivors upon completing the objective.” “I understand,” the Canoness reassured her, “tales of battles past are often best kept for the scriptures, so we will let your troubles rest.” Aribeth nodded her thanks, but the Canoness made no reply. “Tell me then,” Helena continued, “of what are you most proud?” “My service to the Emperor and His Imperium,” Aribeth replied without hesitation. Canoness Helena, however, did not look entirely satisfied; “And aside from your duty, what else are you proud of?” Aribeth didn’t really know. To a Battle Sister, life was duty, and duty was life – there was no distinction between the two. What other than her duty was there to be proud of? “I suppose,” Aribeth said hesitantly, “that I’m proud of my swordsmanship.” The Canoness merely nodded; “Anything else you’d like to mention?” she said. The young Palatine shook her head, “nothing I can think of at the moment.” “How about your Sisters; do you not have pride in them?” “Isn’t that the same as duty?” “You tell me.” Aribeth didn’t answer – there was nothing she could think of saying. Was the Canoness being serious, or was this some kind of a test? She was about to speak when Augusta, who had been sitting silently in her chair to Aribeth’s right, spoke up; “With your leave Canoness, I would like to speak,” the Palatine heard her adjutant say from behind her. Helena’s eyes shifted to the Celestian Superior as if she had just noticed the woman’s presence – Augusta had never before spoken directly to the Canoness without being first addressed, though, as the Canoness inclined her head towards her, there was a first time for everything. “Thank you, my Lady,” Augusta said, bowing her head in the Canoness direction while the masked woman slowly turned to look at her, “I do not claim to be learned on the matter of discourse and interrogation, however, my Lady, I believe that you have contradicted yourself in more ways than one in addressing the Palatine.” Aribeth could hardly believe her ears: Augusta openly questioning a superior? “Is that so, Sister?” Helena posed, arching her fingertips and looking closely at the Celestian Superior. “Yes, my Lady,” Augusta continued, “firstly you have asked that we speak our minds in this conversation between Sisters; though clearly you have not, and it would appear that you have no intention of doing so. Secondly, you said that this was not an interrogation of the Palatine’s personality, but with a leading question - such as the one you just posed – I fail to see how this could be anything but an interrogation into the Palatine’s personality.” The Canoness was silent for a moment. “An astute observation Celestian Superior,” she said at last, “Are you suggesting that I am treating the Palatine unfairly?” “From a purely objective stand-point, yes, I would say that you are, and though you claim to better understand the Palatine, such methods expose yourself rather - ” “Expose herself!?” Cauline interjected, rising from her seat with a snarl, “it would seem that you are out of place, Sister – daring to accuse our Canoness of beguiling you with words!” “I am not accusing our Lady of anything, Sister Cauline,” Augusta shot back at the masked Sister, “I am merely expressing my concern upon the Canoness’ wishes!” “Sit down, Cauline! You are out of order!” Aribeth commanded with a raised voice, but the Celestian Superior did not obey, rather she turned to the Canoness who had remained silent and detached after addressing Augusta. “Will you let them so accuse us, my Lady? Are we not worthy of their respect and understanding?” Cauline asked with a controlled temper, though it was easy for Aribeth to imagine the ruin of flesh contorted in rage behind its silver surface. “‘Us’? ‘Them’?” Augusta burst, springing from her chair and levelling an accusing finger at the masked woman, “So you consider my Palatine and I to be outsiders – unworthy and unequal – is that it?” The Canoness shot up from her chair but the younger Palatine got there first, and grabbing the Celestian’s bionic arm and forcing it down, took hold of Augusta with both hands planted firmly on her arms. “What do you think you are doing!?” Aribeth snarled through clenched teeth, her face centimetres from the Celestian’s own scarred features, “Get out! Now!” With her one human eye awash with a stunned confusion of anger and fear, Augusta studied the Palatine in shocked silence for all of a half-second before she shook herself free and – without saying a word – pushed her way out of the Canoness’ office. Aribeth watched her go, and when she turned back around towards the desk both women were watching her. “Leave us,” Helena told the masked woman – she did not argue, and followed Augusta’s footsteps out the door, closing it softly behind her. “Please, sit down” Helena said with a tone of surprising calm, as she seated herself casually behind her desk and drained the water that remained in her cup. Aribeth sat, though she did so numbly as she flexed her hands together between her knees. “I would like to apologize on behalf of Sister Augusta, my Lady,” she said after a few passing moments of silence between them, “I don’t know what became of her. She is normally quite reserved in her judgements, and I have never known her to be openly confrontational with another of the Sisterhood before.” “Sister Palatine, let me explain something to you,” the Canoness sighed, turning in her chair to cast her old eyes around the magnificence of the office interior, “I have served the Sisterhood for over sixteen decades, and, as you can imagine, I have experience much over the years of my life. Granted most of my life has been spent on the fields of war, and all of my commands have been in the forging fires of battle. This is my first time as the Canoness of a Protectorate – a city warden – and as such I find that I have to remind myself that these are not times of war, and that the orders I give are not to soldiers on the front lines, but rather the guardian faithful, and that the guardian faithful are quite a different breed to warriors, for there are allowances in peace that cannot be made in war.” Aribeth thought on this for a moment – if the Canoness was willing to acknowledge the difficulties surrounding her transition, there was a chance that the two of them could work together in combining their experiences. Then again, the Canoness did have sgnificantly more experience than she did, so any influence she would have upon the Canoness command would likely be minimal. And what of these allowances? Was she suggesting that there were two separate camps within the preceptory walls? “However,” the Canoness continued, looking into Aribeth’s grey eyes with her own steady gaze, “I would remind you that we are the warriors of the Faith, and that we are charged with the defence of the Faith not through healing, compassion, or pacifism, but rather through blood and violence. We are the sword of the Ecclesiarchy, and like a sword we must attack as well as defend.” Helena Cerador leaned forward in her seat and rested her elbows atop the desk’s marble surface - her face was nothing if not serious. “I know that you disagree with my leadership, Palatine – that much has been made obvious to me through our conversations – but need I remind you that our duty is to the Faith before it is to the people.” “My Lady, I assure you that I am loyal!” Aribeth quickly protested in her own defence. “I am not questioning your loyalty to the Golden Throne or to me, Sister Palatine,” the Canoness replied sternly – the creases on her face deepening to only make her look of grim severity seem more pronounced, “I am saying that you, as well as an untold number of your Sisters, secretly disapprove of my actions.” “My Lady, I have my reservations, but I would not consider letting my feelings interfere with my duty. I – ” “The seed is planted, Aribeth,” the Canoness warned her, “and I would advise you to tear it out before it spreads.” “My Lady, I assure you that – ” “No assurance can change the facts, Aribeth: you disagree with my decisions, and – intentionally or not – your distrust of me is affecting our Sisters.” The Canoness leaned back in her seat and cast her eyes from Aribeth in irritation. “My Lady,” Aribeth tried again with due caution and humility, “I cannot deny that the feelings of my heart are troubled and that I have let them affect my judgement in time of late, but I beg for your forgiveness and understanding! I am mistaken, I am wrong, but please allow me to learn from my mistakes and to make amends so that I might serve you!” The Canoness sighed and shook her head, but did not speak. She looked disappointed, Aribeth realized, and she thought she could understand why; it must be disconcerting, she imagined, to have waged war for over a century only to return to distrust and suspicion. “No, Palatine,” the Canoness said at last, “you are not at fault. I see now that I am at fault – at fault for expecting too much of you.” Aribeth made to reply, but the Canoness asked for her patience. “In my years of service I have had numerous seconds. You are the youngest Palatine I have ever met, and as such I had high expectations of your leadership and abilities; I thought that you were to be a rare exception in the ranks of the Sisterhood, and that somehow meeting you would prove to be both enlightening and enriching. An old woman’s delusions, of course! I was naïve and let my imagination get the better of me, yet I refused to discard my initial assumptions; I was so certain that given time to know you I would understand what made you so special,” she allowed herself to smile at her own foolishness; “but you aren’t special are you? You are just a Battle Sister, young and inexperienced. You probably shouldn’t even be a Palatine. You’ve had command forced upon you, and it is a burden you should never have had to bear.” “My Lady, that is hardly the case!” Aribeth blurted out in the haste of a panicked explanation as her mind tripped over itself in an attempt to refute the Canoness’ stinging words. She had to make the Canoness see that she, Aribeth, was capable, true, willing, and very able to fulfil the duties required of her rank! “I can uphold the honour of my duty, and I can do what is required of me! I am not gifted or chosen in any special way that makes me some how superior to my Sisters, but my Canoness – may the Emperor rest her soul - saw fit that I fill the rank of her second, and I abide by her decision. Though should you, my Lady, find me wanting in my duty, then by your discretion I will humbly stand aside for my better to take my place.” “I shall not forget it,” the Canoness said to her sternly, “and should I find you faltering in your duty, I will not hesitate to have you replaced.” The Canoness then stood up with her fingertips resting gently against the desk, and just like that her demeanour had changed from one of severity into one of tenderness; “It is nothing personal, Sister Aribeth. I like you, and I think that you are a woman of both virtue and sincerity, but I am undecided as to whether or not you are yet fit for the role of leadership. Ever since the day of my arrival three weeks ago, I have sought to better understand you, and to know how it is you led your Sisters. However, your role in the sentencing of Sister Cassandra showed me from the very beginning that the burden of leadership sat uncomfortably on your shoulders, and that you were unprepared to do all that your duty demands. Your account of the fighting during the civil unrest also left much to be desired, for while there were moments when you led your Sisters with competence and skill, there were also times when you exhibited indecision, and your Sisters suffered as a result.” “If that is your opinion of me, then I will respect it,” Aribeth said, defeated. She had never thought herself to be an exemplary leader for her Sisters, but then again, she had never felt that she was a failure at it either, and hearing the Canoness say as much with such calm and openness – like she was trying ease her into accepting her own inadequacy – was truly wounding. “You disagree with me, Sister Aribeth, hmm?” Helena challenged her, cocking her head slightly to the left as she looked down at Palatine with pitying eyes. “Yes,” Aribeth bit back, looking up into the old woman’s face and seeing nothing but mockery, “yes, I most certainly do disagree with your judgement… but as duty requires,” she said with venom, “I will respect your opinion.” The Canoness sat back down, her face impassive, but the Palatine wasn’t watching, rather her eyes were locked with the marble desk as she tried to force the cold rage into containment as fury boiled through her veins. Caged inside her chest, the past three months worth of anger and despair that she had locked away beneath her surface were coming dangerously close to bursting outwards in a hot tidal wave of unbound hatred. Who was this woman to accuse her of anything? She had no idea what she had been through! This Canoness thinks she could just walk into the preceptory and denounce Aribeth as unworthy and inadequate? What the hell did she know!? She wasn’t there! She didn’t know what had happened! “Is there something you want to tell me?” Aribeth half heard the Canoness say. Oh there is plenty that I would like to tell you! Her fists were balled so tightly that she could feel her nails cutting into the palms of her hands. Her shoulders were shivering – her eyes were shaking – she wasn’t even breathing. The Canoness leaned closer to the woman across from her when she first noticed a thin trickle of blood passing between the Palatine’s lips, and that her face looked unnaturally pale. “Palatine, are you alright?” Helena asked with alarm. “I’m – fine,” Aribeth replied with choking effort. Her hands uncurled – her bloody palms facing downwards away from her superior – and she breathed again; thankful for the cool air that washed down her throat as she licked the blood away from the cut on her lower lip – the black anger having vanished into the depths from whence it came. “You’re sure you are alright?” the Canoness asked again. “Yes,” Aribeth lied as she took a steadying breath, “I’ll be okay.” “Good,” the Canoness said, still eyeing her wearily, “because we still have much to discuss, Palatine.” Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1639891 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted July 24, 2008 Author Share Posted July 24, 2008 My Sister's Keeper continued <part 2 of 2> ------------------------------------------------- A full moon painted in glowing cream against the midnight blue of a starlit Terran sky around which all the heroines of old stood gathered, frozen in the artist’s rendition of some far off conclave that may never even have occurred, but did that really matter? No, it didn’t. All that mattered is that it was there, and that she was looking up at it as the flittering reflections of light off the water danced across its domed surface in a lazy reply to her movements. The painted ceiling disappeared once again as Clara dunked her head under the cold waters of the frigidarium one last time and calmly held her breath as her eyes peered up through the shadowy swirls of water at the room around her as it bobbled about on the other side of the water’s face. A thin line of bubbles escaped between her lips and scurried upwards as she turned about to let her body hang suspended laterally in the clear liquid. She smiled; she enjoyed this more than anything – feeling the cool water smooth itself across her skin and trace through the lengths of her hair, feeling the absolute freedom of gliding listlessly through its soothing embrace… if the Great Halls of the Emperor’s Kingdom awaited her after death, she most certainly hoped that they had baths. Contentment - utter contentment - that is what it was, but as her lungs started to nag for more air her brief time in worldly bliss was over, and she pressed her head upwards to slip through the pool’s glowing sheen and back into the cold air of the frigidarium. Slowly the rest of her followed as she waded through the water’s keening grasp towards the bath’s circular edge and stepped dripping into the assault of draughty cold air. Where now had she left that towel? Wiping her dripping tawny hair free from her face, she spied it resting on one of the stone benches that faced the pool along the edges of the circular room. The baths, like every other communal space in the preceptory, were enormous, and comprised of several bathing pools, steam rooms, and fountains, linked together by long low-ceiling corridors which – and this is what Clara hated most about them – were very well adapted at carrying both sound and blasts of cold air. The bathing complex was located in the very foundations of the preceptory, just above the catacomb-like vehicle armouries, and as such benefited from both the excellent waterworks that were built into the city sublevels, and the natural insulation from the world above: spring or winter, hot or cold, dry or damp, the baths never changed in the slightest. The baths themselves were laid out in a circular formation that radiated outwards from the center where the atrium was connected to the main staircase. From there the rooms moved outwards in rings: first were the gymnasiums which were used primarily for light physical exercise that did not require the use of any arms or armour, or for other reasons pertaining to physical health and fitness; second came the steam rooms which varied in sizes from small rooms where only a handful of occupants could rest, to rooms large enough for upwards of a hundred Sisters; lastly came the pools – two frigidariums, four tepidariums, and two caldariums – each being large enough for forty or so people to bathe in comfort – or in Clara’s case, one person to bathe in excessive comfort. Originally built for a much larger population than that which currently resided within the preceptory’s walls, the baths were almost always host to a calm stillness as that reflected the differing bathing patterns of the Sisterhood. Some preferred the waking up to a bath, some preferred a bath before sleep, but almost all of them preferred a hot bath, and as such, Clara – who found hot water to be most uncomfortable – was often assured privacy in the frigidarium. ‘Often’, however, was not to be this day, for as Clara wrapped the large towel around herself and stepped with bare feet through the low archway leading from the frigidarium to one of the long corridors connecting the complex together, she came face to face with Sister Augusta, who, as Clara would discover, had no intention of bathing at this time. “Sister Clara,” Augusta said in her usual grating tone, the red glow of her bionic eye piercing the dim air of the corridor, “I was hoping to find you here.” “Sister Superior,” Clara answered, shivering slightly as a fresh wash of cold air hurled itself down the hall and clung to her damp flesh, “you were looking for me?” “Aye,” Augusta said with a grim nod, and stepped slightly to the side while indicating for Clara to walk with her through a motion of the bionic hand that had replaced the Celestian Superior’s forearm over three months ago. Augusta was no longer wearing the white power amour of the order, but instead had donned a simple robe over the combat body-glove for extra comfort, but as she walked, Clara could sense that the last thing the Celestian Superior was feeling was comfortable. “So what is this about, Sister Superior?” Clara asked, ignoring the cold in her feet, but really starting to regret that she hadn’t dried them better. “It’s the Lady Palatine, Sister Clara, I’m concerned about her,” Augusta half-sighed, half-grumbled. “Why, what’s wrong?” Clara had hardly seen Aribeth in the past three weeks, but she knew that if Augusta was concerned, something serious must have happened. This time Augusta really did sigh; “You’ve noticed the changes that have taken place with Canoness’ arrival, have you not? Well, every day for the past three weeks, the Palatine and I have been asked to the Canoness’ office at the exact same time to discuss certain aspects of the preceptory,” Augusta explained. “With each question she asks, however, I think that she is passing judgement – which she, of course, has every right to do – on the Palatine and the preceptory as a whole. What has me bothered, however, is that the Palatine doesn’t make any attempt to stand up for herself in the Canoness’ eyes – she doesn’t try to justify her choices or her actions – yet she has told me herself on multiple occasions that she disagrees with our Canoness’ course of action! I see the Lady Canoness and how she reacts to this, she knows the Lady Palatine is holding something back, but the longer the Palatine delays, the less and less the Canoness thinks of her!” Augusta fell silent momentarily as the pair walked within earshot of another solitary Sister, but resumed speaking as they passed. “It seems like she has given up, like she is too humbled to even defend herself as our Canoness pries more and more,” the Celestian Superior added in a voice barely louder than a rough whisper. “You do appreciate that our Canoness is an imposing figure to the Palatine – Emperor! To all of us! - I too would be humbled by such a woman as she,” Clara pointed out. “It’s not the same,” Augusta shook her head, “the Palatine is given every opportunity to express herself – her value as a leader and otherwise – but she does not take it.” “So you are worried that she is not in the graces of our Canoness?” “Not exactly,” Augusta replied, as they passed into the atrium and proceeded to one of the small alcoves that dotted the outer walls and served as dressing rooms to the baths, “I am worried that, whatever her reasons, she is becoming negligent of her command, and that her negligence will have adverse effects on the preceptory as a whole. I have faith that the Canoness is prepared to carry out her duty to the Emperor, but if the Palatine is unprepared to carry out her duty in assisting our Canoness, then I fear that we may very well go astray.” “You can’t honestly think that our Palatine would allow that to happen!” Clara exclaimed as she pulled a fresh body-glove on over her head from the cubby where she had left it. “My opinion is based purely on what I have seen, and what I see upsets me,” Augusta answered back matter-of-factly as she stood cross armed at the dressing room’s entrance. “Yes, but you know the Palatine and have served under her. Do you really doubt her now after having followed her for more than two years?” Augusta shrugged, “The Palatine has changed. What else is there to say?” Clara didn’t answer; she more than anyone knew that Aribeth was changing, and she knew the reasons why, but explaining them would not only be betraying the woman she cared for, but also herself. Still, she did have a duty to do, and that duty came before either of their own lives. