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Crucible of the Lily	By : SinfulWolf Category: +S through Z > Warhammer 40,000 Views: 4718 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Warhammer 40,000, and the characters within are property of Games Workshop. I do not own it, nor have any affiliation with it. I make no money from this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2: Grace of Scars
Ripped from sleep, Sarea sat up straight in her bed with a gasp. She clutched at her head, as the figments of her dream swirled through her mind. Strands of messy hair pushed between her digits as she looked at nothing through wide eyes. Instead, images of a woman, fair of skin and hair. Not one that Sarea recognized. But she had been perfect in her beauty, if not sad. Around her, had been only festering rot. Tangles of diseased flesh that leaked corpulent fluids. Among it all, a strange whisper she hadn’t understood, and strange runes.

Rubbing at her eyes, Sarea slipped from under her blankets and knelt before the Ecclesiarchal I on her wall. She pressed her hands against her chest with the thumbs cocked to form the aquila.

“Emperor, protect me with your holy light. Safeguard my soul against heresy and witchcraft. Guide us through the dark days to come, that we may evermore stand vigil in your name,” she said, and bowed her head towards the icon before her.

Slowly she got to her feet, her shift damp with sweat. She needed a bath. But, the runes still flickered in her mind.

~***~

The grand villa of House Doragat was like so many noble houses that Cornelius had visited through the many sectors he’d graced. He and his entourage strolled through the columned hall of the foyer, boots echoing off the walls as servitors scurried about to keep the place clean. One even followed in their wake to clean the traces of dust they'd brought in from outside. As always, Seth looked around with wide wondrous eyes at the expanse around him, though Cornelius just thought it reeked of decadence. But then, Cornelius himself had grown up in a home not so different from this; where mazes of corridors led to rooms unused, to show the wealth and influence of those who dwelled within.

Seth was born in a hive city. One among billions. Lost, until his parents turned him in for his awakening connection to the warp. From what he saw growing up, compared to this, it still shocked the poor lad.

Zaber seemed not to give a shit, as they walked ahead with their red cloak billowing around legs more machine than flesh. The enginseer’s mechanical eyes whirred and clicked as they looked around the foyer. Their omnissian power axe cracked against the floors as they strode just behind the inquisitor, and beside the small retinue’s psyker.

A door opened at the far end of the hall. Two women emerged. One in a green dress with a high collar. Gold chains with jewels hung around her neck, and rings adorned her fingers. She tried to hold a calm expression, but the Inquisitor knew the look of nervousness that pulled at her mouth and brows. In another life, Cornelius might have thought her beautiful. But all he saw was a woman too used to her position to truly value it. Cora Doragat, head of her house, and the reason Cornelius was here.

Beside her strode a stern faced middle aged woman. The sleek black of her leggings and corset contoured to her form beautifully, and was adorned in golden skulls upon the knees, and black fleur-de-lis embossments upon her stomach and bust. On her right hip was holstered a simple stub revolver, while a thick book was suspended on the left. White skirts flowed from her hips, and the rearward conical headpiece she wore. Atop it three candles flickered, her movements precise and controlled enough they were in no danger of being extinguished. This was Famula Advance Vivienne, sister of the Famulous Order of the Gate, attached to House Doragat.

The two women approached quickly, Cora’s fingers fidgeting even as she kept her head held high. Vivienne strode just a step behind the woman, her gaze flicking between all in the retinue. They stopped just before the inquisitor. When Cora spoke, her voice held none of the nervousness she displayed previously.

“Lord Inquisitor. A surprise, I did not realize that your Order was even on the planet,” Cora said.

“That was my intention,” Cornelius said, and caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in Sister Vivienne’s expression.

“Of course. I assume you are here to finalize investigations involving my... late husband,” Cora said, a hitch in her speech at the mention of the man. Cornelius raised an eyebrow.

“Your late husband, who you yourself reported, though quite a few months into your marriage. And by accounts he was a very dedicated cultist to certain… hedonistic practices. So I cannot help but wonder, with such a perverse man sharing your bed, how you have escaped the taint of corruption,” Cornelius said, and watched the colour drain from the woman’s face. Her chin lifted, and she narrowed her eyes in a token of defiance, but Cornelius didn’t care for her fear.

“We… did not consummate the marriage,” she said. At least she didn’t buy into the ‘it’s not your business’. All secrets were Cornelius’s business. But the statement had him raise an eyebrow. He glanced over to Sister Vivienne, who had likely carefully plotted the marriage, before learning of his heresy. She nodded in response.

“Well, Then you should have little to be concerned about. Truth be told, I am not here to converse with you, but the Ecclesiarchy’s own agent assigned to your house,” Cornelius said, and shifted his attention to Vivienne, who lifted the large book at her hip upwards to rest in the crook of her arm.

Cora blinked and regarded Viviene a moment with some confusion. A flicker of anger crossed her features, before she looked back at Cornelius. She gave a curtsy before speaking again.

“Very well. I shall leave you to your business then, Lord Inquisitor,” she said, and turned on her heel. She strode back from whence she came, soon vanishing behind the door into the expanse of her villa.

“Come Inquisitor. We have some things to discuss,” Vivienne said, adjusting the large tome resting in her arm.

Cornelius gave a nod, and found himself with his retinue following the Famula Advance through more corridors that boasted the wealth of this noble house. It reminded Cornelius of the higher tiers of the hive cities. Decadence and extravagance, whilst the lower classes struggled to stay alive. Not for the first time, Cornelius wondered how much corruption hid in plain sight with these people who claimed to uphold the Imperium. While millions others died on the frontlines against all manner of horror and traitors.

Soon, Vivienne led them into a modest room crammed with shelves of tomes, and scrolls carefully slotted into cubbies. Lighting was cast by candles hanging from chandeliers, and upon the desk against one wall. Two servo skulls floated throughout, their mechanical eyes scanning assorted tomes, small arms carefully wiping dust from spines and covers. At the back was a closed door that Cornelius assumed led to the sister’s personal quarters. The smell of incense filled the room, and Cornelius took note of a few burners hanging from the ceiling by chains.

“Your friends are quiet,” Vivienne said as she laid her book on the desk. Cornelius grunted in response, and Seth scratched at the top of his head. A few flakes of dried skin came away as he did. Zaber was studying one of the servo skulls, and was reaching out to touch it when they heard Vivienne’s comment, and instead stood to focus on the woman.

“We are not friends. I am merely assigned to the Inquisitor’s service,” their mechanical voice said, and Vivienne’s eyes narrowed towards the tech priest.

“Zaber is not one for casual conversation,” Seth said with a shrug, and Cornelius arched an eyebrow as he shot them both a glare. Seth sheepishly looked away, but Zaber just turned back to the servo-skull they’d been studying. With a grunt, Cornelius put his attention back upon Vivienne.

“They normally are. They are skilled however. Now, to the business at hand. Your transmission was secretive, and I arrived with what subtlety I could manage. But it will not be long before my presence is noted,” the Inquisitor said, and Vivienne nodded. She laid her book down upon the desk and opened it with reverence. Carefully she began to flip through the pages.

