In Memoria (40K)

[Imperial Overlord]

Haakim Doresh opened the door to his suite. "Jolan, I'm glad you came."

"Thank you," said Gix as he stepped in. "These places are furnished much the same, I see."

"Yes, it was the style here around three hundred years ago when this facility was constructed. A little gauche and heavy handed for my tastes, but my tastes can be somewhat simple."

Jolan Gix eyed the lord inquisitor's god robe and its repeating black crow pattern, but said nothing. Haakim caught his gaze. "Well, I admit to a few weaknesses. You seem to have settled into something more casual." Gix was wearing an armoured black bodyglove under a scarlet robe with gold gleaming on the buttons, collar, and cuffs.

"One must make allowances for the formality of the situation," said Jolan, "but dressing like I'm doing field work makes me feel like I'm an inquisitor again."

"Ahh, the joys of undercover work. It can be quite strenuous. Where are my manners? Would you care for some refreshments?"

"No thank you," said Jolan. "I'm more interested in your proposal."

"Proposal?" Doresh asked. "I don't recall making one?" He stepped towards the refrigerator. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," said Jolan. Haakim removed a container of stuffed olives, a jar of patte, a carafe of golden wine. He retrieved some wafers from a cupboard and began spreading it on the wafers.

"So, about this proposal?" Haakim. "The one I don't recall making."

"You didn't. You were thinking of it."

"Are you always this direct?"

"When its useful. Other times I fake my death and wait for an opportune moment. Whatever gets the job done."

"Ah. You have me at somewhat of a disadvantage." Haakim brought the plate of appetizers out of the kitchen area along with a glass of wine and placed them on a table of black Vitrian glass. He sat down. "Now I have to decide to extend the offer without further observation."

"True," said Jolan. "Of course, you've seen how effective I can be. And how little gets passed me. Your choice on whether or not you might services, and those I have influence over, for whatever you've got concocted."

"Very nice," said Haakim. "A delightful combination of an entreaty and an attempt to strong arm me. Effective." He ate a cracker and washed it down with a sip of wine.

"Thank you."

Doresh started in on a handful of olives. "Well I can hardly complain about my potential recruit being clever and perceptive when those are qualities I am selecting for?"

"You could," said Gix with a smile, "but it might be a little hypocritical."

Doresh leaned back. "The Ordo Malleus was formed back when the Emperor still walked among men. Our privileges and responsibilities predate those of the rest of the Inquisition, which was then modeled on the Ordo."

"I know this," said Jolan.

"Of course. But as the Inquisition didn't exist yet, certain policing responsibilities were assigned to the then Order of the Hammer. Others evolved over time. Our best known responsibility is to combat daemonic incursions and chaos worship. Another is policing the rest of the Inquisition. You have first hand knowledge of why this must be."

"You don't want me to just shift over to Malleus. You wouldn't bother with this secrecy if that was it."

"No, you're right. That's not all. I want you to secretly rejoin the Malleus while remaining formally and publicly a member of the Hereticus."

"You suspect there is a conspiracy among inquisitors in this sector."

"Information about you was deliberately sent to assassins. The perpetrators of the Mandrassi Harrowing have escaped identification and I suspect they have done that with Inquisition assistance. Then there is the death of Randor Fisk and all of his associates. There is a problem."

"I agree," said Jolan. "One of those bastards probably owes me a lung."

"I had forgotten about that," said Derosh.

"I haven't," said Jolan. "If the offer is on the table, I'll take it."

"It is."

"Then we have an agreement, my lord." The opportunity was too good to pass up. Derosh was right, there were still rotten apples left in the barrel. Of course, Fisk had died at Gix's and Maladar's hands so not every crime needed solving.

"Good," said Derosh. "Are you sure you will not join me for some of this excellent wine?"

"On second thought, I believe I will."

[Imperial Overlord]

Jolan loaded the long magazine into the butt of the heavy autopistol and placed it in cross draw holster on his hip. He secured the heavy hilt of his archeotech powerblade under his armpit and swept up a long coat over his bodyglove. His door bell rang. "Enter," he called out loudly.

The door opened and Kyra Neven entered, wearing a long blue coat with brass buttons and a high collar that almost obscured her face. "I see you're getting ready to leave as well," she said.

