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This Mordheim model was converted
by Dominic Murray (featured in WD292).
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Apocrypha twitched on her sleeping mat, her oily black hair
flying as her head snapped from side to side. She screamed
a tortured howl and sat bolt upright. Clutching her skull
with bone-white hands, Apocrypha's eyes darted between the
gloomy corners of her tent.
The tent flap flew open as two soldiers stormed in, Lasguns
at the ready. They were decked out in flak armour of the Imperial
Guard, but the markings of the Imperium had been filed off.
Their shoulder pads were covered in dried blood, with strange
symbols marked on the crimson surfaces.
"What disturbs you, Baroness?" one of them –
the sergeant – asked.
Apocrypha's eyes glazed over as she stared over their shoulders
at the stars hanging in the void that surrounded her home
planet of Thecula V. Her voice changed, sounding as if multiple
individuals were speaking at once in horrible polyphony.
"They have arrived! Prepare yourselves, for the minions
of the False Emperor are upon us!"
 The
two Traitor Guard looked at each other in surprise at her
words when they noted the glint of yellow light off of their
blood-slick armour. Both pivoted just in time to see one of
the tents on the perimeter of their camp evaporate in a massive
fireball, the shockwave blowing over several tents around
the blast. In the firelight, the soldiers could make out the
silhouettes of Sisters of Battle.
"Get out there, damn you!" Apocrypha screamed,
and the Traitor Guardsmen sprinted off to join the fray.
Standing, Apocrypha raised her arms as she strode from the
tent. Bolts of blazing energy leapt from her fingers, some
bolts lancing the Adepta Sororitas, some skewering her own
troops. She ignored their screams as she continued to fire
into the melee. They would all come to know the pain she had
known her entire life.
 Apocrypha
blinked away her grogginess as she tried to figure out
where
she was. Harsh metal pressed against her side while her feet
and hands were pressed against what felt like transparisteel.
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. The colour drained
from her face and her eyes widened with terror as she
realized
she was trapped in the transparent holding pen of an Ministorum
Incarcerator.
"So, we finally have the mighty Baroness Apocrypha,
leader of the Coven of Thecula V," a voice said, laden
with dark glee.
Spinning, Apocrypha saw who mocked her. Inquisitor Vincorum
of the Ordo Hereticus stood beside the vehicle, a slight smirk
on his face.
"You were not an easy catch, but the might of the Emperor
cannot be stopped by a heretic such as you. You are guilty
of multiple counts of violating the holy commandment forbidding
psychic activity outside the confines of the Imperial service.
By the authority of the Inquisition, you will stand trial
for your vile crimes and be summarily executed at the Imperial
Cathedral on Salem Proctor."
Vincorum paused, his smirk widening.
"I would burn you with this Incarcerator, but Inquisitor
Lord Karamazov specifically decreed that the honour belongs
to him. However, if you cause trouble along your journey
to adjudication, I am authorized to conduct the Rite of
Purgation.
Please, Apocrypha, please – give me the reason I need
to flip the switch."
Apocrypha stood silently, glowering at the Inquisitor. The
voices within, however, told her something that made her burst
into maniacal laughter.
"You are indeed mad to laugh in such a precarious situation,"
Vincorum said, his hand hovering over the turbine activation
switch.
"Not as precarious as you might think, Inquisitor. My
followers are as devoted as yours, and they are very, very
close," Apocrypha said, her laughter echoing in the small
chamber.
Next:
Scenario Specifics.
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