Sholmes now addresses Leveticus.
"Brother-Novice Leveticus! I salute you and the Great Chantries. There are those who call the Chantries a haven of free-thought, of bookish squirrels rummaging about to learn what they shouldn't, hiding a corruptible breast under the splendor of their Ecclesiarchal robes. From what you did on Iocanthus, however, I see that that is not the case with you. Your heart beats with true love of the God-Emperor."
He walks over to the priest and then stops, reaching into his cloak. Sholmes' hand emerges, bearing a parchment bound by a ribbon.
"Brother-Novice, as a scholar, man of the word, and passionate persecutor of the faithless, you are the Prime of this cell. In my hand I hold a writ of Inquisitorial authority investing you with the mandate of the Holy Ordos. This document will serve as your identification on the planet to which you will soon be going, showing that you are a finger on the hand of the Ordo Hereticus."
He hands the parchment to Leveticus and speaks in High Gothic: "Vobiscum sint deus-Imperator Terraque sancta."
(Spoiler for characters who know High Gothic (that is, Leveticus, James, and Chani) and whose players never took Latin in school :) ):
And then looks around at the rest of you.
"The Brother serves as my proxy on this mission. Obey him as you would me. But watch him as well. Remember -- all may be corrupted, and though he is my hand, if your hand should offend you, you must cut it off, as an old saying goes."
Sholmes takes another puff on his pipe. The cherub on his shoulder sucks up the considerable ash buildup on the pipe with some kind of internal vacuum mechanism in its mouth.
At last, he turns to Chani and bows.
"The musician of death! I hope you will not be offended, but I find such customs -- though fully in harmony (he-he) with the blessed teachings of the Ecclesiarchy -- to be somewhat quaint. The ballet, the minuet, the knife in the throat... where a warrior of the Angels of Death would simply hack his enemy's head off with his chain-sword and be done with it. Efficiency, not style, is the watchword of the Adeptus Astartes. I knew a Brother-Sergeant once, Emperor rest his soul...
"I digress. Your job on this mission is to do what you are trained to do -- kill, specifically those who oppose the Ordos. You are, as it were, the instrument of the Brother-Novice here, an instrument the sheet music of which is written not in ink or flashing across a data-slate, but in blood and screams. Or, as our friend Huw here might term it more prosaically, you are muscle."
He looks back at Huw.
"My dear Lind hiver, that description might fit you as well. You know guns, and you know the more sordid side of life, how to get around with those who are, if you forgive me saying so, further from the Emperor's light than an Imperial citizen should be. I hope that both talents will serve you well on this mission, for it is on their basis that I have selected you."
Sholmes takes a step back, looks up to one side for a half-second, and then calls out in a somewhat irritated tone. "Wazzon my dear! Where are you? The data files on the mission need to be presented, and the cogitator tells me you haven't loaded them yet! Hurry up about it! It should be elementary!"
He sighs, then addresses you.
"For all of Chirurgeon Wazzon's admirable qualities, there are times when I think his mother must have been a Grox. Do you have any questions to ask in the time before the files are ready to be shown?"
OOC: in other words, you can ask Sholmes whatever you want in the minute or two before the mission briefing proper begins.