“Your presence is already known, I am sure. The lady of this house didn’t know, but that doesn’t mean the governor, or his wife, haven’t already been told of your being here. But, this is something I feel I can no longer trust my sisters with,” Vivienne said, and at that, Cornelius cocked his head to the side. The Sister began to scan through the names and notes upon the page before her.

“That is... unusual, To say the least,” Cornelius said.

“Very. But, this is why,” Vivienne said and tapped her finger upon a name. Cornelius frowned and looked at the Sister a moment, before he stepped forward and looked upon the open book. Beneath Vivienne’s finger was the name; Otto Doragat. By his name were notes on his family from some house Cornelius didn’t know, along with information he wasn’t sure was relevant.

“Lady Doragat’s late husband. The heretic,” Cornelius said, and stood back up.

“Yes. But the handwriting is not my own. Despite this being my tome. My records. Someone was tampering with my book some time ago,” Vivienne said and stood up straight. Her eyes flicked to the tech priest and psyker a moment, before settling back upon Cornelius. “Someone was trying to cover up Otto’s past; his ties. I grew suspicious, and of course went to my Sister’s about it, with varying degrees of concern. Only members of the Adeptas Sororitas Orders Famulous has access to this room.”

“Why did you not bring this to the Canoness of the Silent Lily?” Cornelius asked, looking back down at the book. He had studied Otto’s case before their arrival; his heresy, the investigation, his execution. Everything he knew about the man matched what was in this book. All further investigations had been based on information from that book.

“Of course I did. She does not believe a sister would tamper, and that the nobility must have sent in a professional. Inquisitor, our job may seem mundane, but we watch for heresy and corruption. And I fear it has come to Nxyate, but moreover... I fear the Silent Lily is willfully ignorant, or worse, complacent towards whatever foul taint is in the populace. I fear they may be compromised,” Vivienne said. Corenlius’s head shot up. Behind him Seth’s eyes widened, and even Zaber looked over with something akin to concern upon their features.

“That seems highly improbable,” Cornelius said, with Seth nodding vigorously behind him.

“Improbable is the term, Inquisitor. Not impossible. I specialise in history, you in secrets; we both know members of the Adepta Sororitas have fallen in the past. And some on a grander scale,” Vivienne said, and Cornelius sighed.

“If you are correct, it would be difficult to cover this one up, Sister,” Cornelius said. Vivienne nodded, and tapped on the book again.

“Something dark lurks here, in Artemia, and likely spread well beyond its borders. I suspect the play of Nurgle with this current plague, but Otto’s heresy matched with cults of Slaanesh,” Vivienne said, and made the sign of the Aquila upon her chest after saying those tainted names.

“I should have brought a bigger retinue. How sure are you of this accusation?” Cornelius said. Despite his choice in career, the number of heretics he had hunted down in the past, he was hesitant to start hunting within the ranks of the Adepta Sororitas.

“Sure enough to send a hidden message to the Inquisition. Not sure enough to start ringing every alarm bell. I need proof, and it’s been difficult to attain,” Vivienne said, and Cornelius let out a huff of a laugh as he turned away. He rubbed at his chin a moment, pondering this information.

“I’m guessing you’ve been poking about. Where should I start?” he asked then, examining one of the books stacked upon the shelf before him.

“House Ismail.”

“The governor,” Cornelius said, ignoring yet another of Seth’s shocked wide eyed gazes. He sighed; he had thought he’d gotten away from this corruption when he got out of the Hives.

“The governor. And Famula Advance Olea. She is the Senior Sister of our order on this planet, and she should have complete records, of all the nobility. Why we did not double check against her records when Otta went on trial, I do not know. I thought nothing of it at the time but...” Vivienne trailed off and looked down at her book. She ran her fingers over the pages, and sighed, before closing the book.

“Ever vigilant. I thank you sister,” Cornelius said, and tapped on the shelf before he turned and started towards the door.

Zaber turned immediately, but Seth frowned and stared at Vivienne for a few moments.

“What now, Sister?” he asked, and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Now, I turn in this stub pistol for a bolt pistol. The storm comes.”

~***~

The scent of the Preceptory’s archives always calmed Sarea’s nerves. The mixture of incense, smoke from the many flickering candles, and the old parchment swirled together into something that she could find peace in. She certainly needed it today, stepping through the doors and breathing deep that familiar scent. She paused only a moment just past the threshold, before walking down the room’s centre, weaving between the desks and podiums where Hospitallers and Dialogus Sisters in the dozens sat and studied.

Servo skulls floated among the tall shelves, constantly checking that tomes were in their proper place, or that they were in good condition. The whir of their grav systems mixed in with the scribbling of scratching quills and whispered conversations.

Sarea made her way towards the thirtieth row towards the back, and the fourth lane on the right hand side; where the books on disease and pestilence were kept, where many of her order spent their time in this room. She walked swiftly, but softly, not earning more than a glance from those around her. Most did not even glance up from the ancient texts they studied. She was about to turn into the row of shelves she was looking for when she heard her name called out.

Multiple heads shot up as another sister in the white veil of the Hospitallers quickly walked down the archive’s centre. A few shot her annoyed frowns, but most just immediately turned back to their studies. Sarea glanced down the shelves, towards where she knew the book she wanted was waiting, before looking back at the approaching sister.

“Sister Lucoya, were you looking for me?” Sarea asked once the woman was close enough.

“I was. I came here before I checked your quarters. Figured you might be here,” Lucoya said, the hint of a smile playing across her lips, but there were bags under her eyes. As there were with nearly all the hospitaller these days.

“What’s so urgent? Sister Mirira suggested we might find some answers in Abbess Anedes’ Essays on ailments of faith and flesh. And I was hoping to find something before I reported to the hospice,” Sarea said, and Lucoya nodded.

“You won’t be reporting to the hospice today.”

“Pardon?” Sarea blinked, confused by the statement. She stared hard at Lucoya, but the woman just nodded.

“You won’t be reporting to the hospice tonight. You’re to get whatever rest you need, and be sure you are in the infirmary for the eighteenth bell,” Lucoya said, and started to turn, but Sarea grasped her shoulder. The woman looked down a moment, and Sarea let go.

“I don’t understand. The hospice is overburdened, and understaffed as is. We’re all exhausted. I need to be there,” Sarea said, and Lucoya let out a sigh. Gently she reached out and took Sarea’s hands in her own.

“We’re all going to get more exhausted; the storm is coming. But the Emperor protects. You’re one of the best surgeons we have on planet, Sarea. You’ve been chosen to run the infirmary tonight, and possibly run the field hospitals depending on how bad it gets. There’s nothing you can do at the hospice, but we may well need you to save other lives these next few days.” Lucoya said, and Sarea sighed. She glanced back towards the bookshelves, before reaching up to rub at her brow. Lucoya offered a calm smile, and gently touched Sarea’s elbow. “Look at it this way. Least you won’t have to put armour on for awhile longer.”

