Brother Nuric sighed gently, allowing himself a small smile at his own expense. He'd just walked into his modest room in the Inquisitor's Grestian manor, having just rinsed off, sweat still beading on his forehead; Jericus' calisthenics routine didn't flatten him like it had that first night, but it was still far from a stroll through the fields. Ironically, it would seem as though his life since joining the Inquisition under Felix Bannon had left him a bit 'soft'. He'd spent his life on Hraline doing heavy labour, working the land and eschewing the aid of many more modern conveniences in favour of simple tools and his own two hands; it had left him with a solidly muscled frame, intimidating if not for the friendly face accompanying it. This past year had seen a drastic cut in the amount of honest labour he'd managed - rarely able to step in for some heavy lifting before a servitor assumed a task - and he had to admit that he was not in quite the same shape as he had once been. That wasn't the only issue, however; the routine Jericus had devised was well beyond anything he'd ever experienced before, and even had he been at his peak outright muscle wouldn't cut it. Still, he was determined to persevere, and even had some small success in convincing himself he was progressing.

He knelt briefly by the bed, offering a short prayer, then rose to shut the door and retrieve a change of clothes, donning his robes overtop them. He paused a moment, then strapped his belt and gun on underneath the robe; the habit was slow to build, but most days he remembered before he left the room now. He thought on that a moment; if his change in lifestyle with the Inquisition had atrophied his frame at all, it had only strengthened his resolve. Where only months before he'd begun to question his place in the Inquisition, now he felt more determined than ever to serve Him-Upon-The-Throne through the shadowy organization.

Nuric stepped out into the hall once more, leaving the door open; he only ever shut it when changing or when asleep (he did so to protect the others from his snoring; to this day he wasn't sure if the other monks had been truthful about his raucous chainsword racket at night, or if they'd just used it as a reason for none to share a room with him). Whatever his condition, he was of the clergy first and foremost, and he wanted to be available at any time should his fellow Acolytes wish to speak (whether on matters of faith, or anything else). He checked his chrono, pleased to note that if he headed into the upper hive now he'd still likely arrive on-time for nightsong at Grestian's beautiful grand templum. He had spoken with the temple elders on a few occasions now, but was simply content to join the mass with the rest of the congregation. He began to stroll towards the landing platforms, then slowed, and stopped. He felt the increasingly familiar bulk of the .40 Talic autopistol strapped underneath his robes; Jericus's instruction had proved invaluable, and was starting to pay off; the former Guardsman had assured him however that the most impact he'd see on his ability now would come from practice. Even with the extra time he'd been spending at the range, he was far from a sharpshooter, and the time may come when there would be more resting on that autopistol's results than just Brother Nuric's satisfaction. He turned, instead heading in the direction of the range. Nightsong would have been both calming and uplifting, but Nuric served Him in another way now, through the Inquisition and not just the Adeptus Ministorum. He could spend an hour or two in practice, then take devotion in the manor's small private chapel. He'd be sure to offer to lead a service for any of the others who wished to join him; perhaps he'd seek out Alaric, and today he'd convince-

His comm signaled. He'd missed it the first time it went off. There was a summons from the Inquisitor's Interrogator, Sonya Astrazan. A pleasure to speak with, on those occasions when it wasn't business. A lovely woman who could give Ralix a run for his thrones on any number of subjects, she was quite intelligent and charming. What she was not, however, was forgiving of a tardy Acolyte. He walked through the halls towards the meeting chamber in question. Unconcerned by the presence of the Storm Troopers, he moved past the double doors, immediately making the sign of the Aquila as his eyes settled on the statue in front of him. Glancing around, he noted the absence of Lena, then as always did a quick scan of the room again; it would not be the first time that he'd missed her standing amongst the shadows.

Nuric listened attentively while the Interrogator ran through their objectives and what they knew, and listened just as patiently to his fellow Acolytes in discussion. He was growing more comfortable with this sort of procedure, but still felt a bit out of his depth, and resolved to learn as much as he could here to aid in their investigation on Aporia.