Story- not sure where to post this?

[Munting]

My names Munting some of you may remember me. Im unsure as to where to post this.

feed back.

it will expand of course :)

 

 

 

 

Prologue- Velpume

 

Velpume Sector Velpume Capital World Vetura City

 

 

Velpume was a planet about to fall, its sky becoming a warped blood coloured storm, its once beautiful flora reduced to twisted skeleton cinders outspread in gestures towards the sky almsot begging for hope, and the beautiful stone structures of old were ruins ready to be blow away by the onslaught of time. Its capital city however, was a different story, above Veltula through the hard work of hundreds of sanctioned psykers the storm was at bay, the oceanic blue a reminder of the splendour that once was. Through the work of the PDF, the traitorous forces were kept at bay upon the cities edges, their deaths serving to hold back the dark tide of chaos and to allow citizens time to escape upon barges.

 

Their deaths were the personification of the Imperium’s ideal, only in death is their duty complete, the tide of chaos must be held back at any cost. Even if only evading the inevitable.

 

Clad in uniforms to mimic the nearby Cadian sector, instead however he wore blue fatigues- a sign of Velpumes Nobilty, and black flak armour Private Jeanite stood, lasgun in hand prepared to sell his life dearly. Vox reports to his squad had told them of the loss of the living quarters to the traitorous guard. Retreat was unquestionable, since being a youth the Velpumian dreamt of a heroic death for a cause worth fighting for, and clutching at the small ring on a chain around his neck Jeanite smiled, his family’s escape was more than worthy.

“Jean?” Private Neathen called him from his thoughts, his new found burden of command- his junior officer dead at the hands of a mutant creature that headed the last attack on his section.

“The Emperor guides us Neath, if here is where we fall so be it,” Jeanite didn’t bother to look in the lads eyes, for he too felt the cold fear that gripped the conscript. “We must hold here and give a chance for the quarters to be evacuated further into the city.”

 

Silence fell over the eighteen remaining squad members, several veterans, many wide eyed conscripts. Imperial help had failed to arrive and they all knew that death was nigh, but with every hour they fought for hundreds of lives would be saved. Looking up to the small blue sky, Jeanite offered a prayer, for his daughter, and for his wife. He removed his helmet the heat stifling him, as dust was blew from the surrounded ruins dirtying his long black hair- a sign of vanity frowned upon by other members of the PDF. He drew his lasgun’s scope to his eye feeling a welcome sense of calm in the storm.

 

This storm, like all others, was set to break.

 

Their first warning was the auto rounds that ripped apart one of the conscripts, a youth Jeanite had not learnt the name of having being recently assigned to his squad. An arterial shower fell upon those near him, and the smell of death was heavy in Jeanites lungs as he felt the kicking of his lasgun the only reassurance available to him. He downed his first opponent a swollen mutant with an extra arm, clutching an autogun that looked pitifully small in his muscular frame. A lasgun round to the head caused a shout of pain from behind him, not bothering to turn Jeanite fired on full auto into the press of mutants advancing towards them.

 

In the minutes, which felt like hours, Jeanite guessed he must have downed near half a dozen of the mutants. When the first real threat arrived, a traitorous guards man at home in the smoke and destruction, face hidden behind a gas mask, stroding through the battle field and killing lane infront of the PDF. Behind him several more walked, unnerved by the volleys fired towards them, Jeanite spoke aloud the prayer of retribution taught to him at the church of saint Selestin. Filled with the holy words Jeanite stirred from his staring at the guardmen, death incarnate in his grey over coat and clutching a rusted lasgun, he shot into his head. The guardmen however was unfazed walking forwards, his head a bloody mess, the remaining goggle of his gas mask a crimson screen.

 

The guardmen raised his lasgun, Jeanites military eye seeing that it was Velpume standard issue, loot? Or a more sinster source? Jeanite looked upwards, his lasgun spent and offered a final prayer to the God- Emperor as the las round hit him the chest, his flak armour saving him from instant death as he was thrown off his feet into the ruins.

 

The world went black.

 

Jeanite awoke, the sound of battle intensified as his eyes blurred struggling to take in the sights unfolding around him. Next to him stood a large man, clad in white armour, ancient looking, and cackling blue with power. He rolled reaching around in the mud, cutting his hands on shrapnel and rubble, taking into account the remaining 6 members of his squad taking cover beside the stone ruins of a small wall. His chest heavy, Jeanite rolled, lasgun held like a club ready to fight the white warrior.