"Yes," Gix replied, "the symposium is over." He adjusted the trigger for the conversion field slightly.

She stepped in and closed the door. "Did that sly old dog take you under his wing?"

"Doresh?" he asked, belting on his inferno pistol and stowing a extra fuel cells in his coat's inner pockets.

"Yes, Doresh," she said gliding in closer.

"Perhaps." Jolan shrugged. "He said the right words. Actions will have to follow."

"Where to now?"

"I have done things that were necessary, but despicable," said Jolan. "Some of the damage can be undone and that much I can do. For the rest, I must find my footing again. I have strayed too far into the dark paths. I must walk into the light and cleanse myself."

"You fear falling. You haven't."

"The fear keeps me vigilant against corruption. And it has been far too long since I have stood in a church."

"Be well, Jolan Gix."

"And you too, Kyra." Student and teacher embraced and then parted. The door closed behind Jolan, leaving the inquisitor alone with his thoughts.

------------------------------------------------------

"You know," said Gard as the launch descended, "I didn't much care for this wind swept, desolate hell hole of a planet."

"It's not that bad," said Hethor in his seat across the isle. "Hell, its better than have the shit holes I've served on and that's before you factor in the rapin' xenos."

"You didn't see what he came back with. It was . . . . obscene."

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you use that word before."

"You haven't felt what's in that box. It's sleeping now, but when it wakes, oh Emperor when it wakes it is . . . . words don't do it justice. It is evil."

"Huh," said Hethor. No other words were exchanged the rest of the way down. The launch landed on a desolate grass plain, its arrival sending animal life scampering away.

"Clear," said the pilot. The passengers began removing their seat straps.

"Pop the hatch," said Gix as he rose. "Heth, I'll need you to give me a hand with the gear."

"Got it boss," said the big veteran. He lumbered to the back of the launch and grabbed two big cases. Built in suspensors made their bulk somewhat more manageable. He carried them through the hatch. Jolan joined him, his sword case in his hands.

"So Gard says that things pretty bad."

"It is," said Jolan as he walked into the tall grass. "It's worse actually."

"Huh. Well, it's a big galaxy."

"That it is."

"Where to?"

"That boulder over there," said Jolan pointing.

"The one that looks kinda like a table?"

"Yes," said Jolan "You'll help me set up and then leave."

"Rape that with a chain axe boss. I'm not bailing on you."

"You can't help me with this, not by being there. You'll only be in danger."

"I faced Tendao with you boss. A daemon prince. I can do this."

"No, you can't. But your faith and loyalty will give me strength. This is my word on this Heth. This is going to be tricky and dangerous and you will not be able to help me."

"I don't like it," he said setting down the cases.

"I never thought you would," said Gix. "I will need your strength and loyalty soon enough Heth."

Hethor cracked open the cases and began pulling out tools. A power hammer, clamps, a silver aquila, and several bottles. "Boos, what are you up to?"

"I'm going to destroy the sword and send the daemon back to the warp in pieces. Now go."

"May the Emperor watch over you."

"You as well Heth. Now go." Hethor D'eckor, veteran sergeant of the Imperial Guard, captain of Jolan Gix's forces, and slayer of Traitor Legionnaires bowed to is friend and master before turning towards the launch.

Jolan watched his friend leave and then turned to his work. Adhesives secured the clamps to the rock and then gripped the blade and hilt of the daemon weapon. Next came the chisel, carving pentagrammic runes and symbols into the table. The sun crept over the horizon and fell. Glow globes floated above Jolan's shoulders, allowing him to work on. He retired shortly before dawn for a rest.

He arose around local noon and broke his fast before working again. It took him another eight hours working straight through to dusk to finish the inscriptions. He rested again, sleeping through the long local night. He would need all his strength for what came next.

He arose a little after dawn and poured powdered silver and blessed oils over the blade. He spoke words of condemnation and sacred prayer, secret formula taught to Malleus psykers and words of rending and dissolution practiced by profane sorcerers. Azuregul moaned and whined and twisted throughout it all but could not escape. Jolan raised the power hammer and called out the greatest rebukes of daemon kind that he knew. The hellblade screamed its defiance.

The white hot hammer came down. Warp touched steel deform. Again. The blade cracked. Azuregel let out a keening moan. Again. The blade shattered in white-hot pieces, flashing as the bounced off Gix's shields. A dark mist rose up from the remains of the sword and a terrible keening began to rise.

