An Inquisitor taps a metal finger impatiently on the ceramite of his gauntlet, awaiting the hydraulic hiss heralding the lowering of the wide cargo bay door impeding his path off the ship. He wasn't impatient because it was a poor ship, mind you. In fact, this ship was both capable as well as comfortable to inhabit and operate for a vessel of her tonnage which, by Imperial standards
, was kind of puny; a middle-ish freighter-class vessel, with just about enough armaments to defend themselves, cargo space enough to carry whatever heavy materiel they might require, along with a few amenities required to keep the few occupants alive, armed, and amused. He'd actually grown a bit protective of her, and over the course of the years a few people had been clocked in the face for going too far with their jibes. One of them a navy captain, of all things, which had necessitated a hasty retreat, but fortunately the good captain had been understanding, and had later pardoned the Inquisitor after a formal apology had been sent and a few crates of amasec had been passed along to him.
But again, this was not why he was impatient. He was impatient because they had people to meet, people he hadn't seen in quite a while now. Their new pilot, Drake, had opted to lag behind a little bit, he didn't seem too eager to meet the locals. He was probably still trying to convince himself to get out of the pilot seat and down here to play meet-and-greet. The door hisses, and hums open with little complaint. He takes a moment to savour the first few breaths of fresh, natural air, a welcome change from the tasteless recycled air produced by the vessel. He nods at the two others standing just nearby, Corollianus, the grizzled stormtrooper, and Zelenin, the vampiric saint. He steps off of the ramp, taking in the by now quite familiar forms of the lake, and the Scarlet Devil Mansion only a couple of hundred metres away. The Lysander
didn't fit in within the mansion grounds, and had been landed close by. The Basilica was visible on a lakebank opposite of the mansion. A small Krieger detachment was moving towards them from the mansion. The mysterious gasmask-clad troops had taken pride in their custody of the mansion, and regulars and fresh troopers alike were rotated in and out of here in short intervals, it had become tradition to this particular regiment.
Arcturus gives a low chuckle, before mumbling to his companions.
"So, here we are."
edited 3rd Jan '11 12:03:17 PM by l3wt