Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25684606-20180501184035/@comment-25684606-20180502141207

"An Inquisitor is second only to the Emperor, for their duty demands them to overrule all who stand in their way. One is inclined to think that a position of such power is inherently tempting, but they ought to keep in mind that it comes at the price of facing the worst the Galaxy has to offer." -Drill Abbott Godefrey Richelieu

The boy spoke rather quietly, forcing his listener to bow down a bit to fully catch his words. Even worse, his dialect of Gothic was rather odd, setting up an additional barrier for anyone listening in on their conversation.

As Walton announced his presence, the woman with the umbrella lifts the same, revealing her features. A woman, her face with a strict, straight nose, thin lips and dark gray eyes is framed by strands of foxy red hair escaping from the tightly knit bun on the back of her head. Gray streaks on her temples as well as faint wrinkles around her eyes and mouth indicate progressed age. Clad in a simple white leather jacket and black boots reaching all the way to her thighs, she had the unmistakenly aura of authority surrounding her.

"Blessings of the Emperor upon you as well. Welcome to Bolna Sott," she greeted them after giving each of them a brief glance. "I am Inquisitor Isidora Tenley. Follow me." With that brief introduction, she turned and left for the estate, the boy following her as the servants moved to unload the Aquila.

The late hour and rain obscured most of the scenery, giving away as little as a stone wall embracing the estate and the spacious garden distancing the landing platform from the house itself. Bushes were cut into vague, animal-like shapes and flowers made a futile attempt to raise their heads out of the mud they stood in. Over a roofed porch, you enter a ballroom, covering the entire length of the building. Several doors along the wall across from the entrance lead further into the building, while rows of thick-glassed windows open to the garden. Its original purpose suspended for the time, carpets rolled up and stacked on the wall reveal now scratchd and dirtied parquet. Squares lighter than the surrounding wallpaper mark the place of now lacking paintings, replaced with maps of various content, lists, photographs and timelines. The scenery is lit by electric chandeliers, their weak, sporadically flickering light supplemented by candles.

A dining table has been brought in along with several chairs on one side and a well-crafted wingback clad in soft leather on the other. Another map, depicting the whole landmass of Bolna Sott occupied most of it, later-added locations and traffic lines occasionally crossed out in black. Further space is taken up by a portable cogitator and a man in a wheelchair, his slender frame clad in a thick, checkered green robe. His features, though gaunt, are outstandingly beautiful, the only sight staining his fair skin and golden locks being two thick, segmented metallic tubes growing from his temples and disappearing over his shoulders behind the chair. He faces the window and the sunken posture indicates that he is asleep.

Inquisitor Tenley hangs the umbrella on a hatrack by the door, ridding herself of the leather jacket as well due to the pulsing heat in the room. Clad in a simple, green vest with a high collar over a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, it revealed her left arm to be bionic, though covered in elegantly curved, pearly white, gold-lined, ceramite plates. She takes off the thick brown leather gloves reaching to her wrists, tosses them on the table and sits down in the wing chair.

"Morce, a can of Recaf and cups," she addresses the boy, who promptly nods and leaves through one of the doors, mud and water left in his step. Then, the Inquisitor faces the group before her once more, making a gesture for them to sit if they so desired. "Take of your helmets, I want to see your faces." Directed at the Sisters and the Marine, Walton instead received an amused smile.