Eyes In the Darkness -- The Fate of Ataraxis

[Christoph]

A new millennium looms ominously on the temporal horizon. Even as the planet of Corrinth vies for sector leadership, ruins still clog many streets in their capital city, with gang and cult activity running rampant in the recently-dubbed “Rubble Town”. When planetary Governess Ethena Ralteon petitioned the Planetary Inquisitor Silas Vern for additional assistance, a number of other Inquisitors answered the call. Some arrived with great pomp and spectacle, to better strike fear into the hearts of the defiant. Others crept silently onto the planet, unknown even to the Corrinthian government.

Among them came Malachi Klightus of the Ordo Hereticus, one of the youngest Inquisitors in the sector. While acting under instructions from the High Inquisitor Council of Ataraxis to extinguish rogue psyker and cult activity at its sources, Malachi also pursues other more inscrutable goals.

As player-characters, you will form Cell Epsilon in Malachi’s organization, an established team in his service, but not yet fully trusted. You will begin on Corrinth, investigating various heretical activities and shady organizations. Your focus begins on the illicit movement of rogue witches off the planet, as well as the mysterious disappearances of Sanctioned Psykers. Things are rarely as they seem, and Inquisitor Malachi Klightus shrouds his true motives.

What follows is a story full of twists and turns, mystery and excitement. Experience the corrupt politics of the Noble Houses and explore the darkest underbellies of Imperial civilization. Sinister machinations move within the Inquisition itself, and soon the characters will find themselves embroiled in a far deeper conspiracy.

Prologue: Dark Minds

011.999.M41; 03:10; Rubble Town

It was far too cold and late to wait for someone in Rubble Town, the still-festering pit of Corrinth’s capital. Distant thunder rumbled in the sky and shadows seemed to seep from the alleys like ink. Garvel hated being out after dark in such a wretched place on the best of nights, and this night was one of the worst. He didn’t need to be a psyker to feel the desperate misery bubbling up from the cracked foundations and ruined habs. Worst of all, she was late.

Frigid rain stung his face as Garvel crept back and forth between shattered walls and wrecked vehicles, clinging to the abundant shadows. He shot frequent glances at an old Imperial Chapel, the only structure within fifty kilometers that lacked so much as a broken window, let alone with functioning lights. How had it survived the Chaos attack? Others skittered about in the darkness as well. ‘Rubble Scum.’ He reached out with his mind, tasting the echoed thoughts of these degenerate, deviant, and desperate people, all reaching for the light yet afraid to let it touch them.

He checked his pocket chronometer before slipping deeper into the gloom -- it had long since reached the witching hours, too late for even the normal disreputable inhabitants of Rubble Town to be out. Yet there he was, lurking like a rat and ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes for a face he hadn’t seen in nearly two years. He would do anything for her, no matter what trouble she had found. If just to see her face again.

Footsteps echoed suddenly through the rain. Garvel almost revealed himself, thinking that she had finally arrived. They sounded too heavy, too… certain. He peaked out from his hiding place; a tall, black-robed figure strode purposely in the middle of the street, seemingly oblivious to the prying eyes of the Rubble Scum. Garvel reached out with his mind, but hit a barrier. It felt like peering into an abyss. He stifled a shocked gasp. The figure turned its blank hooded head toward him.

A sudden panic gripped the psyker. He stumbled backward, turned, and ran. He sprinted through broken buildings and fallen pillars with reckless abandon. Rubble and glass crunched beneath his feet and loose wires scraped his face. He didn’t stop -- somehow, he knew that he could not, must not.

Despite his efforts, he found his pace slowing as the darkness thickened around him like a dense blackened fog. The air grew heavy in his lungs. His steps lagged as though he ran in knee-high water. The shadows closed him around him, choking and foul like sulfurous fumes. He fell.

He rolled onto his back and rasped a silent scream. A silhouette loomed over him, a swath of absolute void within the already supernatural shadows. Garvel’s eyes rolled back in his head and yet another darkness took him.