 

But to his surprise, a massive storms shield in hand, the warrior was protecting him. Knelt over him like a warrior protecting a child. Shrapnel and red hot las rounds hitting the shield, the warrior looked at him, his face framed by a mane of black flowing hair, and with a smile on his face the warrior threw a las pistol to his side, the round metre reading full. Turning towards the oncoming forces of chaos, the warrior uttered a quick devotion to the Emperor and, drawing an antique sword, charged. It was an awesome sight, blood falling like rain, the power of the blade cackling like thunder and the warriors eyes glowing with energy like lightning. The storm was at its deepest in that melee.

 

A holy warrior. The Imperium had finally answered the call for aid! Taking heart Jeantine rolled to his side, clutching his chest with one arm, while shooting the strangers pistol with the other. The fight was over in seconds. The might of the stranger causing the enemy to lose heart. Turning, the warrior spoke into a vox system inbuilt in his ancient looking armour, at the wrist. Before Jeantine had a chance to attempt to commune, they were surrounded, black carapaced guardsmen clutching hell guns. One, a sergeant by the rank insignias on his armour rushed to the warrior,

“Lord Naivermind, protocol demands you do not advance so hastily and recklessly,” the officer chided, despite the warriors obvious higher rank. A strong sense of comrade ship was evident between the two.

“And as an Inquisitor am I not above petty protocol?” the warrior smiled holding his hand up to hush the storm trooper. An Inquisitor! Heavens above, an inquisitor had been sent to save them!

 

“You, private, whats your name and squad?” A voice that commanded obedience and almost stole authority from the stars above.

“Jeantine, 25th Platoon Velpume PDF, sir!” Jeantine, was in pure awe, staring into the face of a living legend. A Inquisitor!

To his surprise however, the Inquisitor offered humility rather than the dread he had heard of in stories about their kindred, “then you and your squad may prove useful to me in time, Hilden fill them in on the sit rep.”

The black carapaced sergeant removed his helmet, revealing a surprisingly young face, the greys of his eyes hardened betraying the life he lead. “Velpume was declared a lost cause at 1500 hours, Lord Naivermind has storm trooper and volunteers from the sector searching Vetula for surviving guard units,” inclining his head at the private guardsmen, “I can not go into the state of affairs further but the inquisitors orders are for you to fall back to the space station.”

 

Jeanite fought he was physically going to fail, Vetula was a symbol of the Emperors divinity, a temple capital city to create modesty and empathy in the rich noble classes of Velpume, it was meant to be indestructible. Beside the pains in his chest, he found his thoughts straying to his wife’s evacuation, “And the evacuation ships?”

 

“Many have been lost, our battle ships arrived too late, and merchant cruisers are not heavily armed. Against the machines of the enemy they didn’t stand a chance.” Jeanite hunched over, physically sick, some had survived but what if? All those sacrifices, in vain? He felt a hand, softly touching his shoulder,

“Don’t worry Jean, they’ll be okay, now we’ve got a job, we’ve got to find our friends, our fellows.” Jeanite looked up, Neathen was alive, but the relief he felt was short lived, the boys eyes one was grey, blind. The other, he’d met the fresh faced youth only days ago, but that was another time, the few days of service had changed the boy unrecognisably. Jeanite tried to smile, fighting down another cold chunk of bile.

 

Hilden nodded at the boys words, “Sorry private such is the horror of war,” Jeanite couldn’t believe it- how could he be so cold? So heartless? He looked to the inquisitor, he was unreachable, unapproachable a distant figure, so far from his fellow humans he was almost alien. His face as cold as Hildens, but his eyes betrayed a sense of emotional movement, Jeanite couldn’t lose the idea that the Inquisitor was new and from the lack of scars upon his face the man had obviously saw little action. Infact the fine purple silk cloak he wore, and master crafted sword, looked more at home on a parade ground or upon a noble.