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, changing the subject, “shouldn’t this be for the Canoness’ ears?” “The Canoness will do what she deems best, and it is not my role to try and change that; I’m telling you because I know that you can do something about it.” “Why me?” Clara asked with her back to her superior as she slipped a plain robe over her shoulders and fastened it around herself, “I am in no more of a position to address the Canoness than you.” “Yes, but you can talk to the Palatine,” Augusta pointed out in a hushed voice. Clara froze, then slowly turned her head to peek over her shoulder. “I’m her friend, that is true, but I don’t hold any sway over her thoughts.” “That’s not true,” Augusta said, still standing in the entrance, “you are more than her friend.” “And what gives you that idea?” “I’ve seen how you look at her, how you talk to her, and how you talk to others when she isn’t around. You feel quite strongly for her, don’t you?” Clara turned slowly to look at the Celestian Superior; “And how would you know that?” Augusta’s eyes didn’t meet hers, but rather she looked past her – as if looking far off into memory or at a face that had long since disappeared – “because I once felt for someone in the same way.” As she walked back alone to her cell, Clara continued to play Augusta’s words over and over in her head, and tried to understand why she had to reject them. It wasn’t right. How could Aribeth be suffering like that? How could she be collapsing in her service to the Emperor and the Order? Of course Clara had more questions than she had answers. Something was tearing her best friend apart from the inside, of that she was sure, and she would have to find out before it was too late. But how? Aribeth had been some remote of late, and in the few chances they had to speak to one another, Aribeth had always seemed preoccupied. Why though was her mind so burdened? Was it that Inquisitor? It could be, but then again, he had disappeared three months ago. Could it be the new Canoness? Once again, it could be, for every change to the preceptory would have likely passed through the Palatine before affecting the rest of them. Or was it both? Of this she thought long and hard as she wound her way back through the preceptory; questioning everything she could think of as to what could so harm her dearest friend – everything except her faith, for what was a Sister without faith? Still musing, she reached her familiar door and let herself in to the dark room that was hers and switched on the solitary glow-globe, casting the white light around the room, off the walls, across the bed, and onto the woman who had been sitting in the dark. “Aribeth!” Clara said with a half-surprised, half-relieved smile, “I… hardly expected to find you here.” Aribeth made a facial shrug in response, but said nothing. Her eyes were hollow, and her armoured shoulders wore an impoverished slack. “What’s wrong, Aribeth?” Clara posed slowly as she closed the door behind her with a soft click and crouched before her friend until their faces were level, “What is troubling you like this?” Only then did the Palatine look at her, and Clara could see the tell-tale blotched redness of tears around her eyes – she had been crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice empty as her eyes shivered around her friend’s face, “but I thought you should know.” “Know what?” Clara asked, reaching out a comforting hand to her friend’s un-armoured fingers. “I’ve failed in my command,” she said, her voice was starting to shake, and her face was beginning to crack as she finally summed up the will to accept the truth, “I am to be removed of my duties at the Canoness’ earliest convenience.” To Aribeth’s credit, she did not cry, but Clara could tell that she was torn inside, and that behind her brave face she was truly in agony.” “No. No, Aribeth,” Clara said, grasping the Palatine’s hands tightly in her own, “you haven’t failed! Not yet!” “It’s only a matter of time,” Aribeth mumbled, shaking her head and turning her sight away from her friend. “No, Aribeth, you haven’t failed, and you won’t fail,” Clara insisted, putting a hand on her Palatine’s cheek and turning her face back towards her, “Who turned the tide against the heretics and led the charge against their hold on this city? You did. Who led us into battle with the fallen Astartes and saw us triumphant? You did. Who fought on fearlessly to save her Sister from the clutches of the unclean when any other would have given her up as lost? You did. You did as Palatine. That is no failing, Aribeth.” “It’s not the same – this is a battle that I cannot win.” “And did you think that you could defeat the Genestealers of Centario? Did you think you could defeat the fallen Astartes? Of course you didn’t! You are not so arrogant as to do so! But you did succeed, even when you thought you had lost, you kept fighting! Now, as then, you are confronted by a challenge so great that you cannot imagine that the hope victory would even exist, but the Aribeth I know has never given up anything as lost – never!” Clara squeezed her friend’s hand encouragingly, “that has to mean something to you!” “This is different, Clara,” Aribeth retorted with a cheerless sigh as she frowned to her Sister’s bright and uplifting features, “I can’t go on and try to fight it through. I have failed, and now I must pay the price.” “Aribeth, listen – ” “No Clara!” Aribeth shouted, standing up abruptly; “You listen!” “I’m listening,” Clara said quietly, still crouched on the floor at her friend’s feet. The Palatine swayed for a moment, making a few pointless gestures as if trying to force the words from her mouth, but when nothing came she sat back down on the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to shout. I don’t know why I did that.” Clara rose from the floor and sat down gently next to her friend, and after a moment’s consideration, put an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to be sorry, Aribeth. Please, take your time.” “I don’t need time,” Aribeth bowed her head, “I just need to accept that I failed, and that I shouldn’t even be Palatine.” “Why do you keep saying that?” Clara urged. “Because when Cassandra murdered Sylvia, I – ” “Wait,” Clara interrupted her, “that actually happened?” “Yes,” Aribeth grimly confirmed, “I thought you knew.” “I – I had heard a few rumours, but… well, I didn’t actually believe them… Never mind. Please, continue, I want to hear what is bothering you.” Aribeth studied the Celestian’s face for a few moments, but eventually looked away and continued to speak. “I reached the armoury first with Mistress Celina, and Cassandra confessed to us, but rather than order her immediate execution, I hesitated, and, against the laws of the Sisterhood, I asked for a stay of execution to allow an investigation.” Aribeth stopped there as if it were enough to explain her failure, but seeing that Clara was unsatisfied, Aribeth continued; “The Canoness then arrived, and she chastised me for neglecting my duties – she said that I was negligent – and Cassandra was promptly executed using my own pistol.” “You shot her?” Clara asked passionlessly. “No, the Canoness shot her with my weapon – it was the Canoness’ way of punishing me for my neglect, I think.” “And this is why you think yourself a failure? Because you refused to kill one of your Sisters?” “It’s not that simple,” Aribeth moaned, “in ordering a stay in her death I proved myself incapable of exercising my command. I let my personal feelings poison my judgement. Now you see why I am not fit for leadership.” “No,” Clara shook her head, “now I see why it is so important that you remain a leader.” “Clara, what are you talking about? I disobeyed the laws of the Sisterhood!” “No, Aribeth,” Clara told her with absolute certainty, “you did what you thought was right – you did what you thought was best for the Sisterhood.” “But I was wrong…” “How could you be wrong? You have only ever acted with the well-being of your Sisters at heart, and Emperor strike me down if you spared Cassandra from reasons other than the interests of the Sisterhood. Aribeth, you are the Palatine because the Sisterhood trusts you, and trust in your judgement. They believe that you are capable of making decisions in defence of the Imperial Faith, and that you are capable of guiding our Sisters along the path of righteousness! What’s changed Aribeth? You can still make those decisions! You can still carry the Sisterhood’s trust! You only need to recognize that!” Clara was smiling as she held the Palatine closer by the shoulders, but Aribeth was not yet convinced. “But the Canoness does not believe that I am fit for my duty,” Aribeth said solemnly, still refusing to meet her friend’s triumphant eyes. “Do you believe that you are fit for your duty?” Clara asked her. “I – I don’t really know any more.” “And that is what is holding you back, Aribeth!” Clara explained. “The Canoness, may the Emperor protect her, cannot change the way you think or what makes you who you are, only you can. She can replace you with another, but she cannot change what made you worthy of Palatine in the first place! Do you remember why you were chosen?” Aribeth thought back for a moment, and as the thoughts began to bubble up in her mind a spark of light returned into her cold grey eyes. “I was chosen,” she said, her voice slowly coming alive as all of Clara’s words started to warm the chilled heart within her chest, “I was chosen because I knew that the Emperor’s Will could never be defeated so long as the true of heart still carried it. I was stubborn – not willing to give up or admit defeat – and I helped others believe so as well.” “Yes!” Clara exclaimed, “You were never cowed by into submission or defeat before! Why should that happen now?” “But the Canoness…” Aribeth began. “The Canoness holds no power over who you are, all she can do is judge how you are perceived by others. Show her that you are fearless in your convictions, and that no matter what anyone says you will pursue what you believe is right! Do that, and she will have no choice but to accept you as a worthy second!” “But how can you be sure of that?” Aribeth questioned her, meeting her friend’s beaming features with her own undecided gaze. “I have spoken with a couple other Sisters who are in positions to comment on the Canoness and her methods, and from what I have heard about her I believe that she is not so arrogant as to make rash decisions, rather I think that she is testing you, and trying to force you to confront who you really are,” Clara said, though whether or not she actually believed it was beyond her. “You mean that you are basing all this off assumptions?” Aribeth asked quizzically. Clara shrugged, but still smiled broadly to her friend, “I have to say that a guess is better than the alternative.” Aribeth’s lips finally broke into a smile; “Thank you, Clara,” she said, taking Clara’s hand and squeezing back, “I really don’t know what I would ever do without you.” “Let’s just hope we never have find out,” Clara grinned. Aribeth tilted her head a little to left and shrugged, “Don’t get your spirits too high just yet,” she said, and produced a data slate that had been sitting beside her, and, up to this moment, Clara had absolutely failed to notice. “What is it?” Clara asked. “Orders,” Aribeth replied and handed the slate to her Sister, “another raid to be carried out immediately. I want you and Augusta with me – the Canoness has sent some Sisters of her own choice as well - to keep an eye on me, no doubt.” “She’s gonna need it,” Clara mumbled, reading through the briefing specifics, “Aribeth, have you read this thoroughly?” “I’ll admit that I just skimmed over it, why?” “Because this place that we are investigating - the Chapel Sanctuary of Saint Jeromia - it’s an orphanage,” Clara said with the slow voice of dawning astonishment, and Aribeth could see in her eyes that she felt the exact same way upon learning the news: if the Canoness really wanted a determining demonstration of Aribeth’s leadership there was no better place to do it. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1640692 Share on other sites More sharing options...
cryptomancer Posted July 24, 2008 Share Posted July 24, 2008 Hmm... You're right, the Canoness is an odd one. She shifts gears so quickly it's hard to read her intentions. She is obviously an old woman, working with the weight of experience behind her, but she can change in a moment from subtlety and vague accusations to an outright firebrand. She seems to be trying to provoke her new underlings, trying to goad them into defiance or anger, while at the same time trying to earn their confidence... it's no wonder Aribeth is so flustered. Helena is rather inconsistent in her relations with the other occupants of the convent. Whether it's all part of some delicately balanced intrigue or she's just a crotchety, senile old b!tch remains to be seen. Loved this bit, keep 'er going! -Crypto Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1640787 Share on other sites More sharing options...
daboarder Posted August 10, 2008 Share Posted August 10, 2008 still loving your work. but i was wondering if you had plans for the next instalment? Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1659402 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted August 11, 2008 Author Share Posted August 11, 2008 Yes, yes I do. No need to worry that I won't complete it, though I will admit that the going is slow, and that it gets harder and harder to come up with fresh ideas that will be as well recieved as those in previous instalments. Instalment Six is about 75% done, though I doubt that I'll manage to get it out before weeks end due to the disproportionate amounts of re-writes that I am doing thusfar in my work. Glad to know that you are still keen to read the tale of Aribeth! I'll try to get the next instalment out as soon as possible! -L_C Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1659722 Share on other sites More sharing options...
daboarder Posted August 11, 2008 Share Posted August 11, 2008 Cool. i was just curious as i'd hate to see asuch a good work as this to go unfinished. i am also willing to admitt my question was also something of a bump to prevent the thread from being lost. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1659849 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted August 30, 2008 Author Share Posted August 30, 2008 My readers - my friends - those who have been with me on this tale since the very beginning. You have waited long - too long in fact - for the Sixth Installment of the Seed of Martyrs. Granted I have been busy, and with a brand-spanking-new laptop at my fingertips with limitless possibilities opening themselves before me, you can understand how mywriting would be somewhat slowed. Hopefully, you will find it worth the wait, for this installment is a 30-page monster that houses the best of what my faithful readers have enjoyed in the past: the Chaos Marines, the ever intriguing Inquisitor Montrose, and our favourites from the Sisterhood, all set in scenes of dynamic dialogue, brutal up-close action, and more than a few instances of awesome sorcery. Am I saying the right words to wet your appetite? I hope so! Conflict, questions, and suspense, yessir! it's all here! This installment, due to it's length, will naturally be released in sections for your reading pleasure. It is with great pleasure that I now unveil the eagerly awaited Sixth Installment of the Saint Ascendant: the Seed of Martyrs, Trials of Truths and Falsities. ----------------------------------------- The Saint Ascendant part two; the Seed of Martyrs: Chapter 6; Trials of Truths and Falsities. (Part 1 of X) ----------------------------------------- The last pair of security doors ground aside to unbar his path as he stepped from the shadows of the extension corridor onto what used to be the command deck of the old space station. However, the passage of time and numerous scavengers had seen the spacious circular room stripped bare of anything of the slightest value; computer monitors, cogitator banks, command consoles, even the wall and ceiling panels – everything that might have been of the remotest value had been salvaged, leaving the room barren. Only the glow globes had been spared, for as everyone knew, the effort involved in disengaging a glow globe was not worth the dismal price they fetch when bought second-hand. It was in the plain light of those valueless globes, however, that Roland Weis saw the exact scale of his master’s influence, for arrayed before him sitting comfortably in a ring of chairs that hugged the skeletal walls of the once proud command deck were over a hundred figures who all had answered the Inquisitor’s call. Men and women from all walks of life had gathered alongside the more dubious of the master’s guests. Weis spotted numerous aliens, amongst them he noted at least two vicious looking Eldar, a tall Kroot and its stunty grey-skinned comrade, and several other Xeno species that Roland could not identify. Across the room, standing in shade of one of the room’s exposed ribs, Roland spotted the Inquisitor’s willowy assassin, Mercy, and tried to catch her eye, but, always the predator at heart, the tall woman was watching a group of bloated toad-men – her gluttonous violet eyes tracing across them in longing to touch death-bringing steel to hapless flesh. Swallowing the mounting bile back down into his gut, Roland snatched his eyes from the killer and instead looked about for an empty seat – preferably one far away from any aliens. In the end, however, no such seat was available, and the young man had to settle for a chair next to the Tau. Moments after he had taken his seat (and moments before the Tau tried to engage him in an unpleasant conversation) the doors to the command deck forced themselves open yet again, and all eyes turned to greet the new arrival. Inquisitor Montrose, his master, and host to all in attendance, stepped into the room resplendent in another of his outrageous compilations of Terran fashion, though this time he really had gone too far: a white wig so large that it looked like a dead lamb had been propped atop his head so that the loose curls hung down around the shoulders of a coat of dashing scarlet and gold laced frills that was buttoned tightly around his chest, which sat just above an emerald sash and fuchsia trousers – Weis, who often considered himself well dressed, was absolutely revolted, and could feel his face turn the colour of the Inquisitor’s coat at the sight of such a man. The Tau to his right, however, must have loved the costume, and before half of the room had gotten over the shock of the thing that passed for a wig atop the Inquisitor’s head, the grey-skin was laughing merrily and clapping its three-fingered hands. Laughter – like any other social blight – is contagious, and soon the entire room had burst into howls of jubilant lunacy. Montrose, the showman that he was, laughed with them and turned himself slowly in the middle of the room to expose himself to torrents of applause, cheers, and occasional well-aimed slurs. Soon though, the laughter wore out, and as the giggles subsided, Montrose, beaming to the room at large, held up his hands for silence. “My friends,” he began, a joyous smile still held perfectly on his face, “my friends, it has been too long.” Another round of applause burst around the room, and Montrose continued to beam at them all as he basked in the warmth of his own radiance. “But please my friends,” he continued, his voice passing above the hubbub like oil slipping over water, “though I know such an occasion has been too long delayed, I must play the role of the spoil sport and announce that this is not a reunion celebration, but rather a business negotiation,” the assembly grumbled and moaned, “I know, know – we really have not spent enough time together, and with a whole station at our disposal, I am sure that we could make one-hell-of-a Par-Tay!” the circle erupted once more into cheers and whoops as Montrose laughed and chuckled at the myriad of unspoken inside-jokes that passed between he and his guests. “But believe me, my friends, when I say that what passes here today will be the most important event of your lives!” This is it, Roland thought, this is the moment that all my work has been leading to. He sat up straighter in his chair and focused his attention on the man at the center of the circle, though Montrose was still joking with those around him. