Orson stepped in, brushing the rain off his coat. Well, "rain" in large quotations. The condensation from the surrounding buildings was humid to almost choking, and the planet's gravity felt the Emperor's himself was testing both faith and lumbar support. His planet had a calmer 0.7 Terran Gravities. The planet itself was as oppressive as the people, a somewhat ominous omen, but one didn't prove his faith in the Emperor by sampling delicacies!
As the door closed behind him, he closed his eyes for a few seconds to allow himself time to adapt to the gloom; even the lower Hive on Sanctity IV was a much nicer view than this dingy little place; he corrected himself- No, the darkness here would soon be lifted with the Emperor's Light! The man in the bar said he knew some people who could use his Faith to help lift the darkness and test his own. Go see Dariel, he said.
Promptly, Orson looked up. "I'm sorry, which one of you are Dariel?" He let his bright green eyes wander over the three as he shook the water off his cloak; he hoped the greasy air wouldn't get the smell into the feathers. He had a look at those in the room.
One of them was wearing a deep red. Ah, a member of the Ommnissian cult. An accepted deviation, if wrong. Tall, as well. A few pieces of metal glinted in the dark, but there seemed to be eyes and hair- not a devout follower then. Perhaps he could be swayed to the true Faith? A pile of books that seems to stand over protectively... a devout reader? Intelligent, certainly.
Next to him, a large man. Bloodshot eyes and a birthmark. Lower born, likely. Drug addict? Lho sticks? Obscura? Something else? A ring of bone. Certainly lower-born, thought Orson. Ex gang member, judging by his build. Was he... was he wearing armour indoors? How uncultured of him! Could certainly use the Emperor's Light. Orson moved his cloak to hang on the wall hook.
He moved his already large eyes to the next member of the party, and his hand moved to the haft of his axe. The malign influence of the Dark Ones was within this one. His other hand made half the sign of the God Emperor, one wing and the head with the thumb, and under his breath he hissed "Witch...", before halting himself. For was not the Emperor himself blessed with a million such beings every three years?
He gulps, and nods to himself, before sweeping into a low bow. "My name is Orson of House Shylocke and His Majestic Highness, the God-Emperor of Mankind." He stood to his straightest, still smaller than the rest, and younger. "May I ask which of you is Dariel? I've been told he is going through a tough time and will require the guidance of the God-Emperor."