* * * * *

Chapter One

012.999.M41; 08:39

A red sun rose over Rubble Town. Once again, the stubborn inhabitants began their daily struggle to survive and rebuild in the wake of the Alpha Legion’s devastating attack. After three years, some parts of the city had returned to life, habs and industry starting to recover. At long last, the Corrinthian mornings saw markets springing up in many city squares. The Inquisition, however, had no interest in economic this day.

The previous night, Father Hastus contacted local law enforcement regarding a strange disturbance outside his Rubble Town chapel, the Guiding Light Sanctuary. They quickly send his report to the Arbites, who immediately contacted the Planetary Inquisitor’s staff. Apparently, a noted Sanctioned Psyker in the employ of the wealthy Wraxian merchant household went missing last night as well. Even on a world of 11 billion, Sanctioned Psykers go missing only rarely.

Since it fit the parameters of his current investigations, Inquisitor Malachi Klightus received instructions to pursue the matter. He ended this chain by handing the case directly to Cell Epsilon, ordering them to question Father Hastus and investigate the matter thoroughly.

[Blackrock]

Rubble Town stank of Chaos. That was Severus’ first thought every time his duties brought him here. The invasion had been driven back, but heresy was not so easily rooted out. Even now, walking with his other companions through the ramshackle streets, he felt the corruption all around him. The people here were desperate; many had turned to a life of crime, straying from the path the Emperor had laid out before them. The worst, however, was that foul cults had taken root here, spreading their lies and heresy to the people. Very few sought shelter in the Emperor’s light, placing their trust in faith….if only more were as wise, things would be much better.

But they weren’t and it was up to people like Severus to make them see, one way or another. He chased those thoughts away from his head and reminded himself to focus on the task at hand. They would have to meet this Father Hastus and see what he would have for them – answers or more questions. Adding to that, Severus himself was interested in meeting the man and seeing how he was spreading the Emperor’s word here. In such times, men like him were the greatest source of faith for the masses and their chapels – the most stalwart bastions.

And what a bastion it was, Severus thought as they rounded a corner and the Guiding Light Sanctuary came into view. Rubble Town was exactly what the name implied – burnt down remains, heaps of debris, broken fragments of once glorious buildings. The fighting had been very heavy here, Severus had learned and it showed. There were scarcely any buildings left standing – Father Hastus’ chapel was one of those.

Amidst the destruction and general misery surrounding it, the otherwise humble chapel stood tall and proud. As they drew closer, Severus noticed that even the windows were intact – a rare occurrence indeed. The Emperor would be pleased with its keeper’s diligence, he thought. But would we? Another part of him asked, that was the voice of the Inquisition which reminded its members that they must always be vigilant. Even the purest of servants could be corrupted, Severus reminded himself, and those often proved to be the greatest threat of all.

Outside the door stood a lone, grim sentry. He was tall and gaunt, of middle age and dressed in humble robes. However, Severus glimpsed a laspistol half-concealed beneath the man’s robes, whether it was a poor attempt to hide or the opposite – to casually draw attention to it, was anyone’s guess. His features were stern, not surprising considering what he probably had to deal with on a daily basis, but they softened up significantly when they saw Severus’ seals of purity.

“What may I do for you?” he asked in a rough voice.

“We are members of the Inquisition, here to see Father Hastus.” Severus replied straightforwardly.

“O-of course, sir” the man seemed taken aback “This way, please.”

He opened the door and ushered them inside the Sanctuary, which was – as might be expected – sternly decorated, with emphasis put on more benches were the faithful might flock and offer their praise to the Emperor.

“We never thought the Inquisition...” their guide began mumbling.

“Thought begets Heresy – remember that.” Severus cut him short.

“Of course, sir, of course. Pardon.” the man seemed to shrink, as he uttered his apologies.

All the while, they had already passed through the main chamber of the chapel and were led to a smaller door, where Father Hastus was to be found. Their guide announced the Inquisition’s coming and was about to open the door for them, but the Father beat him to it. He came out to greet them and Severus finally had a chance to judge his worth.

[Guilty Carrion]

Armoured black fingers drummed steadily against the cold metal of the shotgun’s barrel, the condemning steel of its bearer’s gaze watching the urchins and rats of Rubble Town scurry into their holes as they approached. Traitors and Heretics, all of them. Gritting his teeth in frustration, the Arbitrator pumped the chamber of his weapon in warning to the rats that dared to remain and gaze upon their righteous approach. Judge growled darkly as he followed at the heels of his master, lips peeled back in a vicious snarl that sent a few of the cowards scurrying away into the black.

