The rest of the journey continues in relative silence, until the car draws to a halt, and Jorun opens the door, motioning toward all of you. We're here He leads you up a lavishly decorated staricase into the Governor's palace. The interior of the structure is equally opulent. Rich burgundy carpeting lines the floors and compliments the subtle crème colours used for the walls. Each hallway is decorated in the typically baroque Imperial style common to many core Imperial Worlds. Some are adorned with pictures and murals depicting various events from both the Imperium and, presumably, the planet. Every few meters, you pass by alcoves holding bronze busts of famous Imperial heroes and Saints—their deeds described in flickering hololithic projections under their pedestals.
Eventually you arrive before a set of carved wooden doors flanked by two palace guards. As they get closer to the doors, you can easily hear the sounds of yelling coming from the other side. The guards pass surreptitious looks amongst themselves as the argument inside increases in pitch.
Jorun approaches one of the guards and they have a brief exchange of hushed words and then turns back to you, seemingly embarrassed about
the apparent situation. I was told the Defence Council was in recess until your arrival. I must apologize for this insult, but it seems that the Council has decided to convene without your presence. Please excuse me; this is a terrible breach of protocol.
With that said Jorun turns to the doors and opens them, inviting you in After you, my Lady
You step into a large, ornate room with massive stone walls covered in gargoyles and banners depicting the glory of Damaris’s achievements. Armed guards stand in each corner of the room. In the center of the room is an iron table with a hololithic projector. Around the table are several individuals, some in various military uniforms, others in flamboyant clothing with an almost piratical flair—likely other Rogue Traders. Two, a woman in the uniform of the Imperial Navy and a bald man in a uniform reminiscent of the Imperial Guard, are leaning over the table pointing and shouting at each other.
The shouting grinds to an abrupt halt as their eyes fall upon the unmistakable shape of your Ork companions. The two arguing military are already scrambling for their guns, while the rest of the audience and guards are momentarily too stunned to do anything.