"In the name of the Emperor I cast you into the warp Azuregel, where you may be consumed by a thousand of you accursed brethren!"

The daemon howled and then was gone, as if it had never been. A gentle wind stirred the grass and a few loose strands of Jolan's hair. In the warp, both near and distant, the weakened form of Azuregel fled before a pack of ether sharks intent on their prey, snapping and biting at his essence.

Jolan activated his vox unit. "Pick me up. I'm ready to leave this place. We won't ever be coming back."

[Chris OFarrell]

And this is where he differs from someone like Eisenhorn. He sees how far he has gone, then steps back into the light.

Keep up the great work.

[Feil]

This last update would benefit tremendously from a quick read-over and edit. Typos all over the place. You're missing some articles here and there, particularly paragraph 1. Jolan's banishing command was a rather ugly run-on sentence. Your ellipsis in part 2 paragraph 3 has one dot too many.

Are you deliberately adopting Abnett's clothing fetish?

Good to see Jolan stepping out of the madhouse. Now don't do that ever again, Gix! Consorting with daemons is bad, mmkay?

"You fear falling. You haven't."

I suspect she'd be singing a different tune if she knew half of what Jolan had done....

[Dominus]

Actually, I was going to bring that up as well -- it seems that, amongst other things, our favorite Overlord is also now the master of Abnett's gratuitously descriptive clothing fetish-thing. Not that is is a bad thing, mind you (points to Tevar's post on an earlier page), as it can be, erm, most helpful to know how inquisitors dress if one is, you know, writing about the Inquisition.

And this is where he differs from someone like Eisenhorn. He sees how far he has gone, then steps back into the light.

Indeed, Eisenhorn would have stubbornly denied that he was compromised in any regard and would have just carried on as normal, all with the rot of Chaos still festering in his soul. It got really old after Malleus, but then again, you know what they say about denial...

[Imperial Overlord]

Gix deliberately dressed differently from his usual style while portraying Sevran Dask. The formal setting of a symposium called for fancier garb than he usually wheres and his resumption of his regular clothes matches his turn back towards more orthodox techniques. Since his style is influenced by his training on Kyra, her presence and her clothes are also relevant to Gix's path back to his old identity.

[Imperial Overlord]

There are places in Ultima Segmentum where the light of the Astronomican is a feeble light that the navigators must struggle to see. Among these places are worlds where humanity lives and dies as mankind does on other countless worlds. Travel is uncommon among most such worlds, but not unheard off. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule.

Sanctus Myr is one of these exceptions. A world brought back into the family of man in the thirty second millenium, Myr produced armies of missionaries and preachers, spreading the word of the Emperor and bringing his holy light to countless worlds. Saint Colentane was born and raised on Myr, accomplishing his first miracles here before leading his crusade out into the distant stars. After his success he returned to Myr and wrote his last works before death claimed here.

In the time since, billions have come to Sanctus Myr and visited its many holy places. There is no shortage of churches, shrines, and cathedrals on Sanctus Myr but by far the most important pilgrimage site is Colentane's tomb in the Shrine of the Skies. The Shrine was built on the top of Mount Shan, nearly eight kilometers above see level. Millions came to visit it every year.

A line of pilgrims extending for kilometers approached Mount Shan, walking on the ancient road that snaked along the grassy plain. Roadside shrines and vendors lined the way, competing for the patronage of the eternal host of supplicants. Among this diverse group of pilgrims was Jolan Gix and most of his retainers.

Gix buttoned up the top of his fleece lined coat as he approached the base of the Mount Shan. Three great sets of stairs were carved into the living rock, two to be used by pilgrims while the third underwent maintenance and repairs. "Damn," said Hethor, his breath visible in the morning chill, "those are some big stairs. They're what, ten meters across?"

"About that," said Gix as he picked up his backpack and put it back on.

"What do you think gorgeous?" said Hethor.

"I think its the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life," Melina said. "I'm glad I came."

"Let's get a closer look," said Shala Nofield. The former commissar started walking, her long legs eating up the distance. The rest of them hustled to keep up.

"Kay and Keys are going to kick themselves from missing this," Melina said.

