“Gentlemen, my compliments on a performance above and beyond that expected of tourists, and on a relatively discreete wrapping up of your affairs on Dewdrop. I have read your reports with great interest. Now, to the matter at hand. You are, effective immediately, assigned to the service of ”/characters/inquisitor-silas-marr" class=“wiki-content-link”>Inquisitor Marr, active here on Solomon. He requires you for a mission of some urgency, with the full agreement of Lord Inquisitor Zerbe.
Marr may be found acting in the public guise as a notary and a script-broker. He is located in the thirteenth chamber of the thirty-ninth level of the outer ward, at the Halls of the Chancellary Court. I have arranged for a speeder carriage to take you there immediately upon conclusion of this meeting. Also, I have a datapad with some information on Solomon for your perusal.
Brutus narrows his eyes as he examines Sand closely. “You seem to have some misgivvings about this, Interrogator.”
“Yes, this matter is somewhat irregular, to say the least. It is unusual for such a request to be made outside the circle of an Inquisitor’s close allies, let alone outside his Ordo.”
Castus: “Could you elaborate, Interrogator Sand?”
“Yeah, some details of Marr, his Ordo and the mission would be helpful” adds Brutus, as he with great care and affection applies anti-oxidation oil to TK’s joints and armour plating, who growls with approval.
“I know little of Inquisitor Marr, but his reputation is a mysterious one. I know neither his Ordo nor his alliance, only that he has sat here on Solomon like a spider in a web as long as anyone can remember. However, I do know that he was already aware of your presence and requested your aid specifically. Arrangements were made in haste to accommodate him.”
“I’m afraid I can tell you no more, I know as little as you do of this matter. I must away now, my services are required at the Templum Mori. Make haste, your ride is waiting at the main entrance.”
With that, and a solemn “The Emperor protects!”, Interrogator Sand leaves. Castus slams home a fresh clip in his Sacristan and states “Lets og see what this Inquisitor Marr wants, then”
A large set of doors concealed within one bookcase-wall opens and a hunched figure is brought in, carried in a dark sedan chair by two servitors and accompanied by a gaunt young woman in a heavy stiff-backed dress with a gauzy mantle.
The sedan chair is lowered before you, and the servitors detach their carrying rigs and stand passively against the wall. The seated figure is that of a withered elderly man with long, lank hair and a narrow, sharp face. He is encased in several layers of threadbare and soiled-looking clothes, and a moth eaten fur shawl covers his shoulders. He succumbs to a wracking fit of coughing and has blood dabbed from his mouth afterward by the gaunt young woman. Silently he examines you with vividly intense amber eyes that seem to shine with a feverish light before he speaks to you in a bitter, rasping voice.
“I am Silas Marr,” he says, pointing at the letters in your hands, “and it would seem that you… are mine.”