“The Emperor provides,” Sarea said.

“Rest, we’ll need you. Now if you’ll excuse me Sister, I volunteered to take your shift at the hospice, so I must leave you.”

“Farewell, Sister. Take care of them for me,” Sarea told her, and watched as Lucoya turned and strolled from the archives, leaving her there wondering what to do with the free time suddenly on her hands.

She looked back towards the bookshelves. At the far end she saw one of the Dialogus Sisters walk past with a book clutched to her chest. As the woman quickly vanished from sight, Sarea thought of her dream. The images still lingered about her mind, floating through her consciousness.

The beautiful woman. The rot. The runes.

None of it seemed good, and Sarea was terrified what it might mean that they lingered in her dreams. In her mind. But they were there, and the rot made her think of one thing. One great foe.

Nurgle.

The common Imperial citizen may not know much of the taint of Chaos, but she was no common citizen. That the man yesterday had made comments commonly attributed to followers of the dark God of Pestilence, gave her pause once more; gave weight to her fears that this was no mere plague.

She turned on her heel and strode across the archives, towards a room in the back, guarded by a vigilant militant Sister. A Sister that watched Sarea approach through the violet lenses of her white faced helmet.

“Curia Advance,” the guard said with a nod of her head, shifting to block Sarea’s advance.

“Good morning, Sister. I request access to this chamber to follow theories on the plague. I very much wish to prove them false but... if they are not, we will need the knowledge contained within,” Sarea explained simply.

The militant watched her a moment, her face unreadable within that helmet, stance betraying nothing of her thoughts.

“A Dialogus sister is within. She may be able to assist you,” the guard said, and shifted back to her earlier position.

Sarea formed the sign of the Aquila and entered the chamber. The scent of incense grew stronger once she was beyond the threshold. There were far less books, but they were plentiful all the same. Walking amid the shelves was a single sister, an incense burning swaying by a silver chain before her. Smoke poured up from the carefully sculpted holes, and climbed upwards towards the ceiling. She did not so much as look up as Sarea came in. She walked in slow, measured steps, whispering prayers as she swayed the incense burner back and forth before her shins.

In the room’s centre were two desks pushed up to rest against one another. Atop them, candles flickered and empty parchment rested.

Stepping up to one of the shelves, Sarea’s fingers hovered over the spines of the carefully stacked tomes. Her eyes slid across the titles, foul words of daemons, cults, and the Gods of Chaos. She paused when she reached one that spoke of plagues and pestilence. Her stomach churned, but she carefully pulled the book from between the others. Leather rasped against leather, and she whispered a quiet prayer to herself before she continued along.

In moments, she had four books carefully piled in her arms. The Dialogus Sister still did not regard her, continuing her slow walk in circles around the room, continuing her prayers to the Emperor. Sarea sat herself at one of the desks, and gently set the books down near the edge. She pulled the first one towards herself and cracked it open.

The first page was dominated by Eccliesarchal warnings against the misuse of knowledge. Of the dangers that lay within the pages. Out of duty, Sarea carefully read these words, before turning the page and seeing the table of contents. There, a list of various maladies and illnesses that multiple sources had attributed to Nurgle over the years.

Carefully, she turned page after page, reading through many descriptions and symptoms. She looked over multiple grotesque diagrams drawn in exquisite and stomach churning detail. Nearly an hour later Sarea closed the book and leaned back. She rubbed at her eyes and fought off frustration.

She knew, logically, that one of her peers must have looked through these tomes already. That they had done the same searching she did. But, it was still frustrating to not have clear answers. At least she could cross such foul plagues as Nurgle’s Rot, the Zombie Plague, or The Death Dance. She stared at the closed book for a long moment, before she pushed it off to the side.

Reaching for the second book, her attention was taken a moment by another Dialogus Sister entering the room; a familiar looking girl, with a wild mess of red hair. Sarea couldn’t hold back her smile, realising she’d seen the girl in the dining hall the night before. Even now, Sarea wondered how the girl’s superior didn’t chastise her for the mess of her hair.

The girl strode purposely to one of the shelves and pulled off a pair of books. Without a pause, she turned and set them upon the other desk in front of Sarea. The Hospitaller got just a single look at the cover, and she frowned at the familiarity of it. The elegant symbol that was certainly not Imperial, and likely not even human.

“Excuse me, Sister, but... what is that?” Sarea said and pointed at the book’s cover.

The red headed Dialogus looked up and cocked her head a moment. There was something like annoyance in her eyes.

“Aeldari runes. I’m Gwyn, the Archives specialist on Xeno languages,” she said, and Sarea had to wonder if she added the last part defensively.

“Aeldari?” Sarea said, and looked down at the desk. At the blank parchment laying there. She grasped a sheet and pulled it towards herself, and soon found a quill. From memory she began to draw some of what she had seen in her dream.

“Eldar, if you will. Xeno perhaps, but useful to know their language,” Gwyn said slowly, then quirked an eyebrow as she saw Sarea scribbling. “What is that?”

For a moment, Sarea didn’t respond. She dragged the quill across the parchment and sketched what she was sure was a few of the runes that she remembered from her dream that morning. They looked similar to what Gwyn seemed to be studying. When she finished, she pushed the sheet across to the Dialogus.

The Dialogus frowned, gently turning the paper right side up as she peered at what had been drawn.

“Where did you see these?” she asked, eyes flicking up to Sarea. The Hospitaller met the gaze, even as she struggled to think of a lie. A lie that wouldn’t have the Inquisition knocking on her door. Or the order putting her under their own investigation.

“In my studies into this plague. Do you know what they mean?” Sarea said, and watched as Gwyn’s eyebrow tilted upwards once more. For a few heartbeats, she stayed like that, before the brow lowered and Gwyn once more looked at the sheet.

“Some. Others I’m sure I could find. But this one,” Gwyn said, and tapped at the first symbol Sarea had drawn. The one that had been strongest in her mind. “This one is for the Goddess Isha. The Eldar have many legends of her. While I am surprised to see Eldar runes appear in your investigations, it makes sense to see one of their Goddess of healing.”

“Goddess of Healing?”

“Among other things,” Gwyn said, running her finger along the bottom edge of the runes. “I am not overly knowledgeable of their legends, but that Isha appears makes me think the rest of this might hold more clues to your plague.”

Sarea had been afraid of that. She leaned back in her seat, and glanced over to the Sister still wandering the room while swaying the incense burner.

“Do you think you could discover the meaning for the rest of them?” Sarea asked, before turning her attention back to Gwyn. The Dialogus nodded in response, a hint of excitement in her eyes.

“I can certainly try. The archive’s chief librarian will be convinced to allow me to focus my studies if I tell her that it is helping your investigation. And this plague, with the storm, well... I think we need all the avenues we can find,” Gwyn said, and in a way, that reminded Sarea of Lyniah.

“Perfect. Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and follow my orders, and get some rest,” Sarea said and pushed back from the desk. Carefully, she collected her volumes on the ruinous powers and returned them to the shelves. This time, the wandering Dialogus stared intently, and scuried over to investigate each book as it was returned to the shelf.