The Penal Legions could stand to do some ‘recruiting’ from this Emperor forsaken pit. Pushing forward with the group, Demyan cast them from his mind for now, focusing instead on the assignment they had been tasked with. Investigation of a disturbance possibly linked to the disappearance of a Sanctioned Psyker. It reeked of heretics, in his opinion, their fanatical cults no doubt crafting the Psyker into a host for some abomination from beyond. No matter. He would send them all to their infernal masters soon enough, no matter how many warp spawns they drudged up.

The Guiding Light Sanctuary looked very much like the beacon of light it seemed to derive it’s namesake from, but the Arbitrator had never been one for chapels. He worshipped on the field of battle, baptising in the blood of a thousand heretics and offered prayer through choirs composed of shotgun blasts and conducted by a maestro of Death. The sentry regarded them sternly, as Demyan sized the guard up with a swift pass of his unflinching eyes. A single blast to the chest, followed immediately by one to the skull as he collapsed. Zero chance of survival.

It was a habit that served him well, leaving the talking to those so inclined, and left him prepared to strike no matter the circumstance. Severus kept their guide quiet, something he was more than grateful for, despising the way the common folk would cower away at their approach. What did the righteous have to fear from the Inquisition? The true faithful would welcome their approach, knowing it meant the reckoning of the God Emperor’s enemies. This man would be watched.

Father Hastus emerged to greet them, and the Arbitrator quickly regarded the man with a stiff nod, levelling his weapon at his hips, one hand still tense on the trigger as his free hand scratched idly at the top of Judge’s head.

[SahuginDra]

While some of the other acolytes went to see Father Hastus, Uriah made his way down one of Rubble Town's many alley-ways. Garbed in well-worn brown robes, he was nearly six feet tall even when leaning heavily against his oaken staff. His form was as bare as an Emperor-blessed babe, but scarred more deeply than anyone knew. His eyes were storm clouds hidden beneath a hood so deep and dark that it threatened to curl about and consume him. His hunched back heaved in the air with every foot he traveled, lurching forward behind his ornate staff as it was stabbed into the ground repeatedly. Every breathe was deep and sometimes ragged. Chilled breaths curled from between his lips with every exertion only to dispel as he passed through their tiny mist.

The season did nothing to hinder or aid his exhalations, touched as they were by the energies that he conjured. Separated from his compatriots by a persistent disregard for the average cleric, the telepath had decided that his particular talents would find the source of the missing psyker far quicker than any normal interrogation. But who to 'ask?' The thought had raced through his mind as quickly as any other, only to run head-first into the wall of his dogged determination. He would ask everyone.

Though summoning the energies of the Warp was no laughing matter, Hex found some solace in their simpler applications. While more complicated goings-on could require all sorts of concentration and immaterial massaging, simply feeling out the currents of minds around oneself could be done with minimal effort or concern. Like using a wet finger to find the direction of the wind, the usage of a lubricated mind could yield all sorts of information from the telepathic fog that surrounded every busy thoroughfare. While subtler and stronger minds could reign in their errant thoughts, the average human couldn't help but offer them up.

An open mind, as they said, was quite like a defenseless fortress and just as easy to plunder.

With energies marshaled over his eyes, the psyker peered beneath the lip of his hood to gaze on a street littered with thought. Though his eyes traced the brick-work of the street within which he travelled, his mind and soul flew with the gusts of consciousness that wandered over from the nearby street. Thoughts colored with emotion jerked and sped around him with all the impetus that had seen them thrust from their original minds. Speedy thoughts, anxious with unkept appointments, pushed ever forward. Curling philosophical musings, fresh with old insights, spun like miniature whirlwinds randomly. Jolting paranoia, coated in self-delusion and jingling like keys, formed walls in the air to impede all progress. It was a veritable buffet of mental garbage.

