- 1 -
I stared down at the elderly gentleman, weary and thoroughly fed up. “The Playing Cards of Ruin? You’re not serious.”
Mister Imus nodded gravely. “The Playing Cards of Ruin. Inquisitor Eisenhorn, I’m quite certain tha-“
“Good evening, Mister Imus.” I had risen, and was leaving. This had been a colossal waste of time. Despite the indignant, frenetic spluttering of the man I left behind, there was no conceivable way that this was a real threat. The Number of Ruin, fine. The Anagram of Ruin had lead us to a heretic publishing corrupted works. But Playing Cards? The only threat they posed was to gamblers and the destitute in their hives.
I had a meeting with Lord Inquisitor Rorken on Thracian Primaris to get to. Preparations must be made. Leave the old fool to his imaginings.
- 2 -
One month later, all that was left of the once- populous agrarian world of Fedra was a smoking ruin, a testament to the corruptive forces of Chaos.