Doubt is one constant within a psykers life, they say. The black ships…they said…
Well, I don’t even want to think about that. Suffice to say, up there in the great black wilderness of the galaxy there was once an instructor, a man. A brutal man who taught me to doubt is to fall. But…everything about my life is doubt. I doubt my sanity, my safety, the sanctity of life and my very own purity.
I doubt our purpose, our process. I doubt the course of hte inquisition, of the imperium of man. Without doubt I say, there is no faith. We entered the spire with hopes of disguise, subterfuge and strategy. Planning to gain access to house corrida with the minimum of direct fuss. I didn’t even fuck with the dickfaced ballsack of a clerk when purchasing, legitimately, I add, the expensive clothing required. All for fucking nothing because we walk out and bam. Explosions and fury.
It hurts. The world, I do not doubt that. I have no faith in pain, I know it, intimiately. I know.
Knowledge is power. Knowledge is the weapon the inquisition uses against its enemies. Knowledge is the weapon I use to protect myself from, well myself. Falling hurts. But if I had any doubt that we were doing the right thing. If i was at all hesitant about involving ourselves in some kind of inquisitorial conflict, and about what side is the right side. The horror i witnessed then, after murder, death and loud bright noises was…well. I have no doubt now. This message must go to Corrida, to the inquisitor. We must bring light to the heresy of our purserers. We must end them. As Zak always says to me. “Sometimes doing the right thing means people die. Let’s make sure the right people die.”