In turn, the old man studied each thought before discarding it. This he did with a subtle movement of the eye and thrusting of the mind as he stabbed and pulled his way along. Bellus was late for work. Mary was concerned about dinner and whether there were still enough rats around to supply it. Horus hated his name and with the fervor of the blessedly ignorant every man, woman and thing that had wielded a similar moniker. Jacob wondered what devotion he would give to the Emperor that day. Morrow worried about the records he had left in his office and whether the executions could still go on without them. Everyone felt some guilt, but none of it was what he was looking for. He hoped one of these rats would have what he was looking for.

[Christoph]

The Guiding Light sanctuary was an unusual phenomenon in Rubble Town. The Chaos attackers three years prior had maliciously and specifically destroyed any Imperial holy places that they found. Official reports know little of how the chapel survived, but its surviving parishioners claim that the pure faith of Father Hastur kept the forces of darkness at bay. The more level-headed also pointed out the zealous and militant defense that Hastur’s flock provided for their holy place, as well as frequent repairs. Beyond that, only random reports from Corrinthian Spectre guardsmen and Arbitrators using the chapel as a safe point during the war mention the place.

Though merely grey stone on the outside, the Guiding Light Sanctuary’s interior possessed surprising, if subtle beauty. Either for tradition or due to unreliable power supplies, the chapel’s main mass hall featured several rows of flickering candelabras. Their golden glow washed over all who entered like the Emperor’s own light, even while spawning mysterious dancing shadows in the far corners. Aquilas and other holy symbols joined ancient, faded murals of great saints, including Saint Maxilla clad in black -- and of the Emperor himself, adorned in golden armor with a shimmering halo. That such a jewel could remain amidst a sea of crumbling urban grey spoke to the Emperor’s glory and grace.

Father Hastus appeared in the doorway. In many ways, he mirrored his chapel. On the outside, he was a withered old man, slightly hunched with a crescent of silver hair atop his head. Yet his eyes sparked with vitality and wisdom behind wire-framed spectacles. He stood on steady feet, possessing the look of a once fit and active man who fought stubbornly against age. He eyed his guests warily, silently taking their measure while smiling amiably.

"I was expecting you," said Hastur, his voice carefully level. He spared his guard a quick glance and scanned the rest of the empty sanctuary. He motioned them to follow. "Let us converse in private."

The Father led his visitors into his study, which contained the very rare luxury of an authentic wooden desk covered with chronometers, papers, and various religious effects. He closed the door behind them and walked to his chair, but did not sit. When he turned around to face his guests again, his smile had vanished. Anger now flared in his gaze.

"Put that weapon away, Arbitrator! This is a holy place!" His voice was a seething whisper, like scalding steam from a vent. "Have you both taken leave of your senses?" He removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Emperor preserve us. Why come waltzing into my church, announcing yourselves so blatantly? The word 'Inquisition' will be on the lips of everyone in this quarter before sunset."

* * * * *

Meanwhile, investigations outside took a far less physical approach. To the Rubble Scum wandering the cracked streets, Uriah must have seemed just another old wretch. They afforded him little notice as they passed by, never knowing that the psyker subtly violated their minds. Amidst a sea of thoughts and emotions, a single unspoken sentence finally rang above the ethereal chaos. The Inquisition is here. From some ruins several meters behind the psyker, rubble clattered and feet scurried.

[Guilty Carrion]

Demyan raised a single brow at the priest, before a dark smile spread across his face. The withered old man still had a fire in him it seemed. Good. The passion spoke well of his character, but the Arbitrator had little desire to part from his weapon in a place so vile as Rubble Town. “With all due respect, Father Hastus, I do not part from my weapon, for we know His enemies lurk everywhere. Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment.” Still, if it pacified the Father…

He lowered the weapon to his side, allowing it to dangle loosely in his grip. Easy to retrieve and prime, if their enemies didn’t take advantage of those precious seconds it would take to ready the shotgun once more. Judge sat vigilant by the door, ears folded back in displeasure as the cyber-mastiff listened to the chamber beyond for signs of intrusion. Knowing his loyal beast would alert him to any presence, the Arbitrator focused his attention solely on his companions, cold steel flicking between the two priests. “If our presence has truly been announced so simply, then time has grown even more precious to our investigation. A fleeing rat is easier to catch than a rat in its hole, don’t you agree, Father?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, flashing a harsh glare at Severus before pressing his knuckles into the worn wood of the desk. “Father Hastus, you reported a disturbance outside the chapel last night, and while I have seen the report, it was brief and made with haste.” He locked his eyes with the elder man, cold steel sparking off the passionate heat in the aging priest’s own gaze. “What happened last night? What all do you remember?”

