<br/>After being induced into the service of the Inquisition, things have not gone as you expected them too. Removed from your past live, you have been tested and measured, questioned and interrogated. But aside from a few lectures in the bowels of darkened lecture chambers that left you sick to your stomach and an endless stream of codes and ciphers for you to memorize and destroy, you have been left largely to your own devices. Lodging under a false name in an anonymous hablock in Hive Sibellus, on Scintella, the capital planet of the Calixis Sector, you have waited for week, biding your time for the call for you masters, and perhaps, their verdict.<br/><br/>At last that call has come and a blackeyed courier has delivered to you a message encoded in the cipher of the Holy Ordos. On it is a date, a time and a location. Instructions to come prepared and expect company are signed off with a simple epithet-<br/><br/>"The Emperor Protects"<br/><br/>At the appointed hour, you make your way through the scum and drudgery of the Underhive and the faceless masses of the Administratum quarter to an unmarked service elevator platform in the rear of a vast and imposing building covered in bas-relief skull, holly yews, half covered urns and other symbols of death, crowned by a massive statue of a weeping saint. It appears you were expected; the wizened face of the platform's inbuilt servitor studies you and pronounces "Pass," in its bone-rattle voice as you climb aboard. As the note implied, you were not alone and you make for a diverse and uncomfortable looking lot standing in solemn silence as the mindless crowds throng by. The servitor control chimes active as the last of you climb aboard and the elevator descends as the hatchway above closes with a thunderous boom. The platform continues down for some minutes through the maintenance levels, deep into the depths of the government district.