The woman still said nothing, and Sarea tried to ignore her.

“Good luck; tonight will be messy I think, but I’ll find you if I discover anything,” Gwyn said from her desk, holding the drawings before her.
~***~
The explosive roar of a bolter echoed through the chamber. The familiar sensation of its recoil shook in Lyniah’s hands, as the spent casings shot out the side to clatter upon the floor. One hundred metres away, the bolts slammed into her human shaped target and exploded. Chunks of plaster flew away, leaving little remaining.

“Excellent Sister Lyniah. It seems your time away hasn’t degraded your skills,” Sister Superior Emiliah said as she lifted the visor on her helmet. Her ice blue eyes stared down the length of their firing range to the multiple destroyed targets.

The other sisters, none of whom Lyniah recognized, were all clearing their weapons, as Emiliah studied the results of their practice. She grunted a sound of approval as she noted the shots all having hit the upper torso or heads of the targets.

The sisters stood rigidly, waiting.

“Return to your chambers. Get some rest; tonight the storm strikes. We must be ready,” Emiliah said.

In a wave the sister’s let themselves relax; their shoulders releasing tension, eyes starting to wander, before lips curled into smiles and small laughs before rippling among them all. Each of them wandered by the targets, taking mental notes on their own shots, thinking of how to improve. One muttered about squeezing the grip too hard to herself, causing the shots to go more right than she had intended.

Lyniah looked at her own target, a sling now attached to her bolter and draped over one shoulder. She had her helmet tucked under the crook of her arm as she investigated the impact of her rounds. The others filtered out from the room, chatting among themselves as they made their way back to their dorm to get out of their armour and bathe.

Leaving Lyniah alone with Emiliah.

The woman was only a few years younger, but already had a touch of grey in her otherwise dark locks. She quietly walked up beside Lyniah and looked at the target for a long moment before turning to face her former leader.

“Feels strange, having you under my command,” Emiliah said, and Lyniah’s lips curled.

“You were about ready to take over your own squad when I was sent away. I’m glad to see you’ve done well. I only hope I prepared you enough,” Lyniah said, turning her head as she spoke.

“You did. Still, strange to have my former superior under my charge... a bit nerve wracking if I am honest with you sister,” Emiliah said, and Lyniah nodded slowly. She reached out andand gave Emiliah’s shoulder a firm squeeze. Though Emiliah couldn’t feel it through her armour, she still smiled.

“I will continue my lessons in humility. We are warriors of the Emperor. His burning blade in the darkness. This is my place for the moment, but I can give advice should you request. Or I can simply follow your commands,” Lyniah said softly.

In response, Emiliah pulled her former commander into a firm embrace. Their armour cracked softly as they held each other. Old friends, comrades in arms.

“I would appreciate it, Lyniah.” Emiliah said, and parted from the hug. “Now. Go get a bath, you stink.”

“Such is the way,” Lyniah said with a short chuckle as she turned towards the door. Emiliah’s responding laugh followed her out into the hallway as she started her way back towards the dormitories.

The sounds of her footsteps flowed in with the constant hymns that carried throughout the preceptory, interrupted occasionally by other sisters deep in training; whether by bark of bolter or thump of melee combat. This place never rested, and Lyniah took comfort in that. It all felt so familiar. Faces she’d not seen in years, sounds and smells that were so similar to her time with the Order of Our Martyred Lady, yet just different enough. The incense that drifted along every corridor just a hint sweeter. The praised Saints in hymns were not the same.

And nowhere was there the roar of an eviscerator.

That helped.

She stopped when she turned a corner, the door to her squad’s dorms in sight. Walking towards her down the hall, was Sarea. The hospitaller paused a moment, and the two stared at each other. Silently cursing herself, Lyniah started forward, and was happy that her former flame did the same.

“The others told me you’ve been working in the hospice. I thought you’d have been there already,” Lyniah said, and Sarea nodded softly.

“Day of rest for me. Preparation for the warp storm. They need me at the infirmary. I’m guessing you’re on rest too.”

Lyniah looked towards her closed door, behind which the remainder of her squad would all be stripped from their armour by the novices, and into the baths before they turned in. She looked back to Sarea and nodded. Sarea followed the look, and pursed her lips.

“Well. You need to bathe. My dorm is quiet right now, as most are sleeping already, or out at the hospice. Perhaps... you’d come with?” Sarea said, her nose crinkling as she said the first part. Lyniah let out a small huff of a laugh as she smiled, but her heart was pounding inside her chest.

“I’d like that,” she managed, a degree of calm that she wasn’t feeling inside.

“I’ll wait here for you then,” Sarea replied, gesturing towards the door.

Another smile, and Lyniah pushed in through the door. A few of her sisters were moving from their personal quarters to the shared bath, garbed in simple violet robes. The novices in their lilac tunics were all returning to their own quarters. Save the two that remained outside Lyniah’s own door, waiting patiently with heads bowed and hands pressed to their chests in the sign of the Aquila.

“Don’t tarry sister,” one of the battle sisters, Laurien, said with a soft smile and a nod. The others were all chatting quietly among themselves, as they moved into the bath chamber. Steam flowed outwards from the open door before it closed behind them all.

Lyniah headed to her own room, the two novices turning inwards and following her. As the door shut, the two of them began to whisper quiet hymns to the Emperor, and the many Saints of the Adepta Sororitas. One quickly lit an incense stick and set it upon a plate near the armour stand and bolter’s rack. With the scent soon wafting through the room, they turned to Lyniah. With practised skill, they began to carefully undo the latches of Lyniah’s power armour. Each piece they removed, they anointed with sacred oils, and carefully placed on the nearby stand. The cloth was carefully treated and folded before being placed upon a dias at the base of the stand.

Within moments, Lyniah stood in just her black body glove. The novices turned to face her, and bowed their heads once more. Their hands rose, glistening from the sacred oils, and formed the Aquila.

“Thank you, Novices. You may return to your other duties,” Lyniah said.

“As the Emperor wills, Sister,” they said in unison, before they turned and quickly shuffled from Lyniah’s room.

She was alone now, for the last of the rituals had to be done by her own hand. Lyniah fought the temptation to rush, as her heart beat for Sarea. But to forsake the machine spirit of the bolter led to the way of Chaos, and the Dark Prince.

She reached up to her sternum and turned off the power supply to her body glove. Almost immediately, she felt its weight press down upon her shoulders, as she reached up to her throat and eased open the glove down to her navel. It slid off her, gliding over her skin until she stood in her panties.

Laying out the body glove, she quickly found the simple robe the sisters wore to the baths and pulled it on. She then knelt and took a vial of oil from the front of her stand and dribbled them along the membrane of the garment. She whispered her rites as she did, calming the machine spirit in its slumber. When she finished, she set the glove on its dias beneath the stand and pulled out her bolter.