"Navigators worship only their lineage," said Batista, "and assassins only their mission." Domina frowned at this, but the sororitas warrior said nothing.

They joined the line of pilgrims approaching the stairs. Two huge, elaborately carved slabs flanked the steps. One of the fifteen meter tall slabs depicted the saint being received by kings and potentates. The other showed Colentane holding a pair of empty shackles while soldiers stacked ork heads in great pyramids. Four white armoured Ecclesiarchy sentinels with long barrelled guns suspended from shoulder slings stood a silent vigil while heavily robed monks prayed or beseeched pilgrims.

Jolan and his retainers shuffled through the line. Jolan dropped coins into the begging bowls of the monks as they passed them. They stopped for a minute in front of the great white marble slabs and Gard had his cyber orbs scan them into their memories before they resumed their journey. Jolan put his foot on the first step. He then began to climb.

Hethor took his first step and then looked up. There was a landing maybe a hundred meters up. There would be places for travellers to wash, relieve themselves, and sleep as well as subsidiary shrines to visit. Probably more Frater Militia with guns and clubs as well. Any large mass of pilgrims was potentially prey and the Ecclesiarchy guarded its flocks vigorously on holy ground.

It quickly became hard going. Each of the pilgrims was carrying their food and clothes on their backs and not everyone was in the same shape as the warriors among them. Little Iriza was soon struggling to keep up.

Jolan stopped for a moment to let her catch up. The petite astropath was puffing and almost out of breath. Jolan extended his arm to her. "I can make it," she said, almost gasping for breath.

"I know you can. We'll all make it. Together."

"Hold still," said Hethor. The big man unbuckled the straps to her pack and plucked it off her. "Okay, ready to go."

The frail astropath gripped Jolan Gix's arm. "To the first terrace," he said. "Then we rest for a bit."

"The first terrace," she agreed. Together they made their way upwards, one step at a time.

[Dominus]

I... really liked this chapter, IO. A nice touch of sentimentality (itself all too rare in 40k) in a grim universe just seemed so proper somehow (though I was half-expecting some daemon to manifest and start killing people indiscriminately. A conditioned 40k response to sentimental scenes, I suppose.) Whatever else they might be, most of these inquisitors are still human underneath the "hardened killer of worlds" layer, and it is somewhat uplifting to be reminded of that truism. The legacy of Nathan Talstrem, I suppose...

Hmm. I take it that the visit to this shrine is part of Gix's plan to "cleanse" himself of the vile things he had to do under the masque of Sevren Dask?

[Imperial Overlord]

Yes, it is.

[Enigma]

"About that," said Gix as he picked up his backpack and put it back on.

"What do you think gorgeous?" said Hethor.

So Hethor has a hardon for Gix?

[Vehrec]

Why do I have a sudden feeling that Jolan will be making this climb without the aid of suplamental oxygen? All the eight kilometers to the top? That would be a sign of either devotion or madness, in my opinion.

[Imperial Overlord]

Why do I have a sudden feeling that Jolan will be making this climb without the aid of suplamental oxygen? All the eight kilometers to the top? That would be a sign of either devotion or madness, in my opinion.

Sanctus Myr has an atmosphere that is slightly thicker than Terra's and the Shrine is located about a klick lower that Everest's, so it isn't as hard going oxygen wise. Gix also has lung enhancements, courtesy of Gard Vikal's rebuild, after he was shot by Randor Fisk's assassin.

[Imperial Overlord]

Gard Vikal put the heating unit down in the hearth and turned it on. "I'll get started on dinner," he said. They had stopped shortly before sunset on one of the terrace balconies located along the stairway. After resting for a few minutes they had then visited the pair of humble shrines next to the steps and made donations before moving away from the stairs to set up their campsite.

"Thank the Emperor," said Hethor as he sat and rubbed his legs. "I'm starved."

"You certainly eat like a starving grox," said Melina.

"I have to move a lot of mass around. Takes fuel." He hooked a thumb at Jolan. "You should see him after a fight. Eats like three men who just got off a prison barge and landed on an all you can eat buffet."

Jolan didn't seem to pay attention to the comment, instead handing Gard a packet containing vegetables for the skillet. The physician put the sausages into the pan and then sliced the vegetables up with practiced ease.

"Still a long way to go," Shala said. "And the air isn't getting any thicker."