 

“Suit up, I’m requisitioning this squad as part of the recovery action,” there were no groans of dismay due to the inquisitors rank, “any serious injuries?” Jeanite was a proud man, he ignored the burning in his chest and stood tall, las pistol in hand. The effort almost killed him, but with the cold Hilden as an audience he wouldn’t show weakness. The rag-tag troopers marched with the half a score of black carapaced storm troopers, the two hardly mixed, the rigorous training to become a storm trooper making the two as different as the traitors and the PDF, Jeanite however found himself liking the inquisitor, the man had a natural charisma that allowed him, despite his new found elevation to PDF squad leader, to accept him as a superior. Not that he had much choice, an inquisitors word was unquestionable, their word was law, straight from the Emperor.

The pain in Jeanite’s chest intensified, they were nearing his home. The ground covered in ash, the sky above showed both the red of the warp and the physic held blue, dust blew through the empty streets. The once beautiful homes were scarred, humbled like a beaten beast, Jeanite fancied a dark god above laughing as he trod on a small stuffed toy. It reminded him of his daughter, and Jeanite felt physically struck.

 

They’d gone about three miles, good speed through the ruins, when the attack came. A storm trooper was downed- a hot shot round to the head. Not even having a chance to bleed, the blood cauterised before it could spill. A second shot scorched a black mark in Naivermind’s armour.

“Sniper!” One of the PDF, a veteran named Zarknen Jeanite recognised from a battle against Ork pirates when he first signed up five ears ago. A lifetime ago. Hilden turned, hell pistol raised scanning the ruins for a mark. The others ducked for cover inside a hollowed out home, the courtyard burned the statue depicting the Space Marine’s pacification of Velpume still burning a strange purple flame. Unreal. The shadows it cast danced like daemons across the sheltering guard’s faces. Las rounds ricocheted across the wall by Jeanite, the heat sizzling the ash.

 

More traitorous guard came, shooting at the ruined house. Hilden, with a single mindedness Jeanite admired however waited, for the tell tale spark of the snipers gun. With one round he felled the sniper, Neathen gasped awestruck, the glint off the snipers scope was enough for the sergeant, his round scoring a hit. The victory was never allowed to be celebrated though, as a traitor barged into the storm trooper rusted chainsword whirling, its jagged teeth singing of death.

 

Jeanite, clutching the las pistol two handed took aim, into the melee, finding calm once again his family’s evacuation pushed to the back of his mind. He fired three shots on full auto, all hitting the traitor causing him to go limp. Hilden pushed him off himself as more traitors stormed the house. Shooting wildly, the calm of his previous shot long forgotten, the sergeant shot into the advancing guard. The air went cold, Jeanite and the other guard felt it too, the hair at the back of their necks rising.

 

A storm trooper and a PDF trooper were felled as a similar purple flame to that upon the statue burned through their armour, their screams deafening their comrades. A robed man appeared in the courtyard, his red robes frayed, torn, burnt- probably with their masters warp spawned fire. A realisation hit home in Jeanite, they were requisitioned not for a recovery action, but an assassination. Somehow, in his sub consciousness he knew this was the man that had orchestrated Velpumes pain, its downfall, its descent from the Emperor’s light.

 

His las pistol barked off a shot into a guard next to the creature, a small man clutching a stub gun poorly manufactured by the looks of things. His death however served to cause the flames to grow enfolding another storm trooper a heavy scream resounding threw the combatants. Jeanite however was shook by the fact that it appeared to be in his mind- a scream that seemed to be trying to escape his skull. It escaped Zarknen’s showering Jeanite in a layer of gore.

 

Naivermind however was calm, “With the Emperor’s faith as my sword, and the cleansing flame of purity,” he prayed oblivious to the battle enfolding around him as storm troopers and PDF fired into the pass of mutant attackers- so closely pressed that each shot was answered with the dying groans of an attacker. Jeanite found himself weakening, the pain in his chest leaving him as a halo of light gathered around Naivermind’s head, dancing down his neck to his sword. Feeling himself becoming physically drained, the inquisitor had tricked them somehow? He didn’t understand it but some how sorcery was upon the Inquisitor, draining the strength of his comrades!

 

This however was not the case, Hilden and others fought with a fire in their arms and muscles, almost re-enacting the tales of valour told to Jeanite by his father, he found himself swaying. The others weren’t effected by the Phsycic power of the inquisitor, who with the strength of the psychic light was hacking his way towards the enemy leader. The chaos man merely raised his hand, sending a purple shockwave through the house, causing walls to collapse, Jeanite in his weakened state fell to the ground, next to the traitor he had felled earlier.