The process was careful, pristine. As it always was. As she laid the sacred weapon on its rack, she stood and adjusted her robe and found a pair of sandals. Quickly, she made her way back into the hallway, and soon found Sarea knelt by one of the many shrines embedded in the wall, forming the Aquila on her chest as she whispered prayers.

At the soft clap of Lyniah’s sandal, Sarea looked up. She said nothing of the time it took for Lyniah to prepare. She offered a smile instead, and carefully got to her feet and brushed the front of her robes off.

“You still stink. You need that bath,” she said, and Lyniah let out a short bark of a laugh. The sound carried down the corridors as Sarea began to lead them towards her own dormitory. They moved in silence, the thump of Sarea’s boots and Lyniah’s sandals blending with the occasional hymn.

When they reached the hospitaller dorm, Sarea led the way inside. It was quiet; no novices, no other Sisters. Just a peace that Lyniah hadn’t felt for some time. She stood in the middle of the common area, soaking in the silence before Sarea tapped her shoulder.

“Baths are over there. I’ll be in shortly,” she said, pointing to one of the closed doors.

Lyniah nodded, and watched her old flame go to her own personal quarters. The urge to follow pulled at her heart, at her loins, but she resisted the temptation. Once Sarea was out of sight, the lure of the bath set in, and Lyniah quickly went for the door.

The room beyond was white and pristine. Columns decorated with carvings of flowers, ivy, and skull-faced cherubs lined the sides of the inset bath. Steam rose up from the clear waters, and the scent of lilacs and vanilla washed over her senses. Lyniah breathed it in slowly, and kicked off her sandals. She untied the belt of her robes and pulled the garment back until it fell off her shoulders and down her arms. It hit the ground without ceremony as she stepped into the bath and closed her eyes.

The water’s heat soaked into her flesh, and she waded out until the water was up to her chest. She moved to one of the alcoves, where bottles of shampoo and bars of soap rested for use.

When the door opened and Sarea stepped in, Lyniah’s hair was slathered and hidden under a layer of suds. Soapy water ran over her shoulders in white rivulets as she looked up at her old lover.

Sarea stood at the edge of the bath, a blush creeping across the warm olive of her nose and ears. Her fingers rested at the belt around her waist as she looked down at her toes. Lyniah didn’t say anything; she could only imagine the turmoil running through the woman’s heart.

After a moment Sarea pulled open her belt and let the bathrobe fall open. Lyniah’s heart fluttered as her eyes drank in the exposed skin, the robe just barely covering the other woman’s breasts. She stood there a long moment, and Lyniah was intently aware of the suds running over her own skin. She felt silly standing there, just watching. A moment she’d craved for five years and she could only stand and stare.

Sarea looked just as Lyniah remembered. Memories of stolen moments flickered across her mind as the Hospitaller stood there.

“It never used to be this awkward,” Sarea said, and pulled her robe off the rest of the way. Lyniah felt her breath hitch as Sarea stepped down into the bath, until the water gently lapped against her chest. She moved slowly towards Lyniah, who still stood agape. The flush on Sarea’s features remained. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it,” Lyniah said, and took a breath. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment. I never truly believed I’d get to have it again.”

Lyniah wrapped her arms around Sarea, and pulled her close. The press of skin beneath the water emboldened her. She felt confidence slithering back into her mind as her hands settled on Sarea’s hips. Sarea looked up, her soft brown eyes belying the steel that lined the woman’s soul. Slowly, Sarea lifted her hands and cupped her old lover’s face. Her touch was soft, and Lyniah wanted to lose herself in that comfort, but she could not bear to look away. Not even when a mischievous grin curled the woman’s lips.

“You, should get clean first,” Sarea said.

The words spiked through Lyniah’s daze. She blinked, trying to figure out what they meant before those hands were on her shoulders. A heel was pressed to the back of her knee. Lyniah’s eyes widened as she was pushed back, and plunged into the waters.

From below she saw Sarea laughing as swirls of soap and shampoo curled around her. For a moment she floated, tendrils of her hair swaying above her. When she stood, Sarea’s laughter became crystal clear, while water poured down Lyniah’s face. With a sweep of her arm, Lyniah sent a wave of water crashing over Sarea, and the hospitaller started laughing harder.

Surging forward, Lyniah’s hands found Sarea’s hips again and cut her laugh off. She pushed the Hospitaller against the edge of the bath, and was faced with an expression she had dreamed of many nights over the past five years. There was a smoulder in those eyes now, and Lyniah darted in to claim Sarea’s lips.

They felt as she remembered; soft and hungry. Those beautiful lips soon parted, and Sarea’s tongue darted forth. Her hands curled around Lyniah’s body and pulled her tighter. Water splashed over their necks as skin pressed to skin. Their tongues danced while their lips caressed, fingertips reacquainting themselves with the form of the other.

Lyniah pushed her hand into the small of Sarea’s back. Her knuckles dragged against the tiles of the wall as she felt the smooth skin beneath the water. Lower her touch descended, over the curve of her lover’s hip, along the back of her thigh, before Lyniah pulled gently. Sarea didn’t resist, and lifted her leg to press against Lyniah’s form. A soft groan came from both women, and mingled in their kiss.

Leaning further in, Lyniah pinned her lover against the wall. Her breasts pressed tight to Sarea’s. Teeth pressed hard against her lips, and she grasped the back of the other thigh. Sarea planted her hands against the tiles behind her, and lifted her hips. Both legs wrapped eagerly around Lyniah as water splashed around them.

Lyniah moved one hand back up Sarea’s thigh, and between them. The tip of her finger glided between her petals, parting them as their tongues continued their dance. Twisting her hand, Lyniah pushed her thumb against the Hospitaller’s clitoris. A hungry moan pushed up from Sarea’s throat and into their hungry kiss.

For long moments they stayed like that. A strain built in Lyniah’s forearm, but she didn’t relent. Sarea’s hips bucked forward, her moans growing hungrier. Her heels dug into the back of Lyniah’s legs, until a wave of pleasure cascaded through her. Lyniah could feel it. The clench of nails in her back. The stillness of Sarea’s tongue between their lips. Just as it had been years before.

When their lips broke away, and Sarea’s legs unfolded, the two stayed pressed together. Their arms wrapped around one another as they felt the skin and beating heart of the other. Lyniah shivered, Sarea’s breath cool against wet skin in the crook of her neck. She dared not pull away. Dare not break their touch lest it shatter and she woke up alone, this being yet another dream.

“I still love you too,” Sarea’s voice was soft. She pulled Lyniah’s head down. A soft press of lips to her forehead. Slowly, Sarea glided her hands downwards. Beneath the waters and over Lyniah’s form to her thighs. “And I’m not going to let you go untended. That’d be rude for our first time back.”

Lyniah chuckled, while her lover slid in behind her. Pressed against Lyniah’s back, Sarea placed soft kisses along her neck, her shoulder. She dragged her tongue from collarbone to jaw. It drew low moans from Lyniah, as hands encircled around her. One around her chest to gently cup a breast. A slow squeeze of fingers into soft flesh had Lyniah leaning her head back and letting out a low moan.

