Chapel/The place for answers?
"I was waiting my turn to talk to the Chaplain, minding my own business... When I heard the most throne-awful screech!"
"What was it?"
"I never found out, Chap. Cholerie never said."
"That man..."
Back at the chapel. "No, Renford, no! Don't put your tail in your mouth you stupid monkey!"
The chapel door, 10:00. Someone rang the doorbuzzer. "What is it?" "Official missive for Chaplain Mockin Cholrerie, from Hydraphur." "The capital-world? Who even knows I exist there?" "The letter is from the Segmentum Ecclesiarcy hierarchy in Hydraphur, I will need a signature..." He signed, and started reading the ornate, florid High Gothic.
"Chap? Can I have a word?" "Sure Michael, you can have a whole dictionary of them!" "Funny, we doing this tattoo thing?" "I've been ramrodded from above Mike, I ain't been allowed an opportunity to complain, let alone object." "Oh, you too huh? Cuz ComGen Thanh ain't taking my calls either." "Atten-hut! Black Lilies, be steadfast!" A nearby voice interjected. "Black lilies?" Chaplain Mochrie asked. "Sororitas fast-attack unit. Jump-pack flyers, but with flamers." Michael answered, having read the tactical briefings. "I heard the daughters of the emperor were very devout..." "I imagine they are, but that name's not been current for a while... Our new neighbours are ecclesiarchy, treat them like you'd treat Chap Mochrie..." "Like chap? so invite them for drinks and cards?" "Maybe more like: 'don't get him riled up, the monkey's nasty...'" "Sir, yes sir!" "Nice turn of phrase that, Michael, can I use it?" "Sure, chap." "Thanks, Michael, how're you holding up?" "I'm fine, why you asking?" "What, I can't ask for your spiritual health? That's what I'm here for..." "Not just mine, no, and mine's been buttressed lately..." "Buttressed?" "I'm being reinforced, this tattoo really helps me do my job..." "Oh, how?" "All these routines and preparation, and everyone opening up the manuals and reciting the hymnals and such..." "Well, I'm not doing it for you..." "No, I imagine you did it for entirely pure motives..." "Ah-ah, aren't you clever..." "Come on, padre, I'm not born yesterday..." "22nd Division flag, arriving!" "Second Front HQ arriving!" "Gah, they give you a LOUD warning for these things, don't they?" "I couldn't agree more. I heard that, and I'm not even at the spaceport!" "That wasn't from the spaceport, that was them arriving at the building, Padre, GenCom Thanh's transport." "She's here?" "She is." "I hear she's kinda impressive..." "No one that small should be so imposing, it's just cheating..." "She's small?" "1m50cm, well if you get her not wearing high heels at least." "She likes tall heels?" "I've seen her in needle heels just under 20cm..." "That can't be comfortable." "She's not one to let anything hold her back..." "Wait, 1m70? She's eye level to you in those?" "Just under... Best not to think about it too hard."
Crack! Crack! Crack! like bolter shots the pattern of what must be the tallest, slimmest heels in the Crusade rang on the flagstones of a public outdoor space, quickly converted into a chapel for fifty thousand by Chaplain Cholerie and others. He was dozing at his pulpit, after running around, preparing the thousand of small details that transformed a gathering of fifty thousand into a Requiem Mass honouring Saint Sabbath, or "The Saint" as she was known to the locals. It tripped most of 22nd division, as Terra could never just agree on one saint, not with its trillion people.
Back at the chapel. "No, Renford, no! Don't put your tail in your mouth you stupid monkey!"
The chapel door, 10:00. Someone rang the doorbuzzer. "What is it?" "Official missive for Chaplain Mockin Cholrerie, from Hydraphur." "The capital-world? Who even knows I exist there?" "The letter is from the Segmentum Ecclesiarcy hierarchy in Hydraphur, I will need a signature..." He signed, and started reading the ornate, florid High Gothic.
