Hand of Novit Omnia
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The cold steel soles of his feet struck eager, giddy rhythm back toward his station, the writhing mass of seemingly alive wires and the haphazardly reconstructed terminal console that served as his altar of rest when onboard the mighty vessel. As expected with the call, the crew who had not yet grown accustomed to his strange presence watched his motion, nervously waiting for it all to happen and the first shell to be fired toward the planet. And it was Ozma who had the honor of seeing it done. The heft of his warmaul thudded against the floor and leaned against the terminal as the epicanthix swayed to each side, lowering himself down his knees in that macabre nest of his.
His hooded head lowered to allow mechanical digits purchase around the cable threading from the power supply carried upon his back to his temple and he pulled the plug without hesitation, swiftly connecting the loose plug into the port of the strange altar. Central to his macabre frame, his chest, a sprawling token of brassy steel was embedded into his scarred flesh, the face of the cage replacing his ribs. A web of wires and steel supports blossomed from this point, and only one free cable could be seen, the rest all fed back into the humming heart that truly gave him life. The longest of the cables snaked beneath his dwindling skin and connected into his very being, this was plugged into the second port awaiting his connection.
Now he could feel it resonate within him; the hymnal.
His hands slipped from the sleeves of his robes, embracing one another perpendicular to where his nose should lay beneath the extensive augmentations to his face. Middle and index fingers remained straight, pressing into a purposeful arrow with his thumbs straightened against them, the other digits let to entwine.
The powers of invocation projected in a garbled digital voice, their utterance heralding the transfer of mortal soul into the machine. Externally, Ozma's body remained behind his projection, its unmoving position locked in prayer, singular eye sealed shut against the world. Now, he ventured through the dark, awaiting the illumination of the Avatar, the divine Presence of Novit Omnia. Even the sunny sliver of the Avatar that dwelled within this ship was enough to blind the unprepared and unfaithful, leaving them to flounder helplessly in the dark without His Radiance to guide their hands. He felt it vibrating through his soul, rattling his pistons and warming the coolant in his proverbial veins.
Those Radiant hands surrounded him, ushering his unity unto the creation he sought cohesion with.
Engines sang their chorus, backed by the humming thunder of cannons and the eager unlock of fighters fragmenting off the greater beast to protect it. Ozma felt it course through him, the power of the vessel, every ticking surge of electrical energy prickled his mind until Ozma simply faded into obscurity. The communion was underway, at last.
Detached from his surroundings fully, the technomancer breathed through the very ship itself, existing in that paradoxical state only he and his maddened followers could glimpse, let alone sustain. Resistance was well on its way, information fed through the variety of wailing sensors, yet the vessel did not panic. It did not fear pain or suffering. It did not fear collapse or death. It served The Avatars just as the disciples did; a direct extension of Novit Omnia's in the form of an executioner's axe. What would be, would be. It would serve until it could serve no more, and when that day came, it would fade away, as pure as the day it was built; a monolith to the omniscience of The All-Knowing.
And residing within it, Ozma was the sole ally it had in the face of oblivion. His consciousness became its consciousness, and his decisions triggered sequences of events beyond the hands of the operatives on the bridge, something many of them had yet to grow accustomed to.
Defenses raised across the vessel, shields deployed by the whim of the unseen hand possessing it. The Warmaster did not care what happened to the ship, but the soul within it did. Shining ray and particle deflectors rose from their associated projectors, the web fully triggering in sequence to envelop the flagship in a protective net. The humming call of the empowered cannons beckoned him.
On the bridge, sensors would chirp and chime, viewports shifting seemingly on their own as Ozma aligned the projected assault. A tilt of the vessel saw as many guns as physically capable from its current position lock onto the chaotic world below. A second. And another.
The staccato of thunderous note saw the ship tremble, the first shot from orbital autocannons nestled on the underbelly of the sprawling Praetorian fired toward the world below. Then another tolling, mechanical burst. And another. Rapidly, the rhythm increased until it crashed down upon the planet, a crescendo of orchestrated death and destruction. Shells rained down, a number of them intercepted or deactivated in their flight by the quick-commands of
Kiff Brayde
and the actions of his fleet, but the sheer number from the combined fleet of the Bloodsworn was nigh-overwhelming.
Another shudder rattled the massive ship as the slow pulse of the autocannon fired off another shot, utterly decimating the lands just outside Port Sorrow. The land was engulfed by a ravenous fire and flame, one stoked up further by the splintering debris raining from the clipped wings of Gehinnom, due in part to the efforts of the Confederates (
Westenra Mina
) in furthering the destruction of The Holy City. Whatever the objective was in such an act, the Hand of Novit Omnia could not glean, but it would all serve to benefit their end regardless. Luckily for those still on board the falling City, however, it was large enough that not all of it was destroyed in the blast, merely just one section.
The planet tremored, crying out for a reprieve from the unholy assault directed upon it. Shockwaves swept forth first, crashing into the outskirts of the city and rippling the air with raw kinetic power, and after, came the tidal wave of baptizing flame. The land was ruined by means of holocaust, left to smolder and burn in crackling silence that stretched into the smoking, red-stained sky. Craters lay where landmarks resided previously, no trace of civilization could be seen beyond the bare frames of melted structures left behind. Mountains had been reduced to rubble and collapsed upon themselves, turning into molten slag washing down the now tumultuous slopes. Rivers of fire boiled in the exposed bedrock, lashing the air with virulent tongues muttering warning of the annihilation yet still to come.
The barrage paused, guns hissing and smoking with their rapid efforts. Heatsinks had done their job and now, it was time to allow the vessel a short moment to breathe. External ventilation ports swung open, releasing the excess gasses and heat into the void encircling them. He rested with the Praetorian, continuing his murmured prayers- the faint projection of his voice crackling over the intercom of the ship.
Beyond this psychedelic union of flesh and machine, his body kneeled with statuesque calm, locked in the position of prayer behind the altar built to serve his Avatar.
Those Radiant hands surrounded him, ushering his unity unto the creation he sought cohesion with.
Engines sang their chorus, backed by the humming thunder of cannons and the eager unlock of fighters fragmenting off the greater beast to protect it. Ozma felt it course through him, the power of the vessel, every ticking surge of electrical energy prickled his mind until Ozma simply faded into obscurity. The communion was underway, at last.
Detached from his surroundings fully, the technomancer breathed through the very ship itself, existing in that paradoxical state only he and his maddened followers could glimpse, let alone sustain. Resistance was well on its way, information fed through the variety of wailing sensors, yet the vessel did not panic. It did not fear pain or suffering. It did not fear collapse or death. It served The Avatars just as the disciples did; a direct extension of Novit Omnia's in the form of an executioner's axe. What would be, would be. It would serve until it could serve no more, and when that day came, it would fade away, as pure as the day it was built; a monolith to the omniscience of The All-Knowing.
And residing within it, Ozma was the sole ally it had in the face of oblivion. His consciousness became its consciousness, and his decisions triggered sequences of events beyond the hands of the operatives on the bridge, something many of them had yet to grow accustomed to.
Defenses raised across the vessel, shields deployed by the whim of the unseen hand possessing it. The Warmaster did not care what happened to the ship, but the soul within it did. Shining ray and particle deflectors rose from their associated projectors, the web fully triggering in sequence to envelop the flagship in a protective net. The humming call of the empowered cannons beckoned him.
On the bridge, sensors would chirp and chime, viewports shifting seemingly on their own as Ozma aligned the projected assault. A tilt of the vessel saw as many guns as physically capable from its current position lock onto the chaotic world below. A second. And another.
The staccato of thunderous note saw the ship tremble, the first shot from orbital autocannons nestled on the underbelly of the sprawling Praetorian fired toward the world below. Then another tolling, mechanical burst. And another. Rapidly, the rhythm increased until it crashed down upon the planet, a crescendo of orchestrated death and destruction. Shells rained down, a number of them intercepted or deactivated in their flight by the quick-commands of
Kiff Brayde
and the actions of his fleet, but the sheer number from the combined fleet of the Bloodsworn was nigh-overwhelming.Another shudder rattled the massive ship as the slow pulse of the autocannon fired off another shot, utterly decimating the lands just outside Port Sorrow. The land was engulfed by a ravenous fire and flame, one stoked up further by the splintering debris raining from the clipped wings of Gehinnom, due in part to the efforts of the Confederates (
Westenra Mina
) in furthering the destruction of The Holy City. Whatever the objective was in such an act, the Hand of Novit Omnia could not glean, but it would all serve to benefit their end regardless. Luckily for those still on board the falling City, however, it was large enough that not all of it was destroyed in the blast, merely just one section. The planet tremored, crying out for a reprieve from the unholy assault directed upon it. Shockwaves swept forth first, crashing into the outskirts of the city and rippling the air with raw kinetic power, and after, came the tidal wave of baptizing flame. The land was ruined by means of holocaust, left to smolder and burn in crackling silence that stretched into the smoking, red-stained sky. Craters lay where landmarks resided previously, no trace of civilization could be seen beyond the bare frames of melted structures left behind. Mountains had been reduced to rubble and collapsed upon themselves, turning into molten slag washing down the now tumultuous slopes. Rivers of fire boiled in the exposed bedrock, lashing the air with virulent tongues muttering warning of the annihilation yet still to come.
The barrage paused, guns hissing and smoking with their rapid efforts. Heatsinks had done their job and now, it was time to allow the vessel a short moment to breathe. External ventilation ports swung open, releasing the excess gasses and heat into the void encircling them. He rested with the Praetorian, continuing his murmured prayers- the faint projection of his voice crackling over the intercom of the ship.
Beyond this psychedelic union of flesh and machine, his body kneeled with statuesque calm, locked in the position of prayer behind the altar built to serve his Avatar.
- Raised flagship's ray and particle deflector shields.
- Fired two orbital autocannon shots outside of Port Sorrow, impacting the ground.
- Fired numerous concussion missiles (hyperlinked above) toward Rhand, many being destroyed or deactivated by the fighter craft deployed by
Kiff Brayde
. Those that did impact the target struck outside of Port Sorrow as well, missing impact with the area directly.
- Ceased bombardment to allow the vessel's weaponry to cool and recharge fully.
ATTN:
Allies | BOTM |
Dakrul
, Darth Mori , Darth Solipsis ,
The Mongrel
, Tegan Starfall , Darth Maestus ,
Darth Carnifex
,
Ignatius Rausgeber
Enemies | CIS | Quinn Varanin ,
Zlova Rue
,
Ingrid L'lerim
,
Diocletian Kahmen’’a
,
Kyyrk
,
Jhira Mereel
, Priesse Verena ,
Lunara Azure
,
Rann Thress
, Caltin Vanagor , Felix Aquila ,
Dreidi Xeraic
,
Srina Talon
,
Laertia Io
,
Darth Empyrean
, Prennis Keeoli , Corin Autem ,
Ruus Kote
,
Damsy Callat
, Kristyl Arenais ,
Taiia Locke
,
Ket Cros
,
Gerwald Lechner
, Sylvia Virtos
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