Sweat beaded upon Dyveke's forehead as she clumsily got to her feet. The Sororita's bolter fire had just narrowly whizzed above her shoulder, and as she leaned against the pillar and quick-aimed another shot, she found she couldn't still the shaking of her hands. She summarily refused to die, and absolutely refused to be captured-she would not live to see herself be shamed among the House Atraxes so. She wished, very badly, that she had trained more with this pistol, that she had some actual idea of how to angle a bolt shell, to make it melt through armor the way the house guard always had. She wished she'd brought some kind of proper escape tool-a bevy of smoke bombs, or maybe a grapnel gun that she could take to the roof. Most of all, she wished she had actually trained with the sword at her belt-not for the Sisters, whose thick power armor would completely shrug it off. She wanted to take the blade by her side and split the oh-so-holy Inquisitor Tyrus in half, preferably slowly and up through the middle. As her next shot rang off toward the Sister, she felt purely, absolutely certain that that man had set her-and everyone else-up.

Spoiler: Bolter shot
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(1d100)[28] Vs 43, single shot, still no time for a half action aim but at least she can dodge and has cover
(2d10)[7][1](8)+5 X, Pen 4