"At sea level the atmosphere is almost fifteen percent thicker than Terran normal," said Gard. "The last kilometer will be rough, but still doable. Humans have managed in harsher environments. The shrine itself has a force field canopy which maintains a thicker and warmer atmosphere. We'll be able to recuperate before beginning the trek back."

"All I can say is that I'm glad they have those railings around the terraces," said Iriza. "Otherwise I might be afraid I would roll over. I'm afraid of heights," she said in a small voice.

"Everything's going to be fine," said Jolan. "Unless Danell poisoned Gard's spices. Then we're screwed." She cracked a smile.

Gard added the vegetables to the rest of the stir fry. "Don't speak such heresy. My spice kit stands between you and culinary disaster."

Hethor stood up. "Well, I'm off to use the head and wash up before dinner." He began walking.

"Nice of Ecclesiarchy to provide facilities for travellers," said Nofield.

"Can you imagine what this place would be like without it? Not quite the spectacular and popular pilgrimage site."

The former commissar cracked a smile. "True. The stench would be pretty vile."

"Not while I'm cooking," warned Gard.

"Yes, great one," Shala said with an exaggerated bow.

"Make yourself useful and get the tortilla's out. I'm almost ready to serve."

"Your will, dread lord."

------------------------------------------------------------

Hethor rubbed his calves. Walking up a seemingly endless line of stairs was turning out to be a hell of an ordeal and even harder on others. The stairs had fewer climbers at this altitude and there were a lot more people resting on terraces. He looked around.

There were Ecclesiarchy guards standing watch, of course. The rest of the group had just about collapsed, except for Shala and Jolan. It would have been bitterly cold if they hadn't dressed warmly. Jolan had a pair of binocs and was looking up.

Hethor lumbered over to him. "What ya lookin' at? We're high enough up that we can practically touch the clouds."

"True," said Gix. "There's a bit of a break in that one." He pointed and passed Hethor the binocs. "Look."

Hethor raised the binocs to his eyes and looked. The powerful instruments allowed him to pierce the gap in the cloud. Light reflected back, bright enough to be blinding without the binocs compensators. "Sunlight reflecting off . . . gold. Gold! That's the fuckin' dome!" Strength surged into his tired body.

"Yes it is," said Jolan. "We're almost there."

Hethor handed the binocs back. "Well, what are we doing standin' around here for? Let's move!"

[LadyTevar]

Nothing like seeing your target in sight to make a person rush to get there.

Again, a great break from what has came before, and a good interlude before Gix and crew return to duty.

[Hawkwings]

I really like this part. I too, have visions of impending doom, like a daemon prince suddenly manifesting, or a chaos fleet suddenly emerging overhead. I don't want it to happen, but this is 40K... Then again, you're the writer, you can break the doom and gloom of the 40K universe!

[Dominus]

You and I are in the same boat, Hawkings. Some may call it nihilism or paranoia. In the grim darkness of the far future, I call it pragmatism.

Anyway, I believe IO is on record elsewhere stating that he doesn't care for the constant "doom and gloom" of 40k all that much, and I think his writing reflects that. As others have said, a little break from the angst and nihilism of the 41st millennium can only be a good thing.

[LadyTevar]

I think what we're seeing now is the religious side of it, the true Emperor Worship that we see mostly in Fluff, but never in game.

[Coalition]

Hethor raised the binocs to his eyes and looked. The powerful instruments allowed him to pierce the gap in the cloud. Light reflected back, bright enough to be blinding without the binocs compensators. "Sunlight reflecting off . . . gold. Gold! That's the fuckin' dome!" Strength surged into his tired body.

"Yes it is," said Jolan. "We're almost there."

Hethor handed the binocs back. "Well, what are we doing standin' around here for? Let's move!"

That's not the gold dome. That's the gold leafed archway leading up to the dome.

Or they have a few steps leading down before they get to the dome, reminding people that even though you may have come up short in the eyes of the Emperor, it is still possible to be redeemed and welcomed into His glory.

[Imperial Overlord]

They broke through the cloud cover and the glory of the Shrine of the Skies was revealed to them. They were shockingly close, a mere few hundred meters away. The great white marble basilica dominated the mountain top, which had been leveled and smoothed to make way for its construction. Six secondary temples, one for each one of Saint Colentaine's closest friends and helpers, projected from the sides. A great golden dome crowned everything.

