Sisters of Heresy {The Interpid Wanderer n' ForeverM}

[ForeverMischievous]

"Guide me, upon my path. Help me find a place, among these new faces. A place where I might feel welcome. Wanted. And not as an outcast. An unwelcome guest. How can I guide these souls into battle, when I can hardly win their respect? I fear, that I might fail you, my Lady. Lose my spot as a Commandry. And maybe that, would be for the better. The things I did. During that battle. It was purely acting on instincts. I may not be fit, for an actual command. Maybe remaining a recruit. A foot soldier. One commanded, not one commanding. Was a better calling for me? Please. Guide me, my Lady."
Another prayer spent, on deft ears, and mute tongues. But her faith was strong. She believed, that the deities of the Sisterhood, and the Imperium, would guide her. Her prayers had helped her before. Helped her lead the remnants of her last Commandry to victory, after their Commander had perished. It had been a bloody, and taxing battle, and many of her fellow Sisters, had already perished to the overwhelming forces of the Orkish Waargh. But with renewed leadership from her, they'd put their boots down, and held their line, until reinforcements had arrived. Many Sisters had owed their lives to her, and they'd all knelt for her, once the rest of the Preceptory had arrived. And that, had granted her the favor of her superiors. And now, she was in a new Preceptory. Now the Commandry of her own squads. But she felt out of place. This Commandry, had only just lost their Commander, and their bond had been strong. It was hard to become something wanted, in a group that wanted that they couldn't get. And she remained a junior Sister. Out aged and probably out skilled by many of those bellow her now. They didn't look very kindly to that.

Sister Amedea sat in a corner of the Chapel, placed casually upon one of the long benches, at it's very corner in the dark. Her back was leaned against the wall, her feet placed up on the bench by her side, her knees raised to support her arms resting upon them. Wearing a simple brown robe, covering most of her body, the only thing anyone really saw of her, was the furiously red hair, curling down her back, and sides, her forehead resting upon her arms, her face hidden. She sat alone, as she felt alone. Only a small group of Sisters was still in the Chapel, saying their goodnights, before heading towards their quarters, finally leaving Amedea alone in the Chapel. And as she was, her face rose, and lead towards the statues of the Chapel halls. Displaying their great ancestors and deities. With a heavy-hearted sigh, she gazed upon them with longing eyes. She desperately needed guidance. Or just something to hold on to. She was not sure, commanding was truly her calling anymore. She wasn't sure, she'd be able to be the woman, she was expected to be. But telling that to a superior, would only get her trouble. With a light groan, she reached her arms around her legs, pulling them close against herself, resting her chin upon her knees, gazing towards nothing. Just like she felt, she'd been doing for a long time. No vision of the future, that'd tell her how it might go. Was that just the curse of a Sister? Or was it merely her, who felt she should be seeing more, as a Commandry of several hundred souls.

 

[The Intrepid Wanderer]

Only the most extremist of scholars would say that what happened next had been the young and scarcely tested Cannoness Commander's God-Emporer hearing or plea so late at night within that holy place of worship. As Cannones Preceptor Therese Sudener was hardly as pious as those sorts, and also had no means of knowing those desperate prayers for guidance had been made, would not have said that it was some divine work by a immobilized father figure sitting upon the most advanced life-support system that the tech-priests had ever devised. No, instead she would be far more practical if ever asked as to what events brought her there, as practicality was one of the trademark habits of the Preceptor, and say that there were but a few very simple factors that had brought her there that night. The first was the duty of an officer to the women under her command, arriving at that particular Commandry only a few hours prior that evening, and her bodyguards had ensured a minimum to-do of her arrival if only to ensure a few hours of peace before the next day's chaos of inspection. The second was -- something she would not have been able to put in to words until after that night. In fact, for many nights after, but she still was aware of it. A word on the tip of her tongue, impossible to determine at the time.

Having stripped of her armor after being shown to her quarters for the duration of her stay, Preceptor Therese had instead opted for the simple robes that her order chose to wear when not arming themselves for battle. She didn't wear the ranks, awards, or other markers that might make her stand out amongst the Sisters around her. The few that were still within the halls of the Commandry were either too new to recognize her as she was now, or they were seeing her from too great a distance to sufficiently recognize that it was their senior officer who walked the halls amongst them. It was the way she preferred it, especially prior to a unit-wide inspection of the troops under her command, and so she was left in relative peace. A state of existance that often seemed quite foreign to her. An old unit graced by a new commander was something which, in a way, she was not looking forward to, but there had been good news. This was no love-child of an Inquisitor, elevated to her position before the forces of Chaos had even had time to lay a scuff on her armor. She had been able to prove herself capable enough that the order of promotion had come down from above even the Preceptory-level.

