NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: I need a good naval RP... im suffering from withdrawl.

IC: Fern Gris, His Lordship's chief psyker sat in his reclusium, in meditation. His sight gifted warp eye ranged far and wide across the twists and turns of the immaterium... searching, and waiting. For he had been called by an unknown force a tremor in the immaterial which clouded his thoughts and troubled his sleep.

The heavy scent of incense sourrounded his physical body in wisps of sensous indulgence as internally he cast the sigils of searching...and found nothing. Whatever troubled his mind was hidden from him, but by what he knew not. tired and worn by his efforts the psyker turned his eye back to his body. As his consciousness returned to his physical form, a small light flickered in the far reaches of Gris' mindscape, still too far removed to be seen, but growing stronger and clearer... soon.


At the outer reaches of the galaxy nearing the halo of stars that are the last bastion of life before the vast dark of the intergalactic void, a ship floated. The vessel was cold and dark with only the barest of heat or light to distinguish it from the interminable gloom of space. The halls were darkened and no warmer that the void outside. Only in the vast hold of the vessels interior as there any sign of life. Rows and rows of green lights in galleries multitudes high shone quietly out into blackness... dormant... waiting.

Across the flowing waves of the Immaterium, a presence awoke! The force was ancient and had lain dormant for Millenia beyond counting. Slowly the mighty consciousness clawed it's way back into existence for it's long slumber... it was restless! The creature began to search, to gaze out across the waves of chaos that formed the psychic Immaterium, and into reality. It searched for its servants. Its eye soon found them.

Inside the vessel the banks of green lights began to pulse in harmony, signifying the awakening of the creatures that had waited paitently for thousands of years to be called upon... their time had come.

It was early morning in land of the Dominion. The lands of Falasmayon. Sunlight played across the ocean towards the capitol city, chasing away the night in the colors of morning's rebirth. The light reached the grand towers of the Halls of the Farseers in Dominar the capitol city. The light played op the central tower illuminating its beautiful pearl white marble and spilling into the interior of the tower.

Inside in his bedchambers, Fern Gris slept uneasily. In his mind he was haunted by a nameless fear and an unwhisperable power. Wherever he turned it followed him, not attacking or withdrawing, only watching. (and, Fern thought, laughing.)

He saw in his dreams a great force, spread out across the galaxy and the Immaterium in equal measure. A consciousness of power and cunning, with armies of single-minded warriors at its call, and ships beyond number. He saw epic battles of ships and men. He saw wars of willpower played out in the psychic of the Immaterium. He saw millions die in war, and always there was the consciousness... the force.

Fern awoke with a start, his brow matted in a cold sweat. The presence was real, and powerful, yet he knew not what to do. Carefully, the High Farseer roused himself from slumber and went to his reclusium, in the highest pinnacle of the Minnaret of the Eternal Eye, to search. He must have an answer... and soon.

Across the flowing waves of the Immaterium, a presence awoke! The force was ancient and had lain dormant for Millenia beyond counting. Slowly the mighty consciousness clawed it's way back into existence for it's long slumber... it was restless! The creature began to search, to gaze out across the waves of chaos that formed the psychic Immaterium, and into reality. It searched for its servants. Its eye soon found them.

Inside the vessel the banks of green lights began to pulse in harmony, signifying the awakening of the creatures that had waited paitently for thousands of years to be called upon... their time had come.

It was early morning in land of the Dominion. The lands of Falasmayon. Sunlight played across the ocean towards the capitol city, chasing away the night in the colors of morning's rebirth. The light reached the grand towers of the Halls of the Farseers in Dominar the capitol city. The light played op the central tower illuminating its beautiful pearl white marble and spilling into the interior of the tower.

Inside in his bedchambers, Fern Gris slept uneasily. In his mind he was haunted by a nameless fear and an unwhisperable power. Wherever he turned it followed him, not attacking or withdrawing, only watching. (and, Fern thought, laughing.)

He saw in his dreams a great force, spread out across the galaxy and the Immaterium in equal measure. A consciousness of power and cunning, with armies of single-minded warriors at its call, and ships beyond number. He saw epic battles of ships and men. He saw wars of willpower played out in the psychic of the Immaterium. He saw millions die in war, and always there was the consciousness... the force.

Fern awoke with a start, his brow matted in a cold sweat. The presence was real, and powerful, yet he knew not what to do. Carefully, the High Farseer roused himself from slumber and went to his reclusium, in the highest pinnacle of the Minnaret of the Eternal Eye, to search. He must have an answer... and soon.