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, Aliens, Mutants, Heretics, the people I love most… I present to you now my newest associate, my newest ‘partner in crime’, the man who really knows my number and can call any time…” Montrose took in a deep exhilarating breath and worked the circle into a frenzy of laughter, cheers, and applause, “the Sepethk Maelekor!” Montrose spun to the entrance – with a crunching groan the doors parted – and at once all the noise in the room died. Jaws hung open, smiles quickly faded, and laughter was swallowed up in many a throat. Even Mercy looked mildly impressed. Montrose walked up to the door to stand beside the new arrival, before turning and glowing back at the silent assembly. Roland Weis could hardly believe what his eyes were witnessing. Next to the gaily dressed Inquisitor stood a towering monster clad in armour so black that it made night pale, so twisted with leering faces and maws that it made a gothic cathedral seem drab, and so vile that all corruption seemed pure in comparison. He had heard stories of such beings, tales of their vile exploits and dark deeds, but never did he think they existed – figments of the past perhaps – but never did he think that they existed, never did he think that he would see one in the flesh. The bane of all life, immortal fiends from the nightmares of men, the chosen of gods to foul to mention, the Chaos Marines. Montrose had never looked so excited. The man was dead - he must be. His face was desiccated and horribly white, his eyes were sunken and black, and through the skin on his scalp black veins and metal implants could be clearly seen. He had to be dead. He looked dead. Had Roland dared to take a breath, he was sure that the monster before them would even smell dead. Yet even as much as he wanted it to be so, somehow the fiend was actually quite alive. He was standing, he was breathing, and most terrorizing of all, he was looking at them – all of them. With footsteps of echoing thunder, the Chaos Marine slowly stepped to the center of the room, the Inquisitor – looking like a mere child skirting around an ogre – followed him quickly to stand by his side. “Is this it, Montrose?” the Chaos Marine asked in a chiding voice that seemed to grate against the air itself like a bone-saw, “Is this all you could bring to me?” “Oh, but my Lord!” Montrose replied quickly with just a hint of urgency as he darted in front of the towering Chaos Marine and bowed his head low before daring to meet his eyes, “You will find that these associates of mine are most capable, and any or all of them should make excellent allies!” “I will reserve that judgement for myself,” the Chaos Marine told him, his voice dripping with palpable venom. “But of course!” Montrose consented eagerly, “It is only fitting that those you wish to employ should be selected by none other than yourself!” Up until that point Roland and his fellow guests had remained mute – and with good reason – but just then the young man caught a motion from the corner of his eye, and soon everyone had turned their attention from the Chaos Marine to another. One of the Eldar had risen from his seat. This was the first time Roland had seen an Eldar in the flesh, and now he could understand why it would have drawn just as much attention as the armoured Astartes. The alien was quiet tall – almost as tall as the Chaos Marine – but while the Astartes was broader than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, the Eldar was impossibly thin – almost stick like. It wore an odd type of segmented mesh/plate armour that resembled shining midnight thorns all over its body save for its head, which remained uncovered to reveal a white pointed face with a sharp nose and high cheek-bones, and sported a single braid of jet-black hair that sprouted from the back of its skull. “What is the meaning of this treachery, Montrose?” it demanded in a highly nasal voice that sent shivers down Roland’s spine and made the Tau next to him visibly cringe, “Why do you bring us so far only to be rewarded with betrayal?” “Usebuel, Usebuel,” Montrose said with disarming sincerity as he turned and calmly approached the riled alien, “no one is being betrayed today! My intentions are not treasonous! In fact, I would say that I am presenting each and everyone of you with an opportunity of a lifetime – there is no need to be alarmed!” The Eldar eyed the Inquisitor warily as Montrose slowly advanced with open palms. Roland held his breath – he could almost taste the tension of the room on the tip of his tongue – he certainly wouldn’t be approaching the alien if he were in his master’s shoes. In the blink of an eye the alien’s hand blurred across space and was at Montrose’s throat, in it a black bladed knife glinted menacingly in the soft light. “I see that you are indeed worried then, hmm?” Montrose breathed, leaning his himself as far away as could from the weapon without moving from where he stood. “You could say that,” hissed the Eldar as he leaned in closer to the Inquisitor. The second Eldar stood up as well and drew its own blade; “Nobody move!” it snarled, glaring around the room. “Especially you,” it stared right at the Chaos Marine. “We can kill all of you right here and right now if we wish, so back off!” Roland was terrified – the one Eldar started to stalk around the room, while the other still held the blade at the Inquisitor’s throat. The Chaos Marine in the center of the room rolled his lidless eyes; “I really hate Eldar,” he stated with an air of boredom to the room at large, “especially these so called ‘Dark ones’.” The room suddenly went cold and the hairs on the back of Roland’s neck stood straight up. Both Eldar dropped lifelessly to the ground. The Chaos Marine hadn’t even moved from where he stood. “In fact,” he said nonchalantly, “I hate all aliens.” The Tau sagged in his chair and the Kroot fell face first onto the floor – around the room the other aliens died in similar fashions. Roland didn’t even remember loosing his bladder, so paralyzed was he with sheer terror at what was unfolding around him. “Now,” the Chaos Marine rasped, looking around the room at them all, “I assume there will be no more interruptions? Good. Montrose, may we get down to business?” * * * * Three hours later Roland finally walked out of the circular command center and let the doors grind shut behind him. Instantly he collapsed and retched repeatedly onto the floor. What he had seen… it defied all reason, all sanity… everything he had ever seen or believed in had been dashed in one fell move by that monster. Eight other people stood nearby, each looking pale and terrorized, and completely lost for words. Even Mercy, who Roland had believed to be completely unphased by acts of murder and violence, looked disturbed and uncommonly blanched. The Chaos Marine – Maelekor, as Montrose had introduced him – had kept them all imprisoned for three hors after the aliens had died, and during those hours which seemed to last more than a life-time, he wrought the most unimaginable acts of torture on each and every one of them. One by one, the Chaos Marine paused at every chair in the circle and stared at the occupant with his coal black eyes. He didn’t say anything to them – or so Roland thought at first – he simply looked at them. Then, after several minutes, he moved on, and the person sitting in the chair would either crumple in their seat and fall to the floor, or stand up on shaking legs and hurry to the door as fast as possible. Only eight people walked away, and Roland was one of them. Eventually it had been his turn, and Roland had sat rooted to the spot as the Chaos Marine walked over to him as stared down into the depths of his mind. He spoke without sound and Roland felt the monster’s thoughts forming within the barriers of his own mind. “More than anything you are afraid of me,” the Chaos Marine had told him, “and whatever nightmares you have had since the years of your birth about the monsters that lurk in the blackness, nothing compares to the dread you feel when looking on me. You are confused too; it makes no sense that your master would ally with a creature so foul as me – at least it makes no sense to you. You wonder if your master has been cheating you all along. Dangerous thoughts, young one. Yet you are loyal – so very loyal – and while you find this troubling, you still trust your master’s judgement, and you will follow his orders even if you end up betraying your own conscience. So young, so naïve – you really don’t know the difference between that which is good and that which is evil. But there is something else there isn’t there? The woman, you are helplessly in love with her, and you hate yourself for it – for loving that which by no means should be loved. Oh, but aren’t you infatuated with her! How the young can be so overcome with something so trivial. You will control yourself though, for you know that you can look, but not touch. Continue to chase your dreams and your fantasies all you like – continue to blind yourself to the truth; it’s the only way you’ll survive.” The bottomless depths of the Chaos Marine’s eyes then filled with burning red light and smoke curled up from his lips. Roland had tried to blink – to look away – anything to avert the fiend’s gaze, but had found himself frozen through space and time in an existence were there were but two bodies, and one omnipotent mind of an intellect so cruel that to stand against it was to know all the secrets of pain and despair unleashed. “Fear me,” the fiend’s mind boomed between his ears, “Fear me, for you are now in my service by my wish alone, and that should my thoughts change you will be made to suffer deathless torment. There is no Emperor, there is only me. And it is through me, and me alone, that you either live or die.” Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1676336 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted August 30, 2008 Author Share Posted August 30, 2008 Chapter 6: Trials of Truths and Falsities (part 2 of 3) ------------------------------------------------------------ After thirty minutes of what might have been the most uncomfortable ride Aribeth had ever experienced in an Immolator tank, the transport pulled up gently to the curb of the road next to the Sanctuary of Saint Jeromia, and the Sisters waiting in the vehicle’s hold began to rise. There were six women in total – Celestian Superior Augusta, Celestian Superior Cauline, Sister Celestian Clara, Sister Celestian Kia, Sister Celestain Aranis, and lastly the Lady Palatine herself – six of the preceptory’s finest warriors, and not a one had uttered a word during the entire transit. As the transport came to a halt however, Aribeth knew that it was time to break the silence that had ensnared her Sisters, for what else should a leader do if not lead by example? “Sisters, hold!” Aribeth commanded as she rose from her seat at the head of the passenger compartment and slowly eyed each and every Sister as they stood silently at her word - five pairs of eyes meeting hers as she walked between the figures clad in white. Clara’s blue eyes shone with an encouraging glow as she traced across them – indeed had it not been for Clara, Aribeth could not imagine where she would be now. Augusta’s lone human eye was hard as always when she met it, but the baleful red glow of her bionic eye made her look even more obdurate – she was ready for everything, but would everything be ready for her? Passing from Augusta to Cauline however, Aribeth saw that the scarred veteran was cheerful by comparison, for Aribeth saw only one thing in the eyes of the faceless woman, and that which she saw disturbed her. The only fire that burned through the mask’s silver slits was the blackest flame of loathing. Aribeth stopped for a moment before the Sister – locking her grey eyes with their bloodshot opponents. What is it you hate? Aribeth thought; Why are you looking at me like that? Do you hate your wretched life? Do you wish that you had perished along with your face? Of course the blackened eyes could not answer her, and Aribeth passed them by. “Sisters,” Aribeth turned upon reaching the back of the hold to face the women as she spoke, “there is one thing that I wish to make absolutely clear before commencing this investigation, and that is to remind you that this is an investigation. We are here to determine whether or not these people are to be rightly suspected of deviance, heresy, or treason. We are not here to kill them, wound them,” Aribeth looked at both Celestian Superiors with particular emphasis, “or harm them in any way unless ordered to do so.” Aribeth walked with measured paces back between them to the fore of the hold, “Lastly, remember that I am in command of this investigation, and that everything pertaining to the completion of this investigation must be brought to my attention immediately.” She turned as she reached the starboard side-hatch of the fighting vehicle; “Is that clear, Sisters?” she asked, her eyes primarily on the masked Celestian. “Yes, Lady Palatine!” the five women answered back in unison. “Very well,” Aribeth said, knowing that each woman – despite whatever her personal convictions may be – would follow her orders to the letter. Lowering the side ramp and unsealing the access hatch, Aribeth walked clear of the tank; “Follow me,” was all she said. The cleric who met them at the door of the sanctuary was an elderly man who wore his years poorly but with good spirit. He was short – shorter than Aranis (who was the shortest of the six) by at least a head – and had a head that was bald save for a few straggling hairs that grew awkwardly from his scalp. His nose was crooked and quite hooked, though his smile was quite charming with a flawless set of teeth that looked as if they belonged to a much younger man, and his eyes were still bright and full of life. “Welcome most hallowed Sisters in His name!” the old cleric greeted them with a bow of his hunched back as his smiling face stooped on his shoulders to reveal a weather beaten and leathery neck, “I am very pleased that you have spared the time to pay us visit!” “It is an honour for us to be received by you and your brethren at this time,” Aribeth replied as the cleric ushered them through the doors and into the sanctuary’s main hall, allowing the Sisters to take their first look into what may very well be a concealed den of heresy. “I am humbled by your generosity, my dear Sororitas,” the elderly man said kindly as he waved them onwards down the hall, but the Sisters weren’t about to follow him. An accusation of heretical deviance was nothing to be taken lightly, and the assembled Sororitas were determined that the old cleric should know that they were not here to exchange pleasant formalities. “Who is the abbot here, brother? Would you be him?” Aribeth asked, coming to a stop in the entrance hall with her Sisters forming up on either side. “Dear me no, my Lady,” the old man answered with unnerving warmth, “our abbot is a great man, a righteous man, a man who serves his people well. I am but a humble servant, who, old though I may be, is only worthy to answer the gates for our most benevolent m – ” “Do not be coy with us, old man,” Cauline growled from behind her silver mask, “you will answer the Palatine’s question promptly and to her satisfaction, otherwise you will suffer the repercussions as necessary.” For an instant the old man looked genuinely hurt by the Celestian Superior’s words, and after overcoming his surprise answered sheepishly, “I shall go and fetch him then? Yes, I suppose that would be for the best…” “Was that really necessary?” Aribeth asked the masked woman quietly as the old man disappeared from view around a corner, “he appears eager enough to leave us with a good impression of himself and his abbot.” “He was stalling,” Cauline replied, then, after some hesitation, added, “my Lady.” “Stalling does not equate to heresy - or do you think otherwise?” Aribeth pressed, looking over her shoulder at the silver face. “I understand, my Lady. I will follow your lead,” Cauline conceded. “Good,” she said, though Aribeth knew that Cauline was not about to correct her prejudices on her behalf. So far the masked woman had only exhibited tolerance when addressing her – why should she believe that that was about to change? Without the Celestian Superior’s respect, could she really expect anything? “Sister Kia.” The young Celestian looked over; “Yes, my Lady?” “I have heard that this place is an orphanage or something of the like. I would like you to find the children, if there are any, and talk to them; find out what you can about how they live here, where they came from, and any information about the clerics who watch them. Do you understand?” Aribeth looked sharply at the young Celestian: if she were going to prove herself a capable leader, she would first have to ensure that her authority was both recognized and obeyed. “I understand, my Lady,” Kia replied with a bow. “Good. Sister Cauline?” The silver face tilted around towards hers, the black pits of the woman’s eyes staring out in silence. “I want you to find their scriptorium and search for anything suspicious, understood?” The Celestian Superior nodded, “Absolutely, my Lady.” “Sister Clara, when the old man returns I would like you to keep him occupied. Talk with him, but keep it amiable – see how much he is willing to divulge about this place and his abbot.” Her dearest friend positively glowed with calm assurance, “I shall do what you ask, my Lady Palatine.” Aribeth thought she detected her friend placing particular emphasis on her rank - she smiled slightly, but otherwise made no indication of having noticed. “Sister Anaris, secure the perimeter and work your way deeper into the sanctuary. If you find anything suspicious, secure it, then alert the rest of us.” Anaris nodded her understanding. “Sister Augusta,” - the veteran standing next to her turned to acknowledge the Palatine’s request with the unyielding severity of duty reflected in her marred face - “you’re with me.” As the Sisters split up through the sanctuary it became evident that the building itself was deceptively large, and the further they went through rooms and down corridors, the more it seemed like something was out of place between its cold rockcrete walls. Following the guiding call of her own echoing footsteps, Sister Anaris turned out of a lightless stairwell into another long corridor. The last five floors had been identical through her eyes – each had been equally dark, equally cold, and equally hollow. She looked to her left and her right – her eyes searching for a chink in the musty darkness – but she found herself denied. Odd how she felt she remembered this place; the very air she breathed felt like an old thought from some day long past. Drawing her pistol from its holster and letting the bolter hang limply at her side, the Celestian advanced into the gloom – forcing the hall to reveal itself to her twenty paces at a time. A door stood to her left, but when she tried the tarnished knob it simply rattled loosely in her hand. Her armoured shoulder had more success, and with a grinding crunch the door gave way to a pit of