Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20161215224118/@comment-1734134-20170416000609

Your legs fail to heal - remaining weak and twisted. Much more worryingly, you realise they’re slowly beginning to join back together.

The Inquisitor bursts into a bemused laugh at your question, placing a hand upon his chest, wiping away tears for a second before finally, after at least a minute, composing himself,

“You may address me as Inquisitor Totenkinder.”

The suit case is lined with Imperial thrones - at least 50,000 - while the duffle bag is filled with enough Obscura to kill a grox,

“Now I’m here to offer you a deal - you can work for me - help me clean up the mess you made down there. We’ve got a month, maybe a month and a half tops, to get the fuck out of dodge before a twitchy Imperial fleet turns up. Now, if you do what I say, that’ll be plenty. If you don’t want to work with me, well, I’ll send you on your way. It’ll be as if none of this ever happened.”