Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25684606-20180501184035

"To the darkest corners of the Imperium and the soul of Mankind itself, that is where we must go, where heresy nourishes its foul roots in the fears and inadequacies of man." -Inquisitor Cordova, "Duties of the Holy"

The flaring red warning light, active ever since the Aquila Lander left the bay of the ship, suddenly jumps to yellow signalling that the machine passed Bolna Sott's outer atmosphere. It falls on crates filled with ammunition, rations and comm-equipment. The men and women destined to eventually make use of the cargo occupy 4 of the 6 seats 3 of them clad in heavy armor and 1 in robes. The 5th seat was taken by a human boy of perhaps 15 years, frail in physique but with a gaze betraying his age in experience. Pallid of complexion, with gray hair and similar eyes, he was clad in a thick, brown, double-breasted leather coat, clutching a green officers cap sporting the Imperial Aquila in his lap. He had spoken little so far, relaying to them the bare minimum of information that the Inquisitor awaited them on the planet's surface and they should keep their weapons ready.

From a straight dive, the flyer slowly alters its course horizontally as the howl of the engines subsides to a less ear-deafening level. Equally, the heavy shaking of its frame had faded away and eventually, the machine comes to a slow halt in mid-air, kept afloat by the engines built into its wings. Slowly descending, a short jar goes through the Aquila as it touches ground. The light jumps to green and the locks on the hatch spring open. A gush of cold, moist air floods into the pressurized cabin as the hatch slowly opens, the sound of rain slowly winning over the sound of the cooling engines.

Before anyone else, the boy had opened his belt, jumped to his feet and put on the cap as he headed down the still lowering ramp and out of the shuttle. He was greeted by a veil of thick, heavy rain, drumming on the Lander's roof and the circular rockcrete platform it stood on. Beyond the yellow lights lining the platform laid a small estate, two-storied, with rows upon rows of lit windows. It was a sturdy, low construction, lacking the high-reaching arches found commonly within imperial architecture. Nevertheless, it laid witness to the wealth of its owner.

Immediately outside the hatch stood 4 figures. Two of them wearing simple flark armor and carrying Lasguns and one woman clad in the long, brown dress of a servant stood close to the short, iron staircase that led up to the platform. The other one stood right at the foot of the ramp and carried an umbrella which obscured her features as she intently listened to the boy right in front of her. 