Sister Jeanne, Saint Potentia, led her Dominion squad across the wastes, scouting ahead for suitable locations for the drop- church to relocate to. She told the Immolator to stop near a ruined cathedral – a solid
location, however, something wasn’t right. She used her vox to tell the rest of her scouting convoy to arm their weapons. Both Castigator’s were ready at least.

Then she caught a glimpse of a colourful troupe of dancing, deadly and most of all lethal Aeldari. Then she saw the masks. Jeanne had read the battle report from the Dishonoured 143rd. These were the Harlequins, known as the Masque of Leering Fools.

“Charge the Multi-Meltas!” Sister Jeanne shouted.

It was too late, the Immolator exploded as it was pierced by several lancing shots, sending her squad cascading to the ground littered with broken stained glass and fire. Screams, singing and explosions jutted
through the static on her comm-bead. It was a trap. Jeanne got up, but found herself surrounded by twisted masks and prodding blades. She found herself in a literal dance with death, one with too many players and
too few standing, as her fellow sisters were stabbed, shot or knocked unconscious. Only by His saving grace did she hold the troupe off long enough to send a flare up into the sky. She hoped her superiors were watching. She hoped His Eternal Light was upon her. This was her trial of suffering and in suffering, there was enlightenment.

The flare lit up the sky, exploding like a
divine star, lighting up the plateau where the
three leaders of the Order were strategising.
Canoness Marika, Roxanne and Titania all
saw the signal.

“Our sisters are in mortal danger,” Marika said, sending a signal to her Angel squad of Seraphim. It wasn’t long before 23 jump-packs ignited and descended upon the battlefield, which was rapidly falling apart. Huge fissures had opened, swallowing buildings and troops on both sides.

The forward flank across an old highway was already lost. As they arrived, the leaders of the Order of the Triumvirate were greeted by malice and false songs about His Eternal Light. The Masque of Leering Fools were changing the lyrics to well-known imperium hymns, twisting the words for their own agenda, spreading false truths.

“Are you hearing this? Absolute heresy! May this Eviscerator tear their falsehoods in half,” Canoness Roxanne said.

“You must appreciate their audacity at least,” Canoness Titania responded. “Although I agree on the twisted levels of heresy they’ve accomplished here. They need to be taught a lesson.”

“Sister, we are not here to teach the glory of the imperium and His Light to these xeno fools, we are here to protect our Order,” Canoness Marika said. “I’ve located their leader, Titania. If you engage him in combat,
it may put their forces into disarray. Meanwhile, we will clear a path for the Triumph.”

“Very well, Sister Marika, I’ll engage the target known as the Fallen Angel,” Titania said, descending into the flames below her.

Canoness Marika dropped down and her Seraphim lit up the squad of mounted Skyweavers patrolling the ruins, with fire. No Skyweavers left the pillar of holy flame, giving the Triumph* time to re-position. In
unison, Canoness Roxanne revved her Holy Eviscerator and landed on the roof of a ruined storage building. The roof, as a cruel joke, collapsed, sending her and her Zephyrim tumbling into the ruins.

*Imperium records note that this is the Triumph of Saint Artura, it consists of seven Sisters of battle, each embodying the living spirit of a past saint, singing hymns of past battles while using empowered relics of the
past to inspire other battle sisters. The seventh sister rides atop a divinely mutated horse with a single horn.

Meanwhile, Canoness Titania landed next to the Fallen Angel’s Starweaver, peltering it with bolt rounds and more pure, undiluted, blessed promethium flame.

The Fallen Angel deftly danced out of the flames and escaped Titania’s wrath. Luckily, Canoness Roxanne was back on her feet and intercepted the Harlequin leader as he dashed down the alley with a frightening speed and grace.

“You must be the Fallen Angel. Your presence here will not be tolerated!” Roxanne exclaimed with pious
conviction.

“I have yet to give you any presents. But you will not have to wait long for them,”

The Fallen Angel rebutted, his voice as sweet as honey, with a sinister grin on his Agaith*

*Imperium records state that an Agaith is the harlequins’ psychic face mask that changes shape while worn, projecting images of their foes’ nightmares.

The Seraphim and Harlequins clashed in melee. Leading by example, Roxanne’s Holy Eviscerator, thrice blessed* by priests on Ophelia VII, collided with the Fallen Angels blade, throwing energy-infused sparks across the war-torn street.

*Imperium records state that one priest mistakenly blessed this weapon twice, so opinion is split on whether it is twice-blessed or thrice-blessed.

Titania secured what was once the staging area of the Harlequins’ ambush, however, too late she saw the fissure open up, trapping her leg. A vehicle in the distance, while had taken out the immolator, fired upon her position, taking out her squad. Leaving her at the mercy of an approaching Farseer. They fought in the
fissure, the reach of her Blessed Halberd keeping her enemy at bay. Then another shot from the distance, this time it was an anti-tank weapon. It cracked open the fissure, sending Titania falling down. Her head hit rock and all became black.

On the other side of the ruined cathedral, Roxanne tore through the walls of ruins and piles of debris, the biting teeth of her Holy Eviscerator singing through the air. It was a war of attrition on both sides, with
unnacceptable casualty numbers for a scouting mission. She wasn’t stupid, this was not a suitable area to move the drop-church to and the cathedral ruins were surely booby-trapped. It was time to pull-
out of this loosing battle as more fissures ripped apart the area. Nearly all the sisters had fallen or were in strategic retreat, leaving Roxanne the only sister still fighting. Hospitallers were on their way to pick up the fallen, so she had to continue fighting just a little bit longer.

Her jump-pack was now running low on fuel, so she skipped across the fissures with short jumps and flipped over ruins until she came across the Triumph – which had been split by a Solitaire. It was the only thing standing between her and escape.

“In His Name,” Roxanne said, wiping blood from her forehead and gripping her weapon with two hands. “I respect your mettle at least. But your false songs are as empty as your faith.”

“No, it cannot be!” He replied melodramatically. “Your faith is too great. Why did I cross the path of the greatest Canoness this era has seen!”

Roxanne sparred with the Solitaire, trading grazed hits until finally she finally inflicted the killing blow through purity of strength. She had overcame a clearly more potent duellist. Perhaps she was the greatest Canoness of the Triumvirate? The Solitaire vanished, leaving nothing but a blur of colour and a cruel laugh in his place.

After the battle, the remaining battle sisters were broken, their morale hanging on by a knife’s edge. Canoness Marika and Roxanne scoured the battlefield later that day, but there was no sign of Canoness
Titania. Reports were that the fissure ate her up, so the two canonesses marked her as MIA*. Sisters weren’t killed, they were Martyred in His Name, giving their life for the greater plan of His Grace.

*Martyred In Action.

Roxanne screamed, kicking a broken bolt pistol across the dirt. “How could this happen?! Was our faith not strong enough, Sister?”

“His Will works can not always be interpreted. Do not be upset, she gave her life in the greatest way possible,
fighting in His Name as a bride of the Emperor. Is it not our destiny to die in glorious battle? Would you rather she died of dysentery?” Marika replied.

“You are right, Sister. We will sing a song of her final glorious battle, she has not died in vain. The Triumvirate is down to two, but still three in spirit and conviction,” Roxanne stated.

*Canoness Titania was captured by the Masque of Leering Fools