Favoured son of the Emperor Mockin Cholerie, chaplain, 8745th Montral Fusilliers, 22nd Imperial Division "Terra"."Dangnabbit, blasted, crime-poxed, seven-shaded blistering..." Chaplain Mochrie could go on quite a bit, and often did, usually after his pet monkey did something particularly stupid... He did this one time as well. "These vox-dictated ciphers will be the death of me!" But he knew communications security was paramout, and so he took a deep breath, and proceeded to the next step. First he went to pick up a rare book, a rare prayer-book that had been shipped to him through Terra itself, by the good offices of Springfield Noram Scholam Progena, he had never visited that august institution, nor did he know anyone there... but his regiment did. They were products of the Scholam, most of them, and so no one had batted an eyebrow that he had received religious texts from there. The High Gothic was nigh-incomprehensible to Cholin, who spoke High Gothic quite well, but not when it was this falsely-accented... He took all the numbers first, from the letter, so 8745, 22, and took note that the 'sister unit' had been named, but not referred to as a number(which was 'first'... although he knew from his own research that the Van Doos of their title meant they were the 22nd regiment, Canadic Armed forces, once upon a time, and presumably, his correspondant did too... But the corruption in translation to High Gothic just wouldn't allow for that second 22 anyways. And that just meant he didn't have to discard a second 22(the cipher he used could not deal with more than two repeated numbers, at any rate. Dividing the numbers in two groups of three gave him 874 and 522. Using these numbers, and pointing them to a map of the Imperial Palace gave him a room number. Using these numbers on a second map of the Senior Cathedral of the holy world of Ophelia VII, told him which actual cipher book he was to use to interpret the message, substituting the characaters of the latter, in trio, for the character at the page number/line number/line position, ofallowing for the three typos he had to correct, here is the deciphered text:
I bid thee greetings in the name of the God-Emperor, may his light watch over us all.
Your charges have been in my thoughts much of late, my son, with the victories on Urdesh, and the concomittant losses of life and treasure. One of your fellow crusaders, Lord Commissar-General Simone Thanh, has brought to my attention that one of your sister-units, the Van Doos Royal Canadic Regiment, does not at present, have a chaplain, being that it was most drastically reduced in force due to the actions of the Great Enemy. You are not yet expected, at present, to take on double duty, be not afraid. In light of these facts, I am directed, by order of the Ecclesiarch Terra, whose trust we share, to instruct you to call a religious tattoo on Urdesh. I am sure you are a learned scholar, and need not be reminded, that a religious tattoo is part religious celebration, and part celebration of the Astra Militarum and Adepta Sororitas forces that defend said faith against the great Enemy. Ooops, well I just wasted a great deal of ink there, now, didn't I? Suffice is to say, you are to summon those forces in the Sabbat Worlds Crusade second front that can be spared to religious observance, and military friendly competition and other merriment. Sadly, The Saint will not be joining you, other duties call her elsewhere.
Be wary, cousin Cholin, for the medal granted to your charge, Commissar-Colonel Carmine Petit is so ancient it defied our attempts at determining its source and purity. We can only hope it is, as declared by the mechanicum charged with keeping it, metal from a second Millenium blackpowder cannon, but we cannot be sure, so we have called for this Tattoo, and ensured as many of our order will be present at possible, to contain the threat that we warned against, but could not eradicate through other means. We count five divisions of infantry troops, two armored, and one combined-arms, and only hope it is enough... Should such an ancient artifact match the power of equally ancient, equally untraceable artifacts that have made their presence known in the segmentum recently. Our ancient allies the Adeptus Mechanicus, Adepta Sororitas and Adeptus Astartes all have committed to come, should such a celebration be held, be steadfast, at least a chapter of the last, a regiment of of the latter, and two maniples of the former should join you, and that is heavy firepower indeed! However, they do not suspect the reason for their presence, so we expect your discretion, as usual."Son of a star-sucking, pustule-swilling, goatmilk-decanting Abyss-touched mutant! Why not just not give her the medal, geniuses, give her a lesser one!" But he knew