She leaves those last words and takes the lead, pushing onward toward the Valkyries where the ships will see them to the frontlines.
They will be tested, Morvenn knows this, anticipates and longs for it. She will not be found wanting by Him.
She knows not of Katrina, though.
What a wretched existence it must be, to know that your cursed existence will see you forever stuck in disgrace.
Morvenn sees the right of it in Katrina, though. Psykers are given to chaos quite naturally, for the taint of the empyrean that flows through them.
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"I feel doubt just as much as any other, Abbess," speaks she as she plucks her stave and greatsword, "but it does not define me. I am defined by my preparedness to finish what I have been asked to do."
Katrina places the stave on her back, and holsters the greatsword on
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shrink into the kind of servility that waits for opportunity toward betrayal.
Her head seems to remain high and she knows her duty; what more can the Abbess expect of a servant of the Throne than that?
β Let there be no doubt. Excise them from your flesh and mind. β
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But now, it's serving a stronger purpose; to show her resolve in the face of what they will be fighting, and perhaps allow the psyker to share in that fortitude.
β They will have witches of their own and they will be formidable. Your resolve must be ironclad, Katrina. β
Morvenn grunts her approval. She feels not that same fear, for her faith keeps her still and steady in such a storm. No, the only manner of anxiety that she might see inflicted upon herself is that of failure; of failing her Emperor.
And that simply cannot happen.
It is not
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There have been few times where Katrina's childhood perception has stayed unblemished. Naive and petulant traits that, at one point, were native to any innocent mind; had been besmirched and rewritten many a time. One thing remained a constant, however.
While Astartes were
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a twisted flesh will be given to the shades of the Imperium's darkest histories. β
Morvenn has taken to conversing with the psyker unhelmed, of late. Initially it was to give a clearer impression of disgust when she felt the witch might be becoming familiar.
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Morvenn keeps her eye on the witch, keen and level as she talks. Much has been learned since her time on Atoma, not all of it good, but every detail useful.
She is no fool as to think that everything in His Imperium is done to what would be considered a 'proper' standard of
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A low groan is offered in response, and the Witch slinks out of her seat. The recaf in her hands is long since cold, but she gulps it down anyway and sucks her teeth in muted disapproval.
"Yes, yes, yes. Of course, Abbess."
It is not her ( * entire ) intention to sound
β>
'ππ’πππ¦π― π’π―π¨π¦ππ΄' they are oft called, though she cannot bring herself to use the term; to liken them to His warriors and their holiness would feel an affront, a poisonous blasphemy to drip from her tongue.
β This will not be like your previous missions. I would
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