 

The stench caused his bile to rise, the death he had inflicted upon the traitor, he had killed before. Xenos and traitors who threatened the paradise of the Velpume sector but he had never been so close to the death he inflicted. Neathen was next to him, kneeling lasgun shooting into the traitors. Jeanite however, couldn’t have been further away from the fight his head swimming visions of holy warriors, of daemons, of times to come and times that have been, his daughter appeared before him smiling pressing upon his broken chest. The pain leaving him, rapidly becoming numb.

 

Naivermind had never felt so strong, His rank of inquisitor was recent, at 45 he was young for the rank, he shouldn’t have so much power at this command. He had been sent to investigate possible psychic activity but he had assumed it to be the chaos he fought now, he however was mistaken. The power was bolstering his own, it was some one faithful to the Emperor some one nearby. By its raw untapped nature it was some one unaware of their power. He saw a guardsman fall, unwounded to the ground, his eyes glowing blue mirroring the inquisitors own.

 

Interesting.

 

The inquisitor however was not invincible, although Hilden and the storm troopers believe him to be so. The strength this guard had gifted him with, unaware or not, was not infinite. The chaos psyker was battering him back mentally, a duel unfolding between the two, the space between them emptied of mutants by the blade of Naiverminds own sword, the Imperator Mos- the Emperor’s will, but he was drained. The burst of energy he felt was slowing, his muscles aching. The chaos scums next attack would be the end of him.

 

Jeanite felt time slow, Neathen’s lasgun slowed, the duel between the inquisitor and the chaos leader slowed, time stood still. His daughter however was still there, she took his hand, lifting him up. She was beautiful still, her flowing black hair a mirror of his and her blue eyes looked almost like her mothers surprisingly warm unlike the ocean they were compared to. Her hand felt cold, she pulled him between the duelling combatants.

 

Jeanite was suddenly before him, Naivermind had to stop his sword from decapitating him. The guardsman raised his hand, uttering two women’s names, “Elsa, Xania.” Naivermind felt a burst of energy like no other he had felt, a yellow divine light filling the space between the two forces. The chaos Magus fell, turning to ash as Jeanite fell. The pain in his chest returning and his world going black. The chaos force lost the will to fight, although Velpume wasn’t saved more planets may have been in Jeanites action.

 

“Hilden, gather the guard and send reports to all squads in the city, I want the PDF upon my ship.”

 

“And Private Jeanite?”

 

“Get him to the medicae immediately, I expect he has a lot of questions and answers for me.”

 

Chapter One

Answers

 

In Flight Imperial Cruiser Naiverhold

 

Jeanite’s rest was far from peaceful, his body was fitful sweat soaking the clean white sheets he was in, his screams echoing in the un answering gun metal walls of the medicae. He hadn’t woken for two weeks and against Hilden’s recommendation Naivermind had not “deposed” of the unsanctioned psyker he was found to be. The air was humid, yet cold the damp caused by both Jeanites misting breath and the constantly recycled air of the ship.

 

Suddenly Jeanite’s eyes opened, the first time for two weeks, his eyes blood shot, burnt by the light that they had witnessed on Velpume. Confused, scared he took in his surrounding imposing grey walls, surgeons tools, his own battered and bruised body. His breathes were laboured, his chest was still healing from some sort of shock.

 

Elsa! Xania!

 

His daughter, his wife, the evacuation ships. Jeanite threw the probes off his body, electrodes and the likes pulling the drip from his arm. Alarms sounded, red light filling the room, causing his pupils to dilate and his balance to fail. He fell to the ground as he tried to climb off the bed, jolts of pain spread through out his legs weakened. Stitches covered his body around cauterised las wounds.

 

The door opened, steam coming into the room as the differing temperature of hallway and medicae room met. Several black carapaced storm troopers entered hellguns pointed at Jeanite, who searched for a weapon- anything. Then it came back- the events at Velpume, his daughter, her deathly cold hands, he screamed as the events re-entered his fragile mind as he bent double vomit gushing from him.

 

Then he entered, the living embodiment of the Emperor’s ideals he saw, in white armour. The inquisitor, now in fatigues a bolt pistol in hand,

“Leave us Hilden.”

“But Sir!”

“I said leave us.”

 

Jeanite looked at the inquisitor, awestruck. He remembered a light, divine, a strength he never knew existed.

 

“You’ve caused quite the stir Private Jeanite,” the inquisitor began, holding his eye contact, drawing him in. He felt safe.

