Chronosia
18-03-2009, 21:46
The audience chamber was vast, a towering citadel of stone and ceramite, ornamented with gold and jewels and hung with fine fabrics. Banners told of mighty triumphs in the name of the Gods and the Scion, while murals showed in graphic detail the fall of worlds, the end of empires. Remiel De Drakan stood in the centre of the room, silently contemplating the vasty maps which hung, suspended, holographic, above his head. There was the Imperium, there the disparate holdings of other powers...The recent movements of the Union against her foes, the collection of sub-human filth races which sullied the purity of man with bestiality. He smirked lightly, imagining what would happen if such degeneracies were ever to encounter the Beastmen, sons of Chaos, touched and mutated...How the Children would devour their faces, rend them limb from limb...To think of such things brought a shudder of carnal pleasure and a rush of exhilaration.
And then there was the Empire...
How it stood so reduced and laid waste by the spats and altercations between the Jedi and the Sith, and the Sith themselves...Not that Remiel cared for such things. When piddling barely-relevant cults such as they went to war it resulted in an abundance of good, an overflowing of dead heretics. Now that the tin man and the wizard were dead, that left others...Lieutenants and Generals, pawns and puppets and players all...It was to them that he must turn; he Remiel, he Warmaster. He closed his hands together, bare flesh closing together. He chuckled dryly, his eyes tracing pathways and invasion routes, contemplating the thrill of war on every front, the frenzy inherent in smiting the unworthy and the profane, instilling in them the trueness of belief. Was that not the essence of life? To conquer? To enlighten? To serve?
He let his arms raise above his head, as though cupping the galaxies themselves, closing them within his grasp. His fingers brushed systems with cruel affection, tickled across the vasty emptiness of the void and teased at conquered worlds, flickering across trophies as yet unclaimed...So much potential, and yet it lay stagnant and uncaring, too weak and feeble even to call for help...And they called themselves an Empire; heirs to a galaxy, servants of a greater truth, warriors of humanity...What did they truly know of duty? Of belief? Of faith unfaltering? How could they invest such belief in a withered jack-in-the-box, appearing and disappearing as interchangeably as the seasons or the tides? What was required was vision, true foresight...
And so he composed a message, relayed with all swiftness and all certainty, a message that would carry across the void of space and the intergalactic distances...One that would resonate with his power and his authority and shake to the foundations any dynasty that received it. Things, he had decided simply, would change.
Brothers in arms, sons of the Empire all, hear your Warmaster.
We are brought together in mourning for what has been lost, for what has fallen and what has retreated into shadow, but so too are we unified more than ever by true and common purpose. Our foes would think us divided by our loss and our lack, and yet they must find us stronger than ever; more unified in purpose. I stand as the Warmaster, as lord and master of the Chronosian Imperium and as the symbol, the will which guides our armed forced. We stride forth in victory and warfare; we embrace the arts of conquest and carnage, that our own might expand and our borders be kept safe.
Even now we hunt the accursed heathens of Coredia, who rally others against us and plot to overthrow all we have spent these long years building. We drive them across the stars and bring them to their knees in fire and blood, drowning them in their own apostasy.
With these triumphs and endeavours in mind, I shall be hosting a feast and a summit whereby all who wish to may come forth and share ideas as to the preservation of our great institution and the path we shall take to the future. All our brothers in arms are welcome in my halls, as though they were my own gene-kin.
I await your responses, brethern, and stand ready to...Build our future and safeguard our past glories.
Yours eternal,
Remiel De Drakan
And then there was the Empire...
How it stood so reduced and laid waste by the spats and altercations between the Jedi and the Sith, and the Sith themselves...Not that Remiel cared for such things. When piddling barely-relevant cults such as they went to war it resulted in an abundance of good, an overflowing of dead heretics. Now that the tin man and the wizard were dead, that left others...Lieutenants and Generals, pawns and puppets and players all...It was to them that he must turn; he Remiel, he Warmaster. He closed his hands together, bare flesh closing together. He chuckled dryly, his eyes tracing pathways and invasion routes, contemplating the thrill of war on every front, the frenzy inherent in smiting the unworthy and the profane, instilling in them the trueness of belief. Was that not the essence of life? To conquer? To enlighten? To serve?
He let his arms raise above his head, as though cupping the galaxies themselves, closing them within his grasp. His fingers brushed systems with cruel affection, tickled across the vasty emptiness of the void and teased at conquered worlds, flickering across trophies as yet unclaimed...So much potential, and yet it lay stagnant and uncaring, too weak and feeble even to call for help...And they called themselves an Empire; heirs to a galaxy, servants of a greater truth, warriors of humanity...What did they truly know of duty? Of belief? Of faith unfaltering? How could they invest such belief in a withered jack-in-the-box, appearing and disappearing as interchangeably as the seasons or the tides? What was required was vision, true foresight...
And so he composed a message, relayed with all swiftness and all certainty, a message that would carry across the void of space and the intergalactic distances...One that would resonate with his power and his authority and shake to the foundations any dynasty that received it. Things, he had decided simply, would change.
Brothers in arms, sons of the Empire all, hear your Warmaster.
We are brought together in mourning for what has been lost, for what has fallen and what has retreated into shadow, but so too are we unified more than ever by true and common purpose. Our foes would think us divided by our loss and our lack, and yet they must find us stronger than ever; more unified in purpose. I stand as the Warmaster, as lord and master of the Chronosian Imperium and as the symbol, the will which guides our armed forced. We stride forth in victory and warfare; we embrace the arts of conquest and carnage, that our own might expand and our borders be kept safe.
Even now we hunt the accursed heathens of Coredia, who rally others against us and plot to overthrow all we have spent these long years building. We drive them across the stars and bring them to their knees in fire and blood, drowning them in their own apostasy.
With these triumphs and endeavours in mind, I shall be hosting a feast and a summit whereby all who wish to may come forth and share ideas as to the preservation of our great institution and the path we shall take to the future. All our brothers in arms are welcome in my halls, as though they were my own gene-kin.
I await your responses, brethern, and stand ready to...Build our future and safeguard our past glories.
Yours eternal,
Remiel De Drakan