No words were exchanged. They silently pushed each other onwards, the stronger lending aid to the weaker. They were close, very very close.

As they grew near they could see the last terrace was not hosting shrines or camp grounds, but instead a pair of portals that lead into the mountain side. The Ecclesiarchy needed to house and feed its staff and the equipment that maintained the Shrine of the Skies. They could not build around it, so instead they burrowed under. An eminently practical solution.

They were close now, so very close. Their breath was short as it was hard for everyone but Jolan and Hethor to take in enough of the thin, cold air. They managed to push forward. Iriza stumbled. Jolan caught her and half carried her forward. He could see clearly now the flying buttresses projecting from the basilica. They probably contained a variety of concealed devices to safeguard the Shrine of the Skies. Just a little further.

He put his foot on the last step and pushed forward. It felt like he was forcing his way through a curtain of air and then he was breathing in warm, thick air. He had passed through the canopy. They all had. They had made it.

The Shrine of the Skies had originally been a simple affair of stark white marble but generations of priests had added more expensive and baroque additions to the temple. Golden skulls and aquilas were encrusted on buttresses and above doorways. Frater Militia troops wearing heavy robes over their armour stood discreetly at the side to maintain order should there be trouble. There seemed to be no need for their services.

The companions have stumbled forward, like most of the pilgrims around them. They sucked in great lung fulls of warm air and opened jackets. They had made it. They had really made it.

They stepped inside. The Shrine was a hundred meters long, the area packed with worshippers. A marble sarcophagus was at the far end, topped by a statue depicting the saint in life. A great banner of royal blue, with an aquila depicted in gold, hung above it. The walls were lined with holographic murals depicting his deeds. Niches held subsidiary shrines, each one connected to a fallen hero or one of the great events of the crusade. Three halls branched off from either side, leading to the subsidiary shrines of Colentaine's companions.

Priests with staves of ivory and gold maintained order, gently directing worshippers and allowing visitors to cycle through among the shrines and to the front near the sarcophagus in an orderly fashion. The walking paths were well laid out and priests were clearly well practiced in their arts. Faint hymns could be heard, projected from concealed vox projectors. Despite the crowd, the shrine was quiet, peaceful as each pilgrim tried to personally commune with holiness.

The priests directed Jolan and retinue into the line and the shuffled to the front as everyone else did. The sarcophagus had a stark beauty to it and the statue of Colentaine, his voice raised to heaven with an expression of fierce determination, did justice to the man. Everything was as it should be and yet Jolan Gix was not moved. Not as he should be.

He knew why, or thought he did. The inquisitor broke from the line and headed down the halls to one of the smaller chapels. Colentaine had relied upon many men and women to carry out his crusade. From lowest to highest millions had answered his call and all were blessed, their names recorded forever by the Ecclesiarchy and written in solid gold slabs set in the Shrine's walls. There were six that Colentaine had relied upon more than others, his companions whose names had become legend as well.

Some of the companions were better loved than others. The hall that Jolan chose was almost deserted. The shrine was also the simplest, consisting of a marble sarcophagus in a room lined by plaques commemorating the victories that Belicus Sevile won and their costs. Holo images of Colentaine and the vulture-like general in full regalia looked down upon the few visitors from the upper levels.

Belicus Sevile had been Colentaine's clenched fist, unleashed against xenos and the most intransigent of heretics. He had riven space and scourged the earth, leaving behind horror and destruction in his wake. Imperial dogma has long maintained that those who turn away from the Emperor's Light deserve no mercy and those that Sevile was unleashed upon got none. Colentaine was light and compassion. Sevile was horror and cruelty.

And yet here he remained at the saint's side, throughout eternity. Always one of his most trusted companions and respected councillors. The man who dwelt in darkness serving the light. Here was where Jolan Gix could come back to himself.

[Vehrec]

And Shepards we shall be, For thee my Lord, For thee.

Ave Imperator Inquisitor Gix. For the good of all mankind, do what you must. Walk in the dark places. . . but always return to the light.
*lights a single candle*

[LadyTevar]

The broke through

The only typo I found in that long, beautiful description of a holy sanctum. I could almost see it, IO. Bravo

[Dominus]

I feel like I'm just constantly echoing what LadyTevar and Vehrec have to say, but that was bloody awesome, IO. Fantastic use of description and symbolism to describe that holy place -- now this is what a true temple to the Emperor should be like.