 

“Sir, if this about Vetura, I don’t know…..that was new. It’s never happened before.” Naivermind raised his hand, smiling.

 

“I know soldier, if it wasn’t I would have killed you there and then,” and from the tone of voice Jeanite knew this was no false threat, “In fact Hilden would prefer I did now. However my tests have found you to be quite safe.”

 

“Sir, my family?” Desperate to find out what happened, in case this was his last day.

 

Naivermind shook his head, “I’m sorry, I really am.” Jeanite was shocked at the validation and strength of those words. “I have come with an offer for you though, its very serious and you may need time to think.”

 

Jeanite’s head was spinning, what could an inquisitor possibly want from him? He stood and sat again upon the medicae bed, his hands placed around his head. “I will give you a chance to fight back, a spot as my allocate your not too young, I myself was 30 when I signed up under Inquisitor Rosenter. Your powers will become a part of you. An extension of your senses.”

 

Jeanite couldn’t speak about his, his powers, the thought of them chilled him to the bone, “The PDF?”

 

“342 survived, I plan to merge them with my personal staff- their loss will serve to create a fighting body to prevent such events,” Naivermind said, them reaching out with his hand, “But I need you as a figure head. You’re quite the legend to them.”

 

Jeanite shook his head, “I want to see them, I need to think.”

 

“Of course,” Naivermind turned, “But first get some proper sleep.”

 

Jeanite couldn’t sleep- how could he? The Velpume sector was safe now, even if its capital world was lost forever, he and his comrades should be sent to those. They should not be working for an inquisitor. He wanted peace, in his mind, like……like in Vetura. He though of Neathen, 17 and in that state, Jeanite almost laughed out loud, he was only 26 himself, yet some how he felt like the boys carer. When he eventually fell to sleep he was haunted by ghosts, storms and the hardship of time to come- they were in the warp and it was if a million daemons wanted to enter his head.

 

Naivermind sighed, scanning through the files of the soldiers he’d saved. Many of them had lost family, and those that hadn’t wouldn’t be able to find them again without his help- such was the nature of the massive machine that is Imperial administration. He toyed with the inquisitor rosette on a thin chain around his neck, such power, yet what he had witnessed in the young private scared him.

 

He thought of declaring him to the Ordos, his brothers in the Herectus branch would not think twice of shoot him for harbouring a dangerous man, yet the power he felt, he was sure he could harvest it for himself, for the good of the Imperium. That’s why he needed the PDF, a private army, although small, would be the perfect tool for gaining the power of the enemy.

 

For was it not safer to have it in his hands, rather than those who had fallen to chaos?

 

He was stirred from his musings by a strong questioning voice, “Sir? You called for me?”

Naivermind looked up to see an Imperial Commissar , a tall man clad in the long black coat of his calling. The bulge of a bolt pistol was evident, a silent threat, hidden in plain sight. Naivermind smiled meeting the man’s gaze, Commissar Iber Hark requisitioned from Cadia itself- for a purpose he was unaware of. The mans steel grey eyes looked questioningly yet with no sign of weakness, a scar ran through the man’s stubbled cheek creating a shadow that was clear even in the dimly lit study.

 

“Yes Commissar, your record is not let down you appear to be a man of great charisma, I hear the Velpumians have taken a liking to you.”

 

“In times of need sir anyone can be a friend, they too wonder why they are imprisoned upon your ship- many of them wish to be spread through out the sector they have lived in, loved in and bled for.”

 

“Of course, they have many, many questions, which shall be answered I assure you,” The inquisitor tried to remain in control, threw by the commissar’s open manner. “I am looking for several weapons of the enemy, to destroy of course,” he added smiling, “And to do that I need fighting, determined men.”

 

“And you thought to yourself who better than those who have lost all to chaos,” the commissar said, growing bored of this. He respected the inquisition but his place was on Cadia training the white shields, keeping moral high so soon after the black crusade. “Clever, yet I am still unsure of why I am here.” He raised a hand declining the strong smelling wine the Inquisitor offered.

 

“My friend,” the inquisitor added with a smile that stirred the commissar- he felt as if he had known the inquisitor forever, “these men are PDF, my own storm troopers are too few for the task that is set. These men need training, discipline, a hero and as I’ve said your reputation precedes you.”

