Post by Lex on Mar 9, 2007 13:40:30 GMT -5
Disclaimer; all background (inc. races, technology, factions) is games workshops, the rest is mine.
The story of a psyker, more must be read;
Pendulum; the tick of a greater clock
Part 1; the armour of faith
“Sister, your presence is requested.”
I know, how could I not? The words of our good lord spread like a holy plague, tell him I will arrive in a moment, and remind him that I may take some time.
“I hear you sister, but do hurry.”
I shall try.
The sister bowed, her robe creasing like parchment over her sash. She turned and left, tossing her light brown hair aside. Behind her the Sister Superior gently blew out a prayer candle, muttering quiet request for faith to her patron god. She turned on her bare foot and followed the battle sister out.
Her light feet were silent on the cold hard floor, and so the sound of the dripping filled the ladies ears, annoying her slightly. The monastery was riddled with damp, and it did no one any good. Sure enough it could be dealt with, but priority resided elsewhere.
The Sister Superior slipped a hand out of her habit, and quietly pushed open a thin wooden door. She slipped in through the gap, her hand sliding back into her robe. A pair of eyes turned their focus on the new arrival. There was a muttering, which twisted and swirled until the eddies created words.
“I was under the impression that you may be a little late.”
A thin smile grew on the sister’s face, a rosebud that didn’t quite flower.
I always leave room for the unexpected.
“I have heard, though I am sure you have heard more. Tell me about yourself.”
The man was short, but stocky. His shoulder length hair was braided with silver thread, and the occasional spike of metal glinted from the brown matt. The sister thought for a moment, gathering herself up to talk fully to a man she barely knew.
Visitors were so very rare.
I listen, and I think. My life for the hospitalier.
The man nodded, a small frown crumpling his brow. He was evidently used to extensive details, and this was altogether unexpected.
Is there something else?
The man thought for a moment, then smiled as an idea pleased him. He put a hand into his full body plate armour, and pulled out a small necklace. He tossed it across the room to the Sister Superior, who didn’t move.
It landed noisily on the floor, tinkling like minute bells until it rested to a halt. The skull of the symbol grinned, emblazoned upon the infamous ‘I’ of the inquisition. The man waited for a response of shock, of delight. The sister made no move to acknowledge the medallions presence. He closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them.
You know that didn’t work. I expected more resourcefulness.
The man shrugged, at a loss for words. He sighed, unused to the feeling of a defeat, however small. He clicked his fingers and an acolyte thumped his way into the room, pushing a tall glass case in before him. The sister flinched at the noise that destroyed the purity of silence.
Then her eyes rested on the case, and the object inside it.
My faith is my armour, take that foul thing away.
“I hear you sister, but you must wear it. Faith defends you against trickery and witchcraft, but armour is essential for protecting against the machines of our enemies.”
She gave him a piercing glare.
I will wear this abomination, but know that I do so under protest.
He nodded, and the acolyte fumbled with a catch on the side of the armour. He eased the case open, and beckoned the Sister Superior forward. She nodded, removing her sash and letting her robe drop from her shoulders.
The acolyte gulped, reeling in his mind. The sister was bare, and he already felt arousal take him, but he had to remain focused, he couldn’t let the inquisitor see him as less than a man. He took the leather undergarment from the case, handing it to her. She slipped it on, then the pair of leather boots. A white hospitalier tabard covered that, clean but old and full of memories.
The acolyte helped her with the Aquilla breastplate, strapping it tightly round her shoulders. Over it all he placed a mantle, black ceramite cushioned by white cloth, with a waist length cloak flowing down the sister’s back. He nodded his appreciation to his master; the suit was indeed a work of art.
It’s vile.
The man shook his head roguishly.
“It’s beautiful. There is one other thing though sister.”
He took a dual sheath from his waist and handed it to her, giving her time to buckle it around her waist. She let it hang for a second, then spat.
Blades… how dare you.
“You will wear them, though you needn’t use them. When the time comes the decision will be yours.”
It is the one freedom that remains.
“I will see you later, after you have gotten used to the armour. Meet me here in an hour, I have things to organise.”
The story of a psyker, more must be read;
Pendulum; the tick of a greater clock
Part 1; the armour of faith
“Sister, your presence is requested.”
I know, how could I not? The words of our good lord spread like a holy plague, tell him I will arrive in a moment, and remind him that I may take some time.
“I hear you sister, but do hurry.”
I shall try.
The sister bowed, her robe creasing like parchment over her sash. She turned and left, tossing her light brown hair aside. Behind her the Sister Superior gently blew out a prayer candle, muttering quiet request for faith to her patron god. She turned on her bare foot and followed the battle sister out.
Her light feet were silent on the cold hard floor, and so the sound of the dripping filled the ladies ears, annoying her slightly. The monastery was riddled with damp, and it did no one any good. Sure enough it could be dealt with, but priority resided elsewhere.
The Sister Superior slipped a hand out of her habit, and quietly pushed open a thin wooden door. She slipped in through the gap, her hand sliding back into her robe. A pair of eyes turned their focus on the new arrival. There was a muttering, which twisted and swirled until the eddies created words.
“I was under the impression that you may be a little late.”
A thin smile grew on the sister’s face, a rosebud that didn’t quite flower.
I always leave room for the unexpected.
“I have heard, though I am sure you have heard more. Tell me about yourself.”
The man was short, but stocky. His shoulder length hair was braided with silver thread, and the occasional spike of metal glinted from the brown matt. The sister thought for a moment, gathering herself up to talk fully to a man she barely knew.
Visitors were so very rare.
I listen, and I think. My life for the hospitalier.
The man nodded, a small frown crumpling his brow. He was evidently used to extensive details, and this was altogether unexpected.
Is there something else?
The man thought for a moment, then smiled as an idea pleased him. He put a hand into his full body plate armour, and pulled out a small necklace. He tossed it across the room to the Sister Superior, who didn’t move.
It landed noisily on the floor, tinkling like minute bells until it rested to a halt. The skull of the symbol grinned, emblazoned upon the infamous ‘I’ of the inquisition. The man waited for a response of shock, of delight. The sister made no move to acknowledge the medallions presence. He closed her eyes for a second, and then opened them.
You know that didn’t work. I expected more resourcefulness.
The man shrugged, at a loss for words. He sighed, unused to the feeling of a defeat, however small. He clicked his fingers and an acolyte thumped his way into the room, pushing a tall glass case in before him. The sister flinched at the noise that destroyed the purity of silence.
Then her eyes rested on the case, and the object inside it.
My faith is my armour, take that foul thing away.
“I hear you sister, but you must wear it. Faith defends you against trickery and witchcraft, but armour is essential for protecting against the machines of our enemies.”
She gave him a piercing glare.
I will wear this abomination, but know that I do so under protest.
He nodded, and the acolyte fumbled with a catch on the side of the armour. He eased the case open, and beckoned the Sister Superior forward. She nodded, removing her sash and letting her robe drop from her shoulders.
The acolyte gulped, reeling in his mind. The sister was bare, and he already felt arousal take him, but he had to remain focused, he couldn’t let the inquisitor see him as less than a man. He took the leather undergarment from the case, handing it to her. She slipped it on, then the pair of leather boots. A white hospitalier tabard covered that, clean but old and full of memories.
The acolyte helped her with the Aquilla breastplate, strapping it tightly round her shoulders. Over it all he placed a mantle, black ceramite cushioned by white cloth, with a waist length cloak flowing down the sister’s back. He nodded his appreciation to his master; the suit was indeed a work of art.
It’s vile.
The man shook his head roguishly.
“It’s beautiful. There is one other thing though sister.”
He took a dual sheath from his waist and handed it to her, giving her time to buckle it around her waist. She let it hang for a second, then spat.
Blades… how dare you.
“You will wear them, though you needn’t use them. When the time comes the decision will be yours.”
It is the one freedom that remains.
“I will see you later, after you have gotten used to the armour. Meet me here in an hour, I have things to organise.”