You've almost made a believer out of this indifferent atheist, you tricksy propagandist.

[Hawkwings]

Well, you know, if one lived in the Imperium of Man, it's pretty easy to be religious. With the Emperor protecting everyone from Chaos, and the Space Marines being his Angels and all...

In other news... I really like this part. It made me smile, not "haha, funny", but actually warm fuzzy feeling smile. Well done, bravo, especially considering you're writing in the 40K universe.

[Imperial Overlord]

A priest approached Hethor. He was a small man, with a neatly trimmed brown beard and a face marked by age lines. "Your friend has been in prayer for a long time," he began.

"Yeah," said Hethor. Night had fallen some time ago. Most of the rest of the companions had fallen asleep while Hethor stood watch.

"I do not wish to intrude upon him, but does he wish to speak with a priest? Perhaps I could be of assistance to him?"

"Don't know," said Hethor. "Ask him if you want."

The priest's gaze shifted back to where Jolan Gix knelt in front of Sevile's sarcophagus. Gix hadn't moved for hours and barely seemed to be breathing. He walked across the floor towards the inquisitor. "Sir?"

Gix raised is head. "Yes?"

"Do you wish to speak with someone?" the priest asked gently. "Perhaps we can be of help?"

Jolan smiled at him. "No thank you."

"You seem . . . troubled."

"I have done terrible things," said Gix, "to defend the Imperium and destroy the Emperor's enemies. Things that in other circumstances would be beyond the pale."

"Like what, my son?"

"Some secrets cannot be shared," said Gix. "There are things I cannot discuss with any priest, no matter how much I would wish to."

"I understand," said the priest. "You are not the first one to visit the shrine whose duties impose a heavy burden. Do you repent the evil you have done?"

Jolan rose to his feet. "No, I would do it all again. Thank you for you your help."

The priest took a step back. "Of course. Can I be of any more assistance?"

"No," said Gix. "Thank you again." He headed over to Hethor.

"Ready to go boss?"

"Yes," said Jolan.

"Are you good?"

"Yes. I did what was necessary. The burden of understanding and decision is mine, as an inquisitor. I made decisions that I would not have made under other circumstances. I succeeded. I was right."

"Never said different."

"No, you didn't. Funny isn't it that Exterminatus is more acceptable that what I did and it does far more damage."

Hethor shrugged. "Exterminatus doesn't mean dabbling in darkness." He shrugged again. "That matters to some folks."

"And you?"

"We're about the job. What gets the job done is what matters. If it doesn't then things get really fucked up for everybody. It worked."

"There's a lot to be said for that point of view."

"Damn straight boss. Can't take your eyes off the prize and the prize is worth breakin' a lot of eggs. If you follow me."

"Yeah, I follow you. Thanks Hethor."

"Anytime boss. This do any good?"

"Yes," said Jolan, "it did. Servants of the Emperor are sometimes required to do terrible things in service to the greater good. The greatest burden falls upon the Inquisition because we have the greatest comprehension of the dangers that face the Imperium. Thus we have the greatest responsibility and latitude for making decisions and doing what is necessary. I am at peace with what I have done."

"Sounds good to me boss. We leavin'?"

"If everyone else is ready."

"At least its goin' to be easier goin' down the rapin' stairs."

[Dominus]

You know, it's times like these when I cannot help but lament Anjun Chou's death on Adraxia. Having an unbeliever's perspective on this scene would be downright fascinating, and there are far too few genuine atheists (sans the Tau and certain cynical Necron Lords, I suppose) in the 40k universe.

"Yes," said Jolan, "it did. Servants of the Emperor are sometimes required to do terrible things in service to the greater good. The greatest burden falls upon the Inquisition because we have the greatest comprehension of the dangers that face the Imperium. Thus we have the greatest responsibility and latitude for making decisions and doing what is necessary. I am at peace with what I have done."

Regardless, I think Gix made the correct decision. It's also a nice way for the story to come full circle, as I recall one of Gix's professors in the Schola speaking an adage very similar to this one way back at the beginning of the fanfic, seemingly an eternity ago. That was a nice touch, IO.