[Christoph]

"My child, you know nothing about human rats." Seemingly placated by Demyan's lowered weapon, Father Hastur's face and voice softened. He strode to his office window, gazing across the ruined streets. "I do. Look down there." He waved his hand in disgust at the squalor below. “I have given my life to this chapel, done everything and risked more than you can imagine to keep this refuge of the Emperor’s goodness intact, even through the worst of the war.

"Yet every time I look out this window, all I see are those poor lost souls, scurrying away from His light… like rats. And I see the rubble, still festering like foul nests. I ask myself, ‘are there some wounds that even faith in the Emperor cannot mend?’” He sighed. "But I digress. Rats only come out when they think you're not watching. Start announcing yourselves as the Inquisition and they will vanish as surely as you greeted real rats with a gunshot and a crate of feral cats. Alas." He sounded so very old then. He put his spectacles back on. "It is what it is. Now..."

He took a deep breath. “I will tell you what I told the Arbitrators: The night before last, I found myself awake at an unholy hour -- my old bones keep me up sometimes. I came up to my office to brew some tea.” He gestured to the kettle in the corner. “I looked out the window and saw someone lurking about, different from the other vagrants. He -- a man as far as I could tell -- seemed sharper, and amazingly even more nervous than the others. Head darting about.”

He tapped the wrinkled skin next to his right eye. “I may be old, but by the Emperor my eyes are sharp. At any rate, after a few minutes, I caught the barest glimpse of someone else approaching, all cloaked in black. And then the first man suddenly darted off into the ruins. The shadowy one just… walked after him.” Hastur laughed bitterly. “That alone would not warrant much notice, especially in Rubble Town.”

“No, after they vanished from sight, strange things started to happen. My lights outside the chapel dimmed, as though a dark fog clouded them. A strange wind swept in through my window suddenly, and I swear I saw stagnant water from the gutters… dripping up for a few seconds before falling back down. I am an honest servant of the Emperor, but I have seen much in my trying life and I know the touch of… psykers…” He spat that word with bile, and then paused for several moments, letting the silence sink in and running his fingers over his Aquilla necklace.

“That is what I told the Arbitrators for their official report.”

[Guilty Carrion]

“I was once a rat myself, Father. Dedication and His Light have pulled me from the black.” The Arbitrator followed his gaze, staring out into the ruined buildings and mounds of endless rubble. It reminded him of his days back on Idirov, as a street rat fighting and killing to survive. The struggle had made him all the stronger, and his resolve all the more unbreakable. He felt none of the Priest’s pity towards them, but it was neither his place nor desire to question the man’s personal demons.

He said nothing as Father Hastus spoke, drinking his every word as if the entire investigation depended on it, for it very well could rely on his sole testimony. The first figure was likely the missing Psyker, although his reasons for being out in Rubble Town at such an unholy hour were a mystery they’d need to solve as well. The second was more of an enigma, although if the Father’s report was anything to go by, he was likely a Psyker as well. An infiltrator or perhaps a remnant of the invasion from years past?

The report sparked more questions than answers, but perhaps there was something to it. There appeared to be no connection between the strange men, aside from the high possibility of them both being Pskyer’s and the source of the strange ‘wind’ that swept the chapel. What might link them? Was it but a random crime, unfortunate timing on one’s part?

But Hastus’s hesitation sparked his curiosity and his doubt, and Demyan took a step towards the man. “That was the official report, yes...” He watched the man carefully, before speaking again. “Was there anything else, Father Hastus? Something you might have…forgotten when you gave the report?”

[SahuginDra]

'The Inquisition is here.'

The words sped through the air above Uriah without so much as a paranoid pause to rip his awareness from the crowded thoughts that would have otherwise hidden them. Small and fleeting, but glowing with the importance of the moment, the words dripped with warm, yellow 'emotion' that steamed when it struck the ground. Harsh smelling, the psychic taint brought the taste of bile and blood unbidden to the mouth of the psyker.