Sarea let her other hand slide downwards. Over the ripple of abs and between her thighs. A single finger passed over the woman’s clit, and her hips pushed forward with need. Sarea stopped, the heel of her palm pressed tightly against Lyniah’s groin. With a firm pull, the woman’s rear pressed tightly against Sarea’s pelvis.

“Calm, my love. We’ve both wanted this... enjoy yourself,” Sarea whispered, before her tongue curled under the battle sister’s ear. She pulled the shell between her lips and teased with teeth as her tongue glided over the trapped flesh.

The fingers at Lyniah’s breast pulled in until they pinched a nipple, while Sarea curled the other digits to slide two inside her lover. Rewarded with a sharp gasp, the Hospitaller kissed and licked her way down the slope of Lyniah’s neck and along her shoulder. Soft sighs spilled from the militant’s parted lips, while Sarea dragged her fingers up along Lyniah’s slit. Up to pinch her clilt and earn a sharp gasp.

Pushing her hips back, grinding against her lover, Lyniah reached over her head and slid her fingers through Sarea’s hair. She left herself exposed, open to the Hospitaller’s touch, her lips, her tongue. Sarea groaned against skin as her fingers pleasured the battle sister. Worked her higher, until she felt the shake of knees under the water. Heard the loud moans that coursed out as Lyniah succumbed to her orgasm.

Sarea held her tight, clutched her in a warm embrace. She listened to every sound, felt the drag of fingers against her scalp, until one of those hands grasped her wrist. A small mewl spilled free from Lyniah’s lips. A mewl that Sarea had dreamt of many times over these past few years. To hear it again, as the curtains of lust began to pull away, she felt the tears gathering in her eyes. She pulled her hand from between Lyniah’s legs, and away from her bust.

She held her tight, and rested her head against the back of her neck. Tears slowly fell, before Lyniah’s thumb gently ran across Sarea’s knuckles.

“Let’s get to your quarters before we’re caught, eh?” Lyniah said softly, and Sarea nodded, her nose rubbing against her lover’s spine.

Reluctantly, they slowly split from each other, and took a moment to wash themselves. They emerged from the water and took towels from the nearby shelf. After drying, they tossed the towels into a hamper for the novices to clean as part of morning chores.

Hand in hand, the two moved through the common room toward Sarea’s quarters. Shedding their robes, they climbed onto the small bed, their bodies pressed tight, yet barely staying on the mattress. They lay there in quiet for several long heartbeats, each listening to the breath of the other. Lyniah gently held Sarea’s hand, and continued to brush her thumb across the Hospitaller’s knuckles, head laid upon her breast.

There was comfort in the touch of bared skin. In the slow rise and fall of Sarea’s chest.

A touch to the pink puckered line over Lyniah’s shoulder had her twitch. Sarea’s fingertips paused in their exploration for a heartbeat before it continued once again.

“This is new,” Sarea said softly.

“Some Ork knife. Got that the same day of my redemption in the Ecclesiarchy’s eyes,” Lyniah said softly, closing her eyes as those fingertips slid across her back. They brushed the skin over her shoulder blades, before finding the patch of mottled scar tissue.

“And, this?” Sarea asked, slowly tracing along the maimed flesh.

“Plasma round, from traitor guards. Hit a tank behind me, a few drops splashed on me. All it took. That one went deep... most of the bone underneath had to be replaced,” Lyniah whispered.

Sarea looked down to see a smattering of other scars across Lyniah’s back, and along her arms. She remembered seeing others on her chest and stomach in the bath as well. With ghosting fingertips, Sarea drew her hand back upwards and felt Lyniah’s soft sigh against her breast before she was stroking the woman’s hair.

“I can’t lose you again,” Sarea said softly, and Lyniah’s brushing thumb paused for a moment. She looked upwards.

“You’ll never truly lose me. I fought my way across the galaxy once, and I’d do it across the warp as well. I’ll always find you,” Lyniah said, and lifted those knuckles to her lips.

In the silence that followed, Sarea stared at the ceiling. The warp storm was coming, the plague was here; what new Hell would come for them next? What would try to take her Lyniah away again?

She closed her eyes, but the tears fell anyway.
~***~

The city reeked. The filth of Mon-Keigh industry, mixed with foul plague. Death clung to the air, and despite the mask over her lower face, Belmae could smell it all. It was an assault on her senses, as she crouched upon a roof and watched the naive humans below skittering through their lives. Above, the warp storm was beginning to utterly dominate the sky as it grew ever closer. Flashes from beyond the veil of reality slashed through its mar upon the otherwise beautiful night sky.

Because of that, or because of their own arrogance, none of the soldiers looked upwards.

After nearly a day in the city, Belmae had her first lead on some of the Mon-Keigh cultists. Cultists dedicated to She Who Thirsts. And her target walked along the street below, blissfully unaware of what stalked him. Clad in seemingly good quality human garb, he carried himself with the kind of narcissism that Belmae felt most of the Imperial nobility had. Minor or otherwise.

Tightening the sling on her ranger long rifle, Void Dawn, Belmae moved along the edge of the rooftop. Silent in the early afternoon, keeping low to prevent a silhouette, she got to the edge of one building, and easily leapt over a narrow gap to the next. Swiftly, she moved building to building, until her target paused and turned towards the very house she was crouched atop.

The guards at the front doors snapped to attention, even as the nobleman ignored them and strode inside. She knelt at the edge of the roof, peering downwards as the doors closed behind the man. The house was well made in human eyes; large, though of no real comparison to the estates of the higher nobles that seemed to rule over this world.

She waited a few long moments, but the man didn’t emerge again. It was time to take a peek inside.

Jumping over the edge of the roof, Belmae dropped to the window one story downwards. Her fingers caught the top of the frame, her toes on the sill. One hand already had her shuriken pistol drawn and aimed through the gold decorated glass, but no one was within. At least, no one she could see.

With a twist of her feet for better purchase, Belmae crouched and released the top of the frame. Slowly, her fingers sought for a latch, a seam, anyway she could get inside. It took longer than she would admit to find, but she soon had the door open and slipped into what appeared to be a bedroom. The bed was gaudy and far too large for one man, or even one man and a partner. But, this particular Mon-Keigh was a worshipper of She Who Thirsts. Of course the bed was overly large.

On the balls of her feet, Belmae moved in silence through the bedroom. She pulled out a knife strapped to her boot. She preferred the range of Void Dawn, or her sister’s power sword strapped across her back, but the knife would do for the tight confines.

At the bedroom door she paused and listened. Outside, she heard voices; a man, and a woman, though not clear enough to make out what they were saying. Soon they were cut off by what sounded to be a door. She suspected the man’s voice was that of her target. That he was with someone else was inconsequential.

They were only Mon-Keigh after all.

Carefully opening the door, Belmae peeked out into the hallway. Down the plush carpetted corrdidor was another room. Standing outside was one of their guards, las rifle held loosely in his hands, clad in all black with a flak jacket and cap. He was watching away from the bedroom, towards a flight of stairs leading downwards.

