The Radical Inquisitor

Chapter 1

It was quiet in his quarters. He had stated that he had wanted some privacy for a few hours, and privacy was what he got. The last thing anyone would like to have is an Inquisitor that is more-than-annoyed at you for not leaving him the hell alone. He was sitting in the comfy synth-leather chair he had fitted into his private quarters when he claimed ownership of the vessel, the Vox Luna, which he had had for some time now, around a decade and a half. It was decent sized, not nearly as large as Imperial battleships but a fair bit larger than civilian vessels, apart from the colossal cargo-haulers that plied the stars on their routes to distant planets needing supplies, most of them desperately, due to the rather disastrous state of the Imperium as a whole. Yes, it continued to function, but like a man who has lost a leg and is left alone in the wilderness, bleeding out and waiting for death, the only things keeping him going willpower, hope and faith. Ah, faith, that was something he had not felt very much of for, how long? A few months, a year, two years? It didn't matter - what mattered was whether or not he could find solution to solve at least one of the many problems the Imperium of Man faced in order to help prolong its life, maybe (he thought with a bit of hope) save it.

Pushing aside the problems for another time, for the thousandth time, he opened the cabinet he had on the side of his desk, and pulled out one of the things which made him smile - a glass bottle of Yrettian, a drink from his home planet of Zerzura, a desert world in the north-east of Segmentum Obscurus. From what he could remember of his time on the planet, the drink was made from fermented fungi and fruits found by the oasis's, before being distilled and mixed with a solution made up of water, spices and venom from the kilometre long land worms which prowl the enormous desert wastes of the planet. Uncorking the bottle, and smelling the rather sweet and sour flavour flow the neck, he poured himself a small glass of the drink. Then, corking the bottle again, he raised his glass to his rosette, which was hanging from the small serpentwood candle stand on his desk. "Ave Imperator," he said, toasting the man who was the single most powerful symbol in the entire human race. When he sipped the beverage from his home, the flavours brought back memories of his past on Zerzura: the sights of the bustling city of the capitol, the wildly dressed people, the rich mixture of fumes and sounds that overlaid everything he saw.