The relative quiet of void travel is pierced suddenly by the wailing of klaxons and the tell-tale shudder and lurch of a ship leaving warp transit. The bulkheads tremble from the stress of leaving the Maelstrom of maddening energy behind; corridors lurch as the waves of the living storm batter the hull of the vessel and toss it like a toy boat almost.  It was far from the most graceful transition from warp space to real space in the history of the Imperium of Man’s existence but even as the Klaxons wail and the familiar shudder down one’s spine when the Gellar field is turned off is felt the ship is already fighting its ponderous bulk and straightening itself. No doubt things have shifted in such a harrowing exit, the acolyte’s possessions likely sprawling all over their chartered rooms and the hustling and bustling of crew was able to be clearly made out on the decks both below and above. However, after a few tense moments everything seemed to relax to normal again and an all clear is called over the vox unit followed by an authoritative female voice. “All of my Acolytes are to report to the captain’s quarters immediately without exception. We have much to discuss in preparation.”  The Inquisitor sounded cool and collective and though the command carried weight to it, it was neither harsh nor threatening. “And Emperor help you if you arrive with a hangover.” With that last quip the vox cut off and was replaced by the usual slow music that filled the ship. Slow strings played and the ever present haunting sound of a piano could be heard, no doubt played by servitors as no two songs were ever the same.<br/><br/>It has been three weeks aboard the Rogue Trader vessel, the I<i>mmortal Glory</i>, a massive Mars class Battle Cruiser nearly three kilometers in length. Those three weeks have been filled with training and preparations for the upcoming mission. Mercia apparently knew the mustached man who owned the vessel and leveraged his families own ties to the Inquisition to charter it for transit to the quarantined planet of Draal. Of course the man, one Vern , was too kind to reject the Inquisitions offer of more Gelt than he’d have made in two months let alone the lost three weeks to him. All of the Acolytes were provided with rich, lavishly decorated quarters with as much good food and drink as they could bear. The ladies and men upon the ship were more than generous and eager to share what they knew of the void with the acolytes and more than eager to let loose on their off-hours with what they considered ‘hard-nosed servants’.<br/><br/>Mercia had not departed much information to them at all about their current mission for the fact that if one should get drunk and spill the beans to a crew member there very well could be a riot in one of the lower decks and panic struck about their bearing. Draal was a quarantined world, a warp plague had struck the citizenry and the local enforcers and PDF were struggling to contain the massive swathes of the giant –city world that had been infected. Rumor was that even the ravaged and bloated dead were starting to walk once more and taking to infecting what was once their family and friends. Understandably maybe the acolytes themselves had  were just as confused as the crew, they scarcely even knew the name of the planet nor had been allowed access to anything but the deck they were currently on, as luxurious as their surroundings were. The walls were gilt with polished bronze and real gold , the deckplates covered in rich carpets. Obscura smoke often filled the air and with the amount of officers present on the deck it was clear this was some sort of housing for the commanders of the vessel. Some of the crew were even no-human, all manner of sanctioned xeno  could be found serving on the vessel and rumor had it the Captain of the impressive vessel even had a Eldar Corsair in his retinue.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>