blackness. Still she could see nothing, and as she moved fearlessly through the false night, her pistol braced low, she even lost sight of the door behind her as the shadows closed in. Her armoured foot pressed hard against something metal as she sent it out before her. She stopped, crouching to let her fingers grope about whatever she had stumbled across, and eventually picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy and unbalanced, and when she lifted it, it tipped back onto the floor with a loud clatter. She straightened up and stepped over whatever it was that she had dropped, but she had not gone more than five steps when she heard the shearing scrape of the same metal across stone. She kept walking as if she hadn’t heard the noise, but one thing was for sure, her Sisters did not go skulking about in the dark. Swinging the bolter up from her hip, Anaris raked the room with sweeping fully automatic fire. There may have been children here once – this may have even been a nursery – however there were no children here now, and this place had no claim to being a nursery anymore. With a heavy sigh, Sister Kia slapped her hand down against the dust-covered surface of the old table that sat alone in this loneliest of lonely rooms. Indeed it – like the past five rooms she had checked in – could have at one time been a nursery; picked stucco on the walls, numerous stains on the rockcrete floor that suggested spills on long absent carpets, and even the faded children’s prayer roll that hung awkwardly on the far wall – all things that Kia would not have considered at odds with a children’s room. Still, there were no children. Through the closed wooden door leading into the hall came suddenly the sound of a single pair of feet making a hastened pace in her direction. Kia moved to the door and opened it, hoping that she would at least find someone who she could ask for directions or an explanation. Stepping out into hall that flickered with light from chandeliers suspended high above her head, Kia was surprised to see, however, that it was no Cleric whose footsteps she had heard, but rather the broad shouldered form of the masked Celestian Superior that came hurrying her way. “Celestian Superior!” Kia called out as the woman’s death mask turned towards her. “Sister Kia,” Cauline replied, slowing to a fast walk and signalling the other woman to walk with her. “What’s going on, Sister? I thought you were looking for the scriptorium?” “I thought you were supposed to be looking for children, but you haven’t found any, have you?” “No, I haven’t been able to find any children so far, but I think I may be looking in the wrong place. Did you find any children?” “No, I haven’t found anything.” Kia arched an eyebrow, “Then why haven’t you asked for directions, Sister?” The silver mask looked at her with the hollow pits that were its eyes, “Have you found anyone to ask, Sister?” Kia frowned, “No, actually I haven’t found a soul.” Cauline made a grunting noise through her lipless mouth. “What is it, Celestian Superior?” “That can only mean one of two things,” Cauline explained, “either there is no one here, or whoever is here does not want to be found.” Kia stopped, prompting the Celestian Superior to do likewise; “What do you mean?” Kia asked. “That is what I’m trying to find out,” Cauline replied. “I’ll come with you,” Kia quickly decided, but the masked woman held out a warding hand; “No,” she said, “the Palatine’s orders still stand, and you are required to follow them.” “But what about you, Celestian Superior, why aren’t you doing what the Palatine ordered?” “Because I believe that the Palatine is making a mistake.” Cauline turned her back and walked away, but after a few paces stopped, and walked back to where Kia stood. “Here,” she said, drawing the other woman’s pistol and pressing it into her hand, “you’ll want to be carrying this.” “But the Palatine’s orders specifically forbade the use violence unless ordered to do so by the Palatine herself!” Kia argued. Cauline looked at her with scorn; “Do you think that the Palatine will be here for you if you are attacked? Will she be here to hold your hand as you try to fight for your life? Don’t be a fool and let your hands be tied by another woman’s incompetence. We’re Celestians, and our duty is to the Emperor and His Imperium before any field commander’s orders.” “Do you think that we could be attacked?” “You’re too trusting, Sister Kia; if and when you find those children I want you to be prepared.” “Dear Emperor, Sister! They’re just children!” “Have you ever fought a child, Sister?” Cauline asked, leaning so close to the younger woman that she could see the bloodshot eyes through the mask’s holes and smell the woman’s rotten breath as it washed through the thin slit between metallic lips. “No, and Emperor willing I never will,” Kia replied. “Then you should ask Sister Narisa about it.” “Who is Sister Narisa? I’ve never met her before.” “She’s the woman I knew who was stabbed in the neck and killed by a four-year-old,” Cauline growled, and turned to walk away down the hall, her point made. The abbot was a man unlike any cleric she had ever met; he was tall, proud, and spoke with a refined voice that suited neither his status nor his humble address. He reminded her of a serpent, for while he was charming and handsome on the outside, Aribeth suspected that inside he harboured little that should be admired. “My Lady Palatine,” he greeted her with a smile of slack superiority, “welcome to my sanctuary in memoriam of the great Saint Jeromia, I do wish that you had graced us sooner.” The old cleric standing beside him was grinning like an idiot. Augusta twisted her scarred face into a scowl, but Aribeth passed it of without remark. “As I have said before,” the Palatine said looking directly at the abbot with a sharp, penetrating stare, “I am honoured to be received.” “But of course,” the abbot inclined his head towards her, “we are all servants in His service. Will you not accompany me to my office where we might discuss matters in formal detail?” Clara sidestepped the Palatine and her adjutant and moved closer to the old cleric, ready to engage him at any moment. “This is not a social call, abbot…?” “Abbot Togan,” the man said smugly, which seemed to make the old man grin even more. “Abbot Togan, very well. You have been accused of deviancy and heresy against the Emperor’s Holy Church. How do you respond to these accusations?” The smooth arrogance fell from his face like ice melting under the persecution of the sun, and all of a sudden the abbot seemed to sag in his skin as the Palatine’s words tore through him. “I… I suppose I must protest my innocence against these charges…” he looked weakly about himself without daring to meet the eyes of his judges, “could we… could we perhaps speak about this in my office?” he glanced up at her face for a moment before looking down at the floor beyond them. Next to the Palatine, Clara gently guided the cleric aside, he – like the abbot – had lost his cheerful smile in the face of such an accusation, and he did not resist the Celestian’s guiding motion. “That would be best,” Aribeth nodded in agreement with the abbot, and she, Augusta, and Togan walked away down the hall into the heart of the sanctuary, leaving the old man alone in Clara’s company. The next two doors on both her left and right were locked from the inside with no visible means of opening them – that made the total number of barred doors escalate to sixteen in comparison to the four unbarred doors she had come across. Had she been younger, and perhaps of a more inquisitive nature, Cauline would have spent more time examining the blocked entrances and wondering what might lie behind them, but as she was older and had more pressing matters on her mind she didn’t give the doors a second thought. Other than the old cleric that had greeted them, Cauline had yet to see anyone else in this place, but she suspected that should she find anyone, an encounter would likely result in bloodshed. People didn’t hide like this without reason, especially if they were scared. No, this looked too meticulous in her eyes – too clean, too exact – if anything, this looked like an ambush. She had seen it too many times before to be mistaken, and if it were up to her, she would withdraw her Sisters from the scantuary and put it and anyone found within to the sword. But she wasn’t in charge, and that meant that she would have to surrender the initiative and let these people, whoever they may be, make the first move. Somewhere up ahead of her and around a bend in the hall a door closed; not with a loud bang, but rather a tiny clunk that she barely heard over her own footsteps. The Celestian Superior slowed to a creep, and, edging forward, peered around the corner: there in front of her, no more than twenty feet away, a cleric in a simple brown habit stood frozen in the middle of locking the door he had just closed, his terrorized eyes fixed on death’s silver face. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. “Don’t move and you will not be harmed,” Cauline assured him as she stepped around the corner towards the man, but she kept her pistol in her hand all the same. For a few seconds it seemed as if he had conquered his shock at seeing the silver death mask of the Celestian Superior’s face, but as the broad-shouldered woman drew closer still the man’s nerve finally snapped and he made a mad dash down the hall away from the white armoured Sister of Battle as fast as his legs could carry him. “Stop, in the name of the Ecclesiarchy!” Cauline bellowed after the cleric, but the man didn’t stop – he only ran faster – and was mere meters away from escaping around the far corner of the corridor. Now or never, Cauline made her choice without hesitation or doubt: the bolt pistol in her hand jumped up and roared – two shell casings clattered against the floor – the cleric collapsed with a excruciating scream of surprised pain as the first bolt detonated just below his knee, tearing the man’s leg in two as the second bolt blasted wide into the stone floor. Lowering the smoking pistol, the masked Sister walked over to the crumpled man as he moaned pitifully and grabbed at the stump of his ruined limb. “Only the guilty need fear the executioner,” she intoned, levelling the pistol once again. The third shot echoed down the halls as Cauline finished what she had started. The cellars appeared to be empty too. So far she had checked two separate rooms and both had yielded the same result: nothing. No crates, no boxes, no containers of any sort to suggest that these store rooms hidden beneath the sanctuary had been used recently. All she could find was dust, splintered wood, stagnant water and the work of vermin – there was nothing down here of value, nothing at all. Yet something told Kia that she shouldn’t abandon the cellars just yet – there must be something here, it just took a little work to find it. She walked a little further down the main corridor following the heavy rails that were indented into the chipped rockcrete floor that suggested a heavy rail car must be somewhere down here in the dark amidst the network of store rooms. This place must have been an emergency reserve for the city, Kia reasoned, why else would there be evidence of heavy duty storage equipment and what looked like endless storage space? More and more she felt as if she were exploring a hidden base or some ancient tomb awaiting discovery. Ahead of her all the glow globes fizzled and dimmed. Kia turned back around and looked the way she had come. The line of globes along the ceiling dimmed for a few seconds before brightening again. Then they went out, and Kia dropped into impenetrable darkness. A glow globe’s primary feature is that it will never burn out. Globes can last decades, centuries, and even millennia without ever dying or dimming, and could theoretically function properly until the end of time so long as they had a constant power source that provided a minimal requirement of energy. Indeed the only way of stopping of glow globe’s proper function was to remove it from the power source by either damaging them or the source of their power, or manually deactivating the globes individually or collectively. Cascade failure was altogether impossible. That left only one possibility. Blinded, Kia slid her pistol back into its holster and fished up her bolter from her hip, and flicked on the lamp-pack and laser sight that was fastened under the barrel as a combat attachment. The small lamp activated with a buzzing hum like a small insect in flight; the Celestian now had a meagre beam of light that illuminated a small strip ahead of her – not enough to see by and certainly not enough to be aware of her surroundings, but it was enough to fight with, and that was something. Sweeping the light back-and-forth as she advanced in a fast combat crouch, Kia could not help but feel as if the shadows were closing in on her. No Sisters at her back, no reinforcements around the bend, she was alone with herself: a battle of one. Emperor, how she wished there was at least one of her Sisters with her – just one, just enough so this darkness wouldn’t seem so abysmally total. ‘A soldier’s mind is both her best ally and her worst enemy’ Kia remembered her instructors at the Scholam saying, ‘One must conquer oneself before conquering any foe.’ How right they had been! Hardly a minute alone in the dark and she was already jumping at the sound of her own feet. Celestian indeed! Did Cauline ever get like this? Did the Palatine? Or any of the others? Most certainly not! “Get a grip,” she scolded herself, and began to recite the litanies of solace and warding over and over in her head. A noise to her right made her start. She snapped her bolter around, her finger tightening on the trigger and her eye scoring down the weapon’s sights as the lamp-pack lit up her target. It was a door. Old – wooden – grainy, like every other door she had seen in this place. Lowering her bolter slightly so that the light dipped down across its surface, Kia pressed her fingertips against it, and then – The door crashed open as she threw her shoulder into it – the dim light of the hall outside flooding in after her to light up the room beyond with a dull grey. “In the name of the Emperor – ” she began, but quickly cut it short as she deftly ducked under a long metal object as it swung for her head, and sidestepped around her assailant. Another attacker came at her from the side and knocked the pistol from her hand with something heavy before lunging in again for another attack. Recovering from her surprise, however, Cauline was ready and blocked his arm with her armoured forearm before driving her gauntleted fist into his gut and dropping the maddened attacker to the floor. There were four of them: one on the ground as he struggled to regain his feet, two on the back wall and approaching quickly with blunt objects in hand, and one who stood by the door after having just kicked it shut - plunging the room back into near spectral darkness. Her pistol on the floor and her bolter too clumsy a weapon to use in the confines of close combat, Cauline drew a short sword from the belt at her waist just as the attacker from the door closed in for another swing. The heavy blow landed with terrific force – striking off her left paudron with a clangour of ringing metal and throwing the Celestian Superior to the ground as the strength of her attacker channelled through his weapon drove her legs out from under her. Cauline dropped painfully onto her back under buckling legs – the sword skittering out of her hand and dancing across the floor into the darkness as the men around her closed in for the kill. Down but not out, and her left side numb with grating pain, the masked Celestian rocked back to her right side and thrust a heavy greave up at her nearest foe just as he swung his weapon back for the killing strike. Armoured boot met bone as Cauline’s foot slammed into the man’s jaw with shattering force – a sickening crack and a crunch playing as music to her ears as her assailant’s jaw was crushed into his skull under the weight of her heal. The man toppled over onto the ground - he would never get up again. Still on her back, the third of her treacherous foes loomed out of the darkness above her with weapon raised high as he moved in to pulp her unprotected head beneath the heavy cudgel. His first blow missed as she threw her body to the side just in time – the crude but deadly weapon grinding noisily against the stone floor as it struck where she used to be. With a scream the man redirected his attack, but this time the Celestian Superior was prepared and intercepted the downwards stroke with the crossed ceramite gauntlets fastened over both forearms. Grunting in pain from the jarring blow, Cauline quickly reversed her hands against her swearing opponent and locked her grip around the head of his weapon – a firm tug pulling him from his feet and giving her the precious time required to regain her stance amidst the carnage of the life and death brawl. The next man came in hard with a low strike that beat her guard and slammed the bludgeoning weapon into her flank. Cauline Antoinette, however, was a hardened veteran of many battles and had received more than her share of vicious blows – the metal club rebounded against her armour under the thunderous clap of impact, but the Celestian Superior did not fall. A fist to the face knocked the man back and flung two yellowed teeth from his mouth. He came back for another go – Cauline’s armoured fist was waiting for him and burst his left eyeball with a squelching pop like that of popping a pustule between two fingers. Still the frenzied foe came on, and still the Celestian Superior was ready for him, though this time he fell and did not rise. The last two attackers came for her together. The first man launched himself at her and grasped at her throat while the second one ploughed into them both and brought all three of them to the ground. Thrashing in a tangle of limbs, one of the brutes wrestled his way on top of her and pinned her to the ground as his grubby fingers tore at her masked face and throat. Freeing an arm from under him, Cauline slammed her fist into the man’s sternum – rewarding her with a grunt of pain and a sputtering curse regarding her gender – but her enemy only fought harder with the desperation of a trapped beast; screaming and cursing as if words alone would conquered the armoured Sister. Fighting her attacker with every fibre of her being, Cauline managed to free her other hand and with a snarl of hatred wrapped her hands tightly about her attacker’s neck – the ceramite sheathed fingers squeezing with all the might she could muster. Flailing and choking, the man fought against the Celestian Superior’s vice-like grip as he tried to pry her armoured fingers that were slowly killing him from around his neck. He would never get the chance. Seeing her opportunity, Cauline slammed her head – metal face first – into her attacker’s own visage – once – twice – a third time – until the man’s red blood was smeared across her smooth silver and he went limp in her hands and she threw the corpse’s dead weight off her. Now where was the last one? The room exploded into light as repeated blasts of gunfire shook the air around her. Somehow her last foe had found her fallen pistol, and in his panic was blasting the room apart with a stream of rapid-firing shells. Ten rounds, however, can be expended very quickly, and no sooner than he had begun, the pistol was empty, and not a single one had hit the Celestian Superior. “It is your place, heretic, to wallow in darkness,” Cauline said in a ragged lisp as her lipless mouth awash with spittle tangled around the words. “Never again will you see the light.” The man may have tried to say something near the end, but Cauline couldn’t hear him; a bolter can be quite loud in such confined spaces. There were children, scores and scores of children – at least a hundred of them – all huddling together in the darkness of the store room, and as Kia’s light passed over them one by one, they looked back at her with faces etched in silent fear. None of them screamed, none of them cried, none of them shouted, they all just crouched there, looking at her – staring at her. She raised a hand, palm open, and waved it gently back and forth. None of the children made any sign of having understood. Of course, she figured, they can’t see me through the light. Slowly lowering her bolter so that it aimed at the ground, Kia stepped carefully towards the children – not too fast as to startle them, not too slow as to frighten them – every footfall crunching softly over the dirt covered flagstone flooring. “Hello,” she said, remembering what Cauline had told her and stopping a safe distance from the huddling youngsters, “my name is Kia Syrelle.” The