that battle had been lost long ago, and he didn't know the year the medal had been held back 'administratively', hed been lost through 'fortuitous' warp transit that amounted to negative time, a four-year wait for the medal being completed in just 8 months, meaning he'd lost that battle before it even began, the medal being a plot of the nefarious forces of chaos, or so had judged his superiors, it seemed. He walked back to his book-case, put the book away, and then walked to his fridge, pouring some tonic water, lime juice, ice cubes, and 'holy water from Madeira-Dangla' *wink-wink*. So, they want me to fire up a song and dance... Put some fairy-dust in Commissar-Colonel Petit's eyes? I am good, but I'm not that good, not if she listens to Michael... Hmm, any time she distrusts him? After he saved her, and pulled her from those chaos forces? And she knows him from scholam? Yeah, pull the other one, Mochrie... Knock-knock. "Come in." "Chaplain, I'm going to need you to sign for two thousand yards worth of signage, banners, regimental colours and other signage... We having a tattoo?" "As you were, Sar-Mage Narvik! Don't go making noise just yet, I'm still waiting for the paperwork to translate..." "Oh, well, my money's on a tattoo, for what it's worth." "So's mine, but I need to wait on official word, so don't spread it too far..." "Well, they're behind the Space Marines Chapter... White Consuls, if I can read heraldry." "What, they're here?" "Arrived in the spaceport last night." "How do you do this, specs? Everyone is impressed how you know these things..." "I'm always nice to the postmen, and some of them are very pretty..." "Oh, yeah but then you're pretty nice to everyone..." "People should be nicer to people, is all I'm saying..." "From your ears to the Emperor's lips..." "I'll look for you later, since you signed up for those papers..." "Thank you Marsh..." "Happy to help, chap."
"Chap? Can I have a word?" "Sure Michael, you can have a whole dictionary of them!" "Funny, we doing this tattoo thing?" "I've been ramrodded from above Mike, I ain't been allowed an opportunity to complain, let alone object." "Oh, you too huh? Cuz ComGen Thanh ain't taking my calls either." "Atten-hut! Black Lilies, be steadfast!" A nearby voice interjected. "Black lilies?" Chaplain Mochrie asked. "Sororitas fast-attack unit. Jump-pack flyers, but with flamers." Michael answered, having read the tactical briefings. "I heard the daughters of the emperor were very devout..." "I imagine they are, but that name's not been current for a while... Our new neighbours are ecclesiarchy, treat them like you'd treat Chap Mochrie..." "Like chap? so invite them for drinks and cards?" "Maybe more like: 'don't get him riled up, the monkey's nasty...'" "Sir, yes sir!" "Nice turn of phrase that, Michael, can I use it?" "Sure, chap." "Thanks, Michael, how're you holding up?" "I'm fine, why you asking?" "What, I can't ask for your spiritual health? That's what I'm here for..." "Not just mine, no, and mine's been buttressed lately..." "Buttressed?" "I'm being reinforced, this tattoo really helps me do my job..." "Oh, how?" "All these routines and preparation, and everyone opening up the manuals and reciting the hymnals and such..." "Well, I'm not doing it for you..." "No, I imagine you did it for entirely pure motives..." "Ah-ah, aren't you clever..." "Come on, padre, I'm not born yesterday..." "22nd Division flag, arriving!" "Second Front HQ arriving!" "Gah, they give you a LOUD warning for these things, don't they?" "I couldn't agree more. I heard that, and I'm not even at the spaceport!" "That wasn't from the spaceport, that was them arriving at the building, Padre, GenCom Thanh's transport." "She's here?" "She is." "I hear she's kinda impressive..." "No one that small should be so imposing, it's just cheating..." "She's small?" "1m50cm, well if you get her not wearing high heels at least." "She likes tall heels?" "I've seen her in needle heels just under 20cm..." "That can't be comfortable." "She's not one to let anything hold her back..." "Wait, 1m70? She's eye level to you in those?" "Just under... Best not to think about it too hard."
Crack! Crack! Crack! like bolter shots the pattern of what must be the tallest, slimmest heels in the Crusade rang on the flagstones of a public outdoor space, quickly converted into a chapel for fifty thousand by Chaplain Cholerie and others. He was dozing at his pulpit, after running around, preparing the thousand of small details that transformed a gathering of fifty thousand into a Requiem Mass honouring Saint Sabbath, or "The Saint" as she was known to the locals. It tripped most of 22nd division, as Terra could never just agree on one saint, not with its trillion people.
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