Khurgan
26-01-2006, 02:33
The Warp was alive with motion. Gargantuan vessels swam through the coruscating energy, their hulls crawling with daemonic stowaways. Grim gargoyles watched over them, their eyes glowing with silent fire. Occasionally, a daemon would encroach too far into the vessel, and the light would flare, burning its essence from the Warp. Most of the daemonic freeloaders sat back, welcoming the free ride, welcoming the knowledge that they would soon feast on mortal souls by the thousands.
Tzaanlord Vaelin perched on his iron throne, his talons flexing as he willed his ship through the Immaterium. He reached up and plucked a thrashing soul from a brazier, devouring it with a single clack of his beak. He stretched, moving in his nest to observe the vessel's soultraps in action, funneling the souls of the dead into the ship, to be devoured by its inhabitants, or consumed as fuel for the great Warp Furnace at its core. Such lovely souls, so delicious...
Shaking away his daydream, Vaelin turned his mind to preparing for the upcoming battle. Reaching into the Skein of Fate, he deftly entangled threads, linking his Tzaanpriests mentally, their minds connected to his, allowing them to communicate without relying on standard methods, which would be quite... distracting... when the battle came. Tying off the weave, he moved on, binding the thousands of daemons perched on the vessels, allowing them to be transported into the Materium along with the ships. They would provide a first layer of defense, and a potent deterrence to boarders.
Finally, he sent out his mind, probing through the ships in the fleet, preparing them for battle. He lingered for a moment in the torpedo magazines, looking in awe at the massive torpedoes, their hundred meter lengths dominating the chamber. Still, they were small compared to the havoc they would unleash upon impact. They would offer up Nelvaan to Tzeentch, a fitting prize for the God of Change.
With a burst of fire, the Khurgani vessels blasted into existance. Their massive forms crawled with uncountable daemons, warp flames twisting around their baroque hulls. Anagonian vessels ascended from subspace, their sleek forms sliding through the void, ready to destroy the Orcish usurpers. Aboard his flagship, Vaelin chanted, communing with his God, twisting at the skein of fate. Helion would not be denied. Tzeentch would not be denied. The Empire would not be denied. Nelvaan was an Imperial world, it would remain thus, or it would burn.
Tzaanlord Vaelin perched on his iron throne, his talons flexing as he willed his ship through the Immaterium. He reached up and plucked a thrashing soul from a brazier, devouring it with a single clack of his beak. He stretched, moving in his nest to observe the vessel's soultraps in action, funneling the souls of the dead into the ship, to be devoured by its inhabitants, or consumed as fuel for the great Warp Furnace at its core. Such lovely souls, so delicious...
Shaking away his daydream, Vaelin turned his mind to preparing for the upcoming battle. Reaching into the Skein of Fate, he deftly entangled threads, linking his Tzaanpriests mentally, their minds connected to his, allowing them to communicate without relying on standard methods, which would be quite... distracting... when the battle came. Tying off the weave, he moved on, binding the thousands of daemons perched on the vessels, allowing them to be transported into the Materium along with the ships. They would provide a first layer of defense, and a potent deterrence to boarders.
Finally, he sent out his mind, probing through the ships in the fleet, preparing them for battle. He lingered for a moment in the torpedo magazines, looking in awe at the massive torpedoes, their hundred meter lengths dominating the chamber. Still, they were small compared to the havoc they would unleash upon impact. They would offer up Nelvaan to Tzeentch, a fitting prize for the God of Change.
With a burst of fire, the Khurgani vessels blasted into existance. Their massive forms crawled with uncountable daemons, warp flames twisting around their baroque hulls. Anagonian vessels ascended from subspace, their sleek forms sliding through the void, ready to destroy the Orcish usurpers. Aboard his flagship, Vaelin chanted, communing with his God, twisting at the skein of fate. Helion would not be denied. Tzeentch would not be denied. The Empire would not be denied. Nelvaan was an Imperial world, it would remain thus, or it would burn.