children didn’t move. Kia tried again; maybe if she just let them get used to her they would be more responsive. “I’m here because the Emperor – who is my father as well as yours – is worried about you, and wants me to make sure that you are safe. I’m not going to hurt you.” Still the children said nothing. Kia crouched down closer to the children so that they were no more than two meters apart. No doubt Cauline would scold her if the Celestian Superior were present, but Kia wasn’t feeling particularly worried about being murdered by a group of infants… though she was sure stranger things had happened. “Why are you all hiding down here in the dark?” This time she was answered, but not how she had expected; “They are hiding because they are afraid of you and your kind, traitor,” said a man’s voice from behind her that spoke with both age and authority. Kia turned around slowly on the spot and stood up. Standing by the door, holding aloft an electric torch that illuminate him in a hazy light was a man dressed in priests’ robes. His face was largely hidden in shadows, but Kia was able to make out a large hooked nose, a heavy sloping brow, and a thick chin. The man came closer, bringing more of his face into view, but his eyes still remained concealed in the blackness. “Who are you?” the young Sororita demanded, “and by whose authority do you confront me with treasonous words? Speak!” The priest scowled at her, then walked past the Celestian to stand closer to the children – his light making all their little faces glow as they looked up at him in awe. “Answer me, old man!” “I do not answer to the likes of you – a mere pup who has strayed too far from her mother’s suckling breast. If you are here to kill me, then kill me and be done with it!” Kia’s bolter snapped up to her shoulder – the laser sight painting a red mark on the priest’s forehead and the light finally illuminating his hardened features, “Don’t try to test me, old man! You have much to answer for, but don’t think that I won’t kill you if you give me a reason!” The priest chuckled to himself and knelt down amongst the children – immediately they all moved closer to him, some of them grabbing at him and clinging to his clothes in fright. “I have a lot to answer for?” he mocked her, “So do you. You are the killer. Why don’t you explain to these children why you killed their parents? Why you ruined their city, then turned your back on it and let it rot? Go on, tell them, they are only children. Do you think that they won’t forgive you?” “I didn’t kill their parents!” “Didn’t you? It was your war, your decision to fight, your choice to kill, and now look what you have cost these poor children because of it; you have cost them everything.” Kia spat contemptuously, “You are the traitor – you have betrayed the very ideals of your faith! The city was threatened by those who would see the Emperor cast down, and you blame us – the guardians of the manifest Will of the Emperor – as being at fault for the lives lost? The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium, or have you forgotten that, you who are so eager to cast you misguided judgements about in the precious minds of the Emperor’s children? You delusional old fool. The Emperor is all – His will is the guiding light in humanity, and if He wished this city to be razed to the ground and all its citizens put to the sword it would be done.” “The Emperor protects His people through men like me,” the priest said venomously with a glare of pure poison, “I am here to protect these innocents – ” he motioned to the children around him “ – from people like you – murders, destroyers, letches all of you! You claim to be of the utmost purity, but the blood of so many stains your hands too deep for you to clean them. Be ashamed, harlot of the Church, be ashamed for all the misery you have wrought.” Kia’s bolter was back up in an instant, “Don’t you push me! Don’t you push me, old man!” “What?” the priest sneered, “You’d kill me here in front of all these children? Scar them for life? Admit your inequity and your wrongs – run back to your whore-house of a convent with your tail curled between your legs! Just because you wield a bolter does not make you more powerful or in any way more right. Know the shame of your dishonour!” Fuming, Kia was about to respond when several long transponder bursts flooded into her ear through her squad comm.-link. Piercing the man with her gaze, she reluctantly turned her back on the priest and withdrew a few steps into the relative privacy of the nearby shadows. “Kia reporting,” she murmured into the transmitter resting on her armoured collar. For a moment there was nothing aside from dead air and the echoing silence of the walls around her. “Kia reporting,” she said again. +Sister Kia,+ she heard the Celestian Superior’s voice tremble over the mic and into her ear, +where are you? What is your status?+ “I’m in the basement. I have located the children.” +Say again? I didn’t receive that.+ “I’m in the basement. I have found the children.” Cauline swore loudly on the other end, her voice was coming in gasps. “What’s going on, Sister Superior?” +Secure your position, Celestian. I’m coming to get you. Hostile contact.+ “What!?” Kia half shouted back into the mic with disbelief, but the line had already been disconnected. “I think you know,” she heard the priest say from behind her, “now you and all your disgraced Sisters will pay for blood with blood.” Kia turned slowly on the spot. The laspitol in the priest’s fist was aimed right between her eyes. After just five minutes speaking to the abbot in his tiny one-room office and cell, Aribeth had already concluded that the man could not tell her anything of use. He was fidgety, he was panicked, and - worst of all - his self-esteem had all but vanished. With every word that passed through his lips, the haughty man who had first confronted her in the entrance hall seemed go melt into a confused little man who was dealing with matters that were far beyond him, and was drowning immensity of what was being said to him. In a way Aribeth even felt sorry for the abbot even though the charge of heresy and heretical deviance left no room for compromise. “You understand, abbot, that you must prove your innocence against these charges,” Aribeth reminded him, “and that if you cannot prove your innocence you will punished by the Holy Emperor’s Ecclesiarchy so that your soul and the souls of your brethren might be redeemed through death.” From across the small table that served as their desk, Togan nodded weakly, “Yes, I understand.” “Good, then we shall proceed.” Her chair protested with a wailing screech as Aribeth pushed it back and tried to disentangle her knees from underneath the small table so that she might be able to stand. Everything about the room was small – too small – and Aribeth felt the distinct impression that the walls were far too tight for her liking. Normally she was indifferent to small spaces, but unlike the inside of a Rhino or Immolator that were small by design and functionality, this room had seemingly no reason to be so outrageously tiny – it just made no sense that a human being should be forced to live in such a cramped environment. The room was about eight feet by ten feet and had a ceiling about six-and-a-half feet high, and squeezed in to such a tight place was a bed, two chairs, a table, and a tall wardrobe – the door was also designed to open inwards. With difficulty she was able to stand. “Augusta,” Aribeth called. The door opened just over half way before banging into the wardrobe with a loud crack - Togan visibly winced at the sound – and the scarred Sister Superior leaned into the room, her bionic eye passing over the tiny room with disdain. “The data-slate with the charges, please. Thank you.” Augusta handed over the slate then closed the door behind her with a notably gentler touch. Before she had really appreciated the scale of the abbot’s quarters, Aribeth had asked Augusta to stand inside, though that had proved to be a poor choice as none of them were able to move with both armoured Sisters in the room at once. Aribeth turned back to where Togan sat, and tossed the slate down on the table in front of him. “Read it,” she said. The abbot did what he was told, but did not move or say a word as his eyes traced over the slate that sealed his doom. “What do you think?” Aribeth asked once he had finished. “Quite extensive,” the man replied in a tiny mouse-like voice. “Yea,” Aribeth said, leaning down over the table so that her face was so close to his that she could count every pore on his nose and see every vein in his eyes, “it’s a pretty long list, and as you can imagine the punishment for such crimes would be ‘quite extensive’.” Togan swallowed, his eyes flickered, but he didn’t dare to break the Palatine’s stare. “Now, I’ll ask you again: why shouldn’t I believe everything that is written on that slate?” Togan was shivering, “I – I don’t know!” “That’s it? You don’t know?” Aribeth could hardly believe this man; here he was, an abbot, and he could not even guess as to why he would not be deserving of the charges laid against him. “I am giving you a chance to save your life – save your soul – and all you can say is that you don’t know?” “But I don’t know!” Aribeth slowly moved back over to her chair and sat down – the man across from her was still shivering. “Then let’s start with what you do know,” she said, “How old are you?” “I’m forty-one.” “How did you become abbot?” “Abbot Griswell was killed during the fighting over three months ago.” “Why did they choose you?” “I – I don’t know…” Aribeth shook her head, “If you cannot defend yourself, I will have no choice but to find you guilty. Do you want that? Do you think I want that? I have seen enough innocent people killed already, and I do not want to be forced to add you to the tally.” “I know,” he snivelled, “you are trying to help me, though I am undeserving of your help. Why should I warrant your sympathy when I cannot even help myself?” “You don’t have my sympathy,” Aribeth quickly countered, “for if you are guilty you have turned against the Emperor and I can afford you neither peace nor leniency. Are you guilty?” “No!” Togan instantly protested, and for the first time since she met him he looked her straight in the eye with rigid determination. “I swear to the Golden Throne and our most benevolent Emperor that I did not stray in word, thought, or deed! I guard His most sacred covenant dutifully and with every once of my being! I am loyal to the Throne – I did not stray.” “Would that that was enough to prove your innocence, but the charges still stand, and if you cannot convince me of your innocence I will have no choice but to assume that you are guilty.” Once again the abbot seemed to deflate, and he sank back down in his chair, defeated of spirit once again. “Ask me your questions, then,” he said, “and I will answer you as a pious and loyal servant.” “Why were you chosen as abbot?” Aribeth asked, sitting upright in her chair and watching the man as he became more and more desperate to clear his name. It didn’t feel right – she didn’t belong here – she shouldn’t be doing this. This – this was the work of an Inquisitor, or a Confessor, not a Sister of Battle. She was not a judge, and she did not want to be, yet there she sat, listening to a man rebut a death sentence. Why had she been chosen for this? Was this how the Canoness intended to test her mettle? To see if she had the conviction to judge a man solely upon his perceived faith? No, that made no sense. If she judged him guilty, she would be seen as pandering to the Canoness’ wishes in spite of herself. Yet if she found him innocent, they would call her blind. “Lady Palatine?” Aribeth glanced up; she hadn’t been listening, and the abbot was looking at her with timid expectance. “Go on,” she said, folding her hands one over the other. “There really is very little to tell about how I was elected abbot. Though I must admit that I was surprised when my brethren chose one such as I when there are others who a more venerable and deserving than I am.” “Have you ever asked anyone about your election to abbot?” Aribeth asked. Togan shrugged and shook his head, “No, I never questioned their motives – to be honest, I let my election… well, lets just say that I got carried away with ideas of my own importance and power. I was so proud to be chosen above my brothers.” He leaned back in his chair and laughed dryly as he plucked about his own fingers, “It’s an irony of sorts, I suppose, that while I was so eager to use my authority for rebuilding the Sanctuary for the greater glory of our Lord Emperor, I actually get charged with suspected heresy and deviancy.” “You find that amusing?” “Oh no!” he said, retracing his steps along the path of his own tongue, “No, no, no! You misunderstand me.” He sighed again, heavy, defeated. “I who was so proud of my responsibility – too proud – was so blinded by ambition to the point that I could not understand how my own leadership was poisoning me, and it took an armoured Battle Sister with a gun to my face for me to realize just how deep of a hole I was in.” “You are going to have to clarify that statement,” Aribeth told him, “otherwise I will have no choice but to assume the worst.” Togan nodded with sealed lips, and Aribeth slid the data-slate across the table and produced a stylus which she then held out for him between her fingers. “I would recommend that you write a confession stating clearly what crimes you admit to, and what crimes you did not commit.” “You think that I am guilty?” “You certainly aren’t innocent, that much you have said yourself.” “Yes,” he said, dropping his head to his chest, “I am not innocent in mind or deed.” Slowly, he picked up the stylus, and finding a blank section on the offered data-slate, began to hesitantly jot down the sins of his conscience. When he was done he slid it back across to the Palatine, and she read it immediately: I, Jacob Togan, elected abbot to the Chapel Sanctuary of the Blessed Saint Jeromia on Proctor Primus, confess to the following crimes in both thought and deed against the Emperor and His Holy Church… The list comprised of several infractions, most of them little more than minor offences all together not worth investigating, though there were a few offences – such as the subversion of tithes – that would garner more than a raised eyebrow to any confessor who received it. “You are sure that this is all you wish to confess?” Aribeth asked, looking up from the data-slate at the man across the table, “you have not made any acknowledgements to the charges laid against you. The offences you have listed are all together different.” Togan nodded, “I know what I said,” he said stoically, “and it is the truth; no more, no less.” “Very well,” Aribeth stood up slowly from the table, “you’re coming with me to the basilica where you will atone for your crimes. Though be warned; if you lied to me, they will find out.” “I understand,” Togan answered, rising slowly from his seat, “but I am telling you the truth, believe me.” And for some reason – she did not know why – she did believe him. It wasn’t anything he had told her, nor anything she had seen, yet still she felt assured that this man could not be lying. “One more thing, Palatine…” Aribeth looked back over her shoulder at the man, “What is it?” “I have a feeling that you are trying to protect me. Why?” Aribeth looked away from him and opened the door. She didn’t have an answer for him, but he deserved one all the same. “I have to believe that the Emperor’s faith is absolute in his servants,” Aribeth said as she stepped outside with the abbot behind her, “for if even the faithful are guilty, then what hope does humanity have left?” “For all my adult life I have lived between these walls,” the old cleric said, gesturing to the sanctuary around him with a wrinkled old hand as he and Sister Clara paced slowly through one of many corridors. “Together with the passing generations of my brethren, I have served our city and our saint for sixty-eight years – sixty-eight years of love and devotion.” He paused for a few moments, and they walked several meters in silence. “Never before, though,” he continued, “have I witnessed what I saw today.” “And nor should you have,” Clara added thoughtfully, “for a devout servant of the Throne need never fear the wrath of his Emperor.” The cleric nodded; “Then that can mean only one of two things,” he said, “either I am not as devout as I protest to be, or even the worthiest of servants must fear the master.” “Why would you doubt yourself?” Clara asked under an air of innocence, “Why would you question your own purity above our motives?” The old man looked puzzled and ran a hand over the speckled crown of his head, “I’m sorry, Sister,” he said slowly, “but I don’t know what you meant just now.” “What I meant,” Clara explained, “is that I am surprised that you would assume yourself to be in the wrong before questioning the validity of our investigation.” The cleric did not falter at her words, but rather he kept walking as if unperturbed by the hidden blade under the Celestian’s tongue. He chuckled lightly; “It is not my place to question, my Sister,” he said, masking his unease well. “Of course not,” Clara quickly replied, and indulged him with a warm smile, “I was merely astonished that a cleric of your years would so soon indict himself when the charges against him are vague at best.” “Perhaps you are right, Sister; perhaps I did speak heedlessly. Though I would imagine that you of all people would understand that vague charges are also quite broad.” “They are indeed, brother, though guilt and innocence are not one of the same.” “‘There is no such thing as innocence’,” the old cleric quoted, “‘only degrees of guilt.’” Clara held out an arm to stop him, and gently turned the little man around to face her. “If there is something you would say, brother, then speak frankly. This is not a time to be misunderstood.” “Oh, there is plenty I should say, dear child, plenty indeed,” the old man said softly. “Then don’t toy with me, brother, just say it. Silence only hurts, it never helps.” The cleric smiled weakly up at her, then looked back to the ground. “I have been silent for too long now,” he said, “and the hurt runs too deep.” “If there is anything suspicious, anything at all, you have to tell me about it,” Clara insisted. The old cleric sighed, “Sister Clara, you are right to be here today, for there is more here than what meets the eye…” Clara folded her arms across her chest and frowned down at the old cleric as he slowly turned and shuffled away – his previous vigour melded into the decrepit fixtures of age. She started after him – a few steps covering the distance – and laid a gauntleted hand heavily on his shoulder. The cleric seemed to sag under her grip – his feeble frame seemingly becoming more and more ancient with every passing moment. “Brother,” she said in a voice both calm and sever, “you can’t walk away from me, just like you can’t walk away from whatever secret you’re keeping. You may keep your lips sealed, and you may turn me away with nothing, but know that in doing so you are only hurting yourself.” “Are you lecturing me, young lady? I was worshiping between these walls before you were even conceived. I am old, and my age allows me to take my time.” “All you have ever had is time,” Clara replied, “but the Emperor’s work waits for no one – not even one as old as yourself. I think that you have had more time than you deserve. So much time, in fact, that you have been allowed to stagnate in your ways. Do you really serve the Emperor with all your being? Or are you simply paying lip service to a comfortable habit?” The cleric rounded on her with a warning finger; “Don’t seek to provoke me, young woman,” he snarled, “I won’t be goaded by you or any of your Sisters!” Clara stepped around the little man, her azure eyes flashing brightly as the duel of words rose in intensity. “I think you were right, brother; you are not as devout as you protest to be. A devoted servant of the God-Emperor wouldn’t shirk from the truth even if he damned himself with every word. You, on the other hand, are most certainly damned and drawn so far from the Emperor’s light that even to repent your sins would not be enough to appease your blackened soul.” The Celestian spun on her heel and pierced him with her eyes, “You were once a man of honour, a man of conviction, a man worthy of holding his head high and looking upon the Emperor’s works with pride, but what are you now? Are you so lost and confused that you have turned your back on our God and made Him hollow in your heart? You are a pitiful excuse for a cleric. Would I be wrong to assume that the only reason you still bend your knees in prayer is because you could not survive on the streets?” The priest looked at her with a face riddled