Astelan, having consulted his data-slate, leads the Cell on circuitous route through the Chancellery Court. It feels, in a sense, as though you are walking through the body of the Administratum itself, that bureaucratic organ that ensures the greater Imperium continues to function - from the collection of planetary tithes to the movement of Imperial Guard regiments from warzone to warzone.
After ascending, you eventually arrive on a mezzanine level high up within the Courts. You are able to look over iron balconies to see, far below, the adepts toiling ceaselessly. In the fug of incense smoke, you see vat-grown cherubs swooping and diving, parchment clutched in their hands as they travel between data-looms and cogitator-stacks. The area around you is dilapidated, seemingly abandoned. The only noteworthy feature of the area you have found yourselves within is a battered-looking door.Upon it is a small brass plate labelled 'XIII'.
As you approach, the door opens inward, admitting you to a dark and dusty chamber. The light is dim, but you see that the room is furnished entirely in dark wood. Row upon row of shelves from floor to ceiling hold crack-spined books, parchment rolls and yellowy, mouldering documents. A feeble fire gutters amidst a hearth in one corner, and grimy glow-globes set in recesses shed a flickering light. The door shuts behind you, instantly silencing the distant roar of the Chancellery Court. The only sound that you hear is the incessant ticking of a clock, somewhere within the chamber.
A grey-faced, augmented adept in a slate-coloured robe appears silently from a side door. He keeps his gaze averted, as though afraid of making eye contact. As he deferently bows, he offers up a tarnished-looking silver tray, upon which rests a wax-sealed envelope. The seal is an increasingly familiar one - a downward-pointing dagger impaling a thorned rose.
Stroud takes the envelope, tearing it open as the scribe exits the room. Tearing open the envelope, you find a parchment:
You are requested and required forthwith under the authority of the God-Emperor of Mankind to submit to this writ and order and serve the most Holy Ordos of His Imperial Majesty's Inquisition.
I bind you over at His requirement to the service of my esteemed colleague, Inquisitor Nahun Grist, for so long as he sees fit to the particulars of the tasks he requires you to complete. Obey him in all things as you would me, lest your lives be forfeit and shame be brought upon my name.
Further knowledge of your duties should be obtained from Inquisitor Grist, from whose hands this order has been delivered to you.
Go in the Light of the Golden Throne with my prayers for your safe passage, and my certain and unwavering faith that you will serve honourably in His name.
Ordo Hereticus Dalthus
As the Arbitrator passes the parchment around, you are left alone for the moment to explore the room and reflect upon the events.
Edited by Commissar Molotov, 03 June 2016 - 03:46 PM.