It made him grin; guilt always tasted the same.

From that moment tracing the origin of the thought took little more than a backwards glance. From there old man could see the source of the errant communique was running as fast as his beaten legs could carry him. Already several meters away, the only thing Uriah could tell was that he was dressed in the same Imperial-issue tatters that many inhabitants of Rubble Town wore. Otherwise, he only knew that something had to be done to stop him.

Summoning up the remains of the energies that had once possessed his vision, the warp-touched man moved their focus to his vocal cords. Raising his right hand as if to entreat his target, he instead shouted with all the warp-born force he could muster directly at the man he pursued. Though soundless on any mortal plane, the cry would echo within those portions of the mind that dealt with the most basic of fears: being built in the eyes of the Emperor. In those moments, touched by a phantom of Him on High, the man's flight would come to naught. Wracked by past deeds, he would be easy pickings for his Holy Ordos.

Even so, the psyker didn't let his guard down as he approached the man. Thought he didn't remember a great deal of his life, the little bit that he had experienced thus far made good notice of what happens to Inquisitorial acolytes when they think the cultists are dead.

[Christoph]

The panicked wretch sprinted over rubble, arms flailing at his side as he struggled to keep balance. Then, he suddenly stopped. His primal panic transformed into something more existential and far more crippling. He cried out and fell to his knees beneath the weight of supernatural terror.

From up close, the urchin looked even more pathetic and ragged, even by Rubble Town standards. Tattered shreds of cloth draped from his body in a crude imitation of clothing, and he clearly had not bathed or eaten a decent meal in a long time. He covered his face with his scrawny arms, muttering and begging.

"Please, please... mercy."

* * * * *

"Even a rat can climb from the sewers with the Emperor's grace."

Father Hastur then went quiet for a long moment, and did not speak again until the silence threatened to strangle the room. He glanced back and forth between his two visitors, as if taking their measure. Finally, he reached a decision.

“I included all the hard facts in my report, but I left out something else. A feeling.” He took a deep breath and fidgeted with his vestments. “I swear I could feel a shadow upon my soul, a creeping chill in my mind. I sank into my chair and prayed fervently to the Emperor until it passed. I know not what it was. I did not tell the Arbitrators because at best… at best they would have thought me insane.” He shook his head and walked toward the door. “That is all I know, so unless you have any other questions…”

[Blackrock]

“That is all I know, so unless you have any other questions…”

Severus clenched his jaw firmly, but turned around and made for the door. The old priest’s dismissal was plain to see and, by the looks of it, they would get nothing else out of him for now. Throughout the meeting he had kept quiet, silently measuring the man. His opinion of him had gone up and down during their brief talk, while Hastus seemed a leal and honest servant to the Emperor, him questioning the methods of the Inquisition and its Acolytes was far above his station.

No matter what anyone said, Severus was firmly of the opinion that there was no need for secrecy in this case. They walked amongst the Emperor’s flock and they were His servants. If the flock was true – what need was there to hide? Subterfuge and deception were for the weak of faith, for in His Light everything was shown for what it was. Ironic, he thought, that they must be weary of mentioning their roles even in the chapel dedicated to Him. Named for His Light.

Setting those thoughts aside, he continued walking through the empty church. Hastus’ tale had revealed little, but it seemed that the street opposite the Guiding Light Sanctuary needed to be thoroughly investigated. If any clues remained, they would be found there. The problem, as was often the case, was that said clues could of a more...esoteric nature. If the old priest had said it true...something much darker than a simple kidnapping could be at work.

He wondered where his other companion, Uriah was. Despite Severus’ mistrusts towards those who dealt with the Warp and its corrupting influence, the psyker was – like him – a servant of the Emperor and this task would be best suited for him. As they walked out the Sanctuary’s door, he nodded at the slightly sweaty guard curtly and then turned towards the Arbitrator.

“Where has the psyker gone? We need him for our search.” He turned his head at the direction of the alleyway they had to investigate “We may scour every inch of that place, but I am afraid that the traces of whatever happened cannot be detected by mundane methods.”

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