Belmae didn’t hesitate. Keeping low, she ran forward, her footfalls making not a sound. The guard’s brow creased as she got close, the man starting to turn only for the point of the Aeldari’s blade to slam into his throat. His windpipe severed, he gasped for breath with wide eyes. With a swift swipe of her blade, Belmae ripped out the side of the guard’s neck, spraying blood in an arc up the wall.

With a twist she moved behind him, and guided his body to the floor. Crouched above him, she listened for any others as he wheezed and desperately grasped at his throat. Within heartbeats, he was still, and all Belmae could hear was the muffled voices inside the room. Somewhere down the flight of stairs, she heard new footfalls, but they quickly faded.

Good. She wanted the bodies to be found, in hopes to stir the rest of their cult, but now quite yet.

Turning her attention back to the door, Belmae pressed her ear against the cool metal. She could hear the two voices within, and concentrated to hear their words.

“So tonight then. We’re being invited to the Governor’s estate tonight,” the feminine voice said, and Belmae heard the clink of glass.

“Yes. Just in time for the storm to hit. Perhaps the mysterious master finally plans to overthrow the governor,” the masculine voice said. Belmae’s target. She flexed her grip on both her knife and pistol.

“About time. It’s exhausting placating the corrupt followers of the corpse god,” the feminine voice said with a heavy tinge of annoyance.

“Agreed. And from what I hear, the mysterious master still plans on the sacrifice. The dark prince will be pleased,” the target said.

“He shall. A shame about the necklace, though,” the feminine voice said.

So, they did not know the cult leader. But... there was going to be something at the governor’s estate tonight. It was something to go off of at least. Perhaps this noble knew more cultists that would lead her in her mission.

With a slap to the door’s control button, the cold metal slid open. Belmae rose to her feet and moved inside, quickly examining the room in the matter of a heartbeat.

It was a salon of sorts. A few scattered sofas with small tables beside them. A large window looking out over the city, and old paintings of noble looking Mon-Keigh staring down at those in the room. A large cabinet against one wall was filled with bottles of what Belmae assumed to be alcohol, and glasses. Her target was standing by the window, a glass filled with a rich golden brown fluid held gently in one hand. The woman was standing not far away, clad in a dress of shimmering purples and oranges swirling together. The cut was off one shoulder, and deep enough to keep a single breast exposed. A silver ring adorned with the sigil of She Who Thirsts was punched through the bared nipple. Her hand clutched at a beautiful silver necklace with a bright red jewel that immediately caught Belmae’s eye.

The woman turned her head, long curly brown hair bouncing about her shoulders. Her eyes widened as she saw the Aeldari ranger. Belmae’s pistol was already levelled, and with a gentle squeeze of the trigger, she let forth a burst.

The man flinched as the shurikens ripped through the woman. Blood spattered on the window behind her as she stood in place. Fine lines of blood opened on her temple, and cheekbone. Her left eye had burst, and the juices within spilled down her cheek as she collapsed to the floor.

Slowly the man turned to see his attacker, and he frowned at what he saw.

“Did not expect to see a Xeno witch,” he said, his eyes flicked to the cabinet, where a las pistol rested still in its holster.

Belmae fired once more, a shuriken cutting through the man’s knee. He let out a shout of agony as the mono molecular shard cut through bone and tendon, and fell to the ground. His drink spilled across the carpet, while he grasped at the wounded joint.

“Answer my questions Mon-Keigh. I’m looking for your master... so who passes information from the cult?” Belmae asked as she walked towards the woman’s corpse. Her blood was flowering through the carpeting, spreading as it soaked into the fibres.

“The Dark Prince will take you Xeno. Why fight him?” the noble man said, and Belmae raised an eyebrow, before lifting her pistol and shooting the man’s other knee. Another scream ripped from his throat. Someone would hear that soon, Belmae did not have much time.

“Answer the question,” she said as she stood above the dead woman. With her toe, she kicked the body over and knelt to examine the necklace.

As she feared, the jewel was a soul stone. Held by these degenerates. But... why keep it intact?

A soft click caught her ear. Her head snapped over to the man laying a few paces from her. He was holding the cuff of his jacket near his mouth.

“Guar-” his shout was cut off by another burst from her pistol. The rounds cut through skull and brain easily. Now she had no time, and the bastard hadn’t given her any answers.

Sheathing her knife, Belmae yanked the necklace off the woman, the thin chain snapped easily. She started towards the door, drawing her sword, when it snapped open. Two guards in black flak armour charged in with las rifles shouldered.

They hesitated to take in the sight; Belmae did not. A swipe of her sword took the arm off one as she fired ten rounds through the chest of the other. The man collapsed, choking on blood while the other screamed grasping at his stump. Another was in the hall.

Belmae twisted and snapped her sword across the armless man’s throat. His blood spattered across the floor as the man outside fired shots into the room. The smell of burning ozone invaded Belmae’s senses as she kicked the dying armless man out into the hall. The body hit the new guard’s knees and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Belmae burst out into the hall and fired without truly looking.

There were three more out there. Shurikens tore through two, their bodies collapsing as the third scrambled for cover in the stairwell. Belmae didn’t wait, and ran back towards the bedroom. Behind her, she heard a metallic click, and a thump. A glance showed her the grenade, and the still living guard in the hallway screamed.

The Ranger dived into the bedroom as the grenade went off. The concussion sent debris flying into the room, and chunks of bodies. Fragmentation peppered the walls as Belmae’s ears rang. She worked her jaw and scrambled to her feet.

Las shots snapped around her, one sizzled just past her face. They bunched into the walls leaving blackened holes in their wake. She sheathed her sword as she ran across the room while a las shot skimmed the top of the nearby bed. The blankets atop it burst into flames.

Belmae stepped up onto the sill and spun. One hand grasped the frame above before she fired back into the room. A guard storming through the door had his face torn to shreds, and he slumped dead to the floor. A few more shots that dug into the walls, and Belmae heard the other Mon-Keigh shouting in their crude tongue.

She leapt upwards, and pulled herself up in one motion. Her feet scrabbled at the wall before she managed to grasp the edge of the roof. Below her, a few las shots snapped out the window, and hit the building across the street.

Holstering her side arm, Belmae hauled herself up onto the roof. Down in the streets she heard more yelling while she took a moment to examine the necklace still clutched in her hand. The chain and silver clasp of the soul stone were scuffed now, but Belmae just stared at the brilliant red jewel.

A fully intact soul stone. She could even feel a presence within. She was surprised that a cultist of She Who Thirsts would keep such a thing. She knew the cults here had some, she just didn’t believe it’d be given to such low standing members. But why intact?

Then she thought of what the two were talking about; the sacrifice.

Belmae hastily shoved the necklace into one of the pouches at her hip and took off at a run. Whatever else might be happening here, she had to get to the governor’s estate. Before who knows how many of her people were sent to that vile bitch of the warp.