It would be interesting to see.

Stepping in to the chapel, the tall, ivory-skinned commander ran a hand across ebony bangs. Her hair was down to her waist, tied in a seemingly simple-looking French braid. Her robes were identical to the last of the Sisters who she had seen file away for the night. All save one. It didn't take anything for battle-hardened and sharp eyes to detect the fiery red-haired figure in the corner by herself. She was in seclusion, it appeared, and possibly deep in prayer. Still -- an interesting person, perchance? As silent as bare feet allowed, she approached. At a respectful distance, Therese paused, and listened. She heard no utterance of prayer, only the steady breaths of a woman seemingly deep within her own thoughts. Satisfied that she wasn't soon to be accused of sacrelage, she approached, and eased herself gently on to the bench a short distance from her fellow warrior. She lingered there a moment before she broke the otherwise peaceful silence.

"I find --" She began, "-- that the Hall is always peaceful. Don't you?" She did not look to the Sister beside her, looking up to the altar of the God-Emporer at it's prestigious point in the front and center of the Hall, "A place to rest your soul. Your mind. I've always found solace from my Sisters in such a place of worship." Now she looked to the young woman, a soft, and almost somehow consoling smile upon her face, "Would you not agree, Sister."

 

[ForeverMischievous]

As if sudden motion, suddenly being forced upon waves, the pupils surrounded by a brown iris, shot in the direction of an approaching figure. However, the head didn't move, and remained nearly hidden away, among the long, chaotic, crimson locks of hair. The eyes soon calmed, observing the approaching woman with a gentle kindness, only obstructed by a few rebellious locks of hair. Sitting completely still, Amedea was almost fearful, that this beautiful woman approaching, was just to be another hard nail on her path. Another Sister there, to remind her how much the Comandry hadn't wanted a new Cannoness Commander. How they didn't need it, and that they already had several Sisters in the Commandry, well suited to be their new Cannoness. And how someone as young, and new to the Galaxy of war, would never be ready for the task at hand. That she should resign her position immediately, and let the better next, step up.
Many had felt that way, that day. It hadn't been uttered directly, or on paper. But it had been whispered in the halls. In their eyes. Amedea saw that in others. Saw words, yet unspoken. Read sentences from lip, brow and cheek movements. Read minds, through eyes. She was obviously no Inquisitor, but had all the necessary instincts to become one. It just hadn't come through yet, nor did she have required experience in the field. And probably most important of all. She didn't exactly seek out to become one.

But the longer Amedea watched the ivory-skinned woman, the more comfortable and pleasant did she feel. The woman showed no eagerness to tell Amedea off. Showed not the haste, that Amedea had escaped to the Chapel to avoid. She was calm. Tranquil. And with the first words spoken, Amedea's lips curled a smile, as her head tilted a bit, her chin still resting upon her arms, both wrapped around her legs, close pulled against herself. She was surprisingly agile and flexible, when outside the heavy battle armor. It wasn't usually a necessary feet of a Cannoness, their suits meant to withstand punishment, more then fleeting feet.
Amedea stayed silent for a while, until the woman continued, and ultimately gazed upon her. Now that Therese was close, she'd see the warm, brown eyes, that had a light, almost undetectable, redish hint to them. The eyes that gazed back upon Amedea, made her feel a sense of security and calm, nothing else had offered her before. There was no hidden, and wicked agenda, behind the calm exterior of the woman and her words. It was just her, feeling exactly what Amedea did as well. So Amedea smiled, and rose her head lightly from her arms. She moved a hand to stroke the rebellious lock of hair, in front of her eyes, away and behind her ear.
"I would, dear Sister." She replied back, with a light voice, to match the young exterior of the woman that was Amedea. She then moved her gaze back upon the altar, her head tilting a bit to the other side, as her chin fell to rest upon her arms again. She chuckled a single time through her nose, before gazing back onto Therese, with a gentle smile. "When I was little, he always kinda scared me. His statues, and alters.. I mean. They always seemed so large, and grim." She stated, causing her to giggle a bit, before turning her eyes back towards the altar. "But now. I find refuge, in here. I admit, that I am not one to bring him most prayers, but.. I feel a sort of.. Comfort. In the embrace of his Chapels." She smiled, letting the side of her head, rest back upon her arms, eyes still pointed towards the altar. "A comfort. I guess I seek here, because I don't find it anywhere else, on most days." Her voice almost dimmed to a whisper, with those words, as her smile seemed to crack and bend, turning crooked and unsure.