by anger and pain – she had stuck a blow that could not be denied or ignored, but only confronted. There was a silence between them, but at last the cleric spoke; “You are not wrong about me,” he surrendered, “I am no longer the man I once was. I tried to maintain the purity of my life, but when that failed alongside my strength, I settled for a lie – I lied to myself – about everything.” “You may be beyond my forgiveness, but the Emperor is still your judge. Confess your sins! Accept His judgement!” Clara urged him “I have been afraid too long,” the priest said, turning his back on the Celestian and covering his face with his hands, “too long have I feared the fires of damnation!” “This is your chance for redemption,” Clara said, taking as step closer to the cleric behind his back, “Tell me what it is that frightens you so, and you will be granted the peace that you have so long sought for.” The priest turned to face her with swollen teary eyes that sat atop his pained features. “Do you want to know why the fighting began?” he asked with a snivel. “You mean the uprising in the city?” “None other,” the man nodded solemnly. Clara looked at him questioningly, “If it is any different than the reports I have heard, then yes, I suppose you should tell me.” “This may not be easy to hear,” he warned, “but please, listen to what I have to say…” Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1676743 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted August 31, 2008 Author Share Posted August 31, 2008 Chapter Six: Trials of Truths and Falsities (part 3 of 3) ----------------------------------- Augusta was waiting for them outside the abbot’s office, and when she turned to face the Palatine she looked more dour than normal. “There’s been trouble,” she said. “Hostile contact.” “Details, Celestian Superior!” Aribeth demanded, drawing her bolter up from her hip and snapping back the slide. “Sister Anaris reports that she was attacked by an ambush of three assailants – assailants she claims wore the garb of clergy,” Augusta said, nodding towards the abbot who was standing routed to the spot, his mouth agape. “T-that’s impossible!” Togan stammered the stuttering lips, “my brothers – no!” Aribeth ignored him, but instead kept her focus on the Celestian Superior. Everything was falling apart before her very eyes. The last thing she needed now was a slaughter on her hands. But what about the others? Augusta had only mentioned Anaris, what if the other – Kia, Cauline… Clara – what if they had all been attacked in the same way as Anaris? What if they had all been killed? “What about the others?” Aribeth asked, “Any word from Sister Cauline, or from Sister Clara?” Augusta shook her head; “No, my Lady,” she said, then pointed at the abbot with the barrel of her gun, “Maybe we should ask him.” “No, no, my Lady!” the abbot shouted in protest, backing away from the armoured Sisters and holding out his hands imploringly, “I know nothing of this! I do not understand why his would be happening! It can’t be happening!” “Be silent!” Aribeth snapped at him over her shoulder. “If he is responsible…” Augusta growled, closing in on the frightened cleric with her bionic hand balled into a skeletal fist, but Aribeth intercepted her, positioning her own body in the Celestian Superior’s path. “He is our prisoner, Sister,” Aribeth reminded her, “and he will remain as such until I decide otherwise.” Augusta backed down. “I understand my Lady,” she conceded, and stepped away. “Thank you, my Lady,” Togan said from behind her, relief at Augusta’s denial evident in his voice, “I really don’t understand what is going on.” “Shut up.” She really didn’t have the time or patience to deal with this man. Maybe she should shoot him – it was, after all, perfectly acceptable considering the circumstances. What am I? A monster? Would I kill an innocent man? “He’s not innocent.” Aribeth looked over Augusta, but it wasn’t Augusta who had spoken. From the shadows of a yawning corridor Cauline Antoinette emerged, her silver face smeared with dark red blood that dribbled down her armour. After her came Sister Kia – both had their weapons raised. “What in Terra’s name is going on, Sisters?” Augusta demanded, spying the blood splattered on both women, “Why didn’t you report in?” Kia stopped, but Cauline kept walking forward with slow but confident steps, her pistol held rigidly out in front of her as she trained it on the terrified cleric. “Stand down, Celestian Superior!” Aribeth commanded of the masked woman, but Cauline’s pistol didn’t waver. “I gave you an order!” Aribeth shouted, stomping towards the Celestian Superior, “Stand down!” “No.” The words echoed out through the motionless silver lips like wind carrying through a cavern. Aribeth stopped short; “What the hell did you say to me, Sister Superior?” The masked pitched to the right, bringing the empty sockets to bear on the Palatine. “Under the charter of the Adepta Sororitas section five-oh-five I am required to disobey any order that, once given, would jeopardize the mission, or through negligence, jeopardize the Sisters thereof.” “I don’t believe this,” Augusta spat in disgust. Cauline ignored her. “Palatine, you have proven incapable of exacting effective leadership in the field. I am therefore required to relieve you of command.” “Like hell you are!” Aribeth snarled – her pistol instantly up and aimed right between the eyes of Cauline’s loathsome metal face. Cauline twitched – her pistol was at Aribeth’s head in the blink of an eye. “Don’t make this any harder than it is, Sister,” Cauline said to her. Their eyes locked – neither spoke – both weapons glared menacingly out from their owner’s hands. “Kia,” Cauline called over to the younger Sister in an assured tone, “relieve the Palatine of her weapons.” “I – I don’t think I can do this…” Kia said, lowering the aim of her bolter away from the quivering cleric who now stood hugging the nearest wall. “I’m giving you an order, Sister. Do it,” Kia started to move – her steps burdened and unsteady – slowly she drew nearer to where both the Palatine and the Sister Superior stood locked together at pistols’ end. “Don’t even think about it.” Augusta dropped into a low combat stance and brought up her own weapon to cover the younger Celestian. Kia retraced her steps backwards, but then stopped – her own weapon raised against Augusta as the stand-off escalated and the terrified abbot looked on. “I told you not to complicate matters,” Cauline hissed. “I don’t take orders from traitors,” Aribeth replied with venom. “You’d shoot me over the life of some wretched cleric?” “No, I’d shoot you for insubordination and treason.” “You can’t let him live,” Cauline growled, “don’t you know what he’s done?” “He has signed a confession admitting to his sins,” Aribeth replied with unwavering clarity. “However, I don’t know what you’ve done.” “This is ridiculous!” “Is it? I see you walk in here smeared with blood and with drawn weapons even after I specifically ordered you not to hurt anyone. What am I supposed to think? For all I know you could have murdered innocent people in cold blood just for the opportunity to dishonour me and relieve me of my command!” “This is madness!” Togan blurted from the wall – his face white with horror. “Shut up!” Augusta barked across at him. “Palatine, please! We were attacked and almost killed!” Kia pleaded, though her weapon was still levelled against the scarred Celestian Superior, “Please understand, my Lady, we had no choice!” “All I understand here is mutiny,” Aribeth answered coldly. “If you really believe that,” the words fumbled free from Cauline’s lipless mouth, “then pull that trigger and kill me for my offence.” “What in the Emperor’s name is going on here, Sisters?” Cut off before she could answer, Aribeth risked a glance to her right – Sister Anaris had just entered the hall. Augusta scowled – Togan whimpered – Cauline’s mask slow turned towards her – and Aribeth ignored her, bring her attention back to the Celestian Superior. “This is mutiny!” Aribeth shouted in anger, “I will not abide this, neither will the Canoness!” “Our Palatine has failed in her duties,” Cauline explained coolly to the new arrival, “and as such I am required to remove her of command.” Anaris looked back and forth between the locked stalemate of her Sisters, but could not bring herself to words. “Now, Sister Anaris, would you relieve the Palatine of her weapons?” Cauline asked. “Move and you die!” Augusta snapped – her bolter instantly covering Anaris. The other Sister backed away slowly, and for a moment it looked like she might turn and run, but then with a change of heart she dropped to a knee and drew her pistol against Augusta. For a momentary eternity the only sound was the abbot’s shivering breaths as he clung to the wall with white knuckles. None of them were willing to shoot, but none of them were willing to back down either. They were waiting, waiting for an excuse to put their weapons away, or if that were not possible, waiting for an excuse to open fire. “The abbot is right,” Kia said at last, “what madness is this? No Sister has ever held another at gunpoint!” “Then lower your weapon,” Augusta challenged her, though she remained focused on Anaris. Kia shook her head in despair, but the bolter stayed up. “The heretic isn’t right,” Cauline stated bluntly, “You saw how we were set upon by his brethren – how he wanted us killed. What more could he hope for than for us to kill each other while our fool of a leader insists on protecting him?” “He’s a prisoner of the Ecclesiarchy – you can’t just kill him!” Aribeth barked. “I don’t take prisoners,” the blood-stained mask answered back calmly. “You’re not in charge!” “I should be, and if you were a Sororita at heart, you would recognize that!” “Shut up! Both of you!” Togan yelled, grabbing their attention with his unusually high voice, “Don’t you see what you are doing? You’re destroying yourselves!” He took a few careful steps away from the wall and into the midst of the armoured women – Cauline’s pistol following him every inch of the way. “The Sisterhood isn’t about bickering squabbles for power – you’re supposed to be above that! Better than that! You are revered by many as living Saints – the holiest of the holy orders – but see now how all of you have fallen, how one disagreement destroys you!” “Be silent, brother! You’re not helping,” Aribeth warned, though she knew full that he spoke in the right, and that it was they who were at fault. But of what matter was that? Cauline had gone too far, and she – Aribeth, the Palatine and ranking Sister – would have to see that this maddened excuse for a Battle Sister was put in her place. Aribeth risked moving her eyes from Cauline and shot a glance towards Sister Kia: the younger woman was visibly disturbed but at the same time her pleasant features wore the grim determination of a Battle Sister, and Aribeth knew she – like the others – was not about to back down without reason. “Sister Kia,” - the young woman glanced over at the Palatine, her eyes wild - “tell me what happened.” Kia shifted uncomfortably, and took a fleeting look over at the masked Sister Superior, but when Cauline said nothing, Kia answered with nervous reluctance. “I was searching through the cellar store-rooms, when the lights were cut and I was left in darkness…” her voice trailed off, and she looked down at the floor, blinking furiously – to her credit though her aim never swayed. “Speak up, girl!” Augusta shouted at her furiously, “The Palatine gave you an order!” Cauline’s silver face tilted in her counter-part’s direction, putting her poisoned black eyes beyond the Palatine’s ability to see. Kia shook her head at the floor, coughed, then looked back up at the Palatine. It was with shock that Aribeth noticed that she had tears in her eyes. What had happened? What had that masked monster done to her? “I found the children…” Kia gulped – across the hall, Sister Anaris’ eyes narrowed as she looked between the blood-smeared Celestian Superior and the teary-eyed Sister – “there was a priest with them, he spoke vile words,” – Togan’s eyes darted between them all as she spoke – “then when I turned my back to him, he pulled a gun on me,” – the breath that rattled through Cauline’s metal lips seemed to grow louder and louder in the silence – “then the Celestian Superior arrived, and she killed him – saving my life,” – the scar tissue above Augusta’s lone human eye arched as she regarded the masked woman with interest – “then we killed them, killed them all,” Kia choked. Aribeth didn’t know which she heard first, Togan’s cry of anguish, or Augusta’s roar of anger – both were equally loud, and inseparable in the commotion that followed. “What in all damnation were you thinking!?” Augusta bellowed. “Dead!? No! Not the children! Not the children!” Togan sank down the wall, then collapsed onto the floor in a quivering, snivelling ball. Anaris – not being one for words – simply looked on in shocked silence. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Aribeth snapped as Cauline’s face slowly turned back towards her, “you were the one that killed them, weren’t you?” “‘The spawn of blasphemers share the sins of their makers.’” “They were children.” “They were damned.” A wail escaped from between Togan’s lips as he shivered on the ground, but all the Battle Sisters were eerily quiet. “If you think that justifies what you did in any way, then you would be wrong,” Aribeth looked at her with utter loathing, “What kind of a monster murders innocent children?” “I’ve fought in count-less battles, Sister,” Cauline spat at her, “and let me remind you that the only thing your enemy deserves is death. No leniency, no compassion, no mercy. Everyone who stands against the Emperor in either thought or deed is to be destroyed – from the old and infirm to the young – anyone and everyone who is touched by the heathen mark must be wiped from the face of the galaxy lest their heinous beliefs spread like a cancer and doom more to death and damnation.” “These aren’t the enemy!” Aribeth screamed into the unmoving metal, “These people are Imperial citizens – subjects of the God Emperor. What you are doing is murder!” “Are you so blind that you honestly think that these people are faultless? Have you forgotten that you were fighting in these very streets not half a year ago!?” “Don’t think to remind me what happened here, Cauline. I was here, I was fighting – fighting to protect the innocent!” “‘It is better that a thousand innocents die than one guilty man go free.’” “Oh, so you’ll just kill them all and let them be judged in death?!” Aribeth asked in mocking disbelief, “Don’t try and lecture me with that crap, woman!” “That which you call ‘crap’, Palatine, is what the Imperium is founded upon,” Anaris sniped from the side, her bolter still held to cover Augusta. “You could find scripture in support of anything,” Augusta shot back in her Palatine’s defence, “So don’t try to bludgeon your way through this by quoting every author you can think of.” Cauline shook her head in disappointment, then looked back at the Palatine – bloodshot eyes peering through the foetid darkness inside the mask to meet the ranking Sister’s steely grey as the clash of wills continued. “Simply put, Sister,” she said, “you’re outnumbered, and while I will tolerate your petty insults and indignations, you are coming dangerously close to heresy, and that I cannot abide.” “If you’re going to shoot me, then I suggest you get on with it,” Aribeth challenged her, “since my patience with you is running out, and if you wait much longer I’ll kill you for the number of crimes you have committed today, and doubtlessly committed in the past.” A growl resounded within the confines of Cauline’s metal face, and in a quick motion her pistol was back inline with Aribeth’s head. This is it, Aribeth told herself, it’s either her or me. I have to do this. Wait, what am I thinking? Is this real, am I really contemplating killing my own Sisters in cold blood? Cauline is not leaving me with any choice, I have to do this. Couldn’t I just try to talk this through? This is too extreme – I can’t kill my own Sisters… Her hands started to tremble – Cauline’s were steady – damn it already! Why can’t I do this?! Just pull the trigger, pull it and everything ends. If I pull the trigger I’m dead – finished – damned. I’ll die with the blood of my Sisters on my hands, and everything I ever held dear will be dashed. I can’t do it. I’ll lose everything if I don’t – I’ll be admitting to my own failings – I’ll be letting her win. I’d rather let her win than murder my own Sisters… wouldn’t I? Am I lying to myself? The masked twitched, and through the hollow sockets Aribeth could just see the hated black eyes peering out at her – studying her. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” Aribeth confronted her, “You want to kill me, don’t you? To force me to my knees and read out my sentence before putting a bolt through my head?” “You’re delusional,” the masked woman said flatly. “Delusional?!” Augusta spat from the side, “You’re the one who is holding us here at gunpoint! You’re the one trying to dishonour your direct superior! If anyone here is delusional, it’s you!” “Tell me, Sister,” Aribeth continued, ignoring Augusta’s outbursts, “were you upset that you weren’t the one to pull the trigger behind Cassandra? Is that why you’ve been so eager to shed innocent blood these past few weeks? Because you feel that you need to prove yourself in the eyes of our Canoness? You need to prove that you can do it? Did you falter somewhere in the past? Were you weak?” “THAT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACTS!” Cauline shouted, her voice booming down the halls like rumbling thunder as her masked shook with barely checked rage. “YOU HAVE FAILED IN YOUR COMMAND, ARIBETH! YOU ARE NO LONGER FIT TO LEAD!” “AND YOU ARE!?” a new voice erupted from behind them in the hall, causing them all – even the snivelling Togan – to turn in the direction of the voice. It belonged to Clara. Standing upright at the far end of the hall with her bolter level to her eye, the surest shot of them all, the one who could single-handedly end this conflict in any favour, stood ready. Cauline studied her closely – as if assessing the threat she posed – then, lowering her pistol away from the Palatine, turned to face her directly. “Are you planning on using that, Sister?” Cauline asked dryly as Clara cautiously advanced one foot over the other until she was no more than fifteen feet from where the masked woman stood. From there Aribeth could properly see her friend’s face, but while her voice had betrayed hints of anger, her features had no such reservations, and from her clear blue eyes to the very tip of her soft chin Clara wore nothing other than a calm severity. “Only if I have to,” Clara answered, her voice steady, “and I pray it won’t come to that.” “You know the situation then,” Cauline explained, “the Palatine has failed in her duties and must be removed.” It was good that Clara was so calm, for Aribeth had more than enough anger for the two of them. Taking opportunity by the throat, Aribeth launched herself towards the masked woman - Anaris shouted something that went unheard in the Palatine’s ears – Cauline turned just in time – and Aribeth’s armoured fist cracked loudly against her metal face. The Celestian Superior rocked back on her feet but kept her balance, until Aribeth’s left fist - following the example of her right - cannoned into Cauline’s face with the force of a thunder-hammer and sent the masked woman sprawling to the floor. Everyone was shouting now, but Aribeth didn’t hear them, so deafened was she by the blood pounding in her ears like the drums of hell as she dove onto the fallen Sister and rained blows down against her. Cauline took three more punches to the face – blows that would have pulped flesh and bone – the last of which beat a nasty dent into her silver cheek. Aribeth tried for a fourth, but Cauline reacted well and slammed her fist into the side of Aribeth’s head, casting stars and momentary darkness through her vision. A second fist exploded from nowhere, but Aribeth blocked Cauline’s attempt and landed a heavy elbow into her nose. Inside her head she could hear her own voice screaming – screaming to hurt her – screaming to kill her. Someone grabbed her from behind. She tried to thrash them off, but to no avail – Augusta’s bionic grip was stronger than any she could hope to contend with – and still struggling, the Celestian Superior dragged her off and away from the masked woman. “No! Stop it! STOP IT!” she heard Clara’s voice rising above the rest. Her vision was blurry, and she felt the warm trickle of blood on the side of her head – the same side that her helmet had dug into not four months ago under the weight of the Traitor Marine. She swam momentarily through the seas of her mind, blinking whenever the waves got too close. She felt sick, really sick. She tried to stand, but Augusta was gently keeping her down. Cauline was also struggling to right herself – a hand pressed to her metal face; this time the blood was leaking from beneath the mask. Clara’s face appeared in front of her – it’s edges blurry – she heard her speak, but couldn’t make out all the words. When she didn’t answer, Augusta answered for her, and Aribeth saw Clara nod, then stand move away. Cauline was still down on a knee. Kia was crouched near her and was apparently saying something. All of their guns were away, and even Togan was standing. “Sister, are you sure you can stand?” Kia asked tentatively as she aided the broad-shouldered Celestian Superior to her feet. Cauline didn’t answer. Her mask was skewed and damaged, and she could feel a stinging gouge in the flesh beneath where the Palatine had damaged it with her fists. Blood was trickling down the inside of her face and slowly dripping from her silver lips in long threads of red liquid. That woman – that Sister – never before had a Sister assaulted her… maybe she had been wrong about her. Cauline regained her feet. The flesh of her face throbbed, but other than that she whole – no broken teeth, no serious damage – everything else was superficial. Sister Kia was still beside her and looking worried. Cauline brushed her off. The young woman - no more than an overgrown child in her years – had always held her in a state of awe and respect ever since they first met, and, though she would never admit it, Cauline enjoyed the attention. “Kia,” she said, her voice a dry rumble, “fetch me my pistol.” The weapon was just a few paces away on the floor, but the young woman was hesitant, and when she looked into the mask, Cauline saw the bewilderment in her eyes. She wanted to know what she was being asked; she wanted to know if she would regret her actions. “Celestain Superior… Sister Cauline… it’s over, don’t do this.” Behind her silver lips, the exposed tissue of her face twisted painfully into what would have once made a grin; she cared; after all she had seen, the young woman still cared. “It’s not over,” Cauline sighed, “at least not yet.” “She hit you pretty hard,” Augusta remarked, gently turning the Palatine’s head to better examine her rapidly swelling wound through the red glare of her artificial eye, “another blow and she could have crushed your temple, and killed you.” Aribeth didn’t answer, her head still hurt too much. Clara, who was kneeling beside her, shook her head sadly. “This should never have happened,” she said with a sigh, “Sister fighting Sister, who would have thought?” “Aye,” Augusta added, squatting down so that she rested on the balls of her feet, “we are going to have to make amends for what we did here today, and the Canoness must be informed.” Clara reached out and touched her friend’s face, the tips of her gauntleted fingers brushing against Aribeth’s skin with unparalleled tenderness, though she too had the red stains of blood on her hands. “You did the right thing today, Palatine,” Clara reminded her gently as Augusta looked on, “the old cleric – Elim was his name – he confessed everything, but I’ll explain it all to you later. Right now we should get the abbot away from – ” but the snap-roar of a bolt pistol interrupted her mid-sentence. Someone shouted, and both women leapt to their feet – even Aribeth managed to push herself upright. Cauline’s pistol was smoking lightly, and there was blood all over the floor. With a crunch, Togan’s body collapsed, his head blown open. Cauline watched him fall, then lowered the gun. “Suffer not the Heretic to live,” was all she said. ----------------------- There we are! Installment Six is out! Now, this installment should leave a few questions unanswered after you read it, but rest assured they will all be answered in time. Hope you enjoyed it! -L_C Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1677540 Share on other sites More sharing options...
daboarder Posted September 1, 2008 Share Posted September 1, 2008 love it as always!! and first post woo!! Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1677979 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted September 1, 2008 Author Share Posted September 1, 2008 Glad to hear it daboarder! I would like to take this oppertunity to take a more interactive approach to my writing. Considering that everything so far is labelled as a WIP, I would like to ask readers what it is they would (or would not like to see in upcomming installments of the Saint series. Characters you want to see more of? Characters you want to see less of? Situations that you would or would not like to see? Let me hear em all! Thanks, -L_C Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1678688 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted September 14, 2008 Author Share Posted September 14, 2008 (removed double post) Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1693645 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted September 14, 2008 Author Share Posted September 14, 2008 The first thing you will notice about this chapter is that it is shorter. Why? Several reasons. First of all is that we are getting very close to the climax, and frankly you the readers have been kept waiting long enough for another epic battle scene. Second is that I am trimming down the dialogue sequences (I want more in this book than just chapter after chapter of talking... even though dialogue is very important for development.) Finally, and perhaps most practically, this is the internet, and not everyone has the same level of patience to be able to read endless chapters on a screen. This chapter was also a first for me in that I rewrote the ENTIRE thing because I was not a fan of the original work. So, what is this chapter all about? Aribeth is definately starting to fall apart, but worse than that is the fact that, thanks to the incedent in the sanctuary, the one constant in her life is now against her. ------------------------- CHAPTER 7: Guilt. ------------------------- As the name suggested, the Black Sunrise was a dive. Loud throbbing music, rowdy clientele, and visible piping running throughout the poorly maintained lounge coupled with the peeling black paint on the walls and ceiling made it seem like just the shady place that anyone with a shred of common sense would want to avoid. Luckily for Nerf though, common sense was one of those things he checked at the entrance. Letting the large black padded door slam shut behind him, Nerf stepped into The Black Sunrise and breathed in his surroundings: hot, stuffy, dirty, smelly, and crowded… yup, this place reminded him of home. Passing through the crowds of moody hammers, disgruntled factory workers, and the occasional gang scum, the large Catachan pushed his way towards the bar, pausing occasionally to exchange a broad smile with some of the pasty-faced woman that mingled through the crowd. Most of the time they simply looked back at him blankly – like they had never seen a man who could smile (though in this place it wouldn’t surprise him) – but occasionally he’d get a wink and a nod for his troubles. They weren’t his type of women – too frail looking and far too pale – but then again, the chance of finding anyone he could really appreciate seemed to grow slimmer with every passing year away from Catachan. Climbing a short flight of steps past an empty performance stage, Nerf eased onto a stool at the raised bar and swivelled around to get a better look of the room that stretched out behind him – sure were a lot of people down there; Sulius would hate it here. “What can I getcha, big guy?” Nerf turned himself back around – a pretty faced barkeep was leaning against the counter across from him. She was chewing casually on something black, and her low cut top was giving him a very pleasing view. Nerf smiled at her, “Whatever you’re offering, cutie.” “hmmmm, talk like that and I might have to stick ya,” she cooed back at him with a sly grin. “I’m liking you already,” Nerf replied, leaning closer across the counter. The woman chuckled under her breath and walked away down the bar. “A drink would be nice too…” Nerf called after her, then leaned his elbows heavily on the counter. Well, that was helpful. A couple minutes later the barkeep returned and slid a tall glass in front of him. Squinting in the relative darkness of the room, Nerf peered inside it – it was blue. “Uuuum…” he asked after a pause, “what is it?” The pretty faced woman came back and rested against the bar – her penetrating eyes staring first at him, then into the contents of his glass. “Looks like an Elysium Kicker,” she said, “you should like it.” “You seem to be pretty good at knowing what I like.” “Better than you know, tough stuff.” “Well, I think I might know what you like.” “Really? Whatcha offering?” “The goods are right here,” Nerf said smoothly, straightening up in his stool. She looked at him intently and ran a red tongue slowly over her black painted lips, her eyes tracing him up and down. “Can I get a sample before I buy anything?” she asked. “I think I could work that out,” Nerf grinned, leaning his elbows back on the bar so that their faces were mere inches apart, “so, what did you say your name was?” The man beside him at the bar suddenly fell backwards off his stool, and a cold shiver ran down Nerf’s spine. “Aaaaw, son of a bitch,” he moaned, “why now?” The pretty faced woman looked at him questioningly, then looked up in surprise as a huge figure took the now empty seat beside Nerf. “A reputable drink, and make it fast,” Inquisitor Galtman said, leaning his elbows on the bar beside the Catachan. The music changed beat and there were several whoops and hollers as a local favourite came on. “I didn’t expect to see you here so soon, boss,” Nerf said, peering into his drink, just loud enough for Galtman to hear him. “I finished my business sooner than I had expected,” Galtman answered him, glaring around the bar at some of the other clientele before turning his attention back to the Catachan. “We’ll be leaving here soon, so if you have anything you want to see to I suggest you get on with it.” “No worries, boss” Nerf took a swig of his drink, but instantly coughed it back into his glace – motor-oil mixed with anti-freeze was not his idea of a good drink – “I’m easy,” he spat a gob of foul tasting saliva over his shoulder, “besides, you scared off my only business for tonight.” The pretty barkeep returned with a tall glass of clear liquid and set it down in front of Galtman before turning away – she wasn’t about to stay and chat. “So how’s Nikka holding up?” “She’s recovering,” Galtman said flatly. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” Nerf shrugged and took another swig of his drink, but it still tasted just as bad. This time he calmly snuck the glass over the edge and dumped its oily contents onto the floor. “So much for knowing what I like…” he mumbled. “So where are we going?” Nerf asked, leaning back on the counter and scoping the wild-life. “We are returning to Proctor Primus.” “How come?” Nerf turned to look at the Inquisitor, but Galtman was staring directly ahead while slowly sipping from his glass. “It’s part of the riddle. I need my faith, and my faith is back on Procotor Primus,” Galtman then turned and looked at him – the stone face with icicle eyes had once again set in, “and before you ask; no, I won’t explain it to you.” Nerf shook his head; sometimes working with the Inquisitor was like working with a servitor – no, scratch that – was like working with a big severe servitor that told you what to do and was packing more than enough heat to make sure you did it. Galtman took another sip from his glass. “You can stomach that stuff?” Nerf asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I asked for the only reputable drink in the house,” Galtman reminded him coolly. “And? What is it?” Galtman turned and looked him in the eye, the tiniest of smiles hung in the corner of his mouth; “It’s water,” he said. * * * * From her window she watched as the world went by outside. Down in the courtyard below, armoured women moved this way and that in repetitions of brisk strides. Some walked together, and some walked alone, but always they were in motion – none ever stopped to look up at her window, none ever saw her looking back down. Steadily the sky grew darker as the clouds rolled in, and she sank further down in her office chair. There they lingered above her brow, plotting and scheming and wriggling their bloated bellies as they savoured the downpour to come. It would start with subtlety in a darkening grey and a change of heart. Then would come the doubt carried upon the cool back of winds to skirt around the legs a knees of the people bellow, nipping at their heals before darting back away along the dust. Then, when it had had its fill, the doubt would retreat and its brother suspicion would whirl down through the heavens to rattle against the windows and pound down the halls, stirring the beast to wake. Down, riding heedlessly onwards through the spiralling winds came the rain – its name remorse - pattering tentively against the windows at first, only to return in the millions strong and pound with ceaseless vengeance against the shingled rooftops and drive all those before it into flight. She watched it as it hammered furiously against the double-panes of glass before sliding down in sheets of water that blinded her view – the inner courtyard hidden completely by running water. The rain continued to pour down from the cloud-choked heavens, and as she watched, her whole world through the window was slowly washed away until an ugly blur of grey was all that was left to stain her sight. Aribeth leaned forward in her chair and propped her chin up on her hands. More and more seemed to wash away with every passing ripple that rode its way deep down into the watery oblivion perched on the sill. It seemed fitting, somehow, this rain; it reminded her that even though her mind buckled under the weight of her life’s happenings, that the space beyond her window kept moving, and that time marched on regardless. She was but one miniscule light in all of humanity – a dot on a tiny world throughout the great realm of stars – and that while she sat looking at the rain as it washed down the outside of her window, untold billions of souls carried out lives both wretched and awesome upon millions of worlds. Yet up in the heavens, resplendent on His Golden Throne, sat the Emperor of all mankind looking down through the incomprehensible mists of His almighty will upon the tiny speck that was she, the Palatine Aribeth d’Allsaice. She rocked forward in her chair, sliding her buttocks off the worn wooden seat, and sank down to her knees before the window. Outside the rain pattered and thumped against the glass like a thousand drumming fingers tapping against her brain. She leaned closer to the glass, until with a shallow thunk she let her forehead rest against the cool glass and her eyes stared longingly into the sheets of tumbling water. Her relflection looked back at her questioningly, though it was clear that she did not understand – how could she? The woman in the glass blinked back at her, and she saw her lips twist, as if about to speak, but soon all was gone; her warm breath condensing against the glass to the point where she could no longer see herself. “Can you hear me?” the words echoed back into her ears. More fog on the window – now even the water was gone from her eyes. “I can hear you,” she said. She closed her eyes, and the world went dark around her as the sound of the raindrops struggled to overcome the thoughts in her head. Oh how she wanted to weep, kneeling there on the floor – how she wanted to scream, scream in frustration and pain, scream against everything around her. With a clenched fist she hammered against the window. One, Two. The rain continued to batter itself against the warding window. Three, four. Outside the wind howled louder and louder, matching her fist as it beat harder and harder. Five, six. Her eyes tightly shut, Aribeth pounded harder; she could feel the vibrations in her head, she could hear it in her mind, and her hand – the stinging bite with each strike – it felt so good, so right. Seven, eight. Her fist slammed harder into the glass and the whole window shook. Nine, ten. With a snapping crash the window finally gave way and broke, and a searing pain shot up her arm as the razor edged glass lifted a bloody flap of flesh along her hand’s side. With a sharp gasp she recoiled and fell backwards into the wooden desk and knocking it askew. Bright red blood gushed from the cut on her hand and spattered over the floor and her armour – the scarlet liquid of life dotting it in a striking composition. Wind and water came rushing through the hole in the glass, the former enveloping the room in fluttering gusts of frigid air, while the latter slowly overflowed from the sill and pooled itself awkwardly on the stone floor. Clasping shut the wound with her other hand, Aribeth dragged herself across the floor and leaned heavily against the wall beside the empty bookcase. Her hand stung, and the swollen side of her head throbbed with a dull pain. The puddle of water was starting to grow on the floor as it travelled cautiously through the stone cracks along the floor. She didn’t look at it – she didn’t care. There, slumped in the corner with her head resting against the empty shelves and blood seeping from between her clasped hands, a lonely and broken woman sat sprawled in the garb of a warrior. She didn’t speak, she didn’t cry, she didn’t even think; she simply sat alone and staring off into nothingness. What was the point? Why should she move? She had failed. Utter and complete failure… She had fooled herself with such certainty that she couldn’t tell when her eyes were open and when they were closed. For years she had pranced about with her false hopes and dreams, worn the mantle of a leader and aspired to many great things, and held so proudly a duty she had never even understood. To serve blindly; what was that? Was that piety? Or was that idiocy? Had she stumbled through her life in a comedy of cruelly ironic coincidences? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. All she knew was that the walls were crumbling down around her, and that she had no way of holding them up. Who was she really? She could not lead – Cauline had shown her that much, for how can a leader lead when there is no one to follow? She could not protect those who needed her most, and now too did there blood stain her hands. She could not even protect herself or that which she held sacred. What did she serve? A Canoness that rejected her? Sisters that defied her? An Emperor who she could no longer see or hear, and in His eyes dismissed her? A faith that could not guide her? An Imperium that she could not protect, even from itself? Did she even serve herself? Everything she had ever done in her life had set her upon this path, but now that she walked it, she found the ground was burning her feet. Aribeth turned her head and looked back out the window: it was still raining, and the sky was still grey, and both wind and wetness continued to work their way through the window into her life. Someone knocked at the door, but she didn’t look to answer it. They knocked again, and through the door a tiny voice could be heard; “My Lady, may I come in?” Belinda asked. The Palatine, her back to the wall and her face to the window, still did not answer. The door opened. “Go away,” Aribeth said without turning to address her visitor. “But, my Lady,” Belinda said, trying hard not to notice the water on the floor and the fact that her Palatine, the woman she admired most, was sprawled against the far wall, “the Canoness demands your presence – she has already spoken to the Celestians, and she demands that you make account for yourself.” The Palatine didn’t answer. “My Lady,” Belinda approached her warily, “what is wrong?” What isn’t wrong? Aribeth felt like retorting, but instead bit her tongue and looked back at the girl with scornful impatience. “I told you to leave, so get the hell out.” “I…” she blinked, her face starting to crack, then quickly did what she was told and hurried from the room without a further word. From where she sat on the floor, Aribeth’s darkening features followed her out. Why did you do that? I don’t know. She respects you – admires you even – there was no reason to lash out. She’s a fool. She’s fooling herself. There’s nothing admiral about me. Not while you’re sitting on the floor in a heap there isn’t. You’re a Battle Sister – a leader – start acting like one! I can’t… I just can’t. Everything I’ve done up until now has been a mistake. Then make it right! For Emperor’s sake, you were chosen by your betters to lead because you are strong and because you never stop fighting – never stop trying! You take your punishment, the worst that can be thrown at you, and when everyone thinks that you’ve fallen, that you can’t take anymore, you get right back up with defiance. That’s what kept you alive on Centario, that’s what made you fight your way back to the surface – you keep fighting, no matter what the cost! I fought for a reason – fought for a purpose. What good am I if that purpose is lost to me!? If you were blinded, would you accept your defeat? No, but – If your body was broken, would you not claw onwards with tooth and nail until your last breath escaped you? Well, yes if – If your foe had you by the throat, would you go limp in her hands and let yourself die? No. Then why are you dying, Aribeth? I’m not dying! Really? To that young girl who now walks down the hall with tears in her eyes and her head hanging low Aribeth is dead – her heroine is dead – the woman she wanted grow up to be is dead. How can you say that you aren’t dying? The Palatine slowly turned her head away from the door and back to the window – the water had stopped pooling on the floor – the storm outside must have abated. Her bloody hands still pressed together, Aribeth righted herself with difficulty and stood up, crossing her office to the door that led to her own chamber. Her hands were uncomfortably sticky with red blood and the pain was still sharp and stinging, but that wasn’t important anymore – it was time to act like the woman she knew that she was; take responsibility for her mistakes, and make amends. Looking for something to bandage herself with, Aribeth ripped a small corner off her bed-sheets and wrapped it tightly around her wound – dark red stains blotted the cream coloured surface, but she didn’t care; nobody other than herself ever saw her bed, so what did it matter? She cleaned the rest of the blood off her hands in the puddle behind her skewed desk, then set off down the halls to the Canoness’ office and whatever fate awaited her therein. “Do you know how the Sisterhood began? Its roots date back four-thousand years to a small back-water world called San Leor where a group of five kinswomen, whose names have since been lost, formed together to defend their town from the predations of alien raiders. Their faith being strong, they gathered what weapons they could and prepared to make their stand at the town’s shrine. Though they were facing almost certain death, the five kinswomen survived to drive off the raiders. So inspired were the townsfolk by the skill and devotion of the five, that word spread of their deeds, and less than a century later – long after the five women had passed away – an order of fighting women – all chaste and strong of faith – had risen up in their stead. They called themselves the Daughters of the Emperor, and it was by this name they were recognized when the Saints Dominica, Silvana, Mina, Lucia, Katherine, and Arabella, led their Sisterhood from the fires of the Age of Apostasy on their holy crusade to rid the Imperium of all taint and all sin – to purify the Emperor’s realm and return it to its glory in the times of legend. Sisters of Battle, joined in one sacred quest – a quest that has been passed on from generation to generation, from Sister to Sister: to rid the Imperium of all taint, of all heresy, of all corruption, so that when the Emperor returns to us and rises from His seat on the Gold Throne, he will see his realm restored, and that His daughters – pure of both body and mind – stand ready to carry is will forth and bring His light to the darkness. “Strength, purpose, solidarity, chastity, and devotion; all tenets of our code, all qualities that make us who we are. From five women to five-hundred million women, we are one: one cause, one voice, one faith. Doubt that, and you will falter. Betray that, and you will fail your Sisters, your Emperor, and yourself.” The Canoness, standing in full armour with her hands held loosely behind her back, turned away from the window and looked down the length of her office towards the grand oaken double doors in front of which stood the Palatine, dispassionate and mute as her superior finished her speech. “Aribeth, I’m not impressed,” the Canoness began anew, stepping away from the window and coming closer to the monstrous marble desk that separated them, “in fact, you cannot imagine how much it grieves me to be confronted with this.” The Palatine said nothing, but stood firm – her face betraying no sign of the pain she held within. “To be told that not only had my explicit orders been disobeyed, but also that my own Sisters turned on one another. Do you know how, as a leader and fellow Sister, I dread to hear those words?” Helena Cerador walked around the desk, her pace measured, and her eyes never leaving her Palatine. She was not angry, or at least she did not surrender any hint of anger, but a rather deep disappointment followed in her steps. She looked old, Aribeth realized, as if her actions and the actions of her Sisters were eroding the artificially induced youth about the old Canoness, and the years she had seen pass were finally starting to surface in her eyes. The older woman walked right up in front of her and looked up at Aribeth, then, backing off and shaking her head, turned away from the Palatine. “You have no idea, do you?” “No, my Lady,” Aribeth answered, her voice subdued, “I do not.” The Canoness shook her head again and moved around behind her desk, sitting down in her high-backed chair with a great sigh. “What you have done, Sister Aribeth, extends further than shame – further than dishonour. In challenging the trust between Sisters, you are challenging the trust between yourselves and the God-Emperor…” Canoness Cerador let her voice trail off, and spread her palms flat across the clean marble surface of her desk. “What you have done today disgraces not only yourself, but the entire preceptory. I had a good mind to have you exiled for this, and have the Sisters with you sworn into the ranks of the Repentia, for such an act is one of blasphemy against the Imperial Church, treason against the order, and the greatest of betrayals against your own Sisters.” she said with emphasised severity as she listed with disgust each of her crimes. “I had even thought of having you put to death, Aribeth.” She leaned back in her chair and arched her fingers before her lips, “However, I am sure that you can appreciate the relief I felt when one of our Sisters - Sister Clara, I believe – offered an alternate explanation from what the others had said. She testified that under questioning, a cleric of the sanctuary confessed to an internal conspiracy of deep routed cult infiltration that just so happened to justify your actions,” she smiled, but it was not a look of kindness that Aribeth read on her lips. “The guilty were punished, and the innocent were defended – the Emperor indeed watches over His flock in their hour of need, and saved you from commiting such an act that can never be forgiven. Did He not save you? Did he not hold you safely and ward away harm?” “I believe in the just persecuting the wicked, my Lady,” Aribeth replied cautiously, “but I do not believe that the protection of a traitor extends to divine providence.” Helena’s face darkened, and her eyes became bitter. “You still hold yourself blameless? You still think yourself in the right?” the Canoness replied forcefully, “You were wrongfully protecting an accessory to heresy. He received his proper judgement in life – may the Emperor have mercy upon him – as did the rest of the sanctuary; I ordered it purged with purifying flame not two hours ago.” Aribeth simply nodded. At one point she would have cared – after all, the innocent had devoted their entire lives to the Emperor, just as she had – but now she felt… hollowed, like it was all a dream, and that actually the woman standing in the Canoness’ office was somebody else, and that Aribeth d’Allsaice was only watching from a distance. “Sister Clara’s words may have showed me that despite your actions the mission was ultimately a success, and that many of the impure met their deserved ends through your efforts.” The Canoness stood up once again, but did not move from behind her desk; “Your actions, however, and the actions of your Sisters, must be called into account by whatever means necessary.” “I am ready to undertake any punishment that my Lady deems necessary,” Aribeth said. Helena, however, made no notice of having heard her and continued to speak as if she had not; “Your Sisters are at fault for allowing their passions to overrule their judgement, and as such, each has been sentenced to fifty lashes.” Something twigged in the Palatine’s mind and brought her attention fully round; “Fifty lashes, my Lady?” she asked imploringly, “Please have mercy! Fifty lashes is enough to kill any one of them!” “I am aware of that, Palatine, but I am also aware of the magnitude of our Sisters’ crime – perhaps you are not – but threatening a Sister with death is nothing to be taken lightly. If they are deserving of life the Emperor will surely protect them, though if they are guilty of betraying the Sisterhood in their hearts, then they will most surely succumb to their wounds. The pain will exorcise their guilt – their blood will repay our Sisters for the shame they have brought upon us – and their wounds will remind them of the sacrifices that all must make to tread the path of righteousness.” “My Lady,” Aribeth sputtered, her hands staring to shake by her sides and her lower lips set to tremble, “thirty lashes can cripple even the most pious of servants – I beg you to reconsider!” “Your concern is noted, but I have made my decision.” “But, my Lady – ” “Enough!” Helena shouted, slamming her fist onto the marble surface. Aribeth fell dumbly silent at once, but still her hands shook by her sides. Blood started to seep free from beneath her crude bandage, but she quickly hid it behind her back. “I have made my decision, Palatine, and if nothing else, you will learn to respect it.” Aribeth bowed her head in submission to her Canoness’ will. “What is to become of me, my Lady?” she asked. “You will also make atonements for your crime, but what you have done cannot be rectified through physical pain, for I do not believe that you understand the nature of your failings.” Helena paused, her eyes not leaving the Palatine, and for a moment Aribeth feared that her superior might be devising some cruel punishment even as se spoke. “What would you have me do, my Lady?” “Spend your time in solitude, Palatine,” the Canoness began with due ceremony, lifting both her hands and face up towards to the heavens, “pray for understanding, pray for your forgiveness, and pray that what you have done may be forgiven by He who is our Lord.” She lowered bowed her head, but kept her hands – palms up – raised high above her head. “It is not with ease that I do this, Palatine, and I pray for you in that you may be enlightened and returned to grace, and that He in all His power may see you redeemed. Seclude yourself in prayer in hope that your act of penance, that shall last no less than a day and a night, will grant you clairvoyance to see yourself absolved of sin, for though I know how you may be punished, I do not know how you may be saved.” Aribeth narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at her Canoness, “You think I need to be saved? You think that I have strayed?” Slowly lowering her arms and lifting her head to meet the Palatine’s suspicion, the Canoness replied with both certainty and authority. “I don’t know what has happened to you, Sister Aribeth, though I do know that you are not whole. I am giving you the chance to make things right. I suggest you take it.” “You think I’m a traitor!” Aribeth exclaimed angrily, “You think that I have turned my back on our Lord!” “I am but a vassal to His will, Palatine,” Helena replied solemnly, “and it is with that authority that I do charge you now. Remove yourself to a cell of worship, and do not return until you are ready to face the punishment of the Order.” The doors to the office opened, and two helmeted Sisters entered behind her. “What lies have you been told!? Who has slandered against me!?” Aribeth shouted, her finger levelled threateningly at the woman behind the desk, “I am not a traitor! I have never doubted the Divine Emperor! It’s that damned masked woman – that bitch – she is the traitor!” “Remove her to her cell!” the Canoness boomed, “Do not let her out until she has redeemed herself!” The Sisters advance on the Palatine, and Aribeth did not resist, letting them take hold of her by the arms and forcibly lead her out of the Canoness’ chambers. “I believe in the judgement of the Golden Throne!” Aribeth shouted as she was dragged backwards out of the office, “The guilty shall not thrive!” “Get her out of my sight!” Helena barked, following them to her office doors and slamming them shut as soon as they were beyond with an echoing crash like a god’s murderous thunder. Tears of frustration began to cling in the corners of the Palatine’s eyes. Never before had she felt so wronged. The halls were near empty as the two helmeted Sisters led her away from the Canoness’ office in the direction of the cloister’s outermost wings. There, she knew, would be the cells reserved for solitary prayer, and, for the next sixty hours at least, her prison. “Let go of me,” Aribeth demanded, “I am not a prisoner!” “We have our orders,” one of them replied, her voice so distorted through her helmet’s vox so that Aribeth could not even begin to guess at who’s face sat concealed inside. “We were instructed that you were to be detained forcibly if necessary,” the other one added, “Out of respect for who you once were, I hope that it doesn’t come to that.” Aribeth stopped – forcing her guards to stop as well – and glared at both of them, catching glimpses of their eyes behind the tinted vision ports of the Sabbat pattern helmets. “You served beside me as this city rose up against us, we have fought the same battles and killed the same foes, do you really think that I would try to escape? Can you not afford me the dignity of walking freely to my own cell?” “We have our orders, Sister,” the guard tightened her grip around the Palatine’s forearm, “If you were half the Palatine you used to be, you would understand that.” They continued in silence and met not a soul the rest of the way. “Your weapon’s,” one of her guards indicated to her waist as the other unhanded her and unbarred the cell door, “surrender them to us.” “I trust they will be returned to me?” Aribeth asked, though she did not move to obey. “If our Canoness see fit that you retain them, then yes, they will be returned to you.” Aribeth nodded, and unfastened her belt from around her waist and shoved it towards her guard – her sheathed sword and holstered pistol dangling helplessly as foreign hands took them and place them unceremoniously on the floor. The wooden door creaked open, and her prison, no larger than a closet inside, and crammed with a built-in wooden seat and writing surface, looked out at its newest occupant. Both guards stepped back from the Palatine, and Aribeth, standing alone before the yawning maw, hesitated for a moment before stepping willingly into the darkness and sitting down. The door closed behind her, and she was alone. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1693648 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Melissia Posted September 14, 2008 Share Posted September 14, 2008 Something I've noticed as a theme throughout this story... psykers seem to be able to invade the minds of Battle Sisters at will with little trouble Then it is a very unfluffy piece of literature. The minds of Sisters are actually MORE resistant to psychic powers than the vast majority of other forces, including Space Marines. Indeed, only the Grey Knights have been described as more resistant to corruption and psychic powers than the Sisters are, and the Sisters are given the Shield of Faith rule in tabletop to represent this. If the Sisters' minds are easilly invaded, then Space Marines' minds are open books unable to be defended from any sort of psychic assault-- and we know they certainly can get thorugh it with willpower. Meh. Needs some very good justification for it anyway... Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1693652 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted September 15, 2008 Author Share Posted September 15, 2008 hmmmm, I thought this was a closed case, but I would be happy to open it up again. The way I see it their will-power is not super-human in any way, but their faith and purity makes it difficult for heretics and the like to violate their minds with witchcraft. Consider the psykers in this story: an Inquisitor, a Beta-level, and a pair of Chaos Sorcerers - these are serious dudes, and when focused, I don't think anything other than another psyker can contend with them. Galtman is an Inquisitor and a very capable psyker in many respects, however, I imagined his powers to be subtle, yet very potent. The first thing Aribeth notices is a nudge in her mind (like he is testing her resolve before laying in with full force) and even then it takes two attempts to get in. Bonis is a Beta-level psyker, and though untrained and not nearly as skilled as Galtman, his sheer power more than makes up for it. No wall of faith or purity can stand up to a Beta-levels power, its just not possible. Also consider the situations that each Sister finds themselves in: Aribeth is totally unprepared when Galtman attacks her with his mind; Serinae had just regained consciousness; and Clara was in battle at the time - none of them were ready for a psychic onslaught. Does that answer your question? Reading the previous post about this, and the story, should help clarify things. -L_C Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1693946 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Melissia Posted September 15, 2008 Share Posted September 15, 2008 Considering that the justification for three of their five acts of faith can be said to be merely nothing more than willpower powered by zealous faith (the acts that grant strength +2, fearless, and initiative +2), it can easilly be argued that unflinching faith indeed can grant some supernatural powers-- including willpower, given the effects of Light of the Emperor. Personally, I just don't like the fact that people in love with Chaos always portray the Sisters as easy to kill, easy to fall, and so on and so forth, when in reality the power of faith can actually make the presence of such faithful people/creatures actually painful for such creatures as daemons of the warp or even banish them. Sebastian Thor was able to banish warp storms merely by his presence during the Age of Apostasy-- he traveled about the Imperium in a time of high warp storm activity, and everywhere he went, warp storms dissipated and he and his entourage traveled through the warp with unprecedented speed and ease. While Sebastian Thor is certainly a special case (as he was at the level of a Living Saint), the Sisters of Battle revere him and follow his teachings, for he was the first Ecclesiarch since the Age of Apostasy (and was, along with the Sisters, the main reason for its end) and indeed the one that put them into this official presence as the military arm of the Ecclesiarchy. Indeed, even the strongest psychic powers alowed can be completely and utterly nullified in the tabletop by the Sisters if it would effect them in any way shape or form (including the psychic powers of the Tyranids, which are resistant to being nullified by other means!)-- and while I would certainly be amongst the first to point out that tabletop is not an exact replication of the fluff, it does have at least a skewed representation. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1694277 Share on other sites More sharing options...
Lady_Canoness Posted September 15, 2008 Author Share Posted September 15, 2008 Uuuum.... people in love with chaos :D ? What gave you that idea? I much prefer Sisters over Chaos, but nevermind that, I'm just trying to give Chaos their due. I see your point, but I don't think you see mine. I'm drawing this story along very personal lines - it's a tragedy about Aribeth's fall from grace and eventual redemption. Have you read the whole story? If not, I suggest you do before continuing to criticize my stand on this. Sisters are human, and I really draw on that human aspect multiple times throughout the story. Lastly, this is a story - how interesting would it be if Sisters were indominable and just went around smiting people? Not very. Link to comment https://bolterandchainsword.com/topic/122098-the-fallen-saint/page/7/#findComment-1694398 Share on other sites More sharing options...
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