~***~
The music was a single violin being played by a naked woman. Her skin glimmered in the low lighting as she concentrated on her art. On its perfection. Her shadowed eyes were closed, as she ran the bow across the strings. The perfect notes filling the room.

Elaine was hungry for more. Craved more of those perfect notes to grace her ears, but she knew she could not before the party, less she ruin it for herself. So the violinist would have to do, for the moment.

She lounged back on a plush sofa, clad in a silk shawl and sarong of bright blue that hid nothing. Her legs were parted, with Olea laying between them. Clad in boots and corset once more, the corrupted Sororitas gently ran her tongue over her mistress’s slick folds. Her fingertips gently caressed along Elaine’s thighs, while she savoured the flavours of lust.

One of Elaine’s servants stood above her, naked save the choker around her neck, and the bright purple ribbons tied around her arms. The servant held a cluster of rich green grapes in one hand, and carefully plucked them from the vine. One by one she presented them to her mistress, pressing them between Elaine’s lips and grazing her fingertips over them.

Her husband’s pacing she ignored. Until he spoke.

“This, plan. This party. It is too risky. We have become as strong as we are because we have been careful. Most of those on the invitation list do not even know you are their mistress. Many will think with the rhetoric that you’ve spread, that they are here to kill you,” Markus said as he turned on his heel and proceeded back again. The bore was even still wearing all his clothes.

“They may try, and if they do, they will fail. We have planned for this, the time to overtly rule is now. Much of the militia is loyal to us, and my daughter’s machinations will bear fruit among the Sisters. The... Order of the Silent Lily will be my coven,” Elaine replied, stroking Olea’s hair as the corrupted Sister continued to work her tongue. The silken feel of her hair made the governess smile, before she parted her lips for the next grape. She ensured to drag her tongue over the servant’s finger, eliciting a small moan.

“Then why do we not wait for the entirety of the order to fall? They seem to be your linchpin,” Markus said, his fingers flexing behind his back. Elaine sighed, and pulled Olea tighter to her cunt. She let out a small moan as the fallen sister’s tongue delved deep.

“Because that is time I am not willing to spend. Their faith is iron. Those that have fallen will convert more to our righteous cause in the crucible of battle. Most though, will simply have to be swept aside,” Elaine said, and accepted another grape. When the servant went to pull her hand away, Elaine grasped her wrist and held it there, sucking on her fingers. Elaine enjoyed the flush that crept over the woman’s face, and ever so slowly allowed those fingers to come free.

“So. We go through with this then? Drop the charade and openly worship?” Markus said, his pacing finally coming to a halt. It took some effort for Elaine to pull her eyes from the gorgeous servant standing above her.

“Cadia is a memory, the great rift rends the Imperium, and they are beset from all sides. All we need do, is wipe out the loyalists during this storm, and keep up pretences with tithes and any dignitaries. Though, we are remote, so I doubt we’ll have many. And from there, our influence can grow. Expand. All we need do, is pretend we are not rebelling,” she said, and looked upwards again. Obediently her servant provided another of the grapes, while Olea hungrily lapped at her mistress’s cunt. “The end is still a distant vision. But after ten thousand years, I think a few hundred more will not end us.”

“Indeed,” Markus said, his eyes falling to Olea’s rear, savouring its motions.

“Besides, husband. You should be thinking of where you will end this edging session. I see you staring,” Elaine purred, her leg curling to drag a heel up the back of Olea’s thighs and dragged over her ass. Markus grunted, stared a moment, then allowed a smirk to shift his dour expression.

“Her,” he said, lifting his gaze to the servant. “Her mouth.”

At that Elaine smiled warmly, and reached upwards to gently grip her servant’s jaw. Her thumb grazed the woman’s lips, and she was pleased to feel the flicker of tongue on her skin.

“Excellent choice. Her lips certainly know how to service a cock. As does her tongue, and her throat,” Elaine said, watching the look of pride on the servant’s face as those words spilled into the air. “Though, I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I’ve taken my pleasure from her before,” Markus said, coming closer. His fingertips ran along the back of Olea’s calves, but his eyes were locked on the servant.

The door opened, and Markus spun with anger in his eyes. Elaine cocked her head, and raised an eyebrow as she watched a modestly dressed woman shuffle into the room. A quick glance showed the symbol of House Doragat upon her chest.

“Most curious,” Elaine said, her hand idly dropping to the side of her sofa. Her fingers wrapped around the grip of a las pistol hidden there. “What brings you, uninvited to these chambers?”

“I... Mistress,” she said, and curtsied, before quickly opening her blouse to display the marks of Slaanesh tattooed upon her flesh, and pierced through her nipples. “Your head of staff said you would be here. I have most urgent news.”

Markus glanced over at his wife.

“Urgent news she says. Your rules my dear, are being broken. Despite... our plans, we cannot be so reckless. Even now,” he said, and Elaine nodded. She would have words with her head of staff. Despite this woman’s display of loyalty to the Prince of Pleasure.

“Yet. I do not know you my dear,” Elaine said, and lifted her pistol. The servant at her side shifted, no longer feeding grapes, but instead massaging her mistress’s shoulders. The stranger from House Doragat paled at the muzzle aimed at her stomach. “So. I suggest you explain yourself.”

“My... true mistress is currently between your legs my lady,” the woman said, and Elaine barked a laugh. She gently slapped Olea’s cheeks, and the fallen sister lifted her head. Her lips, nose, and chin glistened from the pleasuring she’d been visiting. Olea turned her head to regard the woman.

“One of my spies. To keep an eye on my... Sister stationed there,” Olea said, and Elaine grabbed the fallen sister’s hair, and forced her back downwards. To bathe noble cunt in zealot tongue once more.

“Most interesting. A spy I was unaware of. Quickly now, tell me what you have to say,” Elaine said, and the spy curtsied again.

“Sister Vivienne suspects her books were tampered with. When the Inquisitor went to visit Lady Doragat this morning, Sister Vivienne pulled him aside to speak in private. I was unable to hear their entire conversation but... I was able to hear enough to know that they suspect this House.”

Elaine lowered her pistol, and sighed. She wrapped her legs around Olea, and gripped her hair tight.

“Is that all?”

“No. They, will be coming here. They believe you a suspect.”

“It is annoying, that another’s competency would threaten my position. Thank you young lady, this has been most helpful. Olea my dear,” Elaine forced the sister’s head upwards. Oh she looked gorgeous with the juices smeared over her face. “This is a problem. The inquisitor I believe, will not be long before coming here. It is earlier than I’d hoped but... he is to be removed, along with his entourage. Frame it, we will need but a few hours before the storm strikes and it does not matter anymore.”

“Of course Mistress,” Olea purred, and when Elaine let go of the sister’s hair, Olea dipped back down.

“No Olea... the time to prepare is now.”

Olea lifted herself up, and pouted, but quickly gave an obedient nod. She turned, and walked away, while Elaine looked out the window. Towards the rapidly approaching storm.

“It seems the need for caution arises again my dear Markus. We shall keep ourselves separate from this. But have your men ready. We must strike tonight.”
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Crucible of the Lily