 

“These weapons must indeed be dire, if a front line Commissar can be called from Cadia at such a time.” Said more as a statement, than a question.

 

“So I can count on you?”

 

“I am but a loyal servant of the Emperor,” Hark said, as if to himself, the inquisitor smiled. He too was a servant of an emperor, but he was not so single minded these weapons would be far greater upon the Emperors side. He inclined his head slightly, a sign for the commissar to leave.

 

Jeanite, however would prove harder to use to achieve his goals, he was sure the man liked him despite himself and his losses. The Emperor had saw fit to bless him with a charisma that few could resist- had the commissar not submitted to one of his smiles mere seconds ago? The private however would join him, he needed him and all power was his as inquisitor. He drank deep from his goblet, resting his legs upon the reports scattered across his table, yes Velpume had been worth the loss of life.

 

Neathen was good at cards, he was fastly amassing a small pile of tab sticks to smoke from the other PDF. The idle discussion he made was allowing him to take advantage of the player’s weaknesses; his youth allowed them to believe he could be easily manipulated. “Hark, he looks like a tough son of a gun,” one man said, his face raw pink, burned by a flamer upon Velpume.

 

“They say he was at Cadia, with a regiment that stood before the Despoiler himself.” Another player, as young as Neathen, added. Neathen noticed his pile of tabs was depleting- he’d only be in for a few more rounds.

 

“Don’t be so dim Jaz, hes here for Jeanite did you hear about what happened, they say the inquisitor himself was left speechless.”

 

“Jeanite’s a good man,” Neathen said placing his hand- a hive gang flush. “If you ask me Hark’s here to whip us in shape, the Inquisitor saw what we could do.”

 

“Not all of us signed up to become heroes Neath,” a clean faced guardsmen added, pushing a pile of tab sticks into Neathen’s growing loot. Jaz however was taken in by Neath’s idea, his eyes growing wide at the idea of travelling across the stars. Their game however was coming to an end as Hilden’s boot crashed upon the cards,

“Gambling is a sin,” the guardsmen jumped back- shocked at the stealth which the well built storm trooper had entered, he looked straight at Neathen causing the youths one good eye to grow wide in fear. “Jeanites awoke, he wants to see you, proceed to the medicae immediately.”

 

 

Jeanite turned to face the opening doors of his medicae room, and was relieved to see Neathen walking through, the youth looking awkward in his presence- the events of Vetura fresh in his mind. Jeanite frowned, this youth was the only comrade he can remember speaking to before the battle, this youth was a link to a past life- he was asking too much of him, to be here, to be his friend.

 

A storm trooper closed the doors behind him, unsure of Jeanite’s summoning Neathen looked around the room awkwardly; before him was a man he aspired to a legend amongst the PDF. Jeanite heard tales of his valour against ork pirates, protecting the trade of the Velpume sector, it was whispered amongst the veterans that Jeanite had refused a promotion to company officer due to his love and devotion to his family. Neathen’s heart ached for his comrade’s loss.

 

“Neath don’t look at me like that,” Jeanite began, “I don’t know what happened at Vetura. Believe me.”

 

“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Neathen began, desperately wanting to believe his next words, “The Emperor was with us.”

 

“Is that what you believe Neath? I’m a witch, Naivermind as good as told me it.”

 

“You’re a good man, brave too, Vetura was an action of sacrifice.”

 

“If so, I sacrificed my soul to the warp unless I allow the Inquisitor our aid. Who am I to condemn the remainder of the regiment?”

 

“You, Jeanite, are a hero.”

“I wish I agreed, Neath, I called you here out of cowardice, I need a friend, a comrade, I shunned you in the ruins I failed to create the bravery you needed.”

 

“Sir, you did all the men felt better with you in command.”

 

“Listen!” Jeanite shouted a fervour in his eyes, “I was as scared as you, I’m no hero. The burden of command is not mine to take.”

 

“You fought against the orks, I’ve heard about it, you could have taken command.”

 

“I want my family Neath, I want to grow old on an agri world, I wasn’t born for this.”

 

“The Emperor’s motives are unclear, but there is a reason for this.”

 

With that the two met each others stare, and made an unspoken promise. The boys words were spoke with such conviction neither could refuse them. They would stick together through the trials to come, brothers, the regiment would support the Inquisitor- a hero himself. The saviour of Jeanite